Down the Throat of the Mountain Read online

Down the Throat of the Mountain

  By Jennifer Erickson

  Copyright 2013 Jennifer Erickson

  Chapter 1

  June twentieth, 2013 was the day Janie Gundy's life ended and purgatory began, but she didn't know the half of it when she shook off the waiter, fighting tears, and ran blindly into the night.

  Pausing under a streetlight to catch her breath, she tried to remember where she’d parked. She left Pearl Street behind, then turned uphill, past sleeping homes hunkered behind stately lawns. Her footsteps echoed as she limped through empty streets. She was a fool. A limping fool. She was eighteen years old, and her life was over.

  Why hadn’t she just sprung for the garage? It was only, like, three bucks. If she was going to wear bodacious platform pumps, she should have parked closer. Or stayed home and refrained from making a spectacle of herself.

  Grimacing, she rounded the next corner. Maybe this was the street. She dug out her keys. In forty minutes she’d be home to Dad, to Lacey’s wagging welcome, her down pillow and the oblivion of sleep.

  That spot on her right temple itched. She reached up to rub it, then turned her head to glance behind her. Slam! The car keys flew out of her hand, and she was on her knees on the flagstone sidewalk.

  A man said, "Ah...give us your purse." He smelled of dishrag.

  "No," said Janie, and then had second thoughts. "I mean--"

  He grasped the shoulder strap. She clenched the purse to her side, and he dragged her along with it.

  "Just give us the purse, kiddo." He said as he tugged.

  "I thought you said you’d done this before," said a second, chubbier man.

  "I assure you I am doing it correctly," said Dishrag.

  Janie said, "I need my phone and my driver’s license." The photo was excellent. Irreplaceable.

  "Look, all we want is cash," said Chubby.

  "If you want money you're talking to the wrong person."

  "And credit cards," said Dishrag.

  "What are we going to do with credit cards?"

  "You’re not helping, so shut up."

  Janie untucked her purse from under her arm and zipped it open. "I’ll give you six bucks."

  Chubby stepped forward and ripped the purse from her hands, rummaged around and brought out her wallet. "We’ll take as much as we damned well please," he said.

  "What are you doing?" said Dishrag.

  "We said we’d let her keep her license."

  "No we didn’t!" He leapt for the wallet. "Gimme that!"

  Janie saw an opportunity. "I also want my purse back."

  "No!" both men said at once.

  "Why are you screwing around?" said Dishrag. He snatched the wallet and purse, whacked Chubby in the head. Coins flew out like confetti. Then he took off running with Chubby close behind.

  "You assholes!" Janie screamed. "AAASSHOOOLES!"

  She stomped around collecting coins, found her keys under a lilac hedge. She was so pissed off, she felt two feet taller.

  Where was the damned car? She yanked off the stupid shoes. They had totally failed in their mission. As if just the right footwear could transform her into a siren and make her irresistible to George, her erstwhile employer.

  Ahead was an office building with revolving doors and a well-lit atrium. Inside, a uniformed guard lounged behind a desk, gulping soda from a two-liter bottle. Salt and pepper hair, slight paunch, a face you could trust.

  Janie spun through the door, and as she approached, the guard lowered his feet and set down his Diet Mountain Dew.

  "I'm lost," she said, swallowing a sob.

  Her vision shimmered and immediately he was at her side, leading her to a black leather bench against the wall. He seemed awfully concerned, considering she hadn’t even told him what happened.

  Somehow, she ended up curled on her side. When he appeared again and pressed a wad of paper towel to her head it came away bloody. Funny. When would she have hit her head?

  He wanted to call the police, or call her parents at least. Janie begged him not to. She said she was fine, she couldn't take any more drama. Plus, Dad didn't know she was in Boulder. She was supposed to be at Emma Jackson's house.

  Janie described where she'd parked her car and the security guard pointed her in the right direction. She put on the foolish platform pumps and wobbled back outside. He watched from the front of the building until she disappeared around the corner.

  Sunshine blinded Janie when she woke up the next morning. She groaned at the ache in her head. Lacey leapt on the bed, nuzzled Janie’s face and leapt off again, then stood by Janie’s head, panting dog breath at her.

