The Giza Death Star Revisited: A New Steemit Novel Chapter 35
The Giza Death Star Revisited: A Novel Based on the Work of Joseph P. Farrell
“Hey! Hey!” they heard.
Opening their eyes they stared through the open lodge door and beheld all the stars and Milky Way like they had never seen them before. They were exceedingly vibrant, yet so tranquil, pulsing with life they hadn’t noticed before, dancing in their stillness.
The men outside were fully dressed and cooking meat, corn and stew on the fire. They turned to meet the crew as they emerged from the steaming womb of logs and earth.
“Djoo get a sunburn in there, man?” asked one of the men with reassuring laughter.
“Feels like it.”
They looked at each other. “Oh, man, you should see your face.”
“If it looks like yours, I’d rather not.”
Greaves exhaled mightily and stretched his arms, “Man, that was good! I’ve never been cooked alive before.”
“Now you know how lobsters feel.”
“Except they get eaten.”
“Maybe that’s what he means,” quipped the old shaman as he threw a glance and a wink towards the three.
They stood around the drinking bucket gulping water from plastic party cups and looking like they’d just finished an Ironman.
The old shaman came over to talk to them.
“You fellas alright?”
Deep sighs and nods answered affirmatively, “Pretty cooked, but otherwise yeah.” “Sure.” “I reckon.”
“Then I’m gonna tell this to you, and only to you,” he went on in a hushed tone. “You can’t ever talk about it around here. I saw the Thunderbirds swallow you and take you to the mountain.”
The three men, who were lifting their cups to their lips, stopped and returned their cups to the “rest position” at their wastes. They gave the old shaman their rapt attention. Because of their training, instead of being shocked or surprised, they understood the reality they’d just passed through with the old man and that they were about to receive important words.
“That’s big medicine. Because you respected us and our culture the spirits liked it. My advice is before you go in that place, you rest up for a day. You still don’t know what happened to you. Eat. Have some stew and Apache corn. Tomorrow you’ll feel different.”
“OK, thank you, Grandfather.” “Thank you, Grandfather, for everything.” “You’re the boss, Grandfather.”
“And besides,” he added pointing to their faces with a crooked finger, “you look like shit.”
They all laughed with relief. “C’mon, now, let’s go eat. And sing.”
They dove vigorously into the feast prepared for everyone. A group of drummers set up their drum and beat out powerful, soaring, and ineffable songs, to which some of the locals sang along. Gradually some of the women made their way out, some fat and gray beaming with wisdom, others young and soft with long sumptuous raven locks, high dark cheekbones, and beaming with mischievous coyness.
Thorny and One Flare were immediately taken and leaned their heads together to comment in private. Unbeknownst to them, the old shaman was right behind them. He was beaming with smiles.
“Sometimes it’s nice just to have them around, just to appreciate. Even when you’re too cooked to do anything.”
The boys laughed.
“When you’re my age you’ll appreciate it more. Now go appreciate it.”
The boys took seats on logs amongst the women, and much to their own surprise, sat there like gentlemen appreciating the good company, sharing a few laughs and appreciating the fine music.
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