"All The Way"
Chapter 7
The wilds of Utah
Standing on the mesa scanning the endless sky, Eliot Stokes felt as though time moved differently in the canyon lands. The sun descended creating brilliant colors of red, orange, gray, blue, and green hues like a kaleidoscope. Herbert Osmund stepped next to his friend, together they looked out at the canyons, buttes, and mesas that extended to the north and west as far as the eye could see and the only sound, the gentle rustle of dried grasses. For the moment, it seemed they were the only two people on earth.
Each evening they settled on the mesa to make their radio contact and enjoy the spectacular end to the day. Radio transmission was impossible in the canyon and Osmund had finished their daily communication with the university.
"Well, that does it Eliot. They're bringing in the gear tomorrow morning."
Eliot nodded. He had hoped with the distraction of work and the solitude of his environment he would forget. Instead the silence only allowed his mind to wander and reminisce.
As he and his friend mapped, planned and noted every aspect of the canyon and the layout of the Anasazi village he had found time to sit and think. Herb had brought along his rifle and pistol for target practice, while he used his camera and sketchpad to capture the unique features of their surroundings. He had sketched the stream that gave life to the canyon, provided moisture for the aspen, sedges, pinyon pine and wildlife of the canyon and completed a detail schematic of the Anasazi village nestled in the hollow of the cliff. Honing his camera skills he toyed with black and white film capturing the dramatic beauty of the canyon land. Sitting on the mesa he had sketched the endless horizon, the dramatic shadows created by the sunset. In the evening his eyes studied the sun on the horizon while his fingers created streaming locks of hair and in place of the sun a face appeared with exotic eyes exotic and full lips….Julia's face. He missed being with her and wondered if she even thought of him. He could only hope.
Osmund walked back to their favorite spot, stirred the campfire, and added more kindling. He loved the fire, the atmosphere and the opportunity to share quality time with his old friend. After their time in Harvard their lives had taken different paths, Eliot remaining in the east while he headed west. He felt misplaced in Massachusetts, the west was more to his liking, the open air and rugged independence. When an opportunity for a post-doc at the University of New Mexico opened for him, he did not hesitate. He did miss the friendship of Eliot Stokes. Eliot was the salt to his pepper.
Herbert admired Teddy Roosevelt and felt he had many commonalities with the late president both physical and in temperament. He had always been stocky with the build of a wrestler, powerful arms and chest. Also admirers of the late president his parents must have sensed at birth the determination in their newborn son and gave him the middle name Theodore, Herbert Theodore Osmund. Like Teddy he wore round wire rimmed glasses, sported a moustache with dark brown eyes that sparked with fire and mischief. What he lacked in height he made up for in determination. Earning a Harvard scholarship, he was not the model 'Ivy Leaguer', but a misplaced workingman. Unfortunately his talents made him the target of envy of those in the 'inner circle', the children of Harvard alums, who assumed they were automatically intellectually endowed by the good fortune of their birth and parentage.
Herb watched his old friend and remembered fondly their first encounter. Stokes had moved in across the hall in student housing and gave the residents the impression of being pompous and aloof. The adjoining rooms could hear Stokes playing the violin and glimpses of sketches and drawings through the open door when he would leave. Their new dorm mate was very private, giving a brief nod when meeting others in the hallway.
Osmund smiled slyly recalling his reputation as the king of practical jokes. His mind worked constantly to think of new and novel pranks to relieve the academic tension of his fellow dorm mates. By accident Eliot walked into one of his newest practical jokes. They had rigged the toilet seats in the community bathroom to explode under pressure. Several fluid filled balloons would cause water to fly in all directions soaking the hapless victim. The mastermind and his collaborators set the devices one weekend morning and waited in the adjoining shower stalls for their first victim. In pajamas and book in hand, Eliot entered the stall. The conspirators quietly waited for the moment of deployment. As expected the balloons popped, a spray of water shot out in all directions.
They heard a loud, "What the hell!" The stall door flew open; Eliot Stokes holding up his wet pajamas, stepped out, catching the mastermind and his cohorts making their escape. It was quite clear from the looks of the young men, Herbert was in charge.
Eliot's blue gray eyes blazed at Osmund. "What the hell, Osmond! Have you gone stark raving mad? Shouldn't you be spending your time on more productive academic endeavors?"
The mastermind's lips twitched, barely able to contain his laughter, carefully watching the elusive Stokes, trying to determine how he would react as the corners of the man's mouth twitched. The young men were held in suspense. Slowly Eliot's mouth pulled into a good-natured grin. The young men saw their cue and joined in.
Eliot raised the book and swatted Herbert's chest as he walked by.
"You're doomed Osmond! Your conniving brain is no match for mine! Let the practical jokes begin!"
He grinned broadly watching Eliot walk down the hallway holding up his wet pajamas.
Herbert smiled fondly at the recollection. Later that morning Eliot invited Herbert over for coffee. Spending time with his new acquaintance he realized he was in the presence of a rare, complicated and talented man, who like himself, came from humble beginnings and attended Harvard on scholarship. Immediately they formed a bond, a camaraderie. Recalling Eliot's warning he was always careful entering Eliot's room checking for practical jokes. His new friend did not return the prank that day. Stokes was a very patient man. Osmund knew he would be rewarded another time, a time of Eliot's choosing.
