Nemo, 2009 Part 5

Nemo, 2009 Chapter 5

In a previous post, I published the fourth part to a story a wrote a while back.  Here is the next installment.

Chapter 5

November 22nd, 2009

Everett Ruess

"What Everett Ruess was after was beauty"

- Wallace Stegner

In Escalante, Utah, there is only one non-denominational church.  On the morning of November 22nd, 2009, Dyss and Haas drove the sheriff’s police car into the church parking lot.  They parked and exited the car, then began to walk towards the church.

“I hate this guy’s sermons,” Haas said.

Dyss laughed.  “They do seem to have very little to do with the Bible or personal responsibility,” Dyss said.

Dyss and Haas entered the church.  A small group of people were gathered inside. Pastor Christopher Pollent had already begun his sermon. Dyss and Haas found two open seats in the chapel.

Christopher Pollent was six foot three inches and had a large, muscular figure. He was 59 years old. Pollen spoke emphatically and passionately.

“Preservation,” Pollent bellowed.  “Preservation is the key to future happiness. All great philosophers understood this principle. They made their mark in history by adding to the collective preservation of humankind. Darwin taught us about the preservation of a species.”

Pollent paused.  “And today, we are faced with our own moral dilemma regarding preservation. I speak not of preservation of our species, but the preservation of our natural resources. The preservation of our environment; the preservation of our pristine wilderness; the preservation of our global temperature.”

The audience stirred at the mention of the temperature. Some moaned, others quietly cheered.

“God has given to man to be the caretakers of the earth,” Pollent continued.  “It is our sacred, God-given duty to protect this beautiful desert land.”  Pollen paused.  “And how is this to be accomplished? How is man, the puny dust of the earth, able to protect the majesty and grandeur of God's footstool? By preservation! We should know this better than any city in the country. Throughout the last ten years, we have seen our lands and trails torn apart by the influx of tourism. We must rebuild and restore, and then preserve the beauty that we have been endowed with.”

Dyss leaned over to Haas.  “That's ridiculous,” Dyss whispered.  “You can't rebuild to a former state. You can't preserve a moment in time any more than you can go back in time. Nature is always changing.”

Haas nodded.

Pollent’s voice began to fill with emotion.  “I would ask each member of this congregation to consider what he or she can do to stem the tide of the destruction of Mother Earth. Ask yourself what you can do to preserve what once was, and then have the courage to obey what your heart tells you.”  Pollen paused, then concluded.  “Preservation. The preservation of our earth. That is the duty that God has divulged upon us at this time.”

People began to stand up and mingle with each other. Dyss and Haas stood up and approached Pollent.  Pollen saw them and nodded towards them.

“Sheriff Haas, Jeff, how are you doing this beautiful day?”

“As well as can be expected,” Haas replied.  “We’re here on business.  A group of hikers has gone missing.”

“That’s bad news,” Pollent said.  “What can I do to help?”

Dyss spoke up.  “We found a piece of paper at the location where we presume the group has gone missing. It has some foreign writings on it that we hoped you might be able to identify.”

Dyss retrieved the laminated paper and handed it to Pollent. Pollent turned the paper over in his hands a few times, examining it closely.

“It’s Navajo writing,” Pollent said.

“What does it say?” Haas asked.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Pollent said.  “I’m a novice with Navajo.  But I’m sure there are a few members of the congregation here that could help. In fact…” Pollent trailed off as he looked over the audience.  He spotted a member of the congregation and waved to her.  A young Navajo woman walked over to the group.

“Sheriff Haas, Jeffery Dyss, may I introduce Desi Halwood,” Pollent said.  Each member of the group politely introduced themselves and shook hands.

Desi was a twenty-six year old female full-blooded Navajo. She had recently finished her schooling in history from the University of Arizona.

“Desi, the sheriff was wondering if you might be able to translate some Navajo for them.”

“I’m happy to do what I can,” Desi replied.

Pollent handed the laminated paper to Desi. Desi looked at the writings. After a moment, she looked up at Dyss.

“I hope this isn’t some kind of a joke,” Desi said.  “Some of these words are totally archaic.”

“I assure you, this is not a joke,” Dyss said.  “Why are these words not commonly used?”

“Some say because of their implied danger,” Desi said.  “Three words jump out to me on this page. The first word I saw, ‘dahtoo’. It means water. The words right next to it are ‘to niltoli tsilkei’. Whoever wrote this obviously doesn't know his Navajo too well. But he's trying to describe the type of ‘dahtoo’, the type of water. ‘to niltoli’ means fresh water, or a spring of water. The final word, ‘tsilkei’, means youth, especially in the feminine form.”

“So,” Dyss said, “roughly translated, it means…”

“The spring water of youth,” Desi said.  “The fountain of youth.”

Haas let out a short laugh.

“So,” Haas said, “this group that disappeared; they were hiking all around different canyons in Southern Utah, searching for the fountain of youth?”

