Black Lantern Publishing: A Once a Year Ride in the Desert

by Michael C. Keith

There is no man so friendless but what he can find a

friend sincere enough to tell him disagreeable truths

-- Baron Lytton

For eighteen years Gordon White and Mulab Katan attended an annual computer software convention held in Las Vegas. It was an opportunity for these old friends to catch up on one another’s lives and enjoy being together after a year apart. They had first met in the early 1990s at IBM in New York, but Mulab had left after three years for a position at a California start up company. During the years they worked together, they forged a unique bond in large part due to a mutual appreciation and sympathy for one another’s difficult childhoods. Both had begun life in the extremities of poverty and had to battle the odds to achieve what they had, and they shared a sense of victory over the difficult start life had dealt them. Consequently they had little regard for those who had reached their station in life without adversity. In the words of Mark Twain, they had the self-made man’s contempt for the undeserving rich.

To break the routine of their annual weeklong gathering Gordon and Mulab began renting a car and taking day trips to remote areas of the desert surrounding the city. The vast solitude spoke to them in ways it did not to most. They loved the raw western landscape and enjoyed driving to places where they could hike and take in the imposing topography. It was something they looked forward to with enthusiasm, and it had become the primary reason they continued to attend the conclave, which had become an uninspired affair to both of them. They were tired of meeting up with the usual suspects and less and less interested in the sessions on topics with which they were all too familiar.

On their first outing they spent the day driving through Death Valley. In late April, the heat had not yet become unbearable and the desert flowers sprinkled colors over the barren earth providing a scene of stunning contrast that filled Gordon and Mulab with awe.

“This is like a surreal garden,” observed Mulab.

“Beats the botanicals at Bellagios,” replied Gordon.

“Yeah, if there were a few slot machines here it would be complete,” joked Mulab and they both chuckled as they took as much time as they could to appreciate the other-worldly landscape.

* * *

Their next annual trek began at sunrise and took them east to Hoover Dam and then south to Lake Havasu City, where they stopped for lunch.

As they munched on burgers at a fast food restaurant, Mulab was seized by an urgent need to flee.

“Can we get out of here?” he asked Gordon, who could see from his expression that his request was urgent.

“What was that all about?” he asked as they climbed into their rental with their half-eaten food.

“Bad vibes, man. Not a good feeling,” Mulab responded without elaborating, but Gordon understood--or thought he understood--what his friend was experiencing.

“Too many rednecks?” offered Gordon, but Mulab only shrugged his shoulders. As they left the parking lot, Gordon added, “Lotsa’ gun racks in those pickup trucks, huh?”

“Yeah, and I bet they use them on liberals like us, especially ones with my pigmentation,” quipped Mulab causing them to both laugh. “This place gives me the creeps. Let’s go back to Vegas where they’re just normal run of the mill nuts.”

It was the only occasion that unpleasantness intruded on their day trips

The following year their drive took them north and an encounter with a place that had a beguiling, if not hypnotic, affect on them--a place they would continue to visit in the coming years. It was hard for them to explain why the unimposing butte off of Route 160, a dozen miles north of Pahrump, cast such a spell on them, but they could not resist its call and were oblivious to the emotional hold it came to have on them.

Gordon and Mulab would hike up to its rocky summit and sit for hours gazing at the desolation that surrounded them and talk about their lives with a growing level of intimacy that was both new and unusual. It was as if they had been liberated of the constraints that kept them from revealing their inner most thoughts and concerns to one another. The small rise that they thought resembled a large sleeping animal became a site for catharsis and unburdening. Each year they would reveal the transgressions and ignominious acts they had committed in their lives.

The degree and severity of their deeds seemed relatively benign at first but each succeeding year grew less so. Yet neither was offended by what the other revealed and responded with nonchalance no matter how distasteful the other’s admission.

In the course of the four years of visits to the same location they had confessed to a litany of bad behavior. Mulab told of joining a gang in his native India in an unprovoked attack on a foreigner, of stealing from his mother’s despotic employer, and of running over his neighbor’s dog and leaving him to die--among an assortment of other offences.

“Is that it?” Gordon would ask inquisitively during each visit to the ridge always suspecting he was holding back, and Mulab would offer the same cryptic response.

“Probably not,” replied his diminutive friend, and he would become quiet setting the stage for Gordon’s tales of iniquitous conduct.

His mea culpa included a host of equally disdainful acts that, among other things, included signing off on software he knew was defective, dumping mattresses and other debris in the woods of a nearby state park, nearly killing another driver in a fit of road rage, and routinely pissing on his neighbor’s prized flower bed.

A peculiar thing occurred during their hilltop confessionals. The sun would fade and dark clouds would appear out of a crystal clear sky, yet by the time they returned to their car, the sun had reclaimed its prominence.

