Inter-phase
On top of Cave-Valley
I had learned during my college years something about molecular genetics, or better put cell structure; nothing that would shed any light on humanity, or for that matter, leave behind something for the betterment of mankind. In my dream [or illusions] it appeared, as I was sitting on top of some rocks on top of the cliffs, looking down into the valley [as I being Short-legs], the Cave-Valley that is (it was a long, very long, so very long of a dream ((I went to bed at 4:30 AM and woke up at 12:30 PM the next day—the dream must had been the last four hours of my sleep, I expect, or so it seemed)), I saw that my brother was going to join me in a minute, and I couldn’t get Lucia out of my mind which was of course, Little-eye’s wife. She was a quiet sort of a creature, and although they squabbled a bit, she made him happy—made Little-eyes happy, if that is what happiness is, and it pleased me to see that, not enough to make me find a mate similar to her though, but enough to be pleased for a comrade, my sidekick. But I keep seeing cell structures in my brain, swirling, moving like you would expect them to move.
As the wind on top of this great rock slapped my face with the cool breeze of the descending sun, and the ascending moon, and the appearance of a few stars showed their faces, I knew all the people I seem to have connected with, throughout my days, all the way through my life—my dream life, would remain in my thoughts. Say what you will but at the end of the tunnel is not light, rather life. Or so this was the way I was feeling as I transposed myself from an emergence [materialization] into the character that was sitting on top of the mountain-rock; a stone-stillness was in my body, looking, silently looking, onto the valley below, –if anything, I, Short-legs was comfortable being alone, that is, by myself or with others, it really didn’t matter. It was how I was, or you could say how I really was. Yet these fragments kept appearing, the cells, their structure, the transference into chromosomes how they separated, that be. I got thinking—as the Dreamer—of the apelike outer form of Big-chest, vs. myself or the Horde’s whom were somewhere in-between, a different outline we had, that is: which might be thought of as some kind of cross-roads into humanity, compared to the Branch-People, whom were more on the chimpanzee level, or so it seemed; then after that spurt, my mind started to count chromosomes. The Stone-Builders had a nest of 46-chromosomes, this floated in and out of my thoughts, and for the chimpanzee, there were 48, and the flies I swatted had 8. But for me I couldn’t get a good count, or of the People of the Fire.
Did we have some kind of different number: possibly 45 vs. 46 or 48? It would seem something was different, and that was my search: what was different? During the inter-phase period, or time, or the mitotic division, and the beginning of another, nature halted in my dreams, stopped for a brief second. The 46th chromosome was very thin; almost thread like in comparison to the others, thus, my 46th never did make it to the anaphase of the cell process. Maybe we were different because we were supposed to be different; perhaps, if feasible somehow, in that garden, that legendary garden, now that seems so far back, hidden almost in my ‘mind’s eye,’ some people lost opportunities, and perhaps we, or others gain possibilities; who could be sure of anything; but in my dream-world, anything was likely I presume, which is the amusing or superior part of dreaming, or can be. But whatever it was, that part of my illusionary-constellation faded into the dust, the grime, as I noticed my brother Stern-toes, climbing the side of the cliff, to get to the top and be with me. I shifted my attention to him then, and now.
The Secret
Said I, to Stern-toes, as he joined me on top of the cliff, “Dear brother, I have a secret,” he was always short with words [not much to say], and calm as a pillar in a caves, and so I assumed he was not going to ask what the secret was, possible not caring, or I’d get to the point sooner and later and tell him when I wanted to, thus, why waist one’s energy asking: so I volunteered by illumination: ”I never told you this [one must remember this is now years in the past], but about six months after mother had died, I had walked back into her cave, stood by where she slept, and got Dinosaur-pumps [same as: goose-bumps] all over my body, then I smelled the fragrance of flowers [perfume], the ones she liked [but I couldn’t remember the name of the flowers].” I went on to clarify, this happened twice within a short period of time.
Said he, my brother to me, Short-legs, “So what do you make of it.” Short and to the point I told myself, that’s Stern-toes in a nutshell.
“Simply that mother was there, was there with me at that moment but in the invisible, thus, life exists beyond the Horde.” This was a remarkable discover I thought. He looked at me, strangely, said:
“I miss her too,” and started clicking them eye-lids all about, taking in all he could.
Short-legs
[The Observer—counselor]
18
The Wolf-boar Pack
[Stern-toes]
The day I had first seen the odd looking couple, the male and that Eve person, woman if you will, it was a costly day to say the least. Now that I see my brother, it brings to mind the wolf-pack. Oh, I remember it now, I remember it quite well to be honest, as if it was yesterday, now that I have time to think, and the capacity of my mind holds thoughts longer, being of old age that is: maybe I have grown into a more reliable intelligence, I hope so. I never did know her mate’s name real name, so I called him Adam, only that I called her Eve for some odd reason, it just came to mind, simply because she brought with her the new dawn of civilization, for the latest race or species—the eve of a new dawn, I liked that, a good and honest saying. And again now that my mind can produce more brainpower, it makes me think: that possibly—I suppose at the time—the Garden was plainly filled with rocks, craters, and mud-ponds: such things like our area; –but it was just kind of all of a sudden there—the Garden. I mean, I never noticed there was a so called: ‘Garden,’ to speak of, not until I saw Eve leave it, escorted none the less by a flame, a fire like the People of the Fire carried around at night. How can you hide such a huge Garden? It has always baffled me, and still does stump me. Now that I’m older I wonder if it was invisible, like their God.