Osmund sat in a rock depression and watched Eliot standing, staring at some distant point, deep in thought. Breezes were blowing down the canyon from the east, from the Manti-La Sal Mountains, the southern range of the Rockies. The air began to take on a welcome coolness. Both men dressed in khaki pants, white short-sleeved shirts, and broad-brimmed panama hats, trying to stay cool in the relentless sun. The knee-high boots were hot and confining a survival necessity. The breezes indicated the start of the dramatic night cooling; the temperatures could easily drop 35 degrees or more. The air caught the pages on Eliot's sketchbook, slowly flipping the pages one by one revealing the landscapes and wildlife. Herbert watched the pagtes slowly turn like a slide show. Suddenly a drawing caught his attention the landscape with the woman's face. He studied how the face replaced the sun, hair streamed to form rays. The woman was quite beautiful. Eliot heard the paper rustling at his side and came to the rescue. He blushed realizing his friend had been staring at his drawing of Julia and folded the book.
"She's beautiful." Osmund stated.
Eliot felt his face growing warm. He could easily expound on any topic, but when it came to love and his feelings he was as humble as a schoolboy.
His friend smiled, "So a woman has managed to penetrate the crusty veneer of this confirmed bachelor."
Eliot still fought for words. What could he say? Herbert had meant to be kind, but his words stung. "Crusty veneer of a confirmed bachelor". Was that how Julia saw him, a crusty bachelor? She would politely share a sherry with him, but would never consider sharing his bed. Would she ever see him in a romantic light? Would she always be his dear and devoted friend? He felt despondent, his hopes sinking like the sun on the horizon. Stokes sat down opposite his friend and looked out over the vistas.
Osmund pursed his thin lips and stared ahead, watching the sun disappearing. The canyons, mesas, and buttes slowly morphed into shades of blue and gray. The sky overhead darkened, a few stars became visible as the sun dropped lower and lower. Finally the sky became a field of jet black dotted with thousands upon thousands of stars. The duo lifted their eyes taking in the full extend of the Milky Way.
Herbert sighed deeply. "It's been three years since Patrice died. She suffered with ovarian cancer and toward the end we both prayed for death. I miss her very much, Eliot."
The faint glow of the fire bathed their faces in gold. Eliot saw the sadness in his friend's eyes.
Herbert's voice cracked with feeling, "I know what you must feel…..the void….the emptiness…. when someone you love is not with you."
Eliot nodded. Becoming silent, their eyes turned upward, the star filled sky extending in all directions, the depth and scope beyond their imagination.
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Early the next morning.
The sun began warming the air along the bank of the stream where Eliot sat tuning his violin. Carefully he plucked each string and listened, content with his work he found a comfortable position, pulled the bow across the strings and began a slow refrain.
Herbert quietly walked along the bank and watched Eliot sitting upon the large boulder, dappled in shadow and sun. The sound of the violin carried easily across the narrow canyon and echoed against the steep canyon walls. The music was delicate and romantic, written in a minor chord, with a hint of sadness. Eliot's eyes were closed, his fingers moving gracefully, caressing the strings. His right hand paused above the strings, the sound waves diminishing.
Herbert leaned against a small aspen, not wanting to interrupt his friend's morning routine. He knew from experience it had to be one of Eliot's compositions. 'No doubt for the woman in his drawing.' The song continued with a lively beat, his foot tapped joining along until his whole body moved. He began to dance to the tune, pretending to hold a companion in his arms, he gracefully moved in the morning light. Stokes smiled and continued to play, watching Herbert and his dance companion moving in the sunlight.
Closing his eyes he visualized their body's…..he and Julia's…moving with the music, twirling, laughing, falling breathlessly across his bed, the notes trailing off softly like the comforter beneath them. Eliot slowly dropped his bow and heaved a great sigh.
Herb stood breathlessly before him, his hands on his hips. "Well is that all?"
Stokes gradually opened his eyes, answered, "For the moment."
"Damn that's good, Eliot."
Eliot chuckled as he placed the violin and bow in the case, "Always a music critic."
"I know what I like when I hear it. That's definitely a song for a lady with spirit."
Eliot felt uncomfortable and changed the subject. "Have you saddled up?"
"We're ready to head down the canyon to the trucks. We'll meet the caravan there."
In a few minutes they were back in camp. Eliot walked stiffly from his days in the saddle and wondered if his colleagues back at the university would ever believe he would or could ride a horse. Carefully he moved around their rides checking cinches on their gear as Herb stirred the ashes in the fire.
Stokes reluctantly pulled himself into the saddle and waited. Herb moved to his mount and grabbed the reigns and saddle horn and began the swing into his saddle when his hand slipped almost falling, quickly he recovered by grabbing the horse's mane and clumsily fell into the saddle. Osmund looked at his greasy hand as he sat upright in his saddle.
"What's the problem Herb?"
Osmund pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the grease from his hand and saddle horn. Eyes narrowing he turned toward his old friend and found a picture of innocence.
"You should be more careful." A smile toyed at the corner of Eliot's lips.
"Stokes!" Herb groaned, grinning broadly.
Eliot quickly turned his horse downstream, turned and laughed, "Let the games begin."
~~~tbc~~~