“What group are you talking about?” Desi asked, confused.

Dyss looked at Desi, then at Haas.  “Maybe we should continue this conversation at the Sheriff’s office,” Dyss said.  “I’ll explain on the way.”

“I’ll meet you there,” Pollent said.

__________________




In Ashton’s office, Ashton and Hillman were waiting at the desk when the phone rang.  Ashton pressed the speaker button on the phone.

“I assume you received my fax,” Sarard said.

“We did,” Ashton said.  “But I fail to see how a map of Lake Powell is a plan of attack.”

“It is both a plan of attack and my list of demands,” Sarard quickly replied.  “Have your experts been able to calculate the potential causalities yet?”

“They are working on it as we speak,” Ashton said.  “But they have assured us that, even if the dam were to break, there are literally no towns or cities below the dam that would be impacted. The Lake Mead dam downriver would stop and preserve almost all of the water if the Lake Powell dam were to fail. A security team has already searched the premises of both dams and found nothing.”

Sarard laughed.  “So, you’ve found me out. I’m going to blow up the dam. After all the hype I’ve given to the genius of my plan, it all boils down to causing the dam to burst.”

Sarard paused.  “Such an act would make the total number of casualties, what?  There are only a few boaters on the lake this late in the year.  That would be a couple hundred people at most.”

Ashton and Hillamn looked at each other and nodded.  They had arrived at a similar number a few hours ago.


“That’s strange,” Sarard said.  “Because my estimate was something closer to forty million.”

Ashton tried to suppress a laugh, but failed.  She quickly recovered and spoke.  “There isn’t a nuclear bomb big enough in the world to…”

Sarard laughed again, this time louder. He continued to laugh for a few seconds, then paused.

“Who said anything about a bomb?” Sarard said menacingly.

The phone clicked as Sarard hung up.

Ashton looked intently at Hillman.

“What was that supposed to mean?”

__________________


In Escalante, Pollent, Desi, and Dyss entered the inside of the sheriff’s office.  They were busy discussing the case. Haas had arrived a few minutes earlier and entered into the room from a side office.

“You’ll never guess what came across the radio while we were out,” Haas said.

“What?” Dyss asked.

“I’ve got it recorded,” Haas said.  “Hear for yourself.”  Haas walked to his desk and flipped a switch on his radio.  “It’s short, you have to listen closely.”

The group huddled around the radio, staring intently at the speakers. A quick and mostly clear transmission is heard, though the last portion was slightly garbled. The voice is clearly female and belongs to Sarah Callahan. Distress is heard in her voice.

“...ame is Sarah Callaha... Manhattan wa...”

Dyss looked at the radio, then said, “Play it again.”

Haas clicked a button and the voice was heard again.

“...ame is Sarah Callaha... Manhattan wa…”

Haas clicked a button and the radio turned off.

“She said her name was Sarah Callahan,” Haas said.  “And that she is from Manhattan.” He paused.  “And guess what name is on the trailhead register at Davis Gulch. Sarah Callahan, group of three, from New York. Planned number of days to be in the canyon, one day.”

“So she call’s for help,” Dyss said, “but is only able to get a few words in before her radio dies?”

There was a long pause.

Dyss’ eyes widened. “Manhattan!” he exclaimed. “Sheriff, remember the drawing in the sand?”

Haas nodded.

“Do we have a picture of that drawing?” Dyss asked.

Haas moved to the computer on his desk and pulled up an image.



Dyss looked at the image for a moment, then laughed.

“Unbelievable,” Dyss says.

Pollent and Desi moved over to the computer.

“What is it?” Desi asks.

“The John Doe that died in Coyote Gulch last night,” Dyss explained.  “He drew this in the sand just after testing the stream water, and just a few minutes before he died in that same stream.”

Dyss paused as he pointed at the image on the screen.  “The first symbol, it’s a simple stick figure. We assumed it represented someone, a man. We were right about that one. The second symbol we assumed was a box. We were wrong about that one. It’s a top hat. We had no idea what the third symbol was, but looking at it now, it’s obvious that it’s a weight measurer, a scale.”

Haas leaned back.  “Huh,” he mused.

“I don’t see it,” Desi said.

“We have a man, a hat, and a scale that is fully tipped to one side,” Dyss explained.

Pollent deciphered it, and said it out loud. “Man, hat, ton.

“Manhattan,” Desi said.

“What does it mean?” Pollent asked.

“I don’t know,” Dyss said.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Haas said.  “It’s obvious what it means. This guy knew where the group from Manhattan was and he left an arrow pointing straight to them.”

There was a long pause, then Dyss turned to Desi.

“What else is written on the back of that map?” Dyss asked.

Desi shifted uncomfortably.  “There is not much more Navajo written here, but the words that are written are not pleasant.”

“Go on,” Dyss said.

