'The Celts, however, believed it was enough to discover
the global configuration of the (earth's) currents.
That's why they erected megaliths. The menhirs had
sensitives, like electric valves, planted at the points
where the currents branched and changed direction. The
leys marked the routes of currents already identified.
The dolmens were chambers of accumulated energy, where
the Druids, with geomantic tools, attempted to map, by
extrapolation, the global design. The cromlechs and
Stonehenge were micro-macrocosmic observatories from
which they stuidied the pattern of the constellations
in order to divine the pattern of the currents--
because, as the Tabula Smaragdina tells us, what is
above is isomorphic to what is below.'
Foucault's Pendulum
Umberto Eco
. . . .
..::The earth is a magnetic body; in fact, as some
scientists have found, it is one vast magnet, as
Paracelsus affirmed some 300 years ago::..
H.P. Blavatsky, Isis Unveiled, 1877
* * * *
Emlyn was out of there.
Earlyish the next morning, (before noon, at least, she
told herself), she was off and up into the foothills;
just she and her sturdy Pancho taking the high road to
Guano Acres.
At last! She felt she was on the right track. It
would be good to visit with Jethro, and even old Homer,
again.
It had been some time ago...Em couldn't recall just
when, now. Possibly, the Harvest Hoedown, when last
they were all together, she and Jack as well...onstage
and off. And now it was...oh, my stars...was it really
nearing May Day once more?
A big jackrabbit suddenly popped out of the manzanita
startling her and nearly giving Pancho pause. She
patted him, reassuring herself, morelike; as the paint
horse was truly rock solid in nearly every situation.
He must have been used to la revolucion down
south...maybe had gotten close to afew explosions too
many. He didn't hear so well, she knew. And it took a
lot for him to make a mis-step. She loved him for that.
(Pat, pat).
Em inhaled deeply. How good it was to get up above the
town and leave all that behind... Being around Daryl
was like getting a dose of medicine: it might do you
good, but it took a while to work. And a constant diet
of medicine was hard to take.
She relaxed into Pancho's easy meandering gait and
chewed a stalk of new grass, adjusting her wide brimmed
straw hat against the sun, creeping higher and hotter
now. She should have gotten off sooner but extricating
herself from Daryl and Athena had taken some time.
They were helpful in getting her on her way though, and
assuring her that she wouldn't be needed for Daryl's
move.
'I will help Daryl catalog and pack up the shoppe,'
Athena said to her, 'not to worry.'
'And, it will take some time yet to close up Nob Hill
House,' Daryl added, 'so don't concern yourself with
having to move out just yet. Everything of yours will
stay there til you need it. You still have your mobile
transport device? Alright, Em. Anytime you're ready,
we'll be ready to welcome you back east to the Old
House.'
And so, with the keys to both the Frisco abode as well
as Crowley Place, (plus:'device'), off she headed for
the hills...
She had always sighed with relief when taking this
road, enjoying nature wild and unfenced when she got up
and out of the town's outlying areas, but this time, it
was different.
As she noted every wildflower and butterfly, listened
to every redwinged blackbird, watched hawks soar on the
thermals above, she felt a renewed thrill, thinking:
this could be mine now! I needn't fear abductions for a
while, (she hoped), and I have some money from the sale
of Alice's place, and what Jack kindly donated...
Em sighed then, wondering how Jack was getting on. Did
he ever pause, and think of her like this anymore?
Emlyn missed her old Jack...
She bit her lip, and decided to simply wish him well.
She wished also, they did not share that, or rather,
this...incredible synchonicitous event between them.
Strangely, the same experience in this case, served
only to come between them. Em straightened and exhaled,
sweeping her gaze over the valley below.
So, I need not return to work in the city...I could
be free...or, freer, at least. For Em had always been a
country girl at heart.
'I was raised in the country,
I've been working in the town
I've been in trouble
Ever since I set my suitcase down...'
Em sang a bit of what she knew of an old Bob Dylan
song, one of Jack's favorites. That Mr. Dylan, (was he
Welsh, she wondered? She must ask Jack...), was
certainly prolific! Strange, wandering lyrics, set to
tunes Old As The Hills... Emlyn was learning to play
some of them. She had to get hold of her mandolin
again... She rubbed her left thumb against her
fingertips: gone soft. Not good. She'd soon make up for
Lost Time.
