It was my first year in high school. Houston, my birthplace, wasn't very familiar because I had been away for about thirteen years. The elder students tormented us. I made some friends and soon came up with this sure-fire way for us freshmen to prove our mettle and earn some respect.
My new friends included Carmack: A stocky Irish lad whose sense of adventure was in indirect proportion to his physical stature. Carmack could put cheer into a dead cat. An officer's worst nightmare.
Juan: A father of three who worked at night and attended school with us in the day. Juan lived under the radar and visited his beloved wife in Mexico every weekend. He taught me a wonderful ribald song about Solomon.
Paul: A genius in the same class as Richard Feynman. Paul was the brother I never had and the only man I have met who understood the female psyche. In this arena he was like Mozart, talented from birth.
One afternoon in the student parking lot an idea came to me. I had heard many students talking of a cemetery that was about fifty kilometres outside of town. The place was legendary because of the blue floating lights which had been seen by many people. Older kids would dare each other to go there at night just to remain for a few hours. Those who went were respected by everyone and most of them vowed to avoid ever returning to the unhallowed place.
It was perfect! I asked for the directions to get there and made sure that lots of older people overheard my queries. I put forth the proposal to my crew and after a minimum of cajoling they were firmly committed. Everyone except Juan who was going to Mexico. We made a plan to ride our bicycles and we expected to arrive several hours before nightfall. We would stay there all night and return as new men.
The ride over that Saturday morning was good except for a strong wind. The day before had been filled with heavy rains and thunder. It was hot enough to fry an egg on the asphalt and it was humid enough to steam clams. We arrived in good condition and explored the graveyard. We saw a few tombs that had been damaged by the elements and possibly by robbers. The cement covers were cracked and displaced. Some of the bones of the occupants were visible.
This sight, though it was in brilliant sunshine, put a chill on us. After some time we became concerned about the quickly declining sun. We scouted for a suitable place to sleep and the sky began to redden. We chose a small area under several oak trees. They grew between the graveyard and a soggy field that extended several hundred meters towards the mesquite. It was the only dry place near the graveyard.
Everyone dined on the foods they had brought. I ate two tins of Vienna sausages and one of peaches. Having a fire was ruled out because of our uncertainty of the ownership of the land. Talk ran fast and the light died. Twilight did not linger and soon we were using two flashlights. We told stories and waited. Every compass point was carefully searched for the slightest tinge of blue light. The moon rose. It was almost full. It was bright as the inside of an oyster shell.
The sky was busy with small cumulus clouds that were buffeted by strong winds aloft. When the moon cleared these obstructions we enjoyed wonderful visibility but every time a cloud intervened we were blanketed with darkness.
I remembered a line from a poem called The Highwayman wherein "the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon a cloudy sea..."
Time began to slow down. We had no caffeine and after the long ride we began to fade. We arranged our blankets and tried to sleep.
Almost accomplished in my slumber, I heard it. Carmack was snoring and Paul was peering into the dark. There was a highly peculiar sound coming from the field. It was soft but complicated. It began to grow louder and louder, a sound like distant drums and marching men.
We woke Carmack. We needed all eyes to corroborate what we were about to experience. While the acoustic menace approached, the cloud that had been obscuring the moon moved away. Lunar light flooded our field of vision. My hair stood erect and my eyes widened. We were all transfixed and saw many different things.
In perfect synchronization to the sounds could be seen splashes of water in the sodden field. Brisk oval shapes spraying upward silvered by the moon. They were the size of a big man's boot and they were heading directly for us. The tempo was disciplined like the cadence of marching soldiers. There were hundreds in this spectral battalion. While my sensory organs collected these audio and visual stimuli for processing another cloud slid in front of the moon.
I felt the vibrations and they confirmed that whatever was coming was closing the distance rapidly. Were they warriors of the extinct Karankawa on a ghostly raid for human flesh? Or perhaps ectoplasmic conquistadors condemned to search eternally for El Dorado? Or worse yet, were they the vengeful spirits of the millions of slaughtered bison?
We stood fast although I am certain that each of us wanted to flee. It was simply of no use to do so. We were going to be overwhelmed at any moment. I cleared my conscience and prepared for battle, death or both. I looked skyward for a last glimpse of the lovely moon and saw her emerge suddenly from a fast moving cloud.
I heard Carmack emit the leprechaun laugh of a burglar who stumbles but is not heard by a sleeping dog. Paul swore softly with the conviction and gravity of a Byzantine Priest. I lowered my gaze from the night sky and beheld a numberless horde of armadillos. They veered to our left when they got within ten meters. Their fat bellies made oval splashes on the watery field with each step.
fin
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