Authors: Subterranean Press
I kept trudging along, keeping my spirits up by reading
my well-worn copy of the Good Book, and finally, after another couple of weeks,
the forest started retreating, the mosquitos found other things to do, the
animals took umbrage when I kept reciting the Eighth and Fourteenth
Commandments at ‘em, and even the rain decided it had urgent business
elsewhere. The land flattened out, the sun came out of hiding, and suddenly I
was in this pasture that must have been a couple of hundred miles long, give or
take a few inches.
And as I looked over my surroundings, I began to realize
that this wasn’t like no part of South America I had ever seen, and I’d seen an
awful lot of it, starting with San Palmero and working my way through the
Island of Annoyed Souls and this big wet area everyone called the Amazon Basin
though I didn’t see nary a single wash basin, with or without no love-starved
amazons, the whole time I was walking through it.
I kept looking around and thinking that maybe I’d fallen
asleep and sleptwalked to some new country. I was still mulling on it when I
realized I’d been walking forever and a day, and I decided to lay down right on
the grass, and if there’d been a desk clerk I’d have told him not to wake me
til maybe half past Tuesday, and then I was snoring to beat the band.
I woke up when something kind of cold and sort of wet
and more than a little bit pushy rubbed against my face.
“I’m sleeping,” I said.
It nudged me kind of gently.
“Go away,” I said, scrunching up my eyes. “It’s a
holiday somewhere in the world. I’ll get a job tomorrow.”
Then whatever it was pressed right up against my ear and
said
“Moo!”
“What in tarnation was
that?”
I bellowed, jumping
to my feet.
Suddenly I heard a dozen more
moos
, and I looked
around, and damned if I wasn’t surrounded by some of the fattest cows I’d ever
seen. There were hundreds of ‘em, maybe thousands, and they’d all snuck on me
my while I was sleeping.
And then I thought, well, maybe they didn’t exactly
sneak
up. Maybe they
live
here.
“Moo!” said a few dozen of ‘em, staring at me with big
brown cows’ eyes, as if they were begging me to come on over and choose a steak
for dinner.
And then, being a educated man, I remembered my history
books, or at least some stories I’d heard in Red Charlie’s Waterfront Bar in
Macao, which comes to almost the same thing, and I realized that somehow or
other I
had
stumbled onto a new land what no one else had ever seen
before, and it didn’t take but forty or fifty more cows joining the chorus to
for me to figger out that I was probably the first white man ever to set foot
on the Lost Continent of Moo what had been writ up in fable, song and story.
I looked off into the distance, hoping to see a shining
city filled with Moovians or whatever they called themselves, where I could
build my tabernacle and set up shop, but there wasn’t nothing out there but
cows. Now, I knew there had to be people somewhere, because in all my
experience I ain’t never come across a cow that could sing songs or tell
stories about lost continents.
And while we’re speaking of lost continents, them of you
what’s read
Encounters,
the story of my attempt to bring the word of the
Lord to the sinful nations of Europe, will know right off the bat that this
here wasn’t the first lost continent I discovered. In fact, it seems that one
of the things I’m really good at, other than helping poor sinners (and
especially fallen women) see the light and the glory, is finding lost
continents. It ain’t generally known–and if fact if you didn’t read my
book it probably ain’t known at all–but not only did I find the lost
continent of Atlantis, I actually bought it. Of course, it was buried under a few
fathoms of water, but I’d be there still if the Greek government hadn’t
objected to my placing a bunch of ads in the local paper offering to sell lots
with a Mediterranean view. But that’s another story, and one what’s already
been told with grace and elegance.
Anyway, after I’d wandered a couple of miles, stepping
in all kinds of things that a gentleman would never discuss with you except to
say they were vile and foul-smelling and mostly plentiful, I heard a shout off
to my left. I turned and saw a guy riding up on a horse. He was kind of dressed
like a cowboy, except for the chaps and the belt and the shirt and the hat, and
he galloped up to me, and then just when I was sure he’d escaped from some
hospital for the pixilated and thunk I was a polo ball or whatever it is that
they hit with them sticks, he pulled his horse to a stop and said something to
me in some alien tongue.
