How the Stars did Fall (8 page)

Before Daniel could answer there was a rap at the door. His hands went to his belt, where his black revolvers hung like dormant predators waiting for their chance to strike. Then he got up, expecting the worst, and when he looked through his window he saw assembled in front of his house the Good Man himself and a retinue of armed militiamen. Daniel told Molly to hide in a cupboard and opened the door.

He was certain he had been found out and that he would die for his disobedience, but if that were the case he had no recourse. Instead, he acted cool and normal, betting on the chance that the Good Man did not know about the girl. His bet paid off, because as soon as he opened the door, the Good Man gave him a good clasp on the shoulder and came in. Alone.

“I didn’t see you at the gathering,” the Good Man said.

“I left early.”

“Daniel, remember what I spoke to you about last night. It is a serious thing, The Way. It is a path with no return. No changing minds; no half-measures. Will you go forward with us?”

Truly, Daniel was uncertain. Not only because he did not know what saying yes would entail but because the nature of the Good Man’s beliefs had heretofore been clothed in vague abstractions, playing more on populist sentiment than the intellect of those he would convert. But the Good Man had told Daniel more than once that there was a secret core to The Way which only a few received and only when they were ready. At the same time, Daniel was not so naive to believe he could say no. He had attached himself to the destiny of this strange and violent man and he could not turn back. Not without bringing death upon himself.

“I am ready,” Daniel said.

“Good. Very good. Come.”

Outside another man had been waiting whom Daniel had never seen before. He was of short stature but strong, with prominent, aggressive facial features and a mustache thick as a buffalo’s tail.

“Daniel, this is Adler. I want you to go with him, and do whatever he tells you to do.”

Having said that, the Good Man took his leave without exchanging pleasantries of any kind as if something was making him deeply uncomfortable and he could not wait to leave. Daniel and Adler shook hands.

“You need to grab anything? We got a long way ahead of us.”

“Where we going?”

“Mount Shasta, or at least close to it.”

“A long way indeed. I’ll get my pack.”

Inside, Daniel opened the cupboard Molly had been hiding in and let her out. Then he took up his pack and filled it with all the things necessary to survive on your own in the wild. Canteens filled with water, a kettle, a pot, a knife, a tin cup and a pair of plates. To the pack he added canned beans and dried meats and a couple slices of bread. And he gave the pack to Molly.

“Some men have come to lead me away from here,” Daniel said. “Don’t know when I’ll be back. I can’t help you much anymore. Take this. Wait for the dark and then leave. This too.”

He handed Molly a couple of coins.

“Find a safe place. Believe you can make it and you will.”

Molly began to speak but Daniel left before she could finish a sentence. He wished to make a clean break. Thankfully, she did not call out to him or otherwise try to hold him there. Before long he found himself on the ferry to Oakland with Adler, a cold breeze stinging his eyes. From Oakland, they took the train north.

Their seats faced each other and for over one hour, while the train was loaded, they sat without speaking, one avoiding the eyes of the other. Once their journey began, their attention often turned to the window, where they watched an endless parade of oak and pine trees until, coming up out of Oakland, they passed a hamlet called Suisun and the flora was replaced by upright men and women, flashing before their eyes one after the other. Each one a little universe of wants and needs, of mind and spirit. The train’s speed picked up after Suisun and then slowed as it approached Sacramento. It stopped within view of the state capitol building.

“There sits the most esteemed governor of California,” Adler said.

“You know him?” Daniel asked.

“I know enough. If his rule had been established in a more civilized time, long ago, he would be dragged out of that house and stoned to death for incompetence. And the man that killed him would be made king. Do you believe that?”

“I can. Man is a barbaric thing.”

“The common man may be barbaric. All the more important it is for men of intellect and power to guide those men as a shepherd leads his flock. Do we fault the sheep if one of them goes astray? No, the fault is with the shepherd. The sheep cannot help being sheep.”

