The Cordovian Effect - Chpt 2

      Over the next couple of days I made my way across Texas... across US 287... heading to Arizona and to Sedona. The distance gave me time to think, to read the files from Charlie, to adjust to my new... situation. As far as I could tell, I was me in every regard.

       I ate when I was hungry, slept when I grew tired and as the day wore on, I was tired to the bone of me. I was surprised by the fragility of my body. I had thought being one of Roger's creations, being a machine, I would have limitless energy, strength and endurance beyond the norm but I did not.

     As the road slipped away beneath me, I had begun to feel as though I were neither man nor machine... something else, something in between, though I had no idea what.

      The landscape, a dull beige with a smattering of vegetation, flashed beyond the truck window. My butt grew numb as a sixteen hour drive turned into twenty with wrong turns, bathroom breaks and burger stops.

Eventually the ground rose, becoming steeper, rougher and more red in color. I wondered endlessly until I was tired beyond belief and after three tries found the address I had been looking for, pulling into the driveway at long last.

I tried one of the keys attached to the ring, sliding it into the lock. A twist and a faint click, and the kitchen door off the driveway swung easily open. I allowed it to drift to a stop, listening. I could hear the tick of a clock but little else. I was filled with a level of apprehension. After a moment, I stepped inside.

The walls were covered with a rough texture and painted a pleasant, pale yellow. The dining table and matching chairs as well as most of the furnishings I could see, where all of a southwest design.

The cabinets, a light colored oak, were topped with a reddish tile that matched the floor. Several different types of beans filled the drawer faces, like little windows, adding depth and color to the room.

Suspended from the ceiling, a large stainless steel pot rack hovered over an island. From it, attached with thick hooks, hung a variety of copper pots and pans, at both ends, woven together in large clusters, ristras of thin red chilies.

Expelling small puffs of steam, a covered pan on the cook top, filled the air with the aroma of something cooking which meant someone was here.

The wall behind it held an arc of tile, framing a mural of a Spanish woman's face with a pastoral background.

On the opposite wall a strange painting that felt out of place. Painted in exacting, almost photographic detail... a French cafe. Contained behind thin, silver post, tied together with loops of black chains, placed on a stone patio were nine empty tables. Each were covered with a clean, crisp, white tablecloth... fully set with fluted glasses, blue dish ware and red napkins. A vibrant blue umbrella with white letters around its brim sprouted out of the center of each, casting an inviting morning shadow.

I studied it for a moment, amazed at the detail, curious about its contrast... its unlikely placement among the other items in this house. It ate at me as I continued my exploration.

The floor, a terracotta of burnished browns and yellows, stretched well beyond the kitchen itself, appearing to run throughout the entire house. I followed it, standing between the kitchen and the living room. Here the walls changed color, bursting to life in bright whites and burnt oranges.

A Navajo rug in muted reds and blues lay under a glass wrought iron table that separated a couch and two chairs. A bronze statue of two elk locking horns sat at its center.

Built from peeler cores, the furniture had been covered with a fabric with a pattern that mirrored that of the rug. The lamps, made from a cream colored earthenware had been placed at each end of the couch, each bore the stylized imprints of birds.

Over the mantel, a large, broad, rough hewn picture frame held the image of a horse. Painted in rich browns, the horse's graying main was blowing wildly in one direction and two Indian feathers in the other, commanded the room's attention. Every inch of wall was covered with Contemporary Western Art, leaving no more than an inch between each frame.

By contrast, my attention was drawn to the entry way. At its heart, a large, darkly stained oak door framed a glass enclosed wrought iron design. Flooding the entry with light, two matching side lights pressed against the walls. To the right of the door a long, thin table, directly over it... a mirror.

To the left of the door nothing... empty with one lone exception. Dead center in this vacant wall was one, small, black and white photograph.

It was of two smiling people, a man and a woman, their faces pressed close together, between them they held a modest sized mirror. Barely visible in its reflection, a younger version of the former me.

My heart, for I had no better word for it, jumped in my chest. My mind whirled, spinning wildly as the faces pictured there vaulted to the forefront.