  In the bathroom mirror, she got a look at the attractive new lump on her forehead. How would she explain that to Dad? Maybe he wouldn't notice.

  Why hadn't she just stayed home? What had she been thinking? Okay, she knew what she'd been thinking. She knew that George was a Thursday night regular at The Med. Janie had orchestrated many of their "coincidental" meetings: "Oh, yes, I come here all the time. I'm surprised I haven't seen you here before." Never mind she was barely eighteen.

  Usually, he wasn't there with his wife.

  What had possessed Janie to cross the whole restaurant, park herself in front of their table and blurt out, "Gosh, you just can't go anywhere alone now, can you George?"

  With all the clattering cutlery and scraping chair legs and laughter, the restaurant had been too loud for anyone to overhear, but still they sensed something, and people at neighboring tables paused to see what would happen.

  Into that pocket of silence, George said clearly, "Janie, don't make a fool of yourself."

  She'd reared back, face flaming, ears tingling, bumped into the table for two directly behind her. Red wine went sploosh all over the place. Two women stood, dripping, incredulous. A waiter and some guy from the kitchen rushed in, one on each side of Janie, and wrestled her away. Several patrons applauded. The waiter deposited her firmly on the doorstep. Looking back on it, she realized they hadn't even asked her to pay for her club soda with lime.

  Janie had deserved to be mugged for that alone. Not to mention all the other ways she'd screwed up her life in the month since graduation.

  She took two Excedrin, and another just because life was shitty, chugged a glass of orange juice and let Lacey out back to pee on stuff.

  On the answering machine, the message light blinked. She ignored it. The land line was Dad's domain.

  The house was silent. Dad must have gone out early. Maybe he'd bring home donuts and coffee. But that didn't make sense. Through the window she could see the car parked out on the road. She scrubbed at her temple.

  She ate half an egg, scraped the rest into Lacey’s bowl, then opened the front door to get the paper. Something brown tumbled down the steps. Her purse! She tiptoed out in bare feet and collected it. Inside, she found her phone, her wallet with driver's license and her debit card. Only the cash was missing.

  Had the muggers brought it all the way from town? And why?

  Janie's thoughts were interrupted by the jingle of her cell phone. She darted to pick it up. Old habit. As if George would be calling today.

  "Janie," said her Aunt Margaret. "Your father’s in the hospital. Where have you been?"

  Chapter 2

  It was autumn of 1528 and Mouse's first vision quest. Sweat ran into Mouse's stinging eyes and dripped off his chin onto his bare knee. Sage scented steam crushed his chest. The hunger barely bothered him any more.

  Grandfather and Uncle Bent were arguing as usual. Mouse's mind was so pure, their words flowed through him like a river.

  Red nudged him. Mouse raised his head a fraction and tried to concentrate. It was Red's firs
t vision quest as well, but Red was older and more experienced than Mouse. It was time, he said. They were ready to approach the Womb of the World.

  They followed Grandfather up a drainage choked with downed timber, clambering over tree trunks and squeezing under them. Snowflakes spiraled out of the sky and melted on their bare skin.

  When they finally reached timber line, Bent Nose loped away like a bear chasing ground squirrels.

  Grandfather left Uncle Bent behind and continued up the steep open slope. The boys followed.

  Finally, Grandfather stood still. At his feet was a jumble of small boulders, and in their midst a jagged hole, like a piece of the night sky had fallen there. Sweet-smelling wind breathed out of it.

  This wind, Grandfather cupped in his palms and brought to his lips as though it were fresh spring water. He addressed the One Who Made All Things and prayed for a successful vision.

  Uncle Bent bounded up, and before Grandfather could grab him, he popped into the hole.

  Grandfather froze, a look of horror on his face.

  Grandfather told the boys to stay where they were. He said a short prayer, then climbed down into the Womb of the World after Bent Nose.

  The boys stood, shivering in their breechclouts, gazing into the darkness of the cave. They heard Grandfather's murmur, Uncle Bent's sarcastic reply. Mouse and Red hugged themselves and bounced on their toes to keep warm.

  The argument escalated. The boys kneeled on the ground and peered in, but Grandfather and Uncle Bent were out of sight. The sun peeked out from behind the clouds, and the cave walls sparkled for a moment. The boys glanced at each other and back into the hole.

