COPYRIGHT 2004 BY SHANNON LAKE (SAMPLE CHAPTER)
An older man visits a young man in prison. They exchange greetings, and the younger man
pours a cup of water, handing it to the older man. A bald headed mute sits in the corner of the
cell, he silently acknowledges the older gentleman. The mute begins writing in a tablet as the
older man begins to speak.
When I was out west, I decided to head North. The great Northwest land of evergreen and ever
mountainous, everlasting rain called me. This land is mostly made of water. There's something
special in the water. They'll probably sell it someday in shiny plastic bottles with vaguely native
sounding brand names and pictures of mountains and waterfalls on the label. That water will
come out of a tap in Concrete or Sedro-Woolley. All this land has been sold a thousand times
over to fools who think they own it.
It was long before my bottled water idea that I had myself the journey of a lifetime. I'd decided
to walk from wherever the hell I was in California to someplace in Washington. Yep, I said walk.
Back then we didn't own no automobile and I couldn't afford no mule. So, I packed a sack and
lit out. Said goodbye to your mother. Couldn't take another minute of her mouth, nor her
mother's. That god damned Hungarian or whatever they was speaking to each other all the
dad gummed time was more than a body could take. So, I lit out, like I said. Weren't no use
though. The woman had her teeth in me, though the miles did separate us. But that's a
different story.
At that time I thought I had her clean out of my system, and I just walked and walked, night and
day. I walked alongside the Pacific Ocean for miles and miles, through hot and cold, wet and
dry. Met some folks along the way- some Mexicans on their way to visit family in California;
some Mennonites on their way to start a cheese farm in Mexico; a black cowboy named Jenkins
who shared some delicious rabbit stew; and two Indians who traded me a woman for my
Pappy's rifle.
It was their idea and I somehow got the feeling that if I didn't agree to the trade, they'd just kill
me and take the rifle anyhow. The one called Two Eagles intimated that when he gave me a
playful sort of haircut and asked me a second time if I wanted to trade for the woman. The one
called Lame Horse sort of hinted at it by sticking his pearl handled colt up under my jaw all
friendly like. I couldn't reach my pistol or my knife on account of my arms being held behind my
back rather tightly. So, they got the rifle and I got the woman. As the two men left, I heard one
of them holler “You're gonna wish we killed you, white man!” and the two of them laughed like a
couple of school girl hyenas or something. Occasionally, I still hear echoes of that laughter in
my head, even after all these years.
She was fat and young, looked to me like she was from a northern tribe. Her plump flesh was
the fruit of womanhood just ripened. Her name was Ruby. Well, she wouldn't talk to me, though
she clearly understood every word I said. She wouldn't tell me her real name; so, I called her
Ruby. Called her that because she reminded me of some exotic fruit, all thick skinned on the
outside but inside was juicy meat and sweet nectar. And, Son, she made my blood run hot and
red.
Ruby was a welcome change from your mother and her mother. The only sounds she ever
made were the natural sounds of the human body, and she made them unashamed in her
glorious innocence of such high flung notions as manners. She did occasionally let out a vocal
sound of disgust that I find is universal among strong minded womenfolk of all cultures. It is
frequently heard by stubborn jackass menfolk of every nationality. It sort of goes
“hmmmmmppf” and seems to come out the mouth and nose all at the same time. It is
sometimes accompanied by a rolling of the eyes, depending on the severity of disgust
indicated by whatever the hell I did or said.
She wouldn't let me touch her, though I tried often enough. She would give me a look that
easily communicated the fact that I had better stop. In fact, her look expressed eloquently the
fact that if I did not stop, I had best plan on staying awake for the rest of my life. She was
young, but she was wise to the ways of men like me.
Anyhow, Ruby and me was crossing into Oregon when we met up with some bandits that tried
to take our meager stash of food and attempted to molest Ruby. She had her eyes on me the
whole time, and it was right then that I knew I loved this woman of no words.
Just as I lunged toward the man who held her, another man fired his revolver, hitting me in my
right shoulder. I was in a state of shock as I fired back hitting him in the belly. I watched him fall
down dead. I was thirty-eight years old and had never before shot a man. I wanted to vomit.