"Kate," I whispered to myself and I was awash in mental pictures and memories of my sister and of Roger. Taken shortly after my thirty eighth birthday it was one of, if not the only, picture of me in existence. Gently, I pressed my finger tips to the glass that protected it from the outside world. In the bottom right hand corner of this portrait of my past, the words written in her own hand... "This is us, happy for you."

It took me a moment to remember where I had seen it last. Then it occurred to me. It was the photo missing from Kate's house the first time I met Roger's second wife, Jessica.

A chain reaction of memory... a torrent of the past, suddenly filled me. In that moment all my fears, all my joys, all my accomplishments and failures tied themselves end to end to become a single thread that brought me to here.

From somewhere in the back of the house the sound of a door opening and then closing assaulted me, bringing me back to my surroundings. I felt a sudden surge of panic, though I had no idea why.

Softly, the familiar rhythm of shuffling feet reached me. As I turned, an elderly woman, bent with age and long white hair entered the kitchen.

I stood frozen with indecision.

Halfway to the stove she stopped... making eye contact with me. She made no movement, no sound... she just stood there... staring at me. Finally, she moved to the island, pulling open a drawer. With her head lowered, she retrieved a large knife. Her eyes locked on me as she turned it over in her frail hands, pinching the sharp edge between her thumb and index finger. Then with shocking swiftness she stabbed it into the cutting board. The handle quivered in the air from the shear force of her thrust. She lifted her chin in acknowledgment of my presence... her eyes, still locked on me.

I had no idea what to do.

At last she spoke, saying something in Spanish as she turned her back to me to attend to the pot on the stove.

"I'm sorry. I don't speak Spanish," I apologized, making my way to the division between the kitchen and living room.

"She said, take what you want and get out."

Leaning against the wall with her arms folded, a woman in her mid thirties, gave me a very sour look. She was dressed in a smooth pair of black slacks and a short sleeve black and red top. Around her waist, a woven belt, detailed in blue along its top and bottom edge as well as small, intricate, silver clusters sown to its surface. Around her neck, several of the same clusters of silver were tied together to form a necklace. Her long black hair shimmered, revealing a set of matching earrings. Her cheek bones defined her elegant face. Her caramel skin was amazing.

"Hi. I'm afraid we've gotten off on the wrong foot. I'm Ben Harr..." I said, catching myself. "I haven't been here for a while. I'm Jon," I said as firmly as I could, holding out my hand to her.

The old woman spoke to the younger in Spanish again.

I turned to see her reaction as she spoke to the elder in Spanish in return.

"Again, I don't speak Spanish," I said, making little effort to hide my irritation.

"She said... she doesn't believe you've ever stepped foot in this house before now." Her arms were still folded, stepping closer, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Well I... I... I have a driver's licence. It says I live here," I stammered, reaching for my wallet.

"I'm sure it does," the younger replied with disinterest, taking her turn at stirring the pot.

The old woman now moved closer, standing virtually in front of me. She looked me up and down with open disdain before speaking.

"What did she say?" I asked, holding out my hands, turning to the younger.

She stood with her back to me, sipping from a large wooden spoon at the pot on the stove.

"She asked if you know where the bathroom is," she said over her shoulder.

"Doesn't she know?" I asked, trying to stall. I shifted slightly to glance down the hall, hoping to catch a clue but was denied, all the doors were closed.

"She does, but I would wager she's correct. You've never set foot in this house before now."

She had me. I had to think of something to turn it around.

"Who's he mommy?" a young girl of seven or so asked. She was wet from head to toe and wrapped in a bath towel, having left a trail of wet foot prints on the tile floor.

"Meho, go to your room," the younger woman scolded turning to wrap the child tighter. She shot me a concerned look.

"But momma..."

From down the hall the unmistakable sound of a dog on the run... its nails clicking loudly as it tried hard to gain traction. It was heading straight toward us, more accurately, straight toward me.

The old woman who still stood in front of me finally broke eye contact, glancing quickly toward the door and then to me.

I followed her gaze and the thought of escape jumped immediately to mind but before I could move the dog turned the corner.

Powering full speed in my direction a large pit bull; it's huge square head bobbed up and down with each new lunge forward accompanied by an angry grunt, its face filled with evil intent. Black from head to toe with a white swath that stretched from between his ears to the center of its broad, muscular chest. Its mouth, full of teeth gaped open wider and wider the closer it drew to me.

