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14. TREK TO THE PINES: The White Road.
Abalnnh = forest, a single tree, or wood
Ass Oomam = The Alien.
Ass Oomamannh = plural, The Aliens.
Sahbakite = Lithium.
Omah = Mother.
Casah = Cold.

Three months. While Patrick's in jail I get to stay. An 'ambassador'? Food for thought. Two.. nations... are...have... come together in conflict. Over-simplification? It's... interplanetary. Rational discussion... civil exchange is demanded to do less harm, more good. I need to... insert myself... into the middle of it, for my own sake, to influence the... relationship... in my personal favor. We'll see. I'm not a politician, not a lawyer, just an... interested party.

Briggs and crew spent a couple hours that night in the pub with us. The cops escorted them out to the shuttle after dark. They took off shortly after. The cops came back without them.

Briggs told me they were exploring some other sites to mine here, but the holds on the Deutche L. A. were full when he spotted the lithium. We 're-packed' some to make room for the lithium. It's crammed full. That indicates his intent to come back, not for me and Patrick, necessarily, but for more free mining. I know it would take another three months to go all the way to Earth, weeks or a month there to unload, stops at cities in orbit around other planets in our solar system a variable, and then three months back. I wonder if he'll do that or just hang here, waiting for us... not us... Patrick. I'm staying.

Sodaensus advised me later that the main Koob in the white robe is wondering if it should be allowed that Ass Oomamannh (The Aliens) can just come here and take assets, natural resources. He gave himself three months to think about that. It takes me a while to wonder if that's an incentive for Briggs to cut and run. He doesn't have to come back. No one will miss me, or Patrick, or, if they do, be able to interest anyone in authority to do something. The ores might inspire something. We didn't get it all here, all we have in the holds, other planets, moons, several, but lithium's still a prize.

Meanwhile, Eenunh and I are unemployed. Tinunh is in school. Tinunh tells me, "I'd rather be hunting with you and Omah!" I tell her, 'The future belongs to the educated.' It seems to resonate with her. She becomes thoughtful, leans forward, head in her hands, looking into nothing. I like seeing her face, showing the thinking going on behind those golden eyes.

She gets herself up, Eenunh tells me, and goes to school. Eenunh gets up, makes her breakfast, assures her school-bag doesn't leave anything on the coffee table or in the bed-hollow room, that she'll need. But mostly it's this 'responsible' child who takes care of doing what needs to be done when she needs to do it.

Eenunh and I get some snuggle time. She's changed. The light-hearted face that seemed to have it all together, quite content to be a wriggly hunter, lizard killer, mom and... secret alien lover, is now more grim. I don't like it. I don't like it at all. She's too beautiful to be so sad. I've... brought this on her. I didn't think of... consequences. It just seemed like... we were two people... following... our... urges, physical, psychological. I try to break the spell, cheer her.

She's not ticklish. I tried tickling under her arms, the soles of her feet. She realized what I was doing and pesters me, tickling me every chance she gets, sometimes at the most... ticklish moments! But making me jump, making me laugh, softens her face, makes her grin, and laugh, and rest. She settles back against me, rests, nearly sleeps, sleeps.

It's morning. I wonder what we'll do today. We're up. We're in work boots. We're unemployed. We have to find a job. The trip to the wriggly processing factory wasn't random. She was referred there by a 'state' job service. I didn't like it. The smell, enclosed all day. Midnight to morning shift. No. That's all they had to offer. I think if I knew that's why we were there I'd have taken the job. The sure thing in the hand.

Eenunh and I put on our pack-bags and wander in the desert, poking into sand with trowels. We scare out small lizards, slay them, eat them for supper. She trades some with neighbors for something, fruits, vegetables. We have plenty of greenies, orangies, some meat balls, part of the 'take' we brought in from the rainy season. The birds she killed were a regular treat about once every ten days. We gathered pieces of dried out... something... and she cooked them out at the edge of the patio. The pub boys rolled a table out there and we ate, watching the western sky. They're all gone now. No, they did not taste like chicken. Kind of... gamey. Quite edible, but...