  Suddenly, Bent appeared below them and began to climb up.

  "I am a bear now," said Uncle Bent. And then he grunted three times, just like a bear.

  The boys took a step backward as Bent emerged from the hole in front of them.

  "Where's Grandfather?" Red asked. "And why are you acting so strange?"

  Mouse craned around Uncle Bent to see if he was coming.

  There was something clenched in Uncle Bent's fist.

  "What did you take from the Womb of the World?" Red demanded, pointing at Uncle's hand.

  Uncle Bent smiled mysteriously and slipped the thing into his medicine pouch.

  "We can't take anything from here, Uncle Bent." Red's voice quavered. "Everybody knows that."

  Bent Nose drew himself up.

  "Grandfather!" Mouse called.

  Uncle Bent laughed. He grabbed Red by the waist and threw him to the ground. "I am the bear!" he shouted.

  Red began to scream. Mouse screamed, too. Where could he run? Uncle Bent was bigger and faster, and would catch him easily. His only hope was that Grandfather would protect him. He fled into the Womb of the World, calling "Grandpa, help!" But Grandpa was gone. In the darkness, Mouse stumbled on a warm body and scrambled to stay on his feet. He heard Uncle Bent puffing after him, closing the gap. Mouse could feel Bent strain toward him. In desperation, Mouse dove away from Bent's grasping fingers. And then things got stranger. Miraculous, even.

  Mouse tumbled into clear air. Uncle Bent came tumbling past. Mouse landed with a crash on a rocky slope and skittered downward.

  He caught hold of a chunk of rock and held on for dear life.

  Dangling by one arm, he clawed at the scree. Then down he plummeted again, whistling through the air. The landing was painful and knocked the air out of him, but not as bad as you'd expect. Soon, he realized why: Bent's dead body had cushioned his landing. Mouse rolled off of him and dragged himself away.

  Weighed down by the darkness, by horror and confusion and pain and the inability to breathe, Mouse collapsed to the dirt floor.

  A voice brought him to his senses. It was his grandfather, but it was also a bear. Enough strange things had happened that day that Mouse didn't question it.

  Grandfather-Bear said: "Take Bent Nose's medicine pouch."

  Mouse felt his way over and slipped the leather thong from Uncle Bent's neck.

  "It's yours now. Put it on," said the voice. Mouse did as he was told.

  "Now follow the wind," said the Bear-voice.

  Just then Mouse noticed a breeze. He turned and crawled into a ragged hole in the cave wall.

  He tumbled and skidded down, hitting his head. Somewhere in the center of the earth, he landed hard on a bed of rocks and gravel. A sweet breeze cooled Mouse's face. Stray hairs tickled at his cheeks.

  He wanted to ask where he was going, but the question flew out of his head.

  "Crawl forward," said Bear. "Follow the wind." Mouse crawled up, then down, then up through a narrow crack.

  The crack narrowed. Mouse flattened himself onto his belly and inched forward.

  "Go," whispered the Bear. "Go."

  He wriggled and squeezed through faults in the rock, following the slight breeze in his face. Whenever he let himself think about it, he froze in fear and confusion until Bear whispered, "Go!"

  Rainbows filled his eyes. He lived a thousand lifetimes, saw things so different from his own world, he couldn't even describe them in words: things from the past and perhaps from the future.

  He realized that he wasn't alone, had never been alone. The Bear was with him, urging him on.

  He was here, there and everywhere. He was fragmented, like the world reflected in a water drop. Every possibility distilled into one moment.

  Then, he was alone, in one place, a place of darkness and cold.

  Out of the darkness, a pinprick of light seemed to wink at him. When he pressed his fingers over his eyelids, it disappeared. When he moved his fingers, it winked back to life. Heart jumping, he dug, dug toward the light.

  He awoke in a small clearing by an aspen grove. Snow dusted the ground. Behind him was a cliff and at its base was an inky gash. How could he have squeezed through such a tiny slot? Perhaps he had simply willed himself outside. Perhaps he wasn't really outside at all, or maybe he had never been inside.

  After that, he moved like a sleepwalker, guided by the bear voice in his head.

  His mother found him asleep in a withered raspberry thicket. He had been gone for almost a moon.

