Ridicula Read online

  Thus, it was time for a truce, at least until the next and likely not last game of Chase commenced. But how was he going to tell the marten of this temporary truce? All the marten had communicated to him thus far was as an adversary, often in the form of mockery.

  Yet a strange kind of bonding between equal competitors had taken place during the chases. Normally he wouldn’t ever want a truce when the business had not been finished, but a perfect adversary, even nemesis, had turned into good fun and promised further escapades in the future. He doubted the marten would say that it had found its Chase competitor as its equal, but a temporary truce was an admittance of a sort.

  The chase had yet again raced its way back to the Grand Fetcher. It seemed that the Douglass-fir tree was the place where a truce would be had or not, and he had come up with an idea. Freckles stopped short of the tree, thus ending abruptly his current pursuit of the rascally rascal.

  From under the tree the marten peaked its head out with a droll look, as if asking, “What is it, Fool?”

  The dog lifted its paw in response, signaling a pause in action. Then Freckles lay down, though his eyes remained alert, staring directly at the marten.

  The marten chuckled in its adversarial way, but then he also lay down. The critter had had enough this morning, too.

  Thus, a truce had been struck.

  ***

  MOOC had to give that brute of a dog some credit. He had matched him every step of the chase. That didn’t mean that the marten couldn’t get the best of him if he really wanted, but sometimes a good adversary in his games was better than embarrassing the dog so much that he wouldn’t compete again. Plus, he had to admit that it was time to stop, because it was well past his bedtime.

  However, he had one more little trick to play before he retired for the day. And it had nothing to do with the big dog. During the chase, he had run across a friend who he had to waylay in a playful manner. After all, Hippie deserved a shout out.

  MOOC left his great Douglas-fir Christmas tree behind to search out his friend. He had not been surprised to see him because the man always found his way back to Wyoming, and he was past due in these parts of the state. What was surprising was that he was not visiting alone this time. MOOC could not ascertain about why he had those nincompoop companions with him.

  After traversing the immediate area for some time, the marten found his quarry, but not in the way he expected. Blinded by a ray of light for an instant, he bumped right into his friend. The good thing was that he was alone, but the bad thing was that he lay asleep, possibly comatose.

  That also meant that his plan to scare him would not work. MOOC was mostly sure that men had to be awake to be startled.

  Rascally Rascal could not help trying, however. He scampered to his face only inches away and gave the man his best scary face he could muster with his eyes wide and his claws up.

  Nothing.

  But then something happened that he had not expected because he had not realized that the brute dog was still in the vicinity. Not looking or uncaring, the dog blasted into Hippie, like a bull into a blaze of red. This woke Hippie with a start.

  The first thing that the man saw was MOOC directly in front of him. Hippie jumped up, freaked, scared to a pale white.

  MOOC chuckled. He had gotten his wish after all, thanks to his partner in crime, his friend the Rottweiler, whose name he had no reason to ever find out.

  Freckles knew that his rough-housing would do the trick, and he never meant the man any harm. He was rewarded when after his initial fright, the man, who he would soon find out to be the prodigious Hippie, began to laugh and playfully rough-house back. This man was awesome!

  The pine marten also joined in his whimsical way, dancing around them like a pup first learning the intricacies of playful rough-housing. Yes, they were three very different animals having the best of fun.

  And Freckles realized something more. This man was very similar to the dog: they both had a joyous quality that could never be contained.

  Chapter 25

  Contemplation

  Upon the dog awakening him, Hippie seemed to jump out of his skin with fright, but it only lasted a few seconds, because he recognized the rascally rascal, MOOC, and had to laugh at all his ruses. He did so now.

  Perhaps it was the quick nap or perhaps it was the scare, but his head felt clear. Nowhere in sight were any peyote emeralds. Thus, gone too were his hallucinations. No one save the dog and MOOC remained. Whether all those people had actually been here, he was not certain. What he was certain of, though, was that he was again one with nature. He took a breath of fresh air and felt the breeze in his hair and smelt the sap of wood in the air. To him, this was heaven.

  The dog barked playfully. He responded by saying, “Hippie is here to play, so come, Pup.” The dog was no puppy since he weighed half his weight and was nearly his height when he toppled Hippie over, but there was no ferociousness in the dog’s eyes. Hippie was a good judge of all animals and nature.

