The Digger's Rest (47 page)

A hush fell over the room, disbelief etching
itself on the faces of everyone in the audience. Simon waited a
moment then began again.

“
I know. I wouldn’t have believed it
either, but it gets even more unbelievable. This dragon, most
likely choosing Revelstoke for its remoteness and close access to
the sea, was not just any dragon. It was a female needing to nest,
to bear the offspring it carried from some far-off region. The
testing on the remains you are about to see produced results like
none other known to the current state of science as verified by The
Museum of Natural History. The best the DNA could tell us was that
it was most similar to a desert lizard common to the area between
the Tigris and Euphrates rivers in the country currently know as
Iraq and even at that, one that they believe should have been
extinct for thousands of years.”

“
As the story goes on, finding their
castle in ruins and their people dead, used for food by the invader
and believing it to be a devil or demon as their tradition would
have told them, Lord Revelstoke enlisted the aid of the Catholic
hierarchy of the area, who then joined forces with the still
thriving indigenous Druid culture to storm the castle and slay the
dragon. What they didn’t know at the time was that the creature was
a gestating female in a weakened state by her labor, so when they
burst in on her lair, they were faced with a sight that would haunt
them to their graves, the mother dragon holding her newborn
offspring, and they slew them both.” Simon stopped for a moment to
take a breath, a drink of water, and to let the audience absorb
what he’d just said.

“
Another fact they didn’t know was that
in their absence, a cult arose around the castle, one which also
believed that the creature was either the devil or some demon sent
by him, and worshipped it. Once discovered, those cultists were
also slain and burned by the local clerics of both religions, but
not before they gave the creature and her child what they believed
to be a proper burial.

“
The ‘gravestone’ you will also see
here tonight, is one of the finest examples of mosaic work to
survive the period, rivaling the artistry of the Roman Empire. Also
on display is a collection of jewelry believed to be the heirlooms
of the lady of the castle, also no less than a thousand years old,
along with various other relics and artifacts that give us a unique
look into the lives of the period, generally, and of those involved
in the fantastic events of this castle in particular. To this end,
Dr. Edgeworth, our dedicated and talented staff and I have taken
great pains to reproduce for you here tonight the environment I
have just described, using the authentic artifacts found in and
around the site. I now give you, The Devon Dragon,” Simon finished,
giving another sign with his hand.

The long blue velvet curtain behind the
platform rose to reveal a replica of the castle towers as they
found them. The platform was then pulled away to the side and the
entry way though the towers opened up for the audience to walk
through.

As each passer-by followed the arrowed signs
around the velvet rope, they saw, first, a knight in armor,
kneeling before the bejeweled sword they found. The next scene was
of a noble woman, the Lady of the Manor, sitting at her dressing
table; a grand display of jewels before her, appearing to choose
from them what she would wear.

The next tableau was of the young Lord
Eadwyn, his page Peter dressing him in chain mail and armor, as if
sending him into battle. The final scene was of a bed chamber with
a maiden princess lying peacefully asleep, a large box of gold
trinkets and items opened at the foot of the bed, her dowry.

In the center area of the reproduced castle
another blue velvet curtain was hung and when everyone had had a
chance to view the scenes, they waited around it expectantly. When
Jack was sure he had everyone’s attention, he spoke. “Ladies and
Gentlemen, on behalf of The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Dr.
Mitchell Bramson, Dr. Simon Holly and I present to you, The Devon
Dragon,” and Simon pulled the cord, raising the curtain to reveal
the large hermetically sealed clear glass case which held the
skeletal remains of…the creature and her child, her jaw set open
from her last cry of anguish before death, her long clawed hands
wrapped around the child as a human might do, her wings
retracted.

The room went riot, camera flashes exploding,
news cameras zooming in, chaotic applause, gasps, and shouts, some
men grabbing their wives as they fainted at the sight if it, taking
them back out into the larger room. Possibly even more frightening
and disturbing than the creature itself was the mosaic tablet
propped up behind it, the face and torso of the creature as it had
been in life, entwined with the wolf and the serpent with the word
below the image, Genetrix, translated below for the public,
‘Mother’, and rising behind it, the ancient granite Celtic cross
that had guarded those remains from being disturbed.

Chapter XXIV

THE HUMAN TOUCH

And if you're listening God, please, Don't
make it

hard

To know if we should believe the things that
we see

Tell us, should we try to stay,

Should we run away, or would it be better
just to let

things be?

Living here in this brand new world

Might be a fantasy,

But its taught me to love

So its real, real, real to me

And I've learned

That we must look inside our hearts

To find

A world full of love

Like yours, Like mine

Like Home

Home

………
...As performed by the Original
Broadway

Cast of The Wiz

After the crowd had calmed down to a dull
roar, Jack and Simon slipped away to the side of the room. “I
really should go now, Dr. Edgeworth. It’s getting late and…Do you
mind?” Simon asked, shuffling nervously. Jack took Simon gently by
the arm, deeper into a corner farthest from the crowd. His eyes
were pensive, penetrating, as he looked into Simon’s.

“
You think you can do it?” he asked
under his breath.

“
Yes, I think I can,” Simon said
nodding.

“
Anything you need, just tell me and
you’ll have it. Anything at all,” Jack said staring into him. “You
understand?” Jack asked, pulling up his shirt sleeve to show Simon
the scar on his wrist.

Simon nodded again, pulling up his own sleeve
and showing his scar to Jack. “I understand.”

Jack took Simon in his arms and hugged him
tightly, “You’re a good boy, Simon. I’m so proud of you,” then went
back to Alida who was waiting for him at the edge of the crowd. He
still had so much PR to do to make it all work.

***

Simon opened the door to his apartment at the
Dakota, took off his jacket and messed up his hair, walking over to
the figure with the long hair in the wheelchair sitting in front of
the television set. He put his hand on his shoulder. “Whadja
think?” he asked.