In the desert we collect small green cactus 'balls'. They're pretty much buried in the sand. Eenunh knows where to probe with her trowel, find them. We clean a couple of those of thorns and she warms them up, serves them with lizard or bird, or, while we had it she did. Tinunh eats whatever is served, without complaint. I don't care for them, the cactus balls. Plenty of greenies, orangies. Meat balls became a little more scarce. We'd each have four, before. Then only three apiece. Then two. Now we give Tinunh two. She cuts one in half and gives us each half. I try to give it back. She insists, eyebrows up, moving her plate out of my reach. We're on the bottom here. Po folk!

I play in the pub every few days. People still applaud. Not much money appears in the account though. Eenunh's the money manager. Everybody's kind of in the same employment situation, after the rainy season.

Eenunh has an idea! Tinunh has some days off school. Teachers doing something, something else. Eenunh says we can walk to... somewhere. She tells me about it but I'm not sure what it is or where.

One day, coming in my door, she stops halfway in, turns and slaps her hand on the wooden door. She repeats the word, "Abalnnh. Abalnnh," and slaps lightly on the wood. She gestures with both hands, just sweeping up, moves her arms to the left and sweeps up again, to the right, sweeps up, repeats, "Abalnnh". We... become occupied with other things and I don't wonder what that was about.

Today I want to see her, first thing in the morning. No reason. I come out of my place and to her door. She's there, in the bed-hollow room. I know it. I think she knows I'm here. I don't knock. I open the door. She's kneeling on the floor,sitting on her calves, over by the far wall. She looks back over her shoulder, smiles, grins, reaches up her right arm. I close the door and go to her, kneel, she puts her hand on my neck, pulls me to her mouth. I want to play this game some more. She says, "Stop it!", her go-to phrase lately. I laugh.

She turns back to the work she's doing. She has their pack-bags emptied. The bags are laying behind her. All the tools are displayed from their two bags, on the bottom shelf. The pliers, the serrated knife, the straight-razor knife, the corn-knives in their sheathes, trowels. The little hammers are laid across the back of the shelf. She lays the pliers back there too. There are six little off-white canvas bags, about quart size, with a drawstring. She tucks one into another, repeats it three times. She lifts and lays their hammers and pliers up on the second shelf. She lifts a small broom from an upper shelf, lays it out on the floor with other things.

She lays out their leathers, onto the shelf, top garment, pants. Out on the floor in front of the shelf there is one upper garment like they wear under their dresses, for each of them, one of the leggy underwear, for each of them. There are canvas work pants, like the ones I bought. Their gloves. Their short canvas jackets. Their toothbrushes, a single stick of soap. A towel. A washcloth. Work shoes. Two pairs of socks, each.

There are three, not just two, piles of gray paper packages, Tinunh's a little smaller than Eenunh's, which is a little smaller than... one I think will be mine.

Eenunh stands up, crosses her arms over her chest, looks down at what now looks, to me, like installation art! I laugh, look up at her from the floor. I wrap my arms around her legs, bite at her belly through her dress!

"Stop it!" She giggles. She doesn't make me stop it. She sways a bit, seems to move her foot to catch her balance, hands on my head. She tells me, "Go. Make you... your pack-bag just like this," gesturing with both hands, down, up, down, palms down. "On floor, just like this," she says. "I'll come and see."

When I've laid out my stuff, I go to get her. As I approach her door I see a shadow, a change in the light from down the corridor that goes to the balcony on the cliff face. Looking down there I see her on the balcony, walk down. She turns, sees me coming, grins. She turns back to the west, looking out across the red sand desert. I step up behind, beside her, reach my left hand around on her belly. She holds my left wrist, points with her right hand at the horizon. I can see a low blue line. From this vantage I can see a... trace... a path, wide, like a narrow two-lane road, a dirt road, out across the red desert. It weaves around hillocks, rises over the rolling landscape, disappears, appears again to roll over the next one. We've walked on it, crossed it, recrossed it while hunting, gathering.

