Still Life with Geology and Voodoo

It was a small still, it would fit upon a stovetop in any household kitchen. Peter had used it, briefly, in the earliest days of Homestead, but it wasn’t convenient to his Townie life in those times when Jody/Bokassa’s industrial sized still was handy. Years later Leon discovered it underneath a mat of creeping vines and he hauled it to a more private location.

The kettle sat in a tripod base, everything was of an alloy that conducted heat three times more efficiently than copper. Running batches twice through produced clear liquor, ninety percent ethanol.

Chattagong took his diluted halfway with the sweetroot syrup used for tea.

Derek, red hair and eyes, huge flaring ears, wide rosy cheeks and a florid blob nose, sipped it raw, washed it down with cold spring water from a flask.

One of those mountain places, easy to reach if you know the way, impossible to find if you don’t. A crazy spot for drunks, a ledge on a canyon wall, sudden death cliffs on three sides. But a fallen tree made a parapet, a windscreen and a bench, a niche amid the boulders sheltered the still, the space between was large and flat enough a dozen people could dance beneath the stars.

The final quarter-mile approach was over bare rock terrain and never a footprint revealed the way.

Leon showed the path to Bobol.

The overhill route followed the base of the basaltic ridge.

They came to a spot hemmed below by deep forest. Leon stopped and looked at a newly built stone wall that covered a recess in the cliff. Foul smells cloyed the area: decaying flesh and an open cesspool odor. There was a small dead campfire, recent.

Leon: “That wasn’t there three days ago… they’re hiding something.”

Bobol said nothing.

“What are they hiding that stinks like that?”

Bobol remained silent.

“Dead men smell that way… ” He looked at the stone barrier: “I wanna see behind there—come back with help, take all afternoon to open it.”

“Just a dead animal… ”

“Yeah?—Why’d they wall it up?”

Bobol shook a blank face: “Dunno… Sacrifice—they’re making religion. Bet there’s a weird rock painting in there.”

“Voodoo… People do all kinds of dumb shit, huh? I still wanna see—could be something to steal, like a golden amulet or what.”

“I doubt it—waste of time.”

“Let’s move on.”

They climbed an offshoot of the basaltic ridge, topped a summit and a short ways below they crossed the trail down from the tractor parking circle. Then around into more wilderness.

Dozens of millions of years before, a different Great River drained another mighty range. A volcano erupted with hot runny magma. It dammed the river and flowed back up the streamcourse.

Ages and again the volcano spewed forth, lava filled a hundred miles of valley, overran low gaps in side ridges. And then it went cold.

More eons elapsed, the mountains weathered and eroded, washed out over the floodplains. The magma filled valley remained behind, now a craggy basaltic ridge that overlooked a new Great River and the Vale of Homestead.

It was an upside down memorial to the ancient river’s bed. Lava had backed into tributaries and now formed narrow projections from the major formation, in-between spaces were hidden canyons—Luenda’s cabin sat on the rim of one. So did Leon’s still.

Chattagong had short black hair, blue eyes, brown skin, hard-edged cheekbones, thin lips and a narrow disposition. So long as he had easy access to sex, alcohol and flush, he was in a fine mood. Otherwise…

Today was a good day. The recent renewal of an old brothel friendship—with Roxie—had fulfilled his sexual requirements, unmet since the spaceport battle. The stock of drugs was fat, he was exploring extreme ranges of dosage and combination. With a still at his elbow, life was perfect.

Roxie’s services came at a price, paid to Cal in pharmaceuticals. For the moment the snaggletoothed refugee held his possessed woman with busy hands, she returned the feeling, flush energized passion filled them, shrank their World to a space of two people.

Derek was content with alcohol: flush made him too edgy and paranoid, pills made him nauseous, as did women. Some of the young colonists appealed to his libido but he hadn’t made any moves yet, only plans. His appetites were not for public awareness but attracted unavoidable attention.

Leon and Bobol appeared, making a turn around a knobby black pinnacle and crunching down a gravelly rill.

Chattagong: “What’s he doing here?”

Leon: “He was shadowing me, I turned back on him.”

“Yeah?—What’s he want?”

Bobol: “I need to get high. It’s been too long.”

“Uh-huh… ” Chattagong and Derek kept Bobol under tight focus as he reached the flat ground and dug up a boulder seat. Chattagong waited until he was settled: “We just heard a disturbing report… What do you know about Jason?”

Bobol didn’t hesitate: “He’s dead—colonists killed him.”

“That’s what Roxie and Cal said… Who killed him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why?”

“He did something to a colonist—one of the babes.”

“They killed him for that?—Just being a man… ”

“She’s a popular woman with a lot of friends.”

“What’s her name?”

“Synoveh.”

Leon: “I know her. She runs that Branch House.”

