Excerpt from Severn and Beyond
Even though he tried to come to some sort of understanding of the real nature of all the strange things that happened to him recently, he still remembered to drop a cigarette butt every ten paces. That nagging voice at the back of his head did not involve itself with the conspiracy theory. It knew that the Captain would be sorry if he did not leave himself a trail to get out.
Finally, with only two cigarette butts left in the shopping bag bundle that Captain Ness started with, Captain Smith said that they arrived. There was not much left to the Titanic skipper’s head. Most of it had fallen off during the long walk getting here. Now, instead of thinking of the marijuana creature as Captain Smith, Captain Ness thought of him as the Headless Captain.
“Have a look at the ceiling!” the Headless Captain said. Without a head, there was no mouth on his host. Captain Ness had to wonder where the voice was coming from. “You might find it interesting.”
Captain Ness wrenched his neck back so that he could have a look at what the Headless Captain was talking about. It was hard to see anything at first because it was so dark in this tunnel but as Captain Ness’s eyes adjusted some detail was starting to reveal itself on the cold, gray ceiling rock.
He saw a depiction of a huge short-faced bear rearing up in a defensive posture upon an overhanging cliff, as a band of fur-clad humans were pointing spears at it. The humans were in a dugout vessel of some sort on a river. The artistry was magnificent and extremely realistic. They were almost on a par to the great scenic splendor of the 18th Century Dutch Masters. You could see the terror in the bear’s face and the excitement in the eyes of those men that hunted it.
“This scene that you are looking upon actually took place on this very site twelve thousand years ago,” the Headless Captain explained. “See those scratchings just to the left? Those were done by that very bear as it tried to escape the hunters along that ancient creek bed.”
The Captain saw the eight deep, elongated grooves in the ceiling. “That must have been quite some animal!” he remarked. “These are way bigger than the marks a modern grizzly would leave.”
“As big as those marks are, that animal was taken down by those hunters. Those hunters have left a way bigger mark on the present day than the bear.”
“Is this what you have made me walk five miles for? A prehistoric drawing?” the Captain asked. “Don’t get me wrong. It is quite magnificent but you could have just shown me a picture of it. I am in a hurry you know.”
“Have a more careful look at the hunters,” the Headless Captain instructed. “You may then become more appreciative of why I brought you here.”
The Captain’s eyes focused on the fur garments that were draped over the bear hunters. He had not seen it the first time he looked but now it stood out so much that it practically shouted at him. On the chest of each man was a cloth that had bands of blue wavy stripes against a white background. On the upper left hand corner was a red maple leaf.
“Holy shit!” the Captain said. “You have got to be kidding!”
“I am not kidding!” chortled the Headless Captain. More leaves flew out of the neck hole from the laugh. “What you are looking at is the earliest North American evidence of the existence of the Power Squadron!”
“They were around twelve thousand years ago!” the Captain was utterly amazed. Not even at the Academy was this known. There, it was taught that the Squad came into existence with the first trans-Atlantic voyages of the British. John Cabot was regarded by many as the father of the Power Squadron; although some contested that the Squad was actually born during the time of the Viking explorations. But none would have said that the Squad could be traced back twelve thousand years ago.
“They were here in North America twelve thousand years ago but there are caves in Central Asia with similar drawings as these that date back thirty thousand years ago,” explained the Headless Captain. “There is speculation that the Power Squadron can be traced right back to the first Homo Sapien migrations out of Africa 80,000 years ago and that it was the Squad that mastered the crossing of the Red Sea and into Asia and the subsequent fording of the Malaysian Sea and into Australia. You come from a very long tradition, my friend.”
“This is utterly amazing!” Captain Ness cried. Inside he was feeling very emotional. There was a seismic welling of pride in the accomplishments of his organization. He was deeply proud that he was part of this ancient guild that engineered the mechanisms that allowed humanity to spread and people the Earth.
“I thought that you would be amazed and that this might have you reconsider!” beamed the Headless Captain.
“Reconsider what?” the Captain said as he looked at the terror in the short-faced bear’s eyes. Somehow that creature seemed to know that it was going to not only die but that its species was going to go extinct. Even its scratches in the rock were crying out its desperation and its feelings of hopelessness.
“Reconsider your decision about leaving the Squad. Now, that you know the proud and noble tradition to which you belong, you would no longer want to step away from it and opt for a mundane existence.”
The Captain was studying the faces of the hunters. He could see that they were ruthless and unfeeling toward the fate of their quarry. They somehow were saying that mercy could not be part of the world order and that Machiavellian cruelty and purpose were the only truths to existence. They knew that they were going to wipe out this giant bear and all the other mega-fauna of that era and that they were going to supplant all of this diversity with a safe, domestic world where John Cougar Mellancamp could glorify little pink houses as the ultimate statement of what life should be about.
The Captain could feel that deep pride in the Power Squadron suddenly have its base chopped out from underneath it. The Power Squadron stood for the stewardship and dominion of mankind over the rest of the planet. This stewardship and dominion had only served to bring the Earth to the brink of ruination. There was no glory here. There was only the vain bragging and loathing of a crude species that should never have left Africa. They should have stayed there and continued to be a part of Nature instead of against it. The Captain wanted no part of it any longer.
“No,” he said. “It does not make me want to reconsider.” He could almost hear the short-faced bear rooting him on. “It only makes me want to denounce everything that I have ever been. It makes me want to seek a path that would rectify the damage that I have done and the damage done by my forefathers.”
The claw marks in the stone seemed to start growing. There was a deep moan that resounded through the tunnel as if some very ancient spirit was feeling relieved and vindicated.
“You don’t want to be a part of the Squad any longer?” the Headless Captain asked. There was something in his tone that showed that he did not seem surprised.