"Far," she says. "Far, far." She turns into me, reaches up for a kiss, takes my left arm steps under it, pulling me toward her back door. She lets go. Inside, up the ramp to the living room, on up the ramp to the bed-hollow room.

She bends over and retrieves the leathers, puts them in the bags, puts the clothes in, except the jackets, toiletries, lays the tools in, puts the gray paper packages in. I ask about the hammers. She says, "Yes. Your hammer. Maybe need it for something. Your pliers. Your trowel." But she doesn't take theirs.

There's a tall graystone canister like the greenies come in, like the mugs. She puts it in hers. There's a small graystone cannister. She opens it. There's a yellowish blob. She waves her right hand, holding the lid, and it glows! It's like a ball of the wall application material from the hallways, yellow. She puts the lid on, puts it in her bag. She lifts each bag by its strap, yanks at them, settling everything in a bit more I think. There's a short broom, a hand broom.

There are three round canteens on the next shelf up. She lays one on each bag, hands me the third. It's full. It doesn't slosh. Full full.

She turns and crosses the room. In their bed-hollow one of their two blankets is rolled up, tied with hemp rope. My sleeping bag is there! It's tied the same way. My hoodie is hanging out on each end, rolled up in the bag. When did she come in and get that without me knowing? I always know when she comes near. Probably when I was in the bathroom. She comes back, picks up their jackets, rolls hers up in another blanket, ties it. She unrolls the other blanket, puts Tinunh's jacket in, rolls it, ties it.

"Cold," she says, in English, says, "Casah," in Emoilihn. "Going to be cold... at night. Cold nights."

She pushes me toward the door. We go up the hall, into my room, and pack my bag the same way. She brought two of the little canvas bags, the gray-paper packages. She lays it all out, art installation, confirming the items. She mimes brushing her teeth. I go get my necessary toiletries. It occurs to me to take toilet paper leaves. I grab the whole stack, about two inches thick. When I show them to her her mouth drops open, she grins and pulls my wrist, offers her mouth to kiss. I kiss it. And nibble at her lips.

"Stop it!"

Damn it!

Tinunh comes home. She's excited! She puts on the coarse fabric work pants, under her dress, puts on her work shoes. Eenunh doesn't put her canvas pants on. I have mine on, just underwear beneath them. No jeans. Jeans in the bag. A shirt. They strap their pack-bags on, strap their blanket across from the opposite side with the hemp rope. Canteens strap around necks. They look like pack horses! I do the same.

I'm only a little apprehensive about where the hell we're going. I don't care where we're going! I'm happy to be with them, anywhere. I'm happy; that unfamiliar feeling!

I care a little bit about what we're going to do there. The presence of corn knives gives me comfort, for defensive purposes, and apprehension for what we may have to do with them. I never got used to big black lizards hiding in the sand! Or little ones. But we're together.

Tinunh takes off her canteen, her bedroll, her pack-bag, grins, goes to the bathroom.

Eenunh's golden eyes flicker and she smiles, laughs, tickles at me, grins, bumps our packings together, swings around behind me, bites me on the back of my shoulder, whispers my name. She hugs me, lays her cheek between my shoulder blades, holds me there. I don't care where we're going. Lizards don't bother me!

Tinunh comes. She puts her pants in her pack-bag. Bare legs again. Out the door, across the corridor, down the ramps, out through the pub.

There's someone at door. And they knock. It's one of the Blueboys from the pub. He talks fast, quietly, conspiratorily. Eenunh responding equally fast, grins all around. He has a blue bottle, offering it to me. I take it. Tinunh takes it, grins, puts it in her bag. He and Eenunh brush fingertips. Tinunh hugs him! I brush fingertips. He goes.