“I don’t understand a word you’re saying, Brother,” I
replied, “but allow me to introduce myself. I’m the Right Reverend Doctor Lucifer
Jones, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He jabbered something else I couldn’t follow.
“Before we resort to sign language, Brother,” I said,
“perhaps you could tell me if I’ve indeed stumbled onto the lost continent of
ancient legend.”
As I said it, I indicated the land with a wave of my
hand, and cocked an eyebrow so he’d know I was asking a question.
It worked, because he shot me a friendly smile and said,
“Pampas”, which I figgered was how they said Moo in Mooish.
“Thanks, Brother,” I said. “And now I wonder if you can
tell me where I can find the king of Moo?”
He just stared at me, puzzled, and then I realized I’d
made a simple mistake.
“Strike that, Brother,” I said. “Where can I find the
king of Pampas?”
He kind of frowned, and I began thinking that my initial
appraisal was right, except maybe for the polo part.
“Well, thanks anyway,” I said, “but I can’t waste no
more time here. I got to scout up the people and start bringing the Word to any
godless sinners I find among ‘em, so I guess I’ll be going now.” I gave his
horse’s neck a friendly pat, and noticed some weird kind of trinket he had with
a ball attached to each end.
He saw me staring at it, and said “Bolas.”
“Thanks, Brother,” I said. Then, remembering my manners,
I added “And bolas to you too.”
I headed off to my right, but he immediately urged his
horse forward and blocked my way. Then he started jabbering at me and pointing
to my left. I looked where he was pointing, and all I could see was maybe
twenty thousand cows, give or take a couple.
“That’s mighty considerate of you, Brother, but I’m
looking for sinners of the two-legged kind,” I told him. “Besides, mighty few
cows contribute to the poor box, and that’s a serious consideration when you’re
figuring out where to build your tabernacle.”
I walked around his horse and began heading off again,
and again he blocked my way.
“Just what seems to be your problem, Brother?” I said,
starting to get a bit riled.
He began talking a blue streak, but I didn’t hear no
familiar words like “pampas” or “bolas”, and finally I held up my hand for
silence.
“I appreciate your concern,” I said, “and as near as I
can figger it, either you think I’m here to convert your cattle, or I look so
hungry you want me to take a couple of hundred cows home with me, or–and
now that I come to think of it, them first two don’t hold a candle to the next
reason, which is that you got all your womenfolk stashed in the direction I’m
going.” I gave him a reassuring smile. “You don’t have to worry none, Brother.
The way I smell after walking through your pasture, I doubt that any woman of
quality would let me get near her–and if she would, that just means she’s
been stepping in all this stuff too, and I ain’t wildly interested in getting
much closer than fifty feet to her, or maybe a hundred, depending on which way
the wind’s blowing.”
I began walking yet again, and this time he just sighed
and frowned and shook his head, and finally he dug his spurs into his horse and
headed off toward all the cattle he’d been trying to introduce me to.
It took me a whole day and a night to get out of that
cow pasture, but finally I came to what was either a large rocky hill or a
small rocky mountain, and I followed a footpath up it, and pretty soon I became
aware that I was being watched by unseen eyes, which in my broad experience are
just about the worst kind of eyes to be watched by, and finally the footpath
widened a bit, and suddenly I was facing a mighty impressive stone building
which sure didn’t resemble no other building I’d ever seen. Of course, the 200
naked warriors, each of ‘em with a spear and an expression that would have
meant their shorts were too tight if any of ‘em had been wearing shorts, might
have had a little something to do with it.
Finally they stood aside, and a kind of short, pudgy
white man mosied out of the building while they all bowed down as he passed by.
He was wearing a loincloth, which meant he was dressed a lot better than any of
his friends and neighbors, and he had a half-smoked cigar in his mouth. He was
kind of bald, and a little bit cock-eyed, and he had such a thick unkempt beard
that it instantly said to all and sundry that he wasn’t on speaking terms with
his barber, and his bare feet were pretty caked with all the stuff I’d been
doing my best to avoid, but outside all that I suppose he was as presentable as
most people, and certainly more presentable than some I’d run into lately.