Derek: “Where the kids are?”

“That’s the place.”

“He shoulda waited ‘til we had things under control.”

Bobol: “Sounds like he got loose, like he had flush—he was real heavy on the babe. You ought to see what her face is like—a real trophy job... ”

Chattagong: “We can’t let these colonists kill our brother… ”

Derek: “Not many of us left… ”

“They have to learn the cost of messing with us.”

Leon: “Bobol—what do you say?”

“Jason was a good brother. He deserved better. At least a Court and a trial. Man’s gotta right to defense.”

“Yeah he does.”

Chattagong: “A man’s gotta right to a babe… Right, Bobol?”

He made a squinty just-between-guys smile: “Right… Sure—man’s gotta get what he needs… ”

“Sounds like you’ve changed… ?”

Derek: “Yeah… You always seemed sorry for the babes.”

“Not any more. I miss being in control of them.”

Chattagong: “Easy meat, huh? Easy meat for an easy old Bobol… Have you had any of the colonist babes?”

Bobol’s head shook sadly: “No… ”

“Hah! That’s what you miss… I’ll give you flush and let you have a go with Roxie—just like old days… ”

“Looks like she’s busy… ”

“Fuck Cal—we’ll drop him off of the cliff if we have to.”

“Don’t go to extremes—I can wait… ”

“Fuck no!” Chattagong lifted from the log, put a pistol into his hand, he carried it under his shirt tied to a cord around his neck. He strode to the enthralled lovers and seized Cal by his bush of matted brown hair. The gun’s barrel came to the tip of the refugee’s nose: “We need to use Roxie!”

Cal smiled as if offered a fragrant blossom to admire: “But naturally! I’m just keeping her interest up.” He dumped the woman at Chattagong’s feet, she protested insincerely.

“Take her, Bobol… ” Chattagong reached into a pocket and drew out a nasal inhaler: “Here—have a blast!”

Bobol received the offering, he surreptitiously twisted the dosage regulator from strongest to weakest as he lifted it to a nostril. He inhaled…

Its original formulation was a stimulant to drive soldiers into furious combat, male users discovered an interesting side effect—erections accompanied by an extreme need for release, violence worked as well as sex, in combination the thrill was the utmost.

Later refinements of flush enhanced the potency. First-time users are disoriented and helpless, barely able to move. Bobol hadn’t taken it for over a year, even a minimal dose sent him spinning.

He fell from his seat and rolled, collided on the ground with Roxie. They adhered to each other.

Female users also have sexual arousal, they become hyper-orgasmic, climaxing again and again—their brains never catch up with the pace.

Bobol struggled: he saw green eyes and impish smile, so desirable—ultimate erotic beauty and he felt an urge to hurt it—maim, scar and mutilate—the idea made his hard organ flutter with anticipation.

He loved, hated the woman in his arms, a wanton babe as cruel as any guard—he remembered Roxie, never liked her in the brothel… His instincts and worst desires wanted to throttle her cold…

He forced slow breathing, closed his eyes, screamed inwardly, commanded his hands to work gently—they fought back and his testicles were calling him a coward, a treasonous bum—impotent, he wished that were true.

Resisting the drug, moving oh-so-slow, with caresses and real kisses, he made genuine love to her.

In all of her drugged insensibility, Roxie noticed and was impressed. The earlier part of the day, with flush, Chattagong, Cal, Chattagong, Cal… had been intense, hot and vicious—the way she liked it—she ought to be replete.

Bobol’s touches: deliberate, careful, loving moves brought up not violent energy, but a glow, like a fading aftermath in reverse. She responded to the man, not the drug—it reminded her of the first times, before she was a brothel babe, with fumbling boys who said ‘I love you’ afterward and she believed the lie.

With Bobol it didn’t feel like a lie. She wanted to hear it.

He wanted to say it, but not in front of the other men.

He whispered: “Thank you.”

“Mmm… ”

“Are you finished yet? Other guys want their piece… ” Cal yanked Roxie from Bobol’s arms.

He broke, came up from the ground raging and went down atop the refugee with hands to his throat.

Sitting on Cal’s chest squeezing, he didn’t see Derek move behind. A heavy boot thumped the center of Bobol’s back and he fell onto his face with a gasp.

Chattagong laughed and stomped around with joy. He reached and tugged Bobol up to dizzy feet: “What a show! Never seen a man do it like that—not when he’s high. You were almost romantic on her.”

Derek: “Took your time… ”

Bobol: “I was shaking so much I had to slow down. Forgot how it is with flush… ”

Leon: “Now you know, again… ”

“Yeah, huh—it’s good!”