We're out, down the hall, down the ramps to the octo-room, but we turn left, go into another passageway... to... another pub. The Blueboys there don't seem to pay any attention to us. We cross the room, out the open spindledoor. We're... fifty yards, I'd say, from the pub we frequent. I look down the patio that way, guesstimate. I wonder why we came here. We go to the edge, the path down into the desert. I take the lead, stepping sideways down the slope with its loose grit, a little imbalanced with loads.

We go down the path angling down the slope, set out across the desert, the Sunstar still high in the sky, shortly before or after high noon. It's not as hot. It's bearable, breathe-able. It occurs to me that the season is changing. I trust Eenunh... and Tinunh... know what we're doing.

We walk steadily, west, in as straight a line as the lay of the land allows, simply following the trace. It's obvious now, the trace, the road, knowing what it is. Red sand is drifted obscuring its edges in places. We round out the curves, going close to the left 'curb' when the road bends left, close to the right when the road bends right.

Just when I think I need a break they stop, get up close in the shade of a saguaro. Soon, right on time with my feeling of being ready, they stand and we go again. We've walked all morning, and into the afternoon. The Sunstar is getting red, still fairly high off the horizon. I can look right at it, see sunspots, big, triangle-shaped black areas in the red ball. In the distance I see the dark silhouette of a hill, right in line with where we're headed. Dark shapes stick up on it, like... trees. We're bee-lining for it. We're a little off the track, the... trace, the road. I can see its edges to my left, knowing what I'm looking for.

We get there, that hill, and start up the slope. Rocks are loose, demanding attention to each step. This would have been a pretty tall island in the waters. I don't think we ever came out this far this way. It's the red sandstone of outcrops like on the islands we hunted on in the rainy season. I don't think we ever came this way. Yes, we come to the rock outcrops that seem to be on every hill, every island, looking water washed, terraced from low to high, once you get off the sandy slope, the... beaches when they're islands. At the top of this one, I look up from watching my footsteps... to see... trees!

I say it; "Trees!"

Ennunh and Tinunh say, "Trees. Abalnnh. Abalnnh." Trees.

Eenunh and Tinunh have stopped, waiting for me. Eenunh takes me by my left hand with her right, leads me to a tree. She lifts my right hand, puts it in her right hand and squeezes them! She's pointing at the tree. I see! Backlit in the red light; Thorns! Tiny short, half-inch needle-like thorns all over it! It's some kind of cactus tree, a grey, gnarled wood, and little thorns everywhere! I look up into the foliage. The air is moving and the leaves flutter in it. Limbs. Definitely a tree. Eenunh reaches and pushes my head down.

Eenunh says, "Don't look up!" she says. "Not to touch anything! Repeats, Anything! Not touch. Trees. Ground. Nothing." She points at the tree, the ground. She puts her hand over my eyes, as if to shade them. "Don't look up!" she tells me. "Not to touch anything!" I see thorns littering the ground. I hear them fall as the wind blows! I get it! Damn! What are we doing here?

We go on across terraces of beaches, over sandstone layers, to the very top of the hill. There's a barren red sandstone there, sloping a bit to the west. We can see over most of the thorntrees, all around, only a few taller than the hill, none close to this great expanse of sandstone, littered with smaller stones, and terraced to a final surface about fifteen feet across.

The red light makes everything very beautiful!

They're not stopping to enjoy the aesthetics. Tinunh works, all her strapped equipment dangling awkwardly, making the task look difficult, awkward. She has the small broom. She's sweeping off the raised rock there, about sixteen inches high, sweeping a pile of what look like thorns from the trees from top to bottom, down the slope of the stone, and onto a gray paper. She climbs down off the rock, walks a bit and shakes it out on the ground, comes back, sweeps some more. The trees are back down the hill. I can see over them. I can see the little red bump of the hive more than half a day's walk back to the east. "Far... Far far." Tinunh hands the broom to Eenunh who sweeps a little more, carries off needles, dumps them at a distance down slope, away from the rock. Tinunh reconnoiters, her thumbs under the straps of her load, circles the entire outcrop.