At that instant the dog and I made eye contact for the first time. Something in the back of my head 'clicked' for lack of a better word and a thousand sounds and images flashed through my mind and then...

"Assay, Buster, assay," I shouted holding out my hand to stop the creature.

To my surprise it slid to a stop at my feet. It stared up at me for a moment and then placed a thick paw on my foot.

"Houdini," The younger woman called brusquely.

The dog ignored her call laying at my feet rolling over onto its back.

"His name is Buster." I offered, bending to pet him, uncertain how I knew.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Jon Ironwood. What's yours?"

"Rose Lozano. Jon Ironwood? The Jon Ironwood?"

"Well Rose, I don't know about the but yes... I'm Jon Ironwood."

"The sculptor? You? I thought you were... older."

"Older than what?"

"Everyone in the Art world knows your work... it's just... I thought sure you would be older."

"Look, I'm sure you're mistaken but this is my home. I've been away for awhile and now I'm back."

"I heard... a nervous breakdown."

A nervous breakdown? I didn't know what to say to that and we just stood there. The words jolted me. Roger wouldn't have done that to me would he? I mean we pulled practical jokes on each other from time to time but a nervous breakdown... now?

"No... let me think. A sabbatical? Burnt out? Someone left you at the alter... sorry I don't remember the details. There were a lot of rumors."

"Let's just say I've been gone for a while."

"Where?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Where? Where did you go. You've rose to the top of the Art world like a rocket. You were in demand world wide. Anyone who was anyone knew who you were and then five years ago at the top of your game you just disappeared."

"Is it important?"

"No," she said now visibly uncomfortable.

Her sudden discomfort made me feel like an a*s.

"It's personal. If it’s okay with you I don't want to talk about it. Let's leave it at that."

She moved closer, looking me over as if evaluating me from head to toe.

"A recluse? I can respect that." She said as her expression darkened.

"It's a nice house," I offered.

"Yes, but it’s your house. I guess we'll have to go now."

"It's too big for just me. You should stay."

"We couldn't possibly."

"Well that would be a pity. I hadn't planned on staying all that long in the first place."

She just stood there looking at me as if I were someone she knew from the past, rubbing her arm.

The old woman spoke again. I had almost forgotten about her as I turned my attention in her direction.

"She says you spoke to the dog in Navajo an you don't look Navajo."

"Did I?"

Rose leaned to her left to look around me to confirm the old woman's claim.

"Yes you did and while we're at it how did you know his name was Buster? He was here when I moved in and I've lived here for a little over four years and have never seen you before now."

Damn if she didn't have me again. My mind raced looking for a believable explanation.

"The dog I grew up with was named Buster. What can I say?? When I like a name... I like a name. Besides Buster is a dog’s name. What else would you call him?"

"We call him Houdini. There's not a gate, fence, door or building that can hold him once he's made up his mind. We've locked him up, tied him with chains and he still gets out. We were panicked by it at first terrified he would kill the neighbors cats or worse, bite someone. We would look everywhere for him and he would simply disappear. We were sure he was trouble but he always shows up at the bus stop two minutes before the bus arrives. He just sits there and waits patiently for Carona."

"I take it Carona is your daughter?"

"She is my everything."

Silence crept over us for a moment or so before the old woman spoke again pushing roughly past me.

"She said dinner was going to burn," Rose explained rushing to grip her arm and the two women began to argue in Spanish.

"Am I missing something?"

"This is my mother Xuxa. Excuse us for a minute, Please, it’s your house make yourself to home," She said in rushed tones before arguing with her mother once more.

They continued to argue far longer than I would have thought and from my vantage point the old lady was winning.

"Look I don't want to start any trouble, perhaps I should..."

"No, please its just mother being her own stubborn self."

"What is she saying? Maybe I could, I don't know, do something."

Rose held a dish towel twisting it in her hands as they began to argue again.

"Please if you're arguing because of me I can..."

She held her hand up stopping me as she continued to argue. At last they stopped both turning in my direction.

"I'm sorry, she insists on seeing your driver's licence."