Also, I have heard the Stone-People say, or have said in the past: ‘…how beautiful it used to be there [in the Garden], when they were living there’; or was it their ancestors they were talking about? I guess I don’t really know. In any case that is another question that begs to be explored—by my mind that is—. But that was a long time ago: I know they have a beautiful waterfall there, I guess it drains into our resources; and of course the river is not all that far from here.
But what I was leading up to was my brother’s encounter with the Wolf-boar pack these animals were a different kind of breed, not a wolf, not a boar, but rather a pinch of both. Now that I think of it, also, this Eve person ate a lot of fruit, never meat that is; during the several times I had seen her anyhow. She and her mate walked aimlessly for several weeks in this surrounding area outside of the garden—that is, after they left the Garden. This was I suppose more our Hordes territory, to speak of: more so than hers, only by familiarity though. Yes, oh yes, there was a lot of fruit she carried back to her campsite.
Stern-toes [my brother] once expressed to me he witnessed several Wolf-boars emerge from the Garden, or was it wolfs, and they turned into Wolf-boars after a few seasons, I can’t remember exactly how that goes either, but none-the-less, they were tame as sparrows when they left the Garden, yes, oh yes, wolfs tame as a little bird—unbelievable, but true. As mind-boggling as that is, I do believe it. For he made [my brother that is] very good gestures to stress that –and was very strained in doing so. Now thirty-years in the past, or is it forty-years [?], in the past, he has never expressed to me that the story was any different. It was a time when the Stone-Builders employed these Wolf-boars to do their dirty work. They used them as smellers so they could find us and kill us—: again without reason, providing they could get the right sniffs.
The wolves children—that is, the newly born offspring of the first generation of wolves after the Garden people left the garden, the so called now: baby-wolfs, for some odd reason, became quite aggressive, and attacked even their masters [poetic-justice I’d say], after a few seasons of interbreeding with the boars actually they were more reminiscent of their masters now, careless and dangerous. And I do believe, I lived to see the time of the last gentle wolf, the gentle wolf that was, was no more, they had died, unfortunately. I think it was partially to do with the fact that, the Stone-Builders eventually killed them in winter for their pelts and it was rare that they would allow them to return to their own pack. And so they became adversaries, and run off into the woods becoming loners for the most part, and I stress again, mating with the boar-beasts. Having said all that, I know now, I’ve lived to see the end of all this, but I was there at least for the beginning.
Stern-toes—and the Wolf-boars
One day, Stern-toes jumped out of the back entrance of our cave [something like a window], mother was sleeping, and father was in the tree, as usual. He did this often—my brother, and it was nothing new, but it was only me, only I knew of this, and he’d go join his comrades from the Horde, by the Banana Cave and they’d run around like kids do I suppose finding trouble to get into. I was quite young, and he was two years older than I. Well, this was a different kind of night for him, his friends were all asleep, he evidently had left too late or the others could not get out. Whatever the case, he wondered about the side cliffs of our domain, and climbed down the cliffs into the guts of the valley itself, a little unsafe for anyone in the middle of the night in short, he got lost in the dark.
As he was calling for help, or for anyone to wakeup and assist him, no one really heard him to guide him back to the edges of the cliff, and that was partially because the winds at night in the valley whistle, and made twisting noises as they swirled through the arches, and stone passages, leading every which way, and sometimes leading nowhere; as a result, this kind of weather, drowns out any exact voices, makes them blend into the winds themselves, like smearing them flat and then sowing them into the fabric of the wind, as to not be distinguishable by the human ear, or for that matter, even the ear of the beast; –if it was heard, heard at all, it was mixed not only mixed into the wind by the dragging-dark night and other sounds that haunt the cliffs and valley. In consequence, a pack of Wolf-boars, they are the ugliest creatures on this side of the Horde world, even uglier than Big-chest, but I’d not dare say that in front of him, –in any event, what I was about to say, is that, they must have picked up his scent, his smell, for they started to chase him: running aimlessly at the smell, and he ran in the direction of the Garden, which of course was outside the valley. He jumped from tree to tree, making his escape; –he was taller than I and had a longer reach with his arms: so surely, it was, or at least I assume it was not as trying a task in the beginning for him than it would be for me; yet the pack of wolf-boars did not stop, let up, or rest—no, oh no, they kept on, they followed him mile after mile. Endlessly it seemed they followed him, until his arms were starting to loose its strength, and cramping up his muscles. He was not like dad, who lived in the trees night and day, year after year, and could swing from branch to branch all day long, like most of the Branch-People could—as it would have helped him at this point though –in any case, he was [or at least this is how I figured it to be] more civilized, and had lost that capability of swinging all day and night from branch to branch, and tree to tree with no effort.