  They wrestled with innocent fun. They jabbed and tackled and play fought, but at no time did the dog come close to hurting Hippie nor vice versa. Even MOOC joined in his own way, scratching, jumping, and clawing nearby, but not actually touching anyone. They were all quick friends, no matter what the previous relations between MOOC and the dog had been. But soon the playful games finished. The Rottweiler and marten went back to their respective homes; both would probably sleep for a long time after such a hectic morning.

  So, he was left totally alone—how Hippie often liked it. He decided to take the opportunity to walk, explore, and think—always refreshing, always enlightening. And when he was in Wyoming, especially Yellowstone Park, he did his best contemplations.

  All the events that had taken place since he left that roof in California had been entertaining at times and exulting at others. But no matter if he had slummed in a truck with Maude, been worshipped by Bearman, gone waterskiing as Aspen, been questioned by a fake reporter turned succubus, or had been drugged by peyote emeralds, it was all good. Adventure just happened, as did always ending up in Wyoming. But tranquility and happiness were a true state of mind. Whatever happened on the outside, he would always have that inner peace, and he would always work at staying healthy.

  These thoughts reminded him of a devised word he sometimes like to use: “Ridicula”. To him the word meant: ridiculous to most but par for the course for the selected few, which included him, of course. He did realize that ridícula meant ridiculous in Spanish, but his own English translation of the word suited him just fine.

  He walked through the woods as the sun brought unusually hot weather for this time of year. That had to do with climate change he was sure, but right now he didn’t worry about that, preferring to revel in the warmth and live for the moment.

  Because that’s what everything was about. Wherever he was, he would do his best to help animals and nature or at least not disturb them, but he was about the here and now: whatever happens happens—let nature take its course. In other words, there didn’t need to be any major development, catastrophe, alien invasion, or likewise to find enlightenment. Wisdom was the best enlightenment, and he hoped everyone he had met these last few days found that wisdom in their adventures.

  He believed that they did, and everyone was better for it in their own way. He had to believe that Jim really knew that Hippie was not Jesus, that George and Carolyn had found love, however weird their relationship, that Maude would sell her peyote emeralds, petrified timber, and an assortment of KIDS products for both prosperity and the betterment of lives, and that the rest of the bunch found their way back home, ever the wiser with this sharing of adventure.

  He came upon the Douglas-fir tree and rejoiced in its height and bulk and grace. A live Christmas tree in nature, never to be cut, not this one anyway. He knew instinctively that would be the case, especially since it lay in the protected Yellowstone Park. Hippie loved this place. He officially loved Wyoming. He loved niacin. He lov
ed whatever came his way.

  He loved.

  Hippie walked on, realizing that he carried nothing, wore tattered clothes, and smelled like the wood that was his true namesake along with fir, leaves, dirt, and body odor. All of it blended into something more, something somehow fresh.

  Nature and life.

  He found his way to a house, more like a cabin really, with a neat garden in front and a welcoming porch. Here was the edge of civilization, probably just off a border of the park, for he hadn’t been paying attention and probably had walked a distance away from any boundaries. Further beyond would be cars, stores, noise, and drudgery.

  He preferred to stay where he was. He loved the nature around him, as he counted three doves flying directly in front of him followed by seven hummingbirds darting after them. Were those the same hummingbirds he had seen earlier?

  From the house, a woman’s voice yelled, “Harrison, you nitwit, you left the water running again!”

  “Still brushing my teeth, dear,” the man replied.

  “I’m talking about the kitchen faucet.”

  “Oops,” Hippie heard Harrison whimper from nearby.

  “I’ll turn off the faucet,” a younger woman’s voice said helpfully.

  “Thank you, Dara. It’s good to have you back to watch over him, if just for a few days,” said the first woman’s voice with much more calmness and care than before.

  “Yes, thank you,” added Harrison. Immediately afterward his voice changed cadences, and he shouted, “Pebbles! And Frecks, my splendid dog! Both you animals, get back here!”

  “You too, my young pup, Rags. Come back,” yelled the younger woman—Dara.

  A cat ran out followed by two dogs, both dogs barking in joyful pursuit, not really trying to catch the tabby. Hippie recognized one of the dogs immediately: the Rottweiler. Awesome!

  Yes, this cabin and its inhabitants would be hospitable to him. No question. Nebraska could wait for his arrival a while longer.

  For this night, he would sleep on the roof. Because staying ridicula suited him just fine.

  Epilogue

  Exactly twenty years from the moment Hippie, the boy ranger, and Maude exited the clubhouse consisting of Maude’s collectible riches, a green evanescence glimmers in an otherwise empty space. Long since had the place been abandoned; even the boy ranger had grown up and forgotten about the place, which now stood dilapidated, almost in ruin, but still somehow remained upright. Maude had emptied the clubhouse a long time ago of nearly all her treasures, save the one.