"Not a problem," I returned stepping closer removing my wallet. To my surprise the old woman pulled the knife out of the cutting board twisting it in her hands several times as I stretched out to hand Rose my licence.

She inspected it intently before handing it to her mother. The old woman held it at eye level glancing between it and me before throwing it to the cutting board with disinterest and then spoke again.

"She thinks you are a coyote... a Yenaaldlooskii... a shape shifter," she said weakly.

The old woman gave me a sour look before returning to the stove.

My face must have shown how confused I felt. Rose's face was one of embarrassment and then it shifted to one of sympathy.

"Come on, there's a guest house out back... come on I'll show you."

I passed on dinner, explaining I was too tired to eat. I spent the night on an old wobbly cot covered with a single, moth eaten blanket. What had been a guest house some time in the past now bore little resemblance to its original purpose.

Its walls were an off white, smooth and well over nine feet tall and now covered with all manner of splattered paint in every color of the rainbow.. The room was fairly large surrounded on three sides by a multitude of windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. The morning sun poured in, flooding what in the beginning would have been a living room.

Standing in the center on a low, thick work table a block of granite three foot on a side and well over seven foot tall; jutting out as if rising out of the stone itself the head and hooves of a rearing horse. A thousand stone chips littered the floor, crunching under my feet as I walked a full circle in its inspection.

Without thinking I ran my hand over its surface. At the instant my hand came to rest on the carved out portion of the horse's head my mind was flooded with thousands and thousands of memories and images not my own.

I struggled to understand them, to make them fit into the life I remembered. They did not. They belonged to someone else. After a few moments they began to sort themselves out lining up like ducks in a row. To my surprise each started wrapping themselves around the time line I had been imbued with and then they began to fade... not fade like going away but fade as if placed in a drawer to be opened later.

I now knew how this was made and to my personal surprise, how to finish it. I had a complete 'blueprint' in my head down to the last detail... how exactly to hold the hammer & chisel to get what was needed out of the stone because some part of me from the past had gotten it this far.

"Are you hungry?" Rose asked suddenly there. “Would you like something for breakfast?"

"Yeah, I am. How about you?”

"Mother will make whatever you'd like."

"I don't think she likes me."

"Well you did just walk in off the street."

"Into my house," I said a little too defensively.

"Your right, of course."

"Sorry about that, I didn't mean..."

"Some of your clothes are still here if you would like to shower and change."

"I can be such an a*s," I said to myself as I watched her walk back toward the main house.

Just as Rose had said Xuxa had breakfast ready. What I felt like was eggs over easy and a little bacon. What I got was burnt scrambled eggs smothered with tabasco sauce. The plate was all but thrown to the counter top in front of me; some of the eggs bouncing out to land on the counter top. Clearly Xuxa hadn't warmed up to me yet.

"Jon, I've taken the liberty of making a few calls," She began nervously. "I'm sorry I should have spoken to you first but I only wanted to tell one person and then I got caught up in the excitement and..."

"I get it. Don't worry about it. So who did you call?"

"I work at an art gallery... I called my boss. He was more excited than me. He made a few calls and some of them called me to confirm and well... he was hoping to see you right away."

"Can I have breakfast first?"

"I'll call him while mother makes you something to eat," she said quickly before starting to argue with her mother, taking the burnt food away and tossing it into the sink. Their argument escalated until both screamed at the other at the same time and then... silence. Each turned to look at me, chests heaving, nostrils flaring and then walked away leaving me sitting at the counter alone.

"No, no I insist I got it," I called after them. "Eggs Jon? Why yes, thank you Jon. Over easy? Why that sounds delightful. Two eggs or three? Three would do nicely, thank you," I said in my best mocking tone.

Both women had stopped in mid-exit, turning to look at me.

"Eggs?" I asked, glancing quickly in the direction of both women.

"It won't help if you make her think you're crazy," Rose huffed folding her arms angrily.

Her words not to mention her tone reminded me of myself where Roger had been concerned. I had to laugh a little to myself.

"I'm not crazy. If I were I'd be standing here with no pants."

Xuxa sent a ‘I told you so' look to Rose before both disappearing into other parts of the house leaving me alone once more.