A voice came from the figure; grinding,
almost garbled. “I am so…very…proud of you,” he said. “You’ve
become…everything I’ve always…wanted for you,” the voice said, his
head dropping down, crying. “You’re so brilliant. You should
have…just let me…die. Made a home…for yourself…lived your own
life.”

Simon walked around the chair and got down on
one knee. He wiped the tears from the man’s face, but was unable to
hold back his own. Simon raised the man’s head with his hand,
looking into those green, catlike eyes, the eye socket and cheek
bone on the right side crushed and scarred, his jaw disfigured and
hanging slack, making it difficult for him to speak.

“
But you are my home. There’ll never be
any other for me,” Simon said and took him in his arms, sobbing.
“I’ll make it better. I’ll fix everything. I promise. I took care
of the pain, didn’t I?” he said looking back at him and waving his
hand in front of his face.
“Sleep.”

***

Simon pushed the wheelchair over to the bed
and maneuvered Mitch onto it, laying him out in a straight line,
then went into the bathroom. He slowly took off his shirt, turning
his back to face the mirror so he could look back over his
shoulder. A blaze of color ran across his back, boughs of holly on
one side trailing down the back of his arm, thick swirls of ivy
vines on the other side, trailing down the back of his other arm,
the figure of an ancient Celtic cross, gray granite, coming up the
center of his back, stopping only at the base of his hairline.

He went over to a small wooden box bound with
wrought-iron straps, opened it and took out two small back roots,
putting them in a wooden bowl beside the box and taking them both
with him back into the bedroom.

He turned on the light and set the bowl on
the bedside table, the small knife he always carried in his pocket
appeared in his hand. He sliced the two roots in half, making four
pieces, then held out his wrist over the bowl and cut. The roots
soaked, he took the bowl and sat down on the side of the bed,
placing each of the four halves alongside Mitch’s jaw line.
Confident that they were properly placed, he moved toward the foot
of the bed and stood shirtless, raising his arms to the sky;
chanting in the language the old man had taught him.

The bed began to tremble slightly and
the air seemed to take on the feel of whirling particle movement
around the bed. When he was finished, he went back around to the
side of the bed and took Mitch’s right hand in his, waving his left
over his face.
“Heal,”
he said
commandingly, and covered Mitch’s face with a light damp
cloth.

Drained and exhausted, he took his pillow and
blanket from the foot of the bed and lay down on the floor next to
it, concentrating on the healing he wanted to be done. Out of the
back of his mind music came to his ears, putting words to his
thoughts; a song he heard on the cab radio riding back from the
museum earlier. He drifted off. “If I lay here. If I just lay here.
Would you lay with me and forget about the world?…”

***

That night Jack Edgeworth was twenty-three
again. His hair was long and he had a beard; dressed in his old
digging clothes. He was sitting at a table at the Village Vanguard,
close to the stage.

The room was crowded and smoky. He could
smell the pot smoke wafting past him from the back of the room. He
looked toward the smell and found a young man with long red hair
was passing him a joint. He took it and hit it, then passed it to a
black girl with a big Afro wearing a Dashiki and big dangly
earrings at the table next to him.

When he looked back up toward the stage, she
was there on her stool with her long hair, hippy clothes and
guitar, her feline green eyes sparkling and young again, like he
was.

The lights went down. He was mesmerized. She
looked at him smiling, directly at him, and winked, then started to
sing and play, “Through my child’s eyes.” The crowd went wild.

He stood up, not being able to take his
eyes off her, clapping and whistling. “He’s our boy,” Jack said to
her under his breath. She nodded to him as if she’d heard what he’d
said, happy again.
“Yes, he is our
boy,”
he heard her whisper behind his ear.

***

The next morning Simon got up, washed his
face and put on a shirt before going back to the bed; newspaper, a
damp wash cloth and a mirror in his hand. He took the root halves
off Mitch’s face and gently washed away what was left of the dried
blood.

The scars along his jaw were gone and his
bones had healed, looking the same as the day they had first met.
Simon smiled to himself with a great heaving sigh of relief,
satisfied now, that he could do it all. It might take some time,
but yes, he could do it all.

He waved his hand in front of Mitch’s
face
. “Awake.”

Mitch opened his eyes to see Simon sitting
there on the edge of his bed. Simon held up the mirror. “Look!” he
said proudly, like a child who’d just brought home his first A.
Mitch closed his eyes and turned his head away, afraid to see what
had become of him.

“
Really, it’s okay. Please, look,”
Simon said insistently, holding the mirror closer.

Mitch looked, astonishment washing over his
face like a ripple trailing through a still pond at what he saw
there in the mirror.

Simon helped him up into his chair again and
pushed it back in front of the television, the mirror in his lap,
and went into the kitchen to make their breakfast. When he came
back with the breakfast tray, he was already dressed for work.
Simon put the tray on the arms of the chair, whispering in his ear.
“I told you I would take care of it.” Mitch looked up at him, his
eyes shining again, like they used to. He reached for Simon’s hand
with his crippled one, motioning with his head for Simon to come
closer, then whispered in his ear. “You are the best of anything I
could have ever done with my life,” he said in perfect but
quavering voice.

Simon kissed him on the forehead and stood
up, taller and straighter than he ever in his life believed he
could. “I have to go to work now, and I’d like to bring Jack back
with me tonight for dinner. He misses you so much,” he said walking
towards the door; the old roots wrapped in newspaper for the
incinerator.

Mitch nodded, smiling as he looked in the
mirror again.

“
And I’m going to book us for a trip to
China next summer on my lunch break, you, me and Jack. I’ve always
wanted to see the Qin terra cotta soldiers and horses at
Xian.”