“Look like you need to catch your breath. Sit down… ”

Bobol pulled up his pants and sat on the log. Still dizzy, he clawed the shaggy bark next to his thighs, held on for balance. Sweat coursed, air came in short huffs, heart fired like a machine gun, his brain throbbed.

Chattagong smiled into his pinprick eyes: “Good and high! What you wanted—huh?”

Speechless Bobol nodded.

“You’re back in the Brotherhood—we gotta keep it strong.”

Derek: “Before colonists do us in… ”

“We need a drink… ” Chattagong picked up a deep tin cup, went to the still and tapped the metal tank on the output end. He returned with a full container, poured half into Derek’s mug and then topped his own with the sweetroot syrup, licked his fingertip after stirring. He presented the beverage to Bobol: “This will help.”

Took it and sipped, held his breath, suppressed coughs. Bobol’s dry eyes watered, the blinking slowed, his jaw relaxed for a moment.

Finally, steady lungs and an actual pulse.

Cal was doing something painful, Roxie screamed, everyone else laughed.

She retaliated and Cal screamed, the laughs got louder.

Back and forth…

Footsteps skittered gravel, three alcoholics came around the knobby ridgetop rock spire.

“Oh shit!” Chilperic lost control on the steep grade over loose soil. Moving at a runaway stomp he rushed down the slope and across the flat until he caught up in the springy limbs of the still rooted fallen tree. His face poked through the greenery and he looked down the cliff: “Fucking log saved my life!”

Owen and Bokassa made the descent in a normal fashion, laughed at Chilperic.

Everybody laughed, even Cal and Roxie, momentarily into mutual tickles.

Derek eyed Chilperic: “Who’s the new guy?”

Bokassa: “Our new Townie buddy—Chilperic. His wife just left him.”

Leon: “I know you—up in the mountains last year, we hunted that Doctor babe, you had your wife… real babe… ”

Untangling from the tree: “Yeah—that’s me, and Chris.”

“What about him?” Owen pointed at Bobol. “I heard he helped kill your pal Jason.”

Leon/Chattagong/Derek: “What?”

“Story I heard… ”

Bokassa: “Not the story I heard. Told me that Marcus did it.”

Leon: “The bass player? I dunno, he’s not that kind of dude… ”

Chilperic: “What are you guys talking about? Who killed? Who was killed?”

“One of us.”

Chattagong had his attention on Bobol: “Tell us again what you know about Jason?”

“He got savage on a babe and the colonists killed him.”

“Which colonists?”

“Dunno.”

“How come he says you were in it?”

“Dunno—stories get made all kinds of ways. Other guy says Marcus did it—like a babe’s husband would if he’s got balls.”

“Marcus is the babe’s husband?”

Bobol and Leon each said ‘Yeah’.

Chattagong’s eyes were busy: Bobol, Leon, Derek, Bokassa and Owen. He looked at the woodworker: “What do you know?”

Owen: “My friend Paul told me—he said a bunch of people went and strangled Jason, dumped the body in a cave and covered it with rocks… ”

Leon: “Yeah?”

“Paul said Bobol was there.”

Chattagong looked at Bokassa: “What did you hear?”

“Almost the same story… Didn’t say Bobol, but Marcus did the killing.”

“Who told you?”

“Can’t remember—people at lunch were telling it around.”

Owen: “You know, Paul isn’t always clear in the way he thinks and talks—I coulda got it wrong. Makes sense for a husband to do that… ”

Leon: “I been around these colonists a long time now—I never saw Marcus fight or even get mad.” He gave Bobol a long solid stare.

Bobol: “The babe’s his wife and Jason fucked her up bad—any man will lose control. Her face is really worked… ”

Roxie had overheard: “He made Synoveh’s face beautiful! Puffed, purple and putrid—it had to be a man from the brothel! I laughed when she came in the room, Marcus looked pretty mad then,” she laughed now. “I think he wanted to slap me. He shoulda, coulda been the start of something fun!” Laughs again, all the way around.

Leon: “So, Bobol—you swear you had no part in Jason’s death?”

“I swear—why would I do anything against a brother?”

“Yeah—why?”

“C’mon, Leon. You know I’m good.”

“Maybe I do. You bear watching… Kinda funny… ”

“What?”

He spoke to the crowd: “We took the uphill trail. I think we passed Jason’s grave—Bobol didn’t want me to look.”

“I didn’t know what was there—didn’t want you to waste your time.”

“That’s what you said. Tried to say they had some Voodoo shrine in there, didn’t you?”

“Just guessing.”

“Uh-huh… I think we should see what’s in there. We gotta enough muscle power, can pull that wall down in no time.”

Bobol staggered to his feet: “Okay—let’s go.” He passed eyes over the group: “C’mon guys—we got rocks to move!”

           Everybody rose, Cal and Roxie recovered their clothing from the ground.