With all considering, he found himself by the edge of the Garden, the entrance to it; I would find later on in our life time, this had a profound affect on my brother, for he entered the Garden of Eve at that moment, and with the spring of a Jaguar in his feet, and with his hands stretched out , and his heart throbbing a hundred dinosaurs an hour [MPH] he leaped up, up into a tree, and sat in that tree overlooking the beasts as they ran up and into an invisible wall, matter of fact, when they hit the wall thinking to enter the garden Stern-toes watched their heads go back with a jerk, a staggering blow, and blood appeared dripping on their foreheads. Thus, Stern-toes became their audience—sort of speaking. Still as death, Stern-toes watched the beasts as they circled in a heated manner, saber teeth showing, tongues hanging out from the exhaustion of running those thirty-some miles; he heard great moans from the dogs. At his surprise, the pack did not try to enter the Garden despite his appearance still within their eye-sight, a wise decision I told Stern-toes; the fact being—or so it would seem anyway—as if there was an invisible line, barrier blocking them from doing so: an invisible guardian, a sentry stopping them—something [a wall ?] I can just imagine Stern-toes looking down at the beasts, looking down from the tree, high up in the tree—laughing, –yet he never laughed as hard as I and Little-eyes did, but laugh he did, saying:
‘Come and get me, I’m right here: see? right here!’ and laughing more at every growl they gave back to him in protest. With him when he had the advantage he used it, sometimes even played with it. In all respects, he said he got down to the ground and walked up to the wolf-boars, and started to tease them by laughing at them, right, or almost right in their faces: face to face. Yet, they would not come to the Garden, or couldn’t or dared not to for some reason; he even stuck his tongue out at them. The beasts and Stern-toes never did understand the ‘why’ of it all, he implied to me [me: being Short-legs] they pouted resembling pups as they sat there, and to be quite honest, neither did I understand all these goings-on. We usually just would tell ourselves, it was the way it was, and that was that. But this was very strange, and when my brother told me this, we both shrugged our shoulders in a strange disbelief for lack of anything else to do or say, as if to signal, ‘what more can I say.’
Stern-toes, stayed in the Garden for about fifteen sunrises, or a bit longer, or a bit shorter [I didn’t count time, per se, I didn’t know how too exactly, but I could give a good estimate] or for that matter, as the new breed of humanity calls it: counting days to be exact. You see, I have a hard time with figures, as we all do in the Horde: but it was thereabouts before he left. Not that he had to leave or stay, but if I know him, he’d stayed so he could blink those eyes longer, taking those everlasting pictures, but I think he got bored and felt he might forget his way home, somehow we did not have a good short-term memory.
Foot Prints in Stone
During his stay, one thing puzzled his brain, for which Stern-toes could not reason through. He was walking the banks of the river one sunny afternoon, when he came upon a set of foot prints, slabs, cracked of limestone, with footprints in them, buffed in color, crystallized for the most part. He looked at them strangely, following them as if he was about to discover something. Dumbfounded, yet amazed at the prints, human footprints he deliberated, deep into granite, a mystery at best. He continued down the river, there was no slacking in his pace until he reached the last one, which seemed to go to the left, and lead into the deeper part of the river. Some of those prints, if not all of them, were side by side, as if the creature was a giant being, like the Stone-People, for the toes and shape of the print demanded such consideration, and a giant animal, with three toes, possibly eight to ten feet tall, fifty to one-hundred pounds, with birdlike legs was running with this giant creature [that is, with him or after him]: the stride was quite long, quite a distance, threefold compared to Stern-toes—he had seen such a creatures but once, it did not lay eggs, but rather gave birth to its young alive [Coelophysis]. He then stepped into the man-print, and found he could put over two of his feet into it. This, no one would believe, no more than if someone had told him this story, he’d probably not believe it, thus far, he figured, his brother might [me]; that is, myself being by the Garden and all that stuff, but surely only his I would believe he figured, and how the Wolf-boars did not enter, was another wondrous thing to be kept partially a secret from the Horde, but not me, Short-legs, for again I repeat, I had seen strange things also. But if it was to be believed, was not of any value to him, what was helpful in his way of understanding was that life had a variety of odd-similarities. He possibly had found another species. I mean, the Stone-People were a new one, why not one before them, in the Garden. Many variables to such mysteries did he conjured up in his brain lobes.
It was almost as if life itself was not meant to be figured out, but rather lived. Yes, possibly yes, Ohhooo…yes, life was not to be used as a time to rest it away, but to take it and drag it with you wherever you go. A gift: a treasure. And if you abused it: you may loose it. Or if you found it to be a one way path, your way or no way I mean, then you might have even loose the meaning of it, that is, to have been actually created for this thing called ‘life’. Having felt that thought, and knowing others now had gone before him, he just wanted to absorb it, be captivated by it.
See Dennis′ web site: dennissiluk.tripod.com dennissiluk.tripod.com