  That one peyote emerald now gleams from within a tiny crevice that even the squirrels had never found. It had laid dormant for all the twenty years that Maude had taken to establish her empire of peyote emeralds and clothing, petrified timber, and useless junk that consumers ate up, because people know no better except to follow fads and make the corporate and avaricious world richer. The biggest fad of the moment is shoes, always in fashion in some way, and since Jade, who had become the latest person to be famous for being famous, sported three-inch petrified wooden emerald shoes, everyone is buying them.

  But greed is not Maude’s purpose at all, for the emeralds and timber had another value besides getting people high and keeping campfires flourishing for as long as a night persists. This value lay in the fact that the two products coexisting together chemically, originally combined in Maude’s labs, produced clean air. Thus, the mix of emeralds and timber spaced systematically across large land areas in the form of laced clothes, jewelry, trinkets, and other crap benefited millions, and they did not know it.

  Her corporation, which now controlled Wyoming with government approval, had, in effect—with thousands of employees who did a lot of hard work (some of which involved continuously planting new trees)—become a separate entity all to itself and had significant holdings all the way to Vancouver. Thus, despite the inept government and ugly corporate politics that still insisted that pollution and climate change were good fiction, nature in Wyoming flourishes. Plants emit fresh oxygen, flowers blossom, animals—led by the descendants of Freckles, the Great Rottweiler—prosper, and the Douglas-fir still stands above it all, protected by the descendants of MOOC.

  The coming to life of the peyote emerald that controlled the entire network is a significant event that almost no one knows anything about. Its light signified that all is well in Yellowstone Park and the surrounding areas.

  Finally.

  Hippie sees that light from where he sits a few meters away, for he has been called back to Wyoming yet again to witness the radiance. He is older but has not changed in personality, for Hippie still loves being a New-Age hippy, sporting a long brown healthy beard and some tattered clothes, and Aspen still comes forward to play. In his fifties, he remains vibrant.

  He brings forth a capsule of niacin and swallows it. He doesn’t care if it mixed with the peyote from the emerald to produce strong holistic hallucinations, because that would feel great!

  For the first time that day, he observes his welcomed companions: Kenny and Maria, now married, join him in his celebration of the emerald, while their pilot, Bobarino, waits for them by his craft (the original hot air balloon pilot has yet to return to this spot). The couple takes their niacin, kiss, and watch as the radiance of the emerald glows.

  Hippie does have one disappointment. George and Carolyn could not join him for this momentous reunion. As matter of fact, none of them have ever seen them again after that fateful day twenty years ago. Jim had prayed for them but that was unnecessary. They are fine. They have joined the living underworld: whether in reality or not, Hippie isn’t certain. But he does know that George and Carolyn had totally fallen in love, remain so to this day, and would stay that way forever, perhaps literally. Crazy love. Blood soulmates!

  And then the light of the emerald extinguishes. It has shown its health and would hopefully do so again in another twenty years.

  Hippie rises and smiles. He’s free, he’s happy, he has friends, and he’s healthy.

  That’s all he has ever needed.

  About the Author

  Growing up in Woodstock, NY, Adam Altman has been exposed to the creative arts for his entire life. His fiction books include his fantasy novels, set in the Land of Tasmear, which began with LifeShaker and continues with Dream Spells. His Liliana young adult novels include Liliana's Fan and the final book in the series, Liliana's Realms. He also has written acclaimed poetry and a children’s picture book, entitled The Frog’s Golden Water. Ridicula is a departure for him, because it is neither from the fantasy nor children/young adult genres. Instead, this book is humorous fiction and is highly metaphorical, covering themes dear to his heart.

  More details about his works can be found at www.Tasmear.com.

  Other Books by Adam Altman

  Tasmear Series

  LifeShaker

  Dream Spells

  Liliana Series

  Liliana’s Fan

  Liliana’s Summer

  Liliana & Felip

  Liliana’s Realms

  Liliana (Omnibus of all 4 novels)

  Enlightened Darkness

  The Frog’s Golden Water

  About the Book

  Hippie has always been carefree. Wherever life leads him, he goes.

  George Cramwell lived a normal New York City life, and he hardly ever left the city—until one fateful night.

  Freckles is one cool Rottweiler. And he always loves a good chase.

  Though they travel different routes, their paths will align...

  And it will all be Ridicula!

 

 

 
class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share