Having said that, Adler frowned and went silent. The train finished loading new passengers and began to move again. Servers brought them plates of steak and steamed potatoes and water and whiskey. Adler ate very little but drank quite a lot, asking that his whiskey glass be refilled more than once. And by the time they had finished eating, the train’s speed had increased considerably and the vista, previously filled with interesting creations, became barren and deserted as the train crossed into a valley of dirt and gravel. Spurred by this lack of visual stimulation, Adler spoke to Daniel of their destination. Of Mount Shasta.

“Have you been to it before?” Adler asked.

“I have not. I saw it once from afar a long time ago as a boy traveling with my father.”

“It is a sight, isn’t it? It rises alone, and though it may not be the highest peak it possesses qualities unique to it in all the world.”

“What sort of qualities?”

Daniel was genuinely curious at that point, but Adler changed the subject.

“Are you a joyful man, Daniel?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“That is a good answer. Joy is a vague word. It means one thousand things to one thousand different people.”

“When I think of joy, I think of children. I think only children know joy truly, and at some point that knowledge is lost as all of us must grow.”

“I’ll agree with you there, to a point. A German philosopher called Schopenhauer once posited that a living being’s intellect is proportional to their capacity to suffer. It follows that as our awareness grows, so does our experience of pain and sorrow and, by extension, our joy decreases. Of course, that statement alone says little. The precise mechanism by which knowledge begets suffering, and this is a mighty secret, is imitation.”

“Imitation? How so?”

“Oh. I have spoken too much. The whiskey damages my judgment. I do wish I could divulge all of these things but they are not for the uninitiated. And do you know why you’re here with me on a train to Mount Shasta?”

“To be initiated?”

“To be judged worthy of initiation. Now, as I am tired, I will try to get some sleep and so should you.”

It took ten hours for the train to travel the full distance between Sacramento and Berryvale, the nearest town to Mount Shasta. Adler slept for about one hour of that time and spent the rest of it reading and writing into a little parchment he had on him. Daniel did not sleep at all and he had brought with him no diversion, nor did he desire one. His mind, saddled as it was by worries, could not concentrate on much of anything for the full length of their journey. He was not yet sure what this trip meant. Not yet sure anything Adler said could be believed. The one thing that gave him some relief was that Adler, as far as Daniel could tell, was not armed.

When they came out of the train, it was night and Daniel discovered Berryvale was not much of a town at all. There was a post office and a sheriff and two or three buildings more and nothing else.

“Come,” Adler said. “There are no inns in Berryvale but I am known to the sheriff and he will let us sleep in his office. Not like they use it for anything.”

And the sheriff did greet Adler warmly just outside his office, as old friends, and led them to the back of the building, where a well had been dug up, and they filled their skins and drank to contentment.

“Nothing like a well to lay stake to a savage land, right?” Adler said. Then he added: “Could you spare us some room to sleep, my good sheriff? It is dark out and we’ve nowhere to go.”

“Mr. Adler, you know well I want nothing but to accommodate you. In fact, it is my sworn duty as a keeper of the peace to accommodate fine folk such as yourself. But I can’t invite you into my home, because, frankly, we ain’t got the room for you and my wife would likely leave me if I did bring anyone in.”

“I don’t expect to sleep in your house, Sheriff. Right here would be fine, same as before.”

“That’s the thing. I got a man in the cell.”

“I see. Well, that’s no problem at all. We’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

“I won’t deny you if you really wish to stay here, but I must warn you. This man I detained is dangerous. Now, I can keep his hands shackled and he’ll be in the jail cell, but after I jailed him he shit all over the cell. I can barely sit at my desk for more than twenty minutes because of the smell. And he’s been known to attack other men with his head and to bite and spit. The madman’s like a rabid beast.”

“What charges are levied against him?”

“Rape and murder.”

“I think we’ll be fine, Sheriff.”

“Alright, suit yourself. Come on, now. Just stand back. Let me shackle him up.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes, go on home to your wife. And kids? You have kids, right? Two boys?”

“Yes sir. Jeremiah and Luther.”

“Go on to them, now.”