They kick their shoes at the edge of the rock, before they step up on it and put their blankets down, lay their pack-bags down. They bring their canteens up, and drink. First drink of the day. I wanted a drink all afternoon but since they weren't drinking I didn't either. Now! Gotta have it! Oh! The pleasures of water! The perfect formula of hydrogen and oxygen! Man never improved on it! Tinkered with it a thousand ways! But never made it better than the original!

Eenunh points and spreads her blanket. Tinunh spreads hers atop Eenunh's. The rock slopes toward the Sunstarset. Eenunh looks me in the eye, points to the space to the left of her blanket. I spread my sleeping bag there, set my canteen and pack-bag down at the uphill end. The Sunstar is going below the horizon. Soon it will be dark.

They both go off the rocky top and begin laying stones up all around the edge of the outcrop. They pick them up, knock them on the outcrop or a larger stone in the sand, set them on the edge of the outcrop. Okay. I start doing it too. Eenunh cautions me, "Abalnnh! Thorns!" I nod. She grins at me, perfect white teeth glowing in her face, now half red from the Sunstarset, half green. I see. I feel the thorns laying on some rocks as I pick them up. I'm careful to pick them up, peck them on the outcrop to shake off thorns, move my fingers to let fall any under my fingertips.

Tinunh is a busy little worker. She has a couple layers of stones stacked, starts working around Eenunh's area, stacking more stones. I try to keep up. We have to go a step further downslope to get more rocks. Tinunh comes right on around, passes me, sometimes on my left, sometimes right, stacking stones. They stop, converse, and... squat! They're peeing! They don't just pee. They pee, move a few steps and pee again! They're circling the rock with pee! It's a territorial marking practice among some animals! I've heard of hunters who do it around their camps to deter wolves from coming in. They say the wolves respect it, stay out!

They both kick their shoes on the edge of the rock, beyond the stone piles, step up, settle on their blankets. I need to pee, so I do the thing. They're giggling. I'm able to make a complete circle! Wanted a drink all day. Didn't need a pee until now!

The Sunstar is barely peeking over the horizon. It's becoming pitch black, here on the ground, but the sky is still lit. The brightest stars are shining. Soon the million stars are out. I settle on my sleeping bag. We use our pack-bags to boost our heads a bit. They keep their shoes on so I do too.

The rock is a rock. You talk about comfortable; it ain't.

Tinunh is sitting up, talking quietly. Eenunh is lying on her right side, facing away from me. She and Tinunh are talking. I find it easy not to eavesdrop on their language. I still don't know it well enough to get everything everyone says. And trying becomes exhausting. I get fatigued and simply can't pay attention.

I open my pack-bag, get my corn-knife out, lay it half out of the sheath at my left hand. I don't like that configuration. I want it at my right hand. I stand, lift my sleeping bag, pack-bag, canteen, step over Eenunh's feet to Tinunh's side. I show them my corn-knife belt, in my right hand. I drop my bag and canteen on the rock, demonstrate unsheathing the knife, shake it in my right hand. Golden irises flicker. They converse. They adjust, Tinunh moving to Eenunh's other side. I spread my bag.

I lay down, get 'comfortable' again, look at stars, pick out patterns for constellations. Eenunh stirs, leans on my chest, kisses me, once. Stop it. I begin to sink into sleep; suddenly! Jerk awake! I settle back into that comfortable feeling, surrendering to sleep. Insects begin to chirp out in the desert, up in the trees. I sleep.

I dream.
Stars, the Big Dipper, elegant monster constellation from Earth.
Eenunh is standing in front of me.
I'm hugging her.
Tinunh is standing in front of her.
She's hugging Tinunh.
Tinunh says, in her human voice,
"It's going to be okay."