  All through the winter, in camp with his family, the voice from the cave stayed with him. Was the voice Mouse heard real, or had he imagined it? It was hard to tell the difference any more. They called it a gift, his inability to choose one reality. But it didn't feel like a gift. He worried all the time. He dreaded everything. No joy was pure. It was always: what if.

  Bent Nose's medicine pouch weighed heavily around Mouse's neck. From time to time, he opened it up, spilled the contents into his palm. Inspected the glowing stone in the shape of a bear: the stone that Bent had taken from the Womb of the World.

  To set down this burden, he knew that he must return to the Womb of the World.

  Spring arrived. Streams burbled. The earth smelled clean. Birdsong filled the valley. Fawns curled up in dappled forest. Blah, blah, blah. Mouse saw it all, but the beauty only hurt him more.

  Guided by Bear, he led his family back to the clearing where he'd been reborn from the cave. As they drew near, a deep hum rumbled in their chests. A hum of the deepest silence.

  Legend would always say that Mouse drew something from his medicine pouch, crawled under that rock overhang into the cave, and his spirit left his body.

  It was a little more complicated than that. It was more like he stopped making decisions there. He breathed in that sweet air, and the reasons for and against any choice after that were so numerous that he just gave up. Breathe or not breathe? Eat drink, speak, move? It was all too complicated. It wasn't so much that his spirit left his body, but that his body abandoned his spirit, and his spirit, homeless, had to leave.

  Generations were born and died. Year-by-year, the gash opened like a mouth. The story of Mouse passed from father to son, mother to daughter many times.

  And then one autumn, the bearded men came.

  Chapter 3

 
; It was 1861, and the family farm had the Johnson boys by the balls. Paul and Edward slaved six days a week, nursed their aching muscles on Sunday, then stumbled out at four a.m. Monday to plow turf, feed stock, haul water, prop up sagging fences, and every once in a while catch a glimpse of a girl, usually in the distance. Usually with her husband. Paul could see the future as plain as the Illinois horizon. Every single day of it would look exactly like today, until they dropped dead of exhaustion at age thirty, like their father.

  So when Paul heard a rumor of a city called Denver, a city of adventure, he didn't waste a lot of time dithering over whether he should give it a try, wondering whether it would be worth the risk. Pike's Peak Territory was littered with gold, they said, and all you had to do was pick up the nuggets lying on the ground. The problem was, after Paul was gone, Ma and Edward would have to hire a farm hand. Well, they'd just have to find the money, because Paul was leaving. He called a family meeting.

  "I'm going to Denver to make my fortune," he said.

  Before Paul even finished explaining, Edward stood and walked into the bedroom.

  Ma wept silently.

  "Look, don't be like that," said Paul. "Just listen to me."

  "I have listened," said Edward. "And I'm packing my kit. I'm going, too. Sorry, Ma."

  A week later, Paul and Edward joined a wagon train headed west.

  Denver swarmed with young men. The Johnson boys got drunk and slept late and reveled in stories of great riches and Indians and manly deeds, but they didn't find any gold on the street. Never mind, it was an adventure! They tailed a group of 59'ers toward the mountains and into a steep-walled canyon, crisscrossing a stream on a rough dirt track. Their boots disintegrated. Their feet bled. They filled their pockets with shiny rocks the whole way.

  Several days from Denver, they came upon a sagging canvas tent where a board across two barrels served as a bar and fearless pack rats with teeth the size of a girl's fingers helped themselves from flour sacks heaped in the corner.

  That was where they learned that the sparkling rocks they'd collected so gleefully on the way up the canyon were worthless. The boys paid fifty cents for something called Indian whiskey, a lecture on gold prospecting and the privilege of sleeping on the dirt floor. Since it was sleeting outside, that seemed like a bargain.

  They befriended Rudy, a man they’d met on the trail that day who was slightly more seasoned than them, and full of advice, because everything you could do wrong, he’d already done. He seemed like a good kind of fellow, not a slickster out to take everything you had like a lot of the guys they met around, but a good sort, an honest Illinois boy like themselves. As they bedded down, their new friend rolled over. In the firelight, Paul could see the stain at Rudy's crotch and hoped to God it wasn’t what he thought it was.