Stained Glass Murals; Willson's Journal 9
[Willson did not keep his journal for some time after crossing the Centennial River. We think at least for weeks and possibly as much as several months. We conclude this because for a while he described events that had happened more than as they are happening. Further, we must apologize for some of what we present. We find now we have more difficulties with the language. Some of what we describe makes the events that we have presented in the past seem straightforward and logical. We will revise as we continue to learn. The Editors.]
Not
far after crossing the Centennial River there is a small general store;
the last stop before you reach the junction at the East Highway that
leads down into The Basin. That will be after a long long day of
desert ahead. Well it’s called Last Stop but is not quite the last
stop. There will be a few rest areas on the way and a small gas station
at Half Way. I go in for bottles of water. That is the reason for the
store, helped by several billboards that warn of the perils of being
out there in the desert without water. One of the reasons anyway. The
other I learn is the rabbits. A shelf of books that warn of the dangers
from the rabbits out in the desert is next to a display of stuffed
rabbit toys. Along the wall behind there are adult-sized rabbit suits
for sale. And a sign above the door as you leave says “There Be
Rabbits!” Yes, this will be desert. Real desert after crossing
the river; if you think LoneStar has desert you need to go to The Coast.
No one lives anywhere close to this desert after you cross the River
until you get to The Basin and if you ever were to survive this journey
you understand why. Very much of nothing. Sun. No water or trees.
Ranges of blue mountains layered in the distance you know no human has
ever visited. And there are rabbits here, though you might not see any
on your trip. But you have heard the stories of what can happen. If you
stop the car on the road there will be rabbits looking at you; you dare
not wander off. If you stop at a rest stop you will see rabbits
surrounding the rest stop perimeter looking hoping for a weak person
who might wander off alone. At night your headlights pick up
reflections of the eyes of rabbits who line the highway. Sometimes you
don’t see rabbits at all. This is worse because you know they are out
there. You hear stories of how they endanger cars. They have a ruthless
strategy where a small group will run across the road in front of your
car hoping to cause you to crash. And then the others pounce. Other
times they run at your car by the dozens from an angle from the right
front and jump over one after another. And just when you think that it
is over more come from the left front. This happens at night. All to
get you to stop. Or these are the stories you hear anyway.
There
is the well-told story about the man some years ago who thought he
could reason with the rabbits and persuade them to leave the cars
alone. He read all he could find about how rabbits live, interact, and
communicate with one another and spent months observing and interacting
with rabbits held in zoos. The keepers finally said enough when he
tried to dig a place for himself that would connect in to the rabbit
warren. When he believed he had learned all he could he bought several
changes of rabbit suits and loaded up his bright orange truck and
trailer with carrots. He said his goodbyes to family and friends and
hopped out to the truck and drove off to live amongst the rabbits. And
there is reason to think he had some initial success is establishing
contact. Several travelers reported seeing him off a distance from the
road in his rabbit suit speaking and gesturing to groups of rabbits
seated in semi circles. The rabbits seemed to listen as they munched on
carrots. As far as travelers could tell he would be pantomiming hopping
and jumping and also the actions of drivers, positioning his hands as
if he was holding a steering wheel turning it one way then the other.
He would shake his head indicating yes and no. He would run by as if
holding the steering wheel and wave to the rabbits. Then he would
go over to where the rabbits were and wave back. Soon though, the
sightings of him stopped. Sometime after the last sighting several
travelers who had stopped to explore found the trailer overturned,
empty of carrots. He or his truck has not been found yet.
I don’t know what happens when the rabbits get you. It is better not to
know I think. After over half a day of driving I have not seen any yet
though. I do see a sign for the gas station at Halfway ahead “Hop on In
and get Gas!” I drive in myself. The small store there is called
The Hutch. The man that helps you wears a large rabbit suit. It
has oil spots here and there. He hops around silently as he gasses the
car, checks the oil. He has had to make his accommodations with the
realities of power here locally. And as I pull out back on the road I
see one at the edge just where the dirt road meets the highway. A large
old rabbit watching me, making note of my leaving. In the desert you
are alert or you die, though this is the only rabbit I have seen so
far. The daylight will be coming to an end later and the sunsets in the
desert can be beautiful. I thought I would stop for a while and walk
around, enjoy the silence and solitude. Take a little walk around and
explore some of the gullies. Carefully. See what might be lying around.
As long as I know the layered ranges of mountains are opposite of the
road I will not get lost. I just go back opposite of the mountains and
I will find the road eventually. So after several more hours I pull off
to a clearing by the side of the road. I rest holding the steering
wheel in both hands and stare out at the landscape. No rabbits I can
see. Well I better get out and start exploring before the sun starts to
set, and not just sit here holding this steering wheel. [Doing creative writing now
Willson? Editors.]