“The Navajo’s believe, as many cultures do, that every force has an equal and opposite force," Desi said.  "The words that remain on the page describe corruption and poison and death.  The fountain of youth, just like everything else, has its opposing force. The waters of the legendary fountain can grant life or death. The other words here describe the gruesome death that awaits the misuse of the fountain.”

“But the fountain is just a myth,” Haas said.  “Just a foolish dream of Ponce De Leon.”

“The fountain of youth did not originate with Ponce De Leon,” Desi said.  “Ponce De Leon first learned of the fountain from his visit to the Caribbean and the Florida coast.”  Desi paused, pointing to the map in her hand.  “This word here, ‘Bimini’, that is the Puerto Rican word for the fountain.”

Desi turned to Dyss. “Not all myths have their roots in fiction,” Desi said.  “Clearly the fountain is not some cemented structure from which one drinks and gains a life that never ends.  It is something different, something more symbolic.”

“If it exists at all,” Dyss said.  “This investigation is not about the fountain of youth.  It’s about finding three lost hikers and discovering why our John Doe died in Coyote Gulch.”

“But it’s one and the same,” Haas said.  “If we are looking for the lost hikers and they were looking for the fountain, then we are looking for the fountain.”

“And all of the symbols on here are petroglyphs having to do with water,” Desi said.

“What?” Haas said, surprised.

The group surrounded Desi and looked at the back of the map.  Desi began to point to different replicas of petroglyphs on the paper.

“The spiral here represents a whirlpool,” Desi said.

Dyss pointed to a replica on the page.  “This petroglyph is at the top of Zebra Canyon,” he said.  “And these two petroglyphs are in Neon Canyon.”  Dyss paused.  “In fact, now that I think about it, each of these petroglyphs are somewhere in the greater Escalante area.”

“I’m willing to take it a step farther,” Haas said.  “I’m willing to bet that each of these petroglyphs can be found in one of the canyons that Sarah Callahan and her group visited. Maybe that’s why they are written on the back of her map; so she was able to find each petroglyph when she visited the particular canyon where they are located. The x’s on the map match up with the location of the petroglyphs.”

“But why would Sarah and her group be so interested in finding these markings?” Dyss asked.

“Why indeed?” Haas said.

“But again,” Desi said, “the duality of the water, life and death, is strongly present in all of these symbols.”

“Meaning what?” Haas said.

“There are two themes presented here,” Desi said, “and two themes only. One theme is related to clear, spring water.  The other is related to corrupted, contaminated water. Stark opposites.”

Desi paused.  ”I don’t want to sound like a doomsayer but I was always warned about the dangers of opposites. If the fountain of youth exists and it has to the power to grant life through spring water, I promise you that the opposite is true. The fountain has the power to bring death through contaminated water. Such power in the wrong hands could bring untold disasters.”

There was a long pause. The phone on Sheriff Haas’ desk rang. Haas walked to the phone and answered it.

Desi turned to Dyss.

“I know this is all superstition to you,” Desi said, “but you must take my warnings to heart. Be careful with this investigation.”

Haas covered the mouthpiece of the phone and turned to the group.

“You guys probably want to hear this,” Haas said.  “This is a water treatment worker up at Boulder.”  Haas pressed a button on the phone and placed the mouthpiece on the desk.  “Can you repeat what you told me?”

On the speaker of the phone a man’s voice spoke.  “We have had some strange readings in our water lately. Nothing to be concerned about, but I thought I’d let you know that we’ve sent out four employees to try to track down the source of the abnormality. They’ll be in your area for the next few days."

“Where are they now?” Pollent asked.

“I can’t say for sure,” the voice on the phone replied.  “I know that one of them was heading towards Zebra Canyon.”

“Is one of the testers a German immigrant?” Dyss asked.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I’m sorry to tell you this,” Dyss said, “but he drowned to death last night in Coyote Gulch.”

There was a pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the voice on the phone said.  “Maybe you should check on the other workers to make sure they’re alright.”

“We’ll do that,” Haas said.  “Thanks for the call.” Haas hung up the phone and turned to Dyss.

Dyss spoke first.  “This means that the German man that died last night in Coyote Gulch might not have anything to do with the missing hikers.”

“What do you mean?” Desi said.

“I mean, when he scratched ‘3 others’ into the moss, he was probably referring to the three other workers sent out to test the waters; not the three missing hikes.”

“But what about the Manhattan sand scribble?” Haas said.

“I don’t know,” Dyss said.

Another pause.

“Looks like we’re going for another helicopter ride," Haas said.  He then turned to Desi.  “Desi, I hate to ask, but are you able to come with us to Zebra Canyon? We might need your translational skills again.”

“Of course,” Desi replied.

“Pastor Pollent,” Sheriff Haas said, “we’re a little short-staffed around here on Sundays. Do you know how to work a radio?”

“Yes.

“Great,” Haas said.  “We’ll keep in touch.”

Haas, Dyss, and Desi left the office to head for the helicopter.


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