Storyteller - Colin & Anne Brookfield (ebook and pdf reader .txt) 📗

his face.

David was holding his head; his mind was overwhelmed with the now familiar Indian chant. Then it stopped as abruptly as it started.

“It’s the chant,” he told James, “but it has just stopped.”

“Could be one of your prophesising events that have come into play again,” he reassured him, but nothing followed.

That was the last of the aerial photography, which allowed several blissful days of fishing for David, whilst James scanned the photographic topography and formations for his reports in a temporary office.

“Had any luck with the fishing rod?” James jibed, when he caught up with David.

“Yes indeed, a couple of trout and four steelheads; the hotel chef’s working on them, so you’ll be eating them tonight.”

“I’ve had an idea,” said James that evening as he washed away the last of his meal with a glass of wine. “You had one of your mystical events just as we entered Area Eight. I think we should take a closer look at those pictures. I have a hunch, so just humour me.”

James led him to his temporary office in the hotel; it was a store room that he shared with a varied collection of domestic cleaning items. To one side, a very large table had been supplied, which was stacked with some of the more delicate photographic equipment. A large swivel magnifier was clamped to one end of the table which James swung over the top of the Area Eight pictures and then switched the magnifier’s light on. David was surprised at the enlargement detail that emerged from this process. His friend kept on track by using a transparent grid overlay on each picture to ensure the search remained systematic.

David’s strange event had taken place as their aircraft first entered Area Eight, so this narrowed their search. Nevertheless, twenty minutes of scrutinising the topographical similarities does funny things to the eyes, or ‘does my head in’ as James would mutter occasionally. Then the mood changed.

“Take a look at this anomaly,” he remarked, and moved over for David to view the place of interest. It showed a long swathe of damaged tree tops amongst the dense forest below. Nothing more could be seen but that was the kind of evidence that might be left at an aircraft crash site. He went cold at the thought that his parents’ remains, might be within imminent discovery.

The next two days were spent organising what would be required for their week’s physical survey trek into the rugged Bitterroo range.

They made a start at last with two lightly laden mules and a local Indian trail guide, with whom James constantly conferred with his aerial photos. This was indeed a new experience for David, and level ground seemed gone for ever. Worse still, sleeping under canvas in bear country gave him sleepless nights, even though anything that smelled edible had been roped high up on an over-hanging branch, out of reach of foraging bears or mountain lions.

James had taken a four hour diversion from his survey areas to investigate the Area Eight tree damage, but David was feeling ill and distraught, at what they might find as they moved closer. At last, their tracker stopped and pointed to something glittering high in one of the trees. It was a piece of battered sheet aluminium. They had found the crash site, and as they moved closer, more debris.

“That’s near enough,” James ordered. “We’ll camp here for the night and I’ll give the authorities the co-ordinates – that’s if they can pick up our transmission out of this difficult terrain.

Between them, they erected their small tents and started their night fire from the broken branches littering nearby. Much of the night was whiled away with small-talk and thoughts of the following day. David was probably the last to doze off in the warmth of the fire, but not for long. He began hearing the Indian chant again, although this time, not in his head.

Their Indian guide reached out to touch David’s arm and then pointed to a shadowy, dancing figure in the distance of an Indian Medicine man. It seemed to move in and out of view in sequence with the light emerging from the rising and falling flames of their fire. James was now awake and taking in the quickly changing scene. The figure was getting closer and yet as it did, became less visible and audible, until it vanished completely, right in front of them.

As the dawn light finally broke, they were awakened from their muddled sleep by James’ radio. His transmission had mobilised the crash investigation team. David decided to remain on site to help guide the investigators. He had brought along some very loud army thunder-flashes (rather like man-size banger fireworks) and the guiding bangs would be heard from nearly a mile away. So he bade farewell to James and their guide as they left to complete their commission.

However, David was to see his dear friend again when they both returned to their homes and their experiences often returned in conversation.

He never experienced the Indian chant phenomenon again, and his parents’ remains were now residing in a beautiful cemetery, with their names carved on a headstone to mark their final resting place, where he could visit and talk.

Hanging over his fireplace, was an ancient Indian dream catcher that he had found at the crash site. Entwined in its web, he had discovered a small picture of himself as a baby, which his aunt told him later, had belonged to his mother.