It is much scarier thinking about this than doing it. It is actually
pleasant exploring these gullies. I find small washes where the water
ran after the infrequent rains, some with wildflowers. The air is fresh
and clear to breathe. The vegetation smells pleasant. It is wonderfully
silent. I see occasional pieces of junk; all seem to be from the ruins
of abandoned cars and trucks. Most rusted, but a few pieces that seem
more recent. Fenders, a hood, a door, all with traces of faint orange
paint. I go over a small hill to another gully. There is even a small
stream still running here. I notice some movement over in an area by
the stream shaded by a large desert bush. There are several rabbits, a
larger old whiskered fellow, surrounded by maybe a half dozen who are
younger. I quietly turn away not to disturb, or upset them. A breeze
that comes up sounds almost like a voice. It stops me; I think I hear
“are you looking for your countryman?” The sound is coming from the
direction of the rabbits. No! Really! I look back at the rabbits and
the old fellow seems to be talking to me. I move back a little closer
and hear him again “are you looking for your countryman?” I shake my
head and say something like “oh no!” And quickly turn my head from one
way to the other to see if there is anyone else, or anything that would
see me talking to a rabbit. “That is part of his truck” the old rabbit
continues, pointing at another faded orange fender. “He did a lot of
good here, taught us much, until he…”, then the old rabbit starts
chattering in his language with the younger rabbits. I think these must
be his aids or counselors. One does several back flips. Two of the
others look at each other, rolling their eyes in exasperation. The old
rabbit then nods his head in understanding and continues “...until he
flipped out.” “Oh” I said. Some of the younger rabbits are looking at
me to be sure I understand. A few smile to themselves shaking
their heads. These seem to be nice guys. “Over time” the old rabbit
continues “his his teachings became…” He consults his counselors
again for just the right word. More rolling of the eyes. One makes a
sound then quickly covers his mouth. Another covers his ears. A
third movers his hand back and forth under the bush. The old rabbit
says “under, hear, noise?” The counselors stop him when he
repeats “under”, so he says “un…”. Then “un – hear?” One of
the younger slaps his forehead in frustration. “Oh unsound” the old
rabbit has the right word now; “his teachings became unsound.”
Most counselors nod in satisfaction. “Is he dead then” I ask. “Oh no,
very much alive I’m afraid” the old rabbit continues. “He fell in with
a gang of young radicals, incorrigibles. They have started attacking
people again who stop. I don’t think they are operating in this area,
but maybe you should get back to your travels before it gets dark.”
Well maybe all the counselors aren’t nice guys. I see there are
more now. I notice one is looking at me with hostility; his coat seems
to have been dyed red. And several more in red appear beside him. So I
say a very polite goodbye and start with an increasing pace back to the
road away from the distant mountains. The gullies seem steeper now. I
climb up one and find another even steeper. I don’t remember them just
like this. I pretty much have to claw my way up the sandy slopes as I
slide back down. All at once I am knocked down from one side. I see a
rolling truck tire continue on past me slowed down by the impact. I
look up and see the hostile red rabbit standing on the top of the ridge
his arms folded in satisfaction. All of a sudden just below me in the
gully I see a group of screaming rabbits coming towards me. All are
dyed red. In their midst is a crazed man with a shaved head and
tattered rabbit suit. His face had red markings. He is holding a truck
steering column with the steering wheel attached ready to swing it like
a weapon. He is pointing at me screaming “the horror, the horror!” I
run as fast as I can up the gully. But I can’t get much movement or
traction with my feet. Soon he is on me forcing me down with steering
column holding the wheel on my chest. Down below I can feel the crazed
rabbits pulling at my feet. I can’t move my feet freely to kick at
them, much less start back up the hill. I hold the steering wheel in
the center trying to push it away from my chest. Now I hear a shrill
sound that won’t stop. The wheel is banging my head. I can’t breathe.
I look around. It is dark. I can’t feel anything. I still hear the
noise. I see a windshield just in front of me. They are going bury be
under the truck windshield! I am still holding the steering wheel. I am
not dead because I still hear the noise. But otherwise it is quiet.
Nothing happens. Then things clear. The windshield is my car
windshield. I am holding my steering wheel. I stop pushing and the horn
stops blowing. I think a moment. It was all a dream! It was all a
dream! My feet can’t move because they are wedged under my brake and
clutch pedals. I have a bruise on my forehead and a bloody nose from
banging my head on the steering wheel. I make sure the doors are shut
and locked. It is starting to get dark. I scream to myself “It was just
a dream!” I am breathing hard and open the door to get more air, then
close the door quickly. I do not get out of the car before I pull away
and continue on the road. After several more hours I finally make it to
the junction at the East Highway. I made it through. I stop at a rest
stop to clean up. I have sand in my shoes and dirt spots on my
clothing. How did I get these?
(continued
on Page 2)
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