Instead, I looked up in time to see Ruby bite the nose clean off the man that held her, grab his
gun, shoot him dead and the third man too. She had all their guns, money and horses before I
could come to my senses. She examined my shoulder, made that ''hmmmmmppf” noise before
she went into the woods and gathered some herbs or some shit like that. As I waited for her,the
dead man without a nose stared blankly ahead at me , a memory forever etched upon my
mind. She doctored up my wound with one of her Indian potions whilst three dead men laid
beside me around the campfire. She then tied me to a horse's back and took over as leader of
this expedition.
The next thing I recall is waking up with the sun high overhead and the scenery sort of
swimming all around me like some mirage brought on by peyote or an exceptional amount of
strong drink. A beautiful fat brown-skinned angel fluttered before my eyes, her skin aglow with
supernatural knowledge. It was Ruby pouring water down my throat and hauling me down from
atop the horse. Then she was on me.
I never saw her lips move but I heard the most pure and natural voice tell me with profound
simplicity and beauty,”You're gonna give Ruby a baby now. Then you're gonna shut up and
quit having every one of your thoughts out loud. When you get back to your usual son of a
bitch self, you're not touching Ruby this way again. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Then I dreamed I was a wild horse being ridden by a mountain lion.
Some days later we crossed into Washington without event. We stopped in Seattle for supplies
paid for by dead men. Then we headed North and East a few days into the Cascade Mountains.
Ruby was good at catching fish. Once I'd healed up considerably, she showed me what
mushrooms and berries was good to eat and stuff like that. All this time her belly was swelling
and I had some vague notion that I might have had something to do with that but I couldn't
remember exactly.
We built a cabin near a stream. I hunted and she put up the meat and fish and things we
foraged. It was not long after that winter arrived.
She still wouldn't let me touch her, though her body kept me warm. She would sleep behind me
in the spoon position with her big hands grabbing my wrists and her bosom and belly and thigh
enveloping me. It was pure torture, Son. If I moved, she just tightened her grip on my wrists and
squeezed me with her big fine legs. So, from time to time I moved just to get a squeeze.
One such winter evening,the full moon hung low to the earth surrounded by bright stars in a
cloudless sky. We were awakened by a clamorous racket as our horses carried on as though
something had them powerful scared. Both Ruby and I grabbed guns and went out to face
whatever threat. Those horses were for work, transportation, trade currency, and emergency
food.
Once outside, we noticed a terrible stench, like the banks of the Skagit River covered in
spawned out dead salmon with low water in the heat of Indian Summer, only stronger. There
was a crashing noise in the trees behind the corral
accompanied by a huffing and grunting. I thought it was a bear, until I saw it stand up. Ruby's
lips silently formed her people's word for it, “See'atco”. That means 'one who runs and hides', I
later found out from her uncle.
Ruby put her rifle down and motioned for me to do the same. She wasn't scared, but she
watched the beast closely. It must have stood seven feet tall or more and weighed at least four
hundred pounds. I could see it was mostly man shaped and covered in 3-4 inch hair. It looked
directly at us. Though I could only see a glint of moonlight reflected in it's eyes, I could feel
them traveling the sum of my flesh.
It turned and calmly walked away. I never again saw one so close to the cabin. That's because
Ruby spent the whole next day urinating around the perimeter of the property. She poked and
pushed at me until I did likewise. I did see more of the Sasquatch people in those mountains.
That first one liked to scared the shit right out of me.
Ruby's time came not long after. She went out for firewood one morning and came back
carrying a load of wood on her back and your half-brother Daniel in one arm. I instantly fell in
love with my second son, just like I did when I saw you for the first time, boy. Daniel, like his
mother, hardly made a sound.
Somehow, Ruby's people knew where to find her, and a pack of 'em showed up suddenly one
spring morning. And Ruby spoke. She spoke her native tongue just as fervently as my wife and
mother-in-law back in California. I knew once more that I dearly loved Ruby; just not in the way I
first suspected.
Ruby's uncle, a tall and broad man with shiny black hair and eyes, abruptly stood. So did the
others.
“The woman you call Ruby will bring the boy to see you sometimes.” He said. And with that they
departed, taking my Ruby and little Daniel with them.
What a fool I was, leaving your mother behind and starting all this. What a perfect fool I was. It
couldn't have turned out better if I'd planned it. That day I started building on to the cabin.