The Purpose of Life

Shafts of sunlight filtered through the branches of the ancient oak where six new companions with a guest, were peacefully gathered. They were all curious to know how and why each had arrived at this tranquil place.

The dog spoke first, asking the bird what her purpose had been on Earth and how she came to be there with them.

“My part was very important. I ate the fruit from the trees, which then passed through me so that the trees would grow again in other places. I also ate insects and had our kind not done this, then all life upon the Earth would have been plagued to death. The cat was one of my predators, but I was too smart to get caught.”

“So, how did you arrive here?” the dog added.

“Whilst flying back to my nest one sunny day, I was shot down from the sky by a human,” replied the bird, who then looked towards the cat and asked the same question.

In silence, the cat looked down before speaking.

“Well,” she said, “I had a duty to perform by reducing the number of mice and rats. I could only catch the weaker ones though; had I not done this, they would have destroyed the food supply and all life would have eventually ended.

“But don’t the rodents have a special duty to perform as well?” interrupted the bird.

“Of course they do, but I also kept the number of birds down to a sensible level. However, I could never catch the smart ones,” she added with a wink. “This was the job that I was put on Earth to do, but I lived without the warmth of a fire or that of human kindness and was called a ‘feral’ and a ‘nuisance’. It was because I was so hungry at times, that I ate poisoned food put down by the farmer who only kept me for keeping the rodents down; he thought I was too old and of no more use to him.”

Turning to the magnificent horse, the cat asked the same question.

“I belonged on the wide open grasslands,” began the horse, “where I also ate and spread seeds across the plains. I was designed to look beautiful and majestic to the eye, but I was ridden and worked until I grew so thin and haggard, I had a heart attack.”

“Well, you look absolutely splendid today I must say,” remarked the bird.

The dog looked round at them all and interjected quietly.

“Let me tell you my purpose of being on Earth. I was a sociable, good natured creature who ran freely with my family group, and trusting enough to be a friend to anyone who needed me, but a human chained me up day and night. Eventually he abandoned me and I was left to die of starvation and lack of water.”

They all sat quietly for a moment trying to grasp those terrible deeds. Their eyes then turned to the bovine who had been anxiously waiting his turn.

The bovine spoke earnestly. “I speak for both the bovine and ovine family; humans think we are put on the Earth for them but this is not true. We have an equally important job to do. Like some of you, we also ate vegetation and seeds and were meant to roam and spread these things all over the planet. We have little defence against human predators who entrap, exploit and slaughter us for our meat, and devise methods of increasing our bovine and ovine herds, and because their own human numbers grow exponentially, they predate even more upon us. We have a poem in our world.

THE BOVINE CHILD

I was a child who was born with a dream,

who needed a mother and fields quiet and green,

but I'm a commodity trapped in a crate,

as tender white flesh with a hideous fate.

 

The beasts from the shadows are stalking the lands;

brutes with electrical prods in their hands.

Is everyone deaf to our abattoir screams?

Are we flesh on a plate and that's all it means?

 

As the sun flickered through the tree, there was a stillness whilst the group digested the heartfelt words.

The horse broke the silence as he looked at the oak tree. An ant was crawling up towards his height.

“You are so tiny; I cannot understand why you are put on the Earth.”

“You probably can’t,” replied the ant. “We come in many varieties. I represent the ants, bees, beetles and all those that humans call ‘creepy crawlies’, but we are very important through our many forms, and in this I also include spiders and reptiles. Between us we help balance and sustain the ecology of the planet. Without the bees for instance, there would be no vegetables and – other than bananas – no fruit, flowers, most oils, coffee, plant life, cotton, drugs for life-saving cancers or heart problems in humans. The bulk of the world’s agricultural produce is dependent on the bee. In fact, a human called Albert Einstein, is reputed to have said:

“If the bee disappeared off the surface of the globe, then man would only have four years of life left. No more pollination, no more plants, no more animals, no more man.”

“What a sobering thought,” the bird remarked, “and you, the smallest of us all.”

The insect continued. “In fact without us – or any of you – the world as humans know it, could be destroyed within that time. I lost my life when a human deliberately trod on me.

The peace and tranquillity of their surrounding went some way to coping with their terrible stories, until the sun grew dim and a sharp breeze whistled through the branches. The breeze subsided, but the sun disappeared behind a cloud and it became