Coming into the office, the first thing that struck Daniel was the smell. It smelled of shit and piss and blood mixed together and fermented under the noon sun. And the vortex from which these smells issued was a man sitting on one of the bunks, his head tilted downward, his gaze fixed on the floor. As soon as the sheriff left, the prisoner, as if awakened, got up and stalked around in his cell like a lion, his eyes full of hate and his hands contorted in strange ways. Adler ignored the prisoner at first, finding in a drawer a pair of thick blankets and pillows. One pair he gave to Daniel and the other he spread on the floor for himself. Both of them lay there trying to sleep when the prisoner began to howl and scream and curse. Daniel looked to Adler for an answer but the man still lay there with his eyes closed. Then, finally, Adler got up and stood in front of the cell. The prisoner ceased his ruckus and lunged towards Adler, sticking his arms through the bars in a violent fashion. Adler remained calm throughout, shushing the prisoner by pressing one of his fingers against his lips. To Daniel’s surprise, this seemed to subdue the crazed man and when Adler gestured for the man to come closer, he did, pressing one side of his head against the bars as if waiting to hear some grave secret. And Adler whispered something to the prisoner and the prisoner’s eyes opened wide at hearing whatever words had been uttered. On his way back to his bed, Adler blew out the lone candle that had been burning on the sheriff’s desk and Daniel was left with only the horrible sound of the prisoner turning and running his own head into the wall with every ounce of strength available to him. It took several attempts but eventually the prisoner succeeded in killing himself, the last thump like the bursting of a watermelon.

Whatever solace Daniel took from Adler’s lack of a weapon disappeared that night. Of what use were revolvers to a man whose whispers drove other men to suicide?

In the morning, they left without eating anything and walked towards Mount Shasta, which could already be seen in the distance, its forceful presence impossible to ignore as if God himself had come down and set his throne upon that land as a symbol of his power and majesty.

“You mean to climb that?” Daniel asked.

“No, not today. Look, see that clump of trees? Just at the foot of the mountain? That is our destination.”

Even before reaching the foot, Daniel felt a cold wind drifting down the western face. And as those trees came into clearer view, Daniel thought that was where he would die. That Adler would speak into his ear as Adler had done to the prisoner and make Daniel throw himself off the mountain. But once they reached the trees, he saw that something lived amidst them. Something squirmed, its limbs tied to one of the trees. It was a boy, and the boy called out to them. An Indian boy.

“Help me cut him down,” Adler said.

The boy cried after he had been set free but, unsure of what to make of the two white men, he stood back, cautious. He spoke, too, but his words were unintelligible to Daniel, not only because of his dialect but because the boy’s voice was no more than a whisper. He had been screaming for a while and had injured his vocal cords.

“Can you understand what he’s saying?” Daniel asked.

Adler shook his head no. Then he extended one of his hands towards the boy, palm upright. A gesture of nonviolence. The boy took the hand given to him and together the three of them trekked back to Berryvale, where they took the train south.

Once seated in the train, Daniel marveled at the calm the boy exhibited.

“How is it he does not protest?” Daniel asked.

“He was a member of a tribe of Indians that live near Mount Shasta. This tribe has a peculiar custom. Once a year, all of the men come together and round up the young boys of the tribe and the elders cast lots to choose one from among the group. The unlucky boy is taken to the foot of the mountain and tied to one of those trees.”

“His own tribe left him there to die?”

“They believe someone will come to get the boy provided the boy has not died in the interim. Thankfully, we arrived in time. And to answer your question, the reason he goes with us of his own accord is because he was taught that someone would come to save him and that he had to go with this person. All of this, this tribe believes, is ordained by a god who resides somewhere in the mountain.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Because the god who spoke to that tribe speaks also to me.”

Daniel did not know whether he should take that statement literally or if it was some riddle meant to test him. It dissuaded him from asking any more questions and the three spent the rest of the interminable train ride in quiet contemplation. They got off the train at Sonoma, not San Francisco, and this surprised Daniel. Adler, anticipating a protest, interjected.