Tales of the City 05 - Significant Others

see something extraordinary:
    A tall, full-breasted woman, naked but for slashes of blue and green body paint, lifting her arms toward the heavens.
    He hid himself again, collecting his wits as the woman began to chant:
    “We invoke you, Great One … in the memory of nine million women executed on charges of witchcraft …”
    What on earth …?
    “We invoke the name of the Great Goddess, the Mother of all living things …”
    Peering incredulously around the tree, he saw that the other women were naked too. Some held bowls of fruit or bunches of flowers. Others were draped with amulets or holding amethyst geodes in their cupped hands.
    “We invoke you, Great One … you whose names have been sung from time beyond time. You who are Inanni, Isis, Ishtar, Anat, Ashtoreth, Amaterasu, Neith, Selket …”
    There was nothing to do but retreat. As quickly and quietly as possible. He would find help elsewhere, but not here, for God’s sake, not here.
    “… Turquoise Woman, White Shell Woman, Cihuacoatl, Tonantzin, Demeter, Artemis, Earthquake Mother, Kali …”
    He crept away from the tribal fire, but Nature took note of him and acted accordingly. Dry branches crackled underfoot, young tendrils caught hold of his limbs, night birds screamed warnings to anyone who’d listen….
    And something large and terrible leapt from the shadows to strike a blow to the back of his head.

Night Crossing
    S ETTING THEIR SCHEME IN MOTION, MICHAEL AND THACK took Wren’s car and drove to the Guerneville Safe-way, where they bought a box of heavy-duty Hefty bags. When they returned to the hilltop lodge, Wren was smoking a joint on the deck, her eyes on the dark river below.
    “Any word?” asked Michael.
    She shook her head. “He’s not gonna call. I’ve got this gut feeling.”
    Michael wasn’t so sure about her gut feelings, but he kept his mouth shut. “What do you want us to do?” he asked. “Once we get there.”
    “Just find out where his camp is. Hillbillies, it’s called. Ask around for him. If he’s there, or somebody at least knows where he is, then I can go home.”
    “If we find him,” said Thack, “what do you want us to tell him?”
    Wren rolled her eyes. “Tell him to call my ass.”
    “He’ll wonder how we got in, won’t he?”
    She shrugged. “Tell him. He won’t report you. I can promise you that.”
    “And if he’s not there?” asked Michael.
    “Then,” said Wren, “we figure out something else.”
    “How do we get back?”
    “Through the gate. You’ll be O.K. on the way out. It’s a mile or so down to Monte Rio. Call me from that greasy spoon at the bridge and I’ll come get you.”
    “Got it,” said Thack.
    “I’m glad you do,” said Michael.
    Ten minutes later, she drove them to the river’s edge, parking in a neighborhood that seemed disturbingly suburban. Why, Michael asked himself, do people move to the redwoods to build mock-Tudor split-levels with basketball hoops over the garage?
    The nearest house was dark, so the three of them scurried burglar-like across the side yard until they found a sandy path leading down to the water.
    “See?” whispered Wren, pointing across the river. “There it is.”
    The Bohemian swimming platform and dressing rooms were a dark jumble of geometry in the distance. Michael estimated the swim to be no more than fifty yards. Easy enough, assuming the absence of crocodiles or unfriendly natives with blowguns.
    “According to Booter,” said Wren, “there’s a bridge above that ravine and a guardhouse a few yards beyond that. You can probably avoid both of them if you follow the ravine up from the beach.”
    “Are you sure?” asked Michael.
    She shook her head with a wry little smile.
    “Great,” he said.
    “They won’t shoot at you,” she said. “It’s just a club. If worst comes to worst, you can use Booter’s name, and they’ll send for him.”
    “They’re gonna know we’re not members,” said Thack.
    “Nah,” she replied. “There’s a thousand men in there. Nobody knows everybody.”
    Thack sat down on the sand and began to strip, stuffing his clothes into a Hefty bag. “If you want,” he said to Michael, “put your things in here with mine. No, forget it. It’ll be too heavy with the shoes.”
    Michael sat next to him and began to stuff his own bag. Thack had stripped all the way, so he did the same, willing away the last vestiges of his Protestant self-consciousness.
    Pale as moonlight, Thack waded into the