She passed an old homestead, abandoned; the property
scattered with wandering fruit and almond trees gone
wild now with furry little nuts and peaches, bright
patches of California poppies bloomed like forgotten
pots of gold scattered among the derelict orchard, fig
clumps hung with promise to come. Grapes gone wild were
barely discernible amidst the great trailing profusion
of their iguana green vines...
Em would raid such places freely, as did the kids and
townspeople who knew of them. Oh, to have a garden of
her own someday...this garden had been left to grow
wild for some time, she decided, noting the rangy limbs
and small fruit.
Seeing a cool shady spot, Emlyn pulled up, spying an
old pump handle overgrown with weeds and brambles. She
tried the pump but, nada. Dismounting, she poured water
from her canteen into the wooden bowl she always packed
for her mount, and let Pancho have a shallow drink,
then she took her own sips from the lip, and stoppered
it. Pancho was wet with sun-sweat now; past noon, she
figured, but they were nearly there.
She urged him forward once more.
And so the sun was past it's peak and afternoon was
well commenced when Em turned off the road and onto
Jethro's well-worn pathway. She noted the apple
orchard as she passed, but nearly missed seeing The
Boys out trekking through it, dappled with sunlight and
tree-shadow, accompanied by a tall, stooped stranger
whom she did not recognize.
Turning Pancho toward the orchard she waved when she
was close enough and Jethro and Homer caught sight of
her, returning her salute.
'Well if it isn't Miss Nob Hill come down to hobnob
amongst the serfs,' Homer gazed up at Em, 'well, get
down off that high horse and say hola...'
'You never change, Homer,' Em dismounted and led
Pancho into the orchard, letting him graze a bit.
'Jethro! Good to see you!' She took his hand, and they
grinned at one another a while. Homer spat.
'Miss Emlyn Page, meet Mr. Sean Monroe, dowser.'
Homer held out an arm to present said Mr. Monroe, as if
making an offering of the rangy, angular man, all red
hair and firey of face as well. Emlyn and he shook
hands. 'A pleasure, sir. A dowser, you say?' He nodded.
'Are you sinking another well, Homer?'
'Yep. Thinking about it.' The party ambled onwards, Em
and Pancho trailing, with Sean in the lead, as Homer
continued, 'The orchard could use it's own well up
here.
'And, frankly, Em, we just haven't been able to trap
rainwater for it the way we used. That, and other
little caches around, like the frog pond yonder, helped
even out the situation at one time, but this drought is
just hangin' on...' Homer looked grim.
'You'rre not the only one, Homerr,' Sean had a bit of a
Scots Burr, Em noted, 'I've been busy these past couple
years, seeking alternate currrents below ground for
folk...'
Sean and Homer spoke in low tones together as Emlyn and
Jethro fell some steps behind. 'We did get some good
storms, even in the valley, lately,' Em began, 'but,
until then, nada...'
'Exactly, Em,' Jethro kicked a pinecone out of the
way, 'and our reserves from the year before are what
we're using now. What little we cached from the storm's
already gone.' He sighed, 'So! Homer was thinking that
he'd recalled that there used to be a spring up around
the orchard somewhere, but he couldn't think where.
And that's where ole Sean comes in...' he nodded at the
tall fellow, bent over like a gnarled tree, although he
didn't look to be all that old, thought Em.
'Has he...found anything yet?' she asked, watching the
man, who was talking with Homer still, although he'd
juggle something in one big hand occasionally.
'Ole Sean just got here, directly before you came,
Em.' Jethro answered, as they caught up to the two men;
Homer had his hoe dug into the ground and Sean hunkered
down and took up a handful of soil, which he rolled
about his big fingers and even sniffed.
'Dry, alright. You say you think it was somewhere
under this bank here?' Sean stood and gestured toward
the cliffside. Homer grunted and he and Sean poked
about the cliff and surrounding area.
'I tell ye what I'll doo...I'll just take a wee
stroll aboot the area and see what the pendulum says.
If I get a strike, then weel see wot the rrods do say,
then...' And taking the object from his pocket, he
unrolled his pendulum along a cord fastened to it and
proceded to pace the property, holding it out before
him, pausing occasionally to let it hang.