He walked up to me, stopped about four feet away, put
his hands on his hips, jutted out his chin, and said “Who the hell are you?”
“You speak English,” I said, surprised.
“I speak English a hell of a lot better than you answer
questions,” he said. “Now, who are you?”
“The Right Reverend Honorable Doctor Lucifer Jones at
your service,” I said. “Weddings and baptisms done cheap, with a group rate for
funerals. And who do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Rakovekin, Lord of the Outer Realm, Messenger of the
Almighty, Spokesman for the Elder Deities, and Commander of the Legions of the
Dead.”
“That’s quite a mouthful, Brother,” I noted.
“Yeah, it can get tedious,” he admitted. “Especially at
parties when I have to meet a lot of new people. You can call me Henry.”
“Forgive me for pointing it out, but Henry don’t sound
like no South American name.”
“And the other one I gave you did?” he asked.
“Now as I come to think on it, no, I suppose it didn’t
neither,” I answered.
“Henry’s what they used to call me before I stumbled
onto this place.”
“I could tell right off you weren’t no native,” I said.
“Only place I’m native to is Hackensack, New Jersey,”
said Henry.
“What’s a Hackensack boy doing thousands of miles from
home on this here lost continent?” I asked.
“Being a god,” he said.
“Pleasant work?” I asked.
“Most of the time,” he said.
“Maybe I’ll take a stab at it and join you, since I
spend so much time consulting with the Lord anyway,” I offered. “What’s the job
pay?”
“We only got room for one god around here, and I’m it,”
he said. “Now, you’re welcome to stick around a day or two until you’re rested
up, and you can even grab some grub to take with you on your long and arduous
journey to anywhere else in the world, but you can’t stay here on no permanent
basis.”
“How did
you
find this here lost continent,
Brother Henry?” I asked him.
“Didn’t know it was no continent, and it sure as hell
ain’t as lost as it used to be,” he grumbled. “You’re the fourth white man to
wander in here in less than ten years.”
“What happened to the other three?”
“I sent two of ‘em packing.”
“And the third,” I said. “Is he still here?”
“Parts of him are.”
Which made me think that there were maybe worse ideas
than sticking around just a day or two and then hitting the road.
“But to answer your question, Reverend Jones,” he
continued, “I came down to this part of the world to hunt elephants.”
“I don’t want to put no damper on your enthusiasm,
Brother Henry,” I said, “but there ain’t no elephants within a couple of
thousand miles of here, except them what’s on display at zoos.”
“Well, if push had come to shove I’d have settled for
‘em,” said Henry. “They don’t run so fast nor so far when they’re in a cage,
and they sure can’t find much natural cover there.”
I could see right off that he was a natural-born
sportsman who was put off his feed at the thought of littering the landscape
with escaped animals what had been gutshot or worse, and I figgered if I could
befriend him over the next couple of days I could maybe send him off to a zoo
in Argentina or Brazil and try my hand at the god business myself.
“Anyway,” said Henry, “I was wandering the landscape
looking for elephants without no success when I stumbled onto this place. I
couldn’t see no one around, so I just followed the path right up to the temple,
and I was so danged tired that I walked into it to get out of the sun and kind
of catch my wind, and that stone altar in the middle of the place looked so
inviting that I doffed most of my duds and lay down on it to take a little
nap.” He shook his head in wonderment. “Next thing I knew there were twenty
naked men kneeling down in front of me. At first I thought they were shooting
craps, which is what’s usually going on when a bunch of Hackensack men get down
on their knees, but then they saw I was awake and they began bowing and
chanting. After awhile I asked one of ‘em what it all meant, and he told me
that I was clearly the god of prophecy that had been sent down to lead them to
their former glory, and he started giving me my name and my titles. I know you
thought I’d guv you a tongue twister when I introduced myself, but actually I
got 38 more titles to go with the ones you heard. At first I thought reciting
‘em all would charm the ladies, but the truth of the matter is that most of ‘em
fall asleep before I hit Number 20.”