Chapter 2

It was a ‘greasy spoon,’ such as had been commonly built in the 1950’s in small towns across America. There were six Formica tables, and seats covered in green Naugahyde. Along one side of the room ran a counter capable of seating ten people. Spaced along its length were the standard round stools; the kind of stool that allowed a kid to sit and spin. At every other stool, there was a napkin holder, a salt shaker, a pepper shaker, and a sugar container that allowed you to pour out the sugar through a flap covered hole. At one end of the counter was an old cash register that was purely mechanical in its construction. Glass shelves, with a greenish hue when viewed edge on, ran along the mirror-covered wall behind the counter. Stacked in neat rows on the shelves were glasses, scratched from long use. There were water glasses, sundae cups, and tall glasses for milk shakes. The odor of grease hung heavily in the air.

He didn’t notice anything except a small vanity mirror by the door. The mirror didn’t catch his attention, but his reflection did. The face that stared back at him was not the face with which he was familiar. A major portion of his beard had turned snow white! Everything was white except for a four-inch wide stripe under his mouth. That had remained his natural color. Less noticeable was his receding hairline. He had started losing hair when he was twenty-two. Now his hairline had returned to where it had been when he was eighteen. The hair on his head was thick and luxurious again.

His stomach tensed as he stared at himself in discomfort. He could feel a headache developing as he questioned what he was seeing, yet unable to deny what looked back at him in the mirror. He was a scientist, and recent events were not conforming to any reality that he understood.

A female voice interrupted his self-examination and moment of introspection. Not having heard what had been said, he replied, “Pardon?”

“I said, are you going to stand there admiring yourself in the mirror or come in and get something to eat?” the woman answered.

He turned and saw the woman sitting on a stool at the end of the counter with a newspaper opened in front of her. She was in her late thirties or early forties; but she was still a very nice looking woman who bore her maturity with grace and retained an obvious sensuality. She had the high cheekbones and the dark coloring that immediately identified her as having American Indian ancestry. Her jet-black hair was up in a bun; not the simple kind in which the hair was simply twisted, but the old fashioned kind that suggested very long hair.

Smiling weakly to hide his discomfort, he replied, “I’ve been hiking for a couple of weeks and didn’t recognize myself. Didn’t remember being this ugly!”

The waitress didn’t find him ugly at all. In fact, she found his appearance intriguing. She laughed and said, “Well, handsome, you want a table or would you prefer the counter?”

“I’ll take the counter if you don’t mind joining me. I haven’t had much opportunity to talk to anyone but squirrels for a long time,” he replied. The knot in his stomach slowly loosened.

“And you think that I’ll be a better conversationalist than the squirrels?”

Surprised at her answer, he grinned and said, “I don’t know. They sure know a lot about nuts. It was nice to talk about myself so much.”

“Ugly and nuts, great!”

She put the back of her hand to her forehead in a gesture like a heroine in a movie faced with imminent demise. His self-depreciating wit impressed her. Experience with men in the past suggested that he was actually very confident about himself and didn’t feel a need to impress anyone with brash exaggeration. He would be the type of man who was goofy at times, considerate most of the time, attentive to others, and probably very good in bed. She shot back, “What was their advice?”

“That I should be buried under some leaves and dug up in winter when they’re hungry,” he answered laughing heartily. His initial discomfort at the door was behind him.

“Smart squirrels.”

“Speaking of digging things up to eat, I’m starving,” he said as he threw his hands over his heart as though mortally wounded at her rejoinder. His comment was punctuated by an embarrassingly loud growl from his stomach.

The waitress decided she liked the young man, and gestured to the chair next to her. She said, “Sit here. The cook is out so all I can do for you is make a roast beef sandwich and give you a bowl of soup. Is that okay?”

“That’s fine,” he answered as he made his way to the chair at which she had pointed. He swung the backpack off his shoulders and set it down beside the chair. The waitress headed into the kitchen to make the sandwich.

As he sat down, the heavy weight of the medallion swinging freely under his shirt reminded him of the morning’s events. He pulled it out to examine it. In the center was an imprint of a valley that looked a lot like the valley formed by a woman’s legs. Above the image were the words, ‘TO CROSS,’ while below it were the words, ‘A CHASM.’ He read the words aloud, “To cross a chasm.”

He turned the medallion over. The same picture was in the center. Above the imprint were the words, ‘A CHASM,’ while below it were the words, ‘TO CROSS.’ Again, he read the words aloud, “A chasm to cross.”

He looked up and stared into the distance as he replayed the earlier events in his memory. He had crossed a chasm to reach the medallion. Along the way, he had rescued a child; a rescue that could have cost him his freedom, for the rest of his life. He came up with a hundred interpretations concerning the meaning of the medallion, and each was immediately shot down. He recalled the pain and exhaustion as he climbed from the ravine and wondered if that was to be his fate.

A hand resting itself upon his abruptly interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see the waitress looking into his eyes with great concern. There was also a great tension present. In almost a whisper, she asked, “When did you get that?”

“Today.”

“Ah,” she said while nodding her head. “That explains a lot.”

He wrinkled his face in confusion and asked, “What do you mean?”

A far-away and slightly haunted look entered her eyes as she answered his question, “Like many women in my tribe, I started to gain weight when I hit my mid-twenties. I had really gotten quite fat. I lost forty pounds the day I got my medallion. I’ve never had to worry about weight since then. I looked at myself the first time I saw a mirror the same way you were looking at yourself.”

“So how long was I standing there?”

“About ten minutes,” she answered. She added, “Eat. You’re probably very hungry.”