“Maybe we’re causing some sort of cosmic disturbance,” remarked Gordon with a chuckle.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here. It’s kind of freaking me out,” replied Mulab, climbing into the car.

Following each pilgrimage to the remote site they would vow to visit other places on their annual return to Nevada, but as the year progressed and the closer the time came for them to meet up, they would experience a strong desire to make the trip again. It had become an irresistible siren call to them.

* * *

Their wives found their yearly expeditions amusing and considered it a good opportunity for them to bond.

“It’s cute the way you two do that each year,” said Gordon’s wife a bit solicitously.

“Cute?” inquired Gordon making a face and rolling his eyes.

“Well, you know what I mean . . . nice,” replied his spouse of twenty-two years.

Gordon and Mulab did not reveal the nature of their hilltop conversations, but on occasion Gordon’s wife would inquire as to what they spoke about on their outings in the desert.

“Just guy talk. You know . . . sports, business, and so forth. Nothing of great significance,” Gordon replied, somewhat puzzled and agitated by his wife’s inquisitiveness.

“Mulab isn’t into sports,” she persisted. “He hates sports, in fact. He must talk about other things.”

“We mostly enjoy the scenery and joke around. Nothing profound,” snapped Gordon.

“Don’t get upset. I’m just curious what two grown men talk about on long drives,” said his wife in a conciliatory tone.

“We just relax and enjoy getting away from Vegas.”

“You guys probably tell wild stories about your wives and former girlfriends.”

“Not hardly,” replied Gordon giving his wife a reassuring hug.

Mulab’s wife asked no questions. It was her sect’s custom for wives to remain silent regarding their husband’s business lives, and she considered his jaunts to Las Vegas a part of that category.

* * *

When Gordon and Mulab met up again in Las Vegas, they were eager to set out for what they had come to call Sleeping Bear Mountain. There was no discussion as to where else they might travel. They had but one destination in mind. The only decisions confronting them was who would drive and what kind of a vehicle should they rent.

In a couple hours, they reached the familiar dirt path that led to the base of the igneous knoll. As usual it took them less than twenty minutes to reach its crest and once there they assumed their customary positions on its ledge.

For several minutes they sat in silence enjoying the view that never failed to delight them. A lone eagle circled overhead as the late April sun washed everything in its powerful rays. Both men shaded their eyes with their hands as they surveyed the all-encompassing emptiness.

“I think the worst thing I ever did was slap my infant son on his head when I couldn’t get him to stop crying. I’ll never forget the look of terror and confusion in his eyes. I can see them now even though he’s practically grown up. I think I’ll always see them and wonder if what I did scarred him,” admitted Gordon, beginning to choke up.

Another several minutes passed in silence, and then Gordon asked Mulab why he had been so quiet on the ride out.

“Something the matter? I mean aside from your losing a whole dollar in the slot machine this morning,” quipped Gordon.

“I have to tell you something, and I don’t know how,” said Mulab staring at the ground.

“Let me guess. You cashed in your 401K at the casino and blew it all on roulette last night?” cajoled Gordon.

“Look, I never meant it to happen. It just did,” blurted Mulab raising his head to look at his friend.

“What are you talking about?” asked Gordon sensing he was about to hear something he did not want to hear.

At that moment clouds began to form and the eagle dove toward them.

“I had an affair with your wife when I was back at IBM. I’m terribly sorry. It’s been gnawing at me ever since we started coming to this place. I didn’t want to tell you, but I couldn’t help it. It’s like it was drawn out of me.”

“You what? Cut the bullshit, man,” blurted Gordon his head beginning to spin.

“It didn’t last long, and when I came to my senses I knew it was best if I left New York. We haven’t been in touch since . . . me and your wife, I mean,” continued Mulab his face distorted by remorse.

“I can’t believe this shit, you son of a bitch!” shouted Gordon. He lunged at Mulab causing them both to topple down the stony hillock. As they rolled to the bottom, day turned to night and the eagle shrieked and vanished into the darkness.

* * *

Several days later a police car arrived at the scene.

“Got an empty vehicle here at Telling Rock. Maybe it belongs to those missing guys they’ve been yakking about on TV,” reported the deputy sheriff to his dispatcher.

“Could be the big chief in the sky didn’t like what he heard,” replied the voice over the radio. “You know what the injuns say about that place.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard all those dumb stories. I’ll have a look around,” said the deputy, who then walked the perimeter of the butte finding nothing.

After a long drink from his thermos, he wiped the sweat from his face and neck and climbed to the top of the rise for a better view of the land around it.

“I’ll be damned,” he mumbled to himself as he made the descent to his car.

“Nothing here and no signs anything was,” he reported to his headquarters. “No foot prints or other tire tracks. Whoever the rental belongs to must have had wings because it’s the only way they could have left this place.”