“The Squad was the leading force for a band of killers that ran amok upon the face of the Earth. I see no glory in it!”
Suddenly the Canard uniform fell from the Headless Captain and there was nothing left to him except for a marijuana bush. At the same time the cracks made by the prehistoric bear burst open and the ceiling crumbled into dust.
Above him now was a well-lit brilliant chamber as vast as time and in this chamber the marijuana bush grew astronomically to become as great in dimension as any West Coast Douglas fir. There almost seemed to be symphonic and choral music emanating from the high ceilings.
“I am the Tree of Knowledge!” spoke the giant bush in a deep resonance. “I am the Tree that bears the Forbidden Fruit!”
“Don’t give me that shit!” the Captain squawked. “Now you have gone and ruined it. I won’t buy into any Adam and Eve Garden of Eden propaganda! Why did you go and do that?”
All at once the tree shrunk itself to that of a large marijuana plant. “Sorry,” it apologized. “I thought that you wanted something apocalyptic to go along with your monumental decision.”
“No,” the Captain sighed. “I am but an ordinary guy. I know that whatever I do will not matter a hill of beans in the long run but if I change my ways at least I might be able to die with a clear conscience. Just show me where I can leave my cigarette butts and I will be on my way. I do want to thank you for making me see more clearly.”
“This is as good a spot as any to leave the butts and the keys,” the bush said.
“The keys?”
“The keys to your Doral. You have given it to us, don’t forget!”
“So, is that what this is all about? You are trying to make me give up my boat?” the Captain was fuming.
“You already gave us your word that we could have it. We just wanted to make sure that you were comfortable with it. After all, now that you have denounced the Power Squadron, you would not have any need for a luxury vessel,” the bush said.
“Millions of people boat and do not belong to the Squad,” the Captain argued. “Just because I don’t want to be part of the club any more, doesn’t mean that I don’t want to enjoy a cruise now and then.”
“This really doesn’t matter as you have already given us your boat. But to us an offering made out of a willing conscience means much more than a gift grudgingly donated out of perceived coercion, even though there is no coercion intended.”
“Who are you guys anyway? The Manitou? You keep saying we but I only see one of you!”
“We are all here right in front of your eyes,” the bush said. “Each leaf you see is one of us. We stand before you united as one in honor of your wonderful donation.”
“United you stand, divided you fall!” the Captain responded. He had it in his mind to rip the bush out of the ground that it stood upon. They were not going to get his Doral for nothing. If they could offer him something in return, he might reconsider. But what could a bunch of marijuana leaves offer?
‘They could offer themselves!’ another voice in the back of the Captain’s head suggested. ‘They are marijuana leaves and there are many of them. They could fetch a handsome price on the street market.’
“How much are you worth?” the Captain asked the bush.
“We are worth only that which you are willing to pay,” the bush mysteriously answered.
“Are you worth more than the Doral?”
“To some we are, to others we are not. It is only you who can determine what we are worth to you!”
All of a sudden the Captain thought of Faust. Faust had sold his soul to the devil in return for a lucrative mortal life. Was the same thing happening here? These were spirits afterall. They must be after something more intangible than just a Doral 227. What good would the boat do them anyway? In all his days on the water, the Captain had never seen any boats being driven by plants. He had seen boats driven by those under the influence of the plants, such as Sewer Daddy, but not actually driven by the plants themselves. “Are you after my soul?” he asked point blank.
“Now, what would we want with that?” the bush responded. “Your soul isn’t going to get us from Point A to Point B!”
“Why do you want to go from Point A to Point B?”
“You don’t get the point do you? In order to go from Point A to Point B you have to know where Point A is. You don’t know where Point A is, do you?”
The Captain stopped to think of what the bush was saying. It was all nothing but word games – semantic trickery wearing the thin cloak of feigned wisdom. He was not going to fall for it. “I don’t give a shit where Point A is!” he retorted.
“Find Point A and we will let you keep the Doral!”
The Captain had not expected the bush to make such an offer. He had no intention of giving it the Doral no matter what, so it was an empty offer to him. Besides, he thought, they would never concede that he found Point A because they had nothing fixed in their mind as to where Point A was. They were making it all up. Anything that he would say, they would just say he is wrong anyway.
“We will give you a hint as to where Point A is,” the bush suddenly was willing to make it less vague. They were placing Point A on the map.
“And what is that hint?” the Captain asked. He really didn’t give a shit. But he did like clue games. The Academy used the clue game scenario a lot in imparting the special skills required by a Power Squadron officer upon its neophytes. Young Ness had excelled at these clue games. He had a gift for finding the heart of the matter and took pleasure in seeking it.
“One of your own knows where Point A is and has told you where it is,” the bush quixotically responded.
“That is my clue? One of my own has told me? One of my own what?”
“We cannot give you any more information. But know this, Captain Ness, we are aware that you intend to renege on giving us your vessel and we are willing to take extreme measures to ensure that you will give us the boat.”
“Extreme measures? What? Are you going to kill me?” The Captain found this almost laughable. How could a marijuana bush kill him?
“Let us give you an example of our powers!” the bush said.
There was a sound behind him and the Captain turned around to see what made it. At first he could not see anything in the tunnel that led to this chamber but then he saw a shadow on the wall as the tunnel suddenly lit up. The light shone directly on an adjacent wall. The shadow that was produced was that of a very large ursine creature with a stubby snout. It was the short-faced bear – that giant creature that lived here in North America twelve thousand years ago. He could hear it breathing. It was slavering as if it was very hungry.
And then it stepped out to reveal itself before the Captain’s bulging eyes. It was the grizzly’s big brother, the terrifying short-faced bear. It had woken up from its twelve thousand year hibernation and it was hungry.
Share
Print
Save