“Did you get raped, too?” he asked and then realized what he had said. His stomach clenched again. He quickly recovered and said, “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. It was very rude of me.”

She looked at him in shock at the revelation implied in his question. She could see the tension in him. It matched the tension within her. This was something that she could not bring herself to discuss with others; even with others that had been through something similar. In an effort to ease the building tension she said “No, I wasn’t raped, and I’m not upset that you asked, so relax. I imagine by your question that you’ve been through a lot, though.”

“I guess so. I don’t know what it all means.” He shrugged his shoulders wanting to end the subject at that point. He realized that he didn’t want to talk about his experience and got the distinct impression that she didn’t want to talk about her experience, either. Looking around he noticed the soup and sandwich on the counter in front of him. He picked up the spoon and took a spoonful of the soup. It was minestrone. He sipped and then murmured, “Hmmm, good.”

Relieved at the change in direction of the conversation, she laughed and said, “That’s supposed to be - ‘Mm! mm! Good!’ It’s Campbell’s, straight out of the can.”

“Just the kind of woman that I like - handy with a can-opener,” he replied. His hunger took over and he concentrated on eating. The waitress watched him eat. She knew from personal experience that he would never be able to talk about the events that had occurred to him. He needed to work off some his energy and tension. When he finally finished his sandwich, she proposed, “I’ll tell you what. If you’ll wash the dishes the lunch is free, but I’ve got to warn you that we’ve got a lot of dishes.”

He had more than enough money for his entire trip, but appreciated the offer. He was about to decline and then changed his mind. The chance to work for a while would make him feel better. He smiled and, “Sure, I’ll do it. By the way, my name’s John Carter.”

“Nice to meet you John Carter. I’m Lily Green,” she said.

“Lily Green. That’s a pretty name,” he commented pausing a moment to see if she was going to respond. Seeing the slight shrug of her shoulders, he added, “I guess I better get to work on those dishes.”

“Okay, let me show you around the joint,” she replied. It only took her a few minutes to show him around the restaurant. Then she pointed out the bins containing the dirty dishes, and the sink. She watched as he carried the bins into the kitchen, noticing that he stepped into the job like he had done it before.

She returned to her stool and newspaper while he worked in the back. She spent some time considering the revelations that John had let slip and tried to work out the feelings that he must be experiencing. After a while she gave up, recognizing that he would let someone know if he chose, or he would drop the subject forever. Regardless, it was highly unlikely that he would turn to her for comfort or explanation. The only thing that suggested he might turn to her, was the fact that she had a medallion, too. She turned to the newspaper. It didn’t take her long to finish reading the small-town paper.

Having wasted too much time, she started straightening up the restaurant for the evening rush (if the ten or so parties that would come in could be considered a rush). It didn’t take her long to refill the salt, pepper, and sugar containers. She poured the ketchup of half-empty bottles into other half-empty bottles. After that, she refilled the napkin holders. Returning to the counter, she found that the silverware racks had been refilled. She hadn’t noticed when John had brought them out. She started setting the tables when she noticed that the silverware looked a lot cleaner than normal. She shrugged it off and finished setting silverware out on all of the tables and along the counter. It was about this time that she realized he had been in the kitchen area for a lot longer than was required to wash the dishes. She called out, “Hey, you okay in there?”

John’s voice came drifting out from the kitchen. “Yeah, I’m almost done in here. Give me about five more minutes.”

Lily glanced at the clock and noted that the boss would be returning anytime, now. She wondered what had taken John so long. There weren’t that many dishes. She started to head back to the kitchen when she heard the owner’s shout.

“Jesus H. Christ!”

She ran into the kitchen in time to hear John reply, “No. I’m John. John Carter.”

The portly man stared at him in shock and then burst out laughing, “I’m George. George Ericson. Are you the one that cleaned up this kitchen?”

“Yeah, I guess I got a little carried away.”

Lily looked around at the kitchen. It was spotless. The hoods over the stove were shiny. The floor was clean. The shelves on which the can goods were stacked had been washed. The dishwasher was spotless. She gasped and asked, “My God, how did you get all of that done so quickly?”

John shrugged his shoulders and answered, “I guess I had a little energy to burn off. I fixed the water heater. The wire to the upper heater was shorting out against the second refrigerator. That one will work now too. The dishwasher needed a little adjustment here and there. It’s fine now.”

George stared open mouthed at John. He said, “I had some guy out here last week and he said it would cost me $500 to fix the electrical wiring and that I would have to buy a new refrigerator.”

“No, the wiring was just a simple short. I would say that the fridge is working fine now. It should be cool enough for you to load it up with the dairy products in a couple of hours. I’m sure the health code stipulates that you can’t store meat and dairy in the same refrigerator.”

George looked around for several seconds and then said, “I never thought I would see it this clean again. It looks like the day after I took over the place from my dad. Wow.”

Lily shook her head in amazement. John had performed a minor miracle here. In an attempt to escape excessive thanks, John spoke up, “Well, I’d better get going. I’ll be back for dinner, though. I noticed the pot roast in the oven, and it looks very good.”

George who was about to thank John for all of his hard work found himself responding to the compliment when he said, “It’s an old family recipe.”

“Well, it sure looks and smells good,” replied John. He continued, “It’s been nice meeting you, Mr. Ericson. Lily, I hope I’ll see you at dinner time?”

“Ah, sure,” she replied rather surprised at the sudden turn in the conversation. She realized that he was really rather bashful about being praised. She hesitated and then asked, “Where are you going?”

“Um, I’m going to see about finding a campsite. I didn’t notice a hotel so I’ve got to select a camp site before it gets dark.”