A Cosmic Vaudeville Performance

         



 
So there I was in my bedroll as the sounds of mice foraging for food and the crackling embers of the campfire began to lull me toward the land of nod when a sudden sharp bang on the metal roof of the mountain shelter jolted me fully to my senses. "What the blazes was that!?" was exactly what I said, but Hank was busy sawing logs, so he was oblivious. It must have been a tree limb that had fallen on to the shelter, was what I thought. But then I heard it again! ...and again! The frequency of the banging noise increased with a furious intensity that was deafening. That's got to be hail, I thought. I sat up in my bunk and peered out just beyond the polyethylene sheeting that was flapping wildly like a ship's ensign. I could see large raindrops splashing on the ground.

 

Under normal circumstances the noise would have no doubt been unbearable but we were dog tired from our 10 mile trek up the mountain carrying 50 pound rucksacks earlier in the day and could have practically slept through a hurricane. Eventually, I was able to fall asleep, but then I was awakened once more by a grumbling noise. I looked toward the bunk where Hank was sleeping. He was moving around restlessly. The dim reflections from the embers of the fire revealed a hole in the roof just above him through which the rain was steadily dripping. He managed to move over to one side and the rain water dripped noisily through the wire mesh bedroll support to the earthen floor where it began to form a spreading puddle.

 

I was beginning to think that I would not be able to get any sleep at all, at that point. This belief was further reinforced by yet another disturbance that was coming from beyond the shelter. However faint, I was certain that what I was hearing were people's voices. This time, somewhat quietly but forcefully, I whispered over to Hank,"Hey, wake up!" It was no use. He was too intoxicated with sleep, that even a bugle blowing reveille would probably not have awakened him, though the water dripping on him most certainly had. "For God's sake, what is it this time?," I muttered to myself. " Are they backpackers trudging toward the shelter? The questions only seemed to accentuate the apprehension that had come over me. I reached for my revolver and removed it from the holster, made sure it was fully loaded, and then laid it across my chest. In the other hand I held my hatchet.

 

The rain began to subside and had let up enough to allow me to hear more clearly what the possible intruders were saying. I listened closely and noticed that not only were the words like some strange foreign language, but what I actually heard was singing. In my estimation, backpackers trekking up the trail in the middle of the night while belting out a tune just after a downpour would rate fairly high up on the list of very strange and unusual occurrences. But apart from that, there was something else, something intangibly and palpably different, as if nature had transcended to another realm or dimension. I felt the tension falling away, however, as I lay in the bunk listening to the fascinating song blend harmoniously with the sound of tree frogs and crickets. It was a symphony of sound, both natural and otherworldly.

 

A minute or two had passed and I realized that the troubadours were not any closer. An inclination for discovery, or something else maybe, compelled me to investigate the cause of the curiosity. When I got up out of the bunk, almost immediately I noticed that the ground did not feel so firm under my feet. Moreover, my other senses had somehow also been altered to such a degree that I could now see even the slightest details around me in the darkness that would not have been so apparent, otherwise, without the means of some sort of reflective light source, for example. As disconcerting as these sensory changes were, the mystery continued to draw me onward, still. Although it had been somewhat cold, it was now only slightly cool. The rain had stopped and the clouds had dispersed enough to reveal glittering stars that resembled diamonds scattered across the firmament. The hemlocks, rhododendrons, ferns, and poplars shimmered from the silvery light of the starry sky. In a small clearing by a stream, a stone's throw from the shelter, was a most incredible sight and was, in fact, the cause of the mysterious chorus. Stealthily as a ninja, I proceeded through the woods until I was close enough to discern several strangely dressed figures. Their brilliantly colored clothing reminded me of jewels and fish scales sparkling in the starlight. The spectacle was like a cosmic vaudeville performance. I felt the urge to shout out exclamations of approval, but controlled the urge and continued to quietly watch the curious performers, instead.

 

Just then, a voice bellowed down into the woods to the clearing. The mysterious troubadours stopped and glanced toward the shelter. I turned to look up the hill, as well. A gust of cold wind brushed my face and quickly I turned back to look at the musical performers, but they were no longer there. I stepped out into the clearing and walked around the grassy stage hoping to find some evidence, as proof for my own sake at least, that what I had been witness to had actually taken place, but there was nothing to be found.

Again, Hank's voice bellowed.

 

"Yeah, I hear you! I'm over here!" How strange that I was surprised by my own voice and then suddenly, it seemed, I was lying on the bunk and in my sleeping bag.

 

Hank's voice called out again, but much louder this time, "I'm brewing coffee. