Angel

“Nope, not yet. Well, I mean it is and it isn’t. It is time for you to know but not time for you to go, if you know what I mean.” She leaned forward on her arms and looked deeper into his eyes. His vision blurred a little and he felt dizzy and hot. He reached for his throat with one hand and reached out to grab hold of something, anything with his other, afraid that he was falling. He slumped back into the cradle of the tree and watched her eyes that swirled into two huge black galaxies of voidness. He felt himself slipping simultaneously into both of them. Her soft voice came to him, “Nuke, watch for the lights.” He felt a knot in his solar plexus and swallowed hard a couple of times, not wanting to be there but having no control over what was happening. The first light he saw nearly blinded him. It came from nowhere and from everywhere and it was so blindingly bright that he could not escape from it. When he turned his head it was there. When he shut his eyes as tight as he could, it was still there. It blew into his brain, it went through his skin, it permeated every pore of his body until his body disintegrated and reintegrated as the light and he became pure consciousness. The light pulsated, slowly at first and then gradually increased in its pulsations until it became a steady stream of pure, radiant light. At the center emerged a small red point that expanded into a symbol or letter shaped somewhat like the small case letter “a.” As this symbol emerged, it was accompanied by a great sound of the syllable “ah” which permeated the universe. The reification of the letter, the sound, and the corporeal body of Nuke Dimmitis occurred simultaneously. Nuke looked at himself again. He still had the loud hum of the sound he had heard in his head and, if he closed his eyes, could still see the bright red symbol. As he looked around, everything seemed to be outlined with a golden glowing fire. He looked at Angel and she looked at him.
“What was that?” Nuke asked.
“That was the experience of death which you will know only once more.” She stared at him and stood up. “Now it’s time for us to go.”
“What do you mean, “go?”
“Let’s go play down by that creek you like so much.” She jumped lightly to the ground and Nuke climbed down slowly, still numbed by the experience he had just had. For a kid of nine, this was too overwhelming and he slumped against the tree trunk. She took his hand and led him down Third Street to the little creek branch that went under the road. He had played there many times but this time it, and everything else, would be different. He knew that everything had changed but he didn’t yet realize how he would be affected. He only knew that right now he had to just put it out of his young mind. He let the symbol and the sound dissolve into his being and headed down to the creekbank with his new, if not different, friend. She was a joy to be with and he new that he loved her.
“Hey sissy, who’s your new girlfriend?”
“Oh no, it’s Mitchie!” Nuke tried to crawl into the culvert under the road but it was too late. “Now what do I do,” he turned to her.
“Don’t worry, Nuke, I’ll handle this.”
“You’re not supposed to handle anything, you’re a girl. I’m supposed to handle it but Mitchie is older and a lot bigger than I am and he already beat up half the schoolyard.”
“Don’t worry, Nuke, and don’t fight anymore. After today, you won’t want to anyway.” She pulled him out of the culvert and they looked as Mitchie Caldwell pulled his beat up bicycle up to the culvert curb. The mean look on his face told Nuke he meant business.
“Hey Mitchie, what’s up?” Nuke tried to smile but the corners of his mouth twitched in fear.
“Who’s your girlfriend, sissy, and you better have a good story.” Mitchie swung off of his bike, fists at his side and headed straight toward them. Nuke almost fainted.
“She’s my cousin, Tex, from Texas.” Nuke tried to sound convincing until Angel put an elbow in his side.
“No I’m not,” she said, “I’m his girlfriend, Angel, what’s it to you anyway, Mitchie?”
“Hey, how do you know my name, anyway?” He glared straight at her and then Nuke noticed the change in his appearance. “Oh no,” he thought as he watched Mitchie do a meltdown in attitude and appearance right in front of him, “Not Mitchie, too.”
“No, Nuke, he’s not going to know what you know.” She didn’t say any words, he just heard them in his mind. “Just watch.”
Mitchie unclenched his fists and his shoulders slumped a little. All of a sudden he looked like the child that he was. His clothes were dirty like his face. Nuke knew that Mitchie’s mother had died a year or so ago and that his dad wasn’t able to take care of six kids and work. Nuke didn’t pity Mitchie, he had compassion for him and it appeared that he and Angel were both directing this compassion at the boy like a beam of light. Mitchie pawed the ground with his worn out tennis shoe. He stared at the hole in it and his big toe sticking out. Then he looked up, glancing at Angel and talking to Nuke.
“Uh, uh, ok, Nuke, uh, I uh, was just, uh, wondering what you two were, uh, you know, uh, up to, and uh would you like to uh, come over some time and, uh, see, my big brother’s new uh Harley Davidson?”
“Well, yeah, sure thing Mitchie, I’ll come over tomorrow morning after my paper route.” Nuke smiled this time for sure. He looked at Angel who was smiling, too. Mitchie hopped on his bike and peeled out. He had attached playing cards with clothes pins on the spokes of the wheels that made it sound like a motorbike and he made it roar as he looked back over his shoulder a couple of times and then rode really hard up Third Street toward home.
“Angel, that was beautiful,” Nuke said, “I feel kind of good all of a sudden.”
“A lot better than fighting, isn’t it,” she said, vocalizing this time and she turned and walked into the shallow water of the creek. He watched her a little bit then started to follow. “You can’t come with me, Nuke,” she looked at him and he could see that she was crying. Angel handed Nuke a parcel she held in her right hand. It was a brown leather covering fastened with a leather strap. He looked it over. It looked like a magazine was wrapped inside. Still holding onto the manuscript, Angel put her left hand on Nuke’s shoulder. “This is a gift for you, never let it get away, always keep it in a place where you know it is safe. Later on in your life you will understand its meaning and how to use it.” Nuke knew not to ask any questions, he could tell by her look. She turned and walked down the creek and then she was gone. Nuke never saw her again after that day but he never forgot her beautiful face and the gift she had given him. He would understand a lot more about this day later on in his life.
“Nuke! Wake up man!” Sunny yelled at him from his bike and motioned him over to the shoulder of the interstate. “What are you doing, man, you almost ran off the road.” Sunny pulled off and got off his bike to see if Nuke was ok. “Hey, buddy, hey Nuke.” Sunny waved his hand in front of Nuke’s eyes. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah man, I just nodded off a little. I’ll be all right now.”
“I can tell there’s something on your mind, Nuke, anything I can help with?”
“Nope, just thinking about an old girl friend, Sunny. No problemo.”
“They’ll do it to ya every time, old friend, let’s get back on the highway.” Sunny walked back toward his bike and then turned back around. “Nuke, you do have the manuscript, don’t you?’
“Yeah, Sunny, I’ve got it.”
“We’ve got to get that to Darjeeling tomorrow, no doubt about it.”
“Yeah, I know. Ain’t nothing gonna keep that from happenin’, man.” Nuke accelerated on the shoulder and turned his turn signal on to get back out on I-70 and on to Kansas City where he wasn’t too sure that what was going to happen was going to be good for him or Sunny. He just knew he and Sunny had a delivery to make and he was bound and determined to make it and make it on time like he had promised. When they got to Junction City, or Junktown as Sunny called it, Nuke exited and headed down the frontage road to the Dreamland Motel, where he checked in according to their plan. Sunny continued on, taking the exit at Route 18 and heading to Manhattan where he would spend the night and take in the Bob Dylan concert at Kansas State University before heading on into Kansas City and his meeting with Stephen Darjeeling.

Nuke

Now Nuke was another story altogether. He could take Kansas or leave it. In fact that was the way he was with most things except for one area of his life that remained sacred. That area was his spiritual life and Nuke had known from the time he was about five years old that something was guiding him along. When he was about nine years old he had an experience that reinforced his feelings for this higher level of power. Small Kansas towns were hard enough to grow up in so he wasn’t eager to share his innermost thoughts about something that struck him as being so peculiar. He knew his feelings weren’t the norm so he kept this all to himself. He didn’t get along too well in school and was usually into some sort of trouble, either with his teachers or on the playground with other students, usually other boys, who would taunt and provoke him until he had had enough to the point that he exploded. “He’s got a bad temper,” the teachers would say and would then “keep an eye on him” to make sure they caught and punished every wrong move. It was a time when teachers could still whack you with a stick and he certainly got his share of whacks. He never allowed the whackers to see any emotional response to this corporal punishment and would stoically stand and take it then walk away in pain. He fought regularly on the playground over any and everything: He got in a fight when another kid said he didn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground, with another one when he was told he stepped out of bounds in a dodge ball game, and another when a kid spiked his spinning top and broke it in half, a perfectly legitimate action that provoked him into a fight. He certainly did have a temper. He became strong and somewhat of a bully. His fights were usually with older kids but he never thought about defending the helpless littler ones who couldn’t defend themselves. “Let them fight for themselves,” he thought, “nobody ever helps me,” and he would turn his back on them and go on. But Nuke had a weakness and that weakness was girls. He loved them. He loved the pretty ones and, like he did the poor defenseless kids who couldn’t fight, he treated the less attractive ones with disdain, even taunting and teasing them. He could be cruel and his cruelty didn’t help him out one bit. He was on his way home one day when he met a girl who scared him nearly to death.
Whenever Nuke wanted to get away and be by himself just to think, he would climb up into the old mulberry tree on the corner of O’Connell and Third Street. There he could breathe the spring air and look out over the visible area around him and know he was in control. Nobody could sneak up on him. Nobody could approach without his knowing. He had a keen sense of hearing, probably because of his nearsightedness that gave him “eyes in the back of his head.” So it surprised him when, one particularly fine day in early summer, while he was sitting in reverie as high up in the tree as he could, he looked down and saw her standing there. She was standing there at the base of his tree and he had not even noticed her coming. The girl looked familiar but he wasn’t quite sure of who she really was. To his horror, she reached up and began to climb. “Hey! What do you think you’re doin’? he yelled at her. She continued to reach, one hand then the next for the successive branches that brought her closer to his perch. “Hey, I said, who do you think you are anyway, this is my tree.” Nuke was beside himself now and stood up on the branch he had been sitting on. Her brown chestnut hair was now even with his feet and he backed up higher into the boughs. Her blue and white checkered skirt swung back and forth as she negotiated the climb. Her starched white blouse complemented her white US Keds tennis shoes. “She looks like Margaret out of Dennis the Menace,” he laughed nervously now as he watched her approach. Small branches stuck him in the back. Mulberries squished on his white tee shirt, surely to bring him grief when he got home with a shirt stained beyond cleaning. He was forced to take a stand and when she reached for the next higher branch, he put his foot down on her hand. The brown haired girl rolled her wrist around his ankle and then pushed his foot away. He nearly fell out of the tree as he lost his balance and grabbed backward for the nearest branch. The ripe mulberries squished in his hand staining his palm. He wiped it off on his blue jeans. “Hey, are you tryin’ to kill me or what?” He screamed this time.
Suddenly she was standing there face to face with him, her tanned skin inches away from his, her breath sweet from the deep purple mulberries she picked from the palm of her hand to eat. Her dark eyes showed laughter and teasing and a sense of power over his blue ones that probably showed fear. He tried to regain the upper hand and moved out away from the branches behind him. He noticed that she was just standing there, balanced and poised in front of him, not hanging on with either hand as she continued to stare at him, smiling and eating the ripe berries. Her fingers were long, her fingernails starkly white against the olive tan of her skin and the purpleness of the mulberries. He calmed down a bit. She seemed to be having a calming effect on him and he felt more and more at ease. “Who are you?” he asked quietly. He was struck by her beautiful appearance and watched her intently now.
She turned her head to look back behind her and picked the juncture of two limbs to sit on, a place that he, himself, had sat many times, a place that belonged to him. He felt a twinge of selfishness but checked himself from saying anything. She grabbed the corners of her skirt and sat down. “I’m the Angel of Death,” she said it without looking directly at him at first then slowly turned her eyes to his, “Do you want to see my panties?” It was a good thing there was a stout branch behind to catch him as he fell backward almost losing consciousness. He could not believe what he had just heard and wanted at first to get out of there at all cost. He thought about jumping and running but a guy just didn’t run from a girl in those days even if she was the Angel of Death. He decided to stay but didn’t exactly know what to say to the question she had just asked. Instead, he leaned his elbow on the crook of the branch next to him and settled back into his favorite spot. “Sure,” he said regaining his composure, “Why not?” This was an unusual situation for a kid who wasn’t even old enough to like girls, a kid who was supposed to tease them and pull their hair. But he was different, he got along with girls and liked to be with them. He just hoped that none of his buddies happened to be riding by on their bikes. If they saw him up there with a girl he was as good as dead. This thought brought him back to reality and he remembered her joke about being the Angel of Death. Or maybe it wasn’t a joke.
“OK, so what’s your name? I mean I can’t just call you Angel of Death now can I.” Nuke became a little bolder now, thinking to himself that she was someone visiting a grandma or an aunt, or maybe she was one of the Fleenor kids. Their family had just moved into the big two story on the hill and nobody yet knew how many kids there were.
“Nope, none of those,” she said, “Just call me Angel.”
“Well, then where are you from? I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“Here, there, and everywhere,” Angel gave him a coy look, “You haven’t seen me before, but I’ve seen you.”
“You have?”
“Sure, lots of times,” she looked prim and proper, like she was sitting in a chair in someone’s parlor. Her feet were together and she adjusted her skirt to where it was about two inches above her knees and then, interlocking her fingers, she placed her hands on top of her knees and straightened her back, giving her long hair a shake and giggling at him.
Nuke blushed. “Oh yeah? Like where have you seen me before?” He tried to get control of himself and the conversation. He leaned back on the tree limb and cocked his head to one side, squinting one eye and peering at her intently with the other. This seemed to work because she looked away from his direct, one-eyed glare.
She became more sullen now, her jet black eyes turning on him and nailing him to the tree. He felt like she had literally pushed him with her look. “The other day when you were walking to school, you stopped and rummaged through the remains of that old lady’s house that burned. You know she died in that fire, don’t you?”
“She did?” Nuke was sitting forward now, listening to her and reflecting back on that day. He knew the old lady died but he wanted to make sure he wasn’t being tricked.
“I was there, too.”
“I didn’t see you there.”
“Right beside you.”
“Then how come I didn’t see you?”
“Sometimes I can be seen and sometimes I can’t, it depends on the person and the situation. The time wasn’t right for you to see me but now it is, so you can.” She smiled a little, hoping he was able to comprehend what she was telling him.
“Well then, what about the old lady?” Nuke was getting a little concerned with this talk. He squirmed on his tree seat.
“It was her time.”
Nuke was concerned but he was also amazed at himself for not being scared. Something about Angel calmed him and he wasn’t scared at all, even though he did understand what she was telling him and who she really was. It was like he intuited that she really was the Angel of Death and that he, himself, was not in any danger. It was like she was his friend and he liked that a lot. The question, though, had to be asked. “Is it my time?” He looked directly at her now, bright blue eyes to brilliant black ones, locked in a cosmic gaze.

Sunny Day

Sunny Day pulled up on the footshifter and the big Indian roared back as he let out the clutch, beginning his approach to the rest area on I-70 just outside of Salina. As he rode in, he looked closely at the scattering of cars, semi trucks, and big honking rec vehicles. The usual smattering of people were there, walking in and out of the restrooms, reading the historical marker, and letting their dogs piss and shit on the grounds. Finally he spied what it was he was looking for, the powder blue ’65 Harley panhead. He didn’t see it at first because it wasn’t in the parking lot; it was wedged in between two red cedars next to a picnic table. His buddy, Nuke, was there somewhere because he was never more than fifty feet or so from his bike. Sunny coasted up to the curb and cranked the front wheel of the Chief as he let it down on the kickstand. He sat there for a moment, still looking for his friend and taking a visual inventory of the people on the grounds and also of those sitting in vehicles. He liked to know who and what was going on. A little yipper broke loose from an older middle aged man’s grip and ran toward Sunny, yipping and nipping at the toe of his cycle boots. “Hey ya little scudder,” Sunny laughed and nudged the dog with his boot. He liked calling little dogs that name just like Jon Voigt did in that one movie.
“Hey, fella, don’t be kickin’ my dog,” the old timer headed for the dog, glaring at Sunny who shifted on the seat of the Indian and smiled.
“Don’t worry, sir, I like the little scudder,” Sunny reached for the dog who backed up yipping louder than ever. The man scooped up the little dog and headed for his rec vehicle, looking over his shoulder a couple of times to see if Sunny had any reaction or if he was following him. Sunny Day could be intimidating like that. He looked like one of those guys out of the fifties with slicked back black hair and a white tee shirt under a black leather jacket. Maybe the old guy had seen the hunting knife slipped into the Chippewa motorcycle boot or maybe it was Sunny’s broken front tooth, but whatever it was it worked. It worked most of the time. One person this act of his didn’t work on was Nuke Dimmitis and Nuke was walking up the sidewalk toward him and laughing all the way.
“Sunny, you sight for sore eyes; I’ll bet you just insulted that old geezer’s dog, didn’t you. Probably called it a little scooter didn’t you.”
“Scudder,” Sunny corrected.
“Yeah, scudder, like in Midnight Cowboy and then the lady grabs the little scudder and huffs off.”
“You got it, Nuke, how ya doin’ anyway?”
“Oh, you know, man, I got my little problemos and idiosyncrasies just like anybody else, but for the most part I’m doin’ ok.”
“How’s your bike runnin’, I see you got it chained to that red cedar over there.”
“I brought the chain so I can pull that piece of shit Indian you’re ridin’ when it breaks down. My panhead is spot on, amigo.”
“Well then, let’s get goin’ on down the road.” Sunny flipped his leg back over the tank, flipped down his shades and cranked up the Big Chief while Nuke unchained the Harley and rolled it downhill toward the parking lot, firing the ignition on the way and jumping over the curb, wheeling out in a big arc and goosing the throttle when he went by the man with the dog. Sunny laughed as the guy jumped back up on the curb, clutched the dog close to his chest, and yelled something at Nuke who just kept on going; blowing past the big rigs and onto the acceleration ramp where he did just that, accelerate onto I-70, his chromed engine and pipes gleaming in the Central Kansas sun. Sunny wasn’t far behind, the throaty sound of the Indian Chief matching harmonics with the Harley as he caught up to Nuke at the end of the ramp. Sunny loved Kansas weather and this day was one of the reasons why. The sun seemed to pull them toward Kansas City as they rode side by side eastbound on Interstate 70, past the sand dunes and into the beautiful Flint Hills. Sunny liked the way the sun cast shadows of the hills creating light and dark areas of the browns, greens, and yellows of the tall prairie grasses and the myriad colors of prairie flowers. He liked the reds of the Indian Paintbrush, the little white roadside buttercups, and even the purple of the notorious Russian Musk Thistle, the scourge of Kansas agricultural extension agents. Sunny thought they were much maligned and impossible to eradicate, so why bother. But then Sunny wasn’t a farm boy any more, either. And every farm boy in Kansas knew that you had to snuff out this weed before it took over. And for those folks that pronounced Kansas as being flat? They needed to walk the Flint Hills and then tell him that Kansas is flat. He gunned his bike and pulled ahead of his friend who looked over and shook his head as he watched Sunny fly by.

Desire

Now Darjeeling really didn’t know what to do. He reached for the latch, the same kind of leather latch as was on the other cabin by the lake shore. It was tied fast from within. He knocked on the door, a sheepish, feeble knock that even he barely heard. He knocked again, louder this time. No answer. He walked over to the window to look in, but the rice paper being opaque allowed no insight into the cabin. He tried to push on the rice paper, but for some reason it did not give. He was not able to physically come into contact with the rice paper. It seemed like there was a barrier between his finger and the window. He walked to the other window knowing he would find the same situation. He walked around the house, now resigned to the fact that he would not be able to get in. So, returning to the front of the house, he sat down cross-legged in front of the cabin door, resolving to stay because he had no where else to go. He watched the honeybees fly from flower to flower, drinking themselves full of nectar and gathering pollen for their long flight home. He became conscious of their humming and tried to match his voice to the note of their singing. He picked one of the flowers near him and stuck his tongue into the petals, tasting the sweet nectar. Now he heard a sweeter singing coming from inside the cabin so he dropped the flower and stood up, straining to hear the song the old woman sang. It wasn’t a song at all, it was a mantra that she chanted over and over: Om a hum, vajra Guru padme siddhi hum. The black tee shirt he had on was chafing his skin so he took it off and stepped toward the cabin. He could hear more clearly now and so, like he had done with the honeybees, he matched his voice to hers and chanted from outside. She stopped. He continued chanting the mantra three more times and then followed with another: Om gate gate, paragate, parasamgate, boddhi svaha.
The leather latch on the door loosened and the door cracked open an inch or so. A glowing light from inside spread around the door frame and the windows, too, became brighter. Darjeeling could smell wonderful incense and hear all manner of bells and chimes and soft flute playing. The taste of the nectar on his tongue intensified a hundredfold. He could hear soft chanting from inside as he tried the door. He could not touch it but as he moved his hand forward, the door moved toward the inside of the cabin. When it was opened about a foot, he peered around the door jamb, looking inside. There were flowers, huge Georgia O’Keefe type flowers filling the cabin. A rich oriental rug was on the floor. Censors burned incense with a heady aroma of hashish. The small starlike lights danced inside the cabin. He looked as the door opened wider, wide enough for him to enter. He looked around but could not see the old lady. As he stepped into the cabin, one of the starlights attached itself to him and he could not move. He felt himself rising and looked down to see the sandals come off of his feet. The sandals were placed next to hers. On top of the two pair of sandals, folded black tee shirts appeared. He gently returned to the floor on the luxurious carpet on which was woven five imperial dragons, head to tail in a circle. Inside the circle of dragons, a golden eight pointed star glowed in the diffuse light given off by the constantly moving starpoints of light. Then he saw her.
The beautiful Chinese lady sat Buddha-like, floating effortlessly above the golden star. Her countenance was so beautiful he nearly fainted. She stepped onto the carpet and came toward him, sweetly singing and smiling, beckoning him with her swirling hands. Her skin was golden like the light and the woven star. Her arm and hand moved toward him and she pointed out the cabin door, her long finger nail etching a brighter golden light in the air. Outside the cabin door the honeybees danced in the burning sunlight, gathering nectar for their long flight home. In the peacefulness of the cabin she became the consort of his desire, lifting a bowl of sweet red nectar to his lips and wrapping her arm around his neck. On top of the sandals and tee shirts appeared the folded white painter pants. The cabin door closed and the leather latch fell in place. He joined with her in tantric embrace as the light flickered and the drone of the honeybees filled the air. The two of them rose in the air above the golden star, locked in their cosmic dance, like the dance of honeybees, drinking the sweet red nectar, the nectar of flowers.
The light became brighter now, the humming louder. The golden star glowed fiercely and the dragon’s breath became fire. Fire was everywhere in the cabin now and Darjeeling could hear voices of the dead crying out. Their two bodies became larger, hers a brilliant golden yellow and his, a dark blue. He noticed now that he had six blue arms and a necklace of skulls. She held the skull cup of blood to his lips and pulled him tightly to her, her third eye gazing into his as she danced on the dead. The roar of the flames was deafening now and he cried out as the walls of the cabin collapsed around them.
When he awoke, he was lying on the deck in the middle of the octagon. His dogs were looking at him with that funny sideways dog look, whining and licking his hands and face. He stood up and looked at himself. He stumbled slightly as he headed for the house, oblivious to the stinging of the honeybee he stepped on. His clothes smelled smoky and he felt nauseous. A cold Mickey’s would be in order now he thought as he sorted out the meaning of this strange occurrence. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out two of the green bottles, unscrewing the first and chugging down the cold beer, spilling some out of the corners of his mouth. It cut through the smoky taste in his mouth and he sat down at his artist table, knocking off some books and a Buddhist meditation card. He picked the card up off of the floor. It was the yoga deity Kalachakra locked in embrace with his cosmic partner Vishvamata. He finished the first beer and unscrewed the second, his mind numb and his hands shaking. “Got to get hold of yourself, boy,” he said it out loud and the words echoed in his ears. As the sun set, he punched the power button on the CD player. He laughed a little as he thought to himself that a little Grateful Dead might be in order. The familiar first notes of China Cat Sunflower filled the room and he lit a stick of incense. At some point in the song he drifted off to sleep.