'So. He'll be at it for a while, I reckon, Homer.'
Homer just waved a hand dismissing them. Jethro turned
to her, 'Em, you want to see some kids? Baby goats back
at the barn, what say?'
Em couldn't say no to goats, and she had to water her
good Pancho, so off they turned back for the house and
barn, leaving Sean and Homer to their water-witching.
Emlyn couldn't help sneaking glances over her shoulder
though, and came to a halt when she noticed Sean
standing dead still, holding the pendulum, which was
circling now...
'Amazing,' she breathed. 'How does he do it, Jethro?
Have you known Sean, ah, Mr. Monroe very long?'
'Oh, sure...a whole lot of folk know about ole Sean
up around here. He's been our water-witcher for a
coon's age. I don't know how he does it, he just picks
it up somehow, through his hazel rod, or the pendulum,
just like now...' Jethro stopped and adjusted his hat
brim, watching the pendulum circle wider. 'He'll mark a
few likely spots this way, then come back with his big
guns, the rods.'
'Can I stay and watch?' Emlyn was more than
intrigued.
Jethro smiled down at her. 'You want to pluck another
chicken, you can stay to dinner.'
Em grinned back, 'I could use some new feathers...'
. . . .
And so it was early evening when the company sat down
to table; the promised/threatened chicken cooked tender
through in a thick hearty stew of potatoes, onions,
garlic, carrots and new celery in a sour cream sauce
flavored with chilies and cumin. Emlyn made a salad of
fresh greens with celery and apples, walnuts and
raisins, also with a sour cream dressing seasoned with
nutmeg. Hot biscuits with farm fresh butter rounded out
the simple but delicious country supper.
They fell to, silently intent through the meal after a
long hot day's work, but as the party pushed back
their seats and cracked walnuts and munched cheese,
Homer brought round the cider and apple jack and
tongues loosened in talk at last.
'I don't know how it works, Sean, ole hoss, but works
it does! We hit a wet patch, sure! Ye-aah...I'll get
some boys over to help sink that sucker soon.' Homer
belched, 'Maybe tomorrow...' He frowned, not wanting to
waste any more time with planting season fast waning.
Sean, a big man with the largest hands on a man Emlyn
had ever noted, was deft with the handling of objects
nonetheless, and had a certain fastidiousness about him
that belied his considerable physical scope. As he
extricated a nutmeat, he advised Homer, 'Aye...time is
gettin' on. You may want to considerr using a team with
a drrill, or even one large horse. Job would go fasterr
then...'
Homer looked at Jethro and pondered this, pouring more
jack for himself and Sean, 'Hmm. Mebbe so,' he sighed,
'I reckon I could get ole Ulrich and his hosses down
here...what's he charge now, 50, 75 cents a foot?' He
downed his glass, 'He might be amenable to some barter,
too...'
'Aye, weel, as you think best, Homerr...' Sean made
quick work of his jack, and Homer offered a refill,
cheerfully accepted. 'I dinna think ye'll have farr to
go though. Just make surre you hit a fairr rrunning
currrent, cerrtain!'
'I'm most intrigued by your dowsing art, Mr. Monroe,'
Emlyn enthused, 'I would so love to learn more about
how it's done!'
'That's 'Sean', to you, lass, please!' He smiled at
her, his ruddy face losing it's dour lines in an
upwards tilt. 'So, yoo'd like to learrn abit o'the
dowsing arrt, as you call it, eh? Weel, noo...sure and
therre's many a female that's a dab hand it, and no
mistake! Women's intuition, see!' He leaned over, as if
telling her a secret, 'Doo ye know how the 'doowsing
rrod' got it's name, lass?'
Em avowed she did not.
'Weel, it's like this: the Cornish, in that west
country language o' theirrs, 'dewsys' means 'goddess',
and 'rrhod' means tree branch, a'courrse. And therre ye
have it!'
Em beamed. 'Wonderful! I'm thinking, you see, of moving
up into the foothills soon. I need to be sure I'll have
a good well, indeed.'
'Aye, lass, that's the basics: good soil and water.
Whereaboots arre ye thinkin' of journeying, then?' Sean
stretched out his long legs and leaned back in his
chair, enjoying his moment, as it were.
'Yes, Em, where ARE you thinking of journeying?' Jethro
enquired, one eyebrow to his hairline in inquiry.
'Well, I had hoped to move closer to Jeanne and
Shannon, perchance...north and easterly, somewhat...'
Em really didn't know quite yet, just where she should
start to look.
'North and east o'herre...that's my territory, so
'tis,' Sean remarked. 'If I hearr o'something I'll be
letting you know. This 'Jeanne' ye speak of, who might
that be, may I ask?'
'Ah, my friend, Jeanne McKinnon, that would be. A Scot,
like yourself, I'm guessing?' Em smiled.
'Ach! And what would tip ye off, then?' Sean chuckled,
downing the rest of his jack, then stood, 'Oh, aye,
from Glasgow, so I am, and it shows...' He fixed Em
with a look, 'Aye, I know Miss McKinnon, so I do.'
'You know Jeanne?' Em was further amazed by Mr.
Monroe.
'I doo. She lives in toon, just doon the hill from my
place then. And, she can dowse with the best o'them.'
Sean shook his head, 'I tried to get herr to doo morre
along that line o'worrk, but she says she has'na the
time forrit; she has her wee shop and all...'
Emlyn was all a-stir now. This was fine news! Both Sean
and Jeanne in one place! Maybe she should begin her
'journeying' there...and soon.
'Weel, I'm off, then!' Sean headed for the door, with
the others trailing behind to see him off.
As he hauled his lengthy self into the wagon, he and
Homer discussed business: 'So, then; let me know when
ye've gotten 'old of Ulrich, and I'll be back doon.
I'll be cerrtain he'll do his drrillin' wherre it does
the most good, ye can bet. Ye can leave a message for
me in toon, and I'll pick it up.'
He shook hands with the men and slipped Emlyn a wink,
'Tell ye what, lass; if yoo wish to returrn wi' me up
the hill, like, and have a wee visit wi' Jeanne and
look aboot for where to settle, ye can ride up wi' me
when I head back, after we're doon wi' the weel here!
Can bring yer wee spotted pony, he can follow the
wagon, then, eh?' Em declared that was an excellent
offer, and one she could not refuse.
As they waved Sean off down the lane in the growing
gloaming, Emlyn stood smiling, well pleased with her
day's venture 'up the hill'. Suddenly she noticed
Jethro and Homer both staring, grinning silently at
her.
'What?' Hands on hips, she regarded The Boys.
'Heh, heh, heh...' was all Homer would allow, as he
shuffled off back into the house.
Jethro put an arm about her shoulders, 'C'mon, Em...
feel like a little porch music?'
Emlyn relaxed then, and, as Jethro went inside to
fetch his guitar, she took a seat in of the wicker
veranda chairs, enjoying the soft twilight and watching
as the first stars poked their diamond light through
skyholes in the night...
Jethro came back out with his guitar, handed her a
mandolin, (which made her feel both excited with
anticipation, and guilty for not playing more), and
then returned with a jug of cider and cups.
'Jethro, I'm so remiss in my practice...'
Jethro tuned up, 'Now's a good time to start back in,
then. Don't get in a slump, Em. Be firm but gentle with
yourself, just like horse-training...'
This made Em wonder if she'd gained weight or what,
as Sophie would say. 'I'm not a filly...'she informed
him, slipping on the mando.
Nope, not anymore, thought Jethro, but he held his
tongue; Em knew she wasn't an old grey mare yet,
either. He strummed a few simple chords, watching as Em
endeavored to keep up. 'You're doin' okay. just keep at
it, Em...'
They jammed together awhile, as the evening fell
gently about them, and a frog chorus began it's
accompaniment.
'So, you're really doing it this time? Moving off ole
Nob Hill and heading up into the foothills?' Jethro
didn't look at her, just picked a tune softly, staring
into the dark.
'Yes, I am,' and Em knew it was so. Her old life in
San Francisco, and Pankhurst, for certain, was history
to her now. Her playing fell off, and she paused, 'So
much has happened this past year...I'm not the same
person I was even months ago...'
She was rambling now, not censoring her thoughts at
all as she spoke, '...I don't think I'll ever be the
same again. I feel I've lived 10 years in this last
year, past...'
'Hmm...' Jethro changed his tune and began to play with
a Celtic bent, 'You're sure you aren't here suddenly,
with a notion to head up the hill, just in time for May
Day; only for a visit with Jeanne and ole Sean?'
Emlyn lay down the mandolin, cleared her throat, 'I'm
sure.' She wanted to say more, but knew she shouldn't.
She could barely admit to herself, the trouble last May
Day had brought her, much less, to anyone else. Oh, how
Jethro would fume if he knew! And she would certainly
deserve his ire...
She sighed and leaned forward, wrapping her arms
about her knees, 'You'll be on your own, this May Day,
Jethro...'
At that, Jethro let out a bark of laughter,
'Em...Em...who are you talking to here?' He set his
instrument aside and uncorked the cider jug. 'Do you
think Jeanne isn't going to celebrate? I know for sure
and certain she is, and Allyn and the Bards as well.
And, I'll be there with them,' he informed her, handing
her a full cup.
'Oh? Where at, then?' Em accepted, sipping.
Smooth...and sweet, just a hint of bite. Much like
Jethro, she thought.
'Ah, well, they're not sure yet. I'd kind of like to
have it here, but, ole Homer's gonna be busy with his
new well, and he's planning on a 'real garden' this
year, now that we'll have the water for it. So, we'll
be working here on all that, with no time for a
festival.
'So, Jeanne and the Bards were discussing having it
somewhere thereabouts,' Jethro nodded up the hill and
easterly, 'for the ceremony, and to welcome in the
Green Man and the May Queen, and then, later that
night, having a ceilidh at the tavern on the green in
town.'
Emlyn regarded Jethro in silent surprise. She had been
so absorbed by her own troubles, and Jack's, that she'd
all but forgotten there was a whole world out there,
turning in spite of her...
'Oh, Jethro...' she paused and sipped, 'I've, been so
busy with, other things, I am only just realizing how
out of touch I am.'
Jethro eyed her now, and reaching over, took her left
hand. 'No calluses. Not a good sign, Em,' he folded her
hand in his own. 'I know that if you aren't playing,
you have a lot on your mind.' He patted her hand, then
refilled her cup, 'Care to share?'
Em looked down then, but only shook her head. 'I'd like
to, Jethro, but...I can't. Not yet.' She looked up,
then stretched her boots out before her, 'It's still
rather confusing, but, I guess you must know, it
involves Jack.' She drank deeply of her cup.
'How so, Em?' Jethro took up his guitar once more, and
picked out a soft, rather Spanish-sounding melody. 'I
know he hasn't been by in some time, and we hadn't
heard anything from Aleister...' nor from Sugar, he
thought, but didn't add.
Emlyn stared into her mug. 'He...has been, ill,
injured, really...' Jethro stopped playing, but Em put
a hand on his arm, '...it's alright, he's, recovered
now. But, although I can't go into details, it has
necessitated his move back east, for a while.'
Jethro set his guitar down once more. 'Em. I wish you
had, let me know! He's gone, then? Without a word?'
'Jethro, he had to go, and quickly! You know he
wouldn't have left without telling his friends, if he
could have helped it.' Em put her hand on his knee. 'It
isn't forever. He will be around, again.' Emlyn
wondered, in what state of mind, though? But, best not
think that way.
'It's been a long day, rather.' She suddenly felt the
day's exertions catch up with her sore muscles at once,
'I think I'll go in...oh, by the way...' Em blushed,
'...may I stay the night?'
Jethro shook his head, sighing, 'Need you ask, girl?'
He stood, and helped her up. They took the instruments
inside, and he put an arm about her shoulders once
more, 'Mi casa es su casa, as always, Em. Why don't you
and ole Pancho just stay on here awhile? You can watch
the well drillin' and all, then, head on up the hill
with Sean from here.'
Emlyn thought this might be a good idea. Daryl didn't
really need her, and, she had to admit, it was rather a
relief to be away from his intensive instruction.
'I'll think about it,' she put an arm about her old
friend and smiled up at him.
'You do that,' he grinned back and smacked her rump
with his guitar.
As she ran behind her door and closed it, shaking her
head, she smiled and thought to herself how good it
felt to be in familiar territory among friends again...
Something safe and familiar. Em needed that for a
change. Who knew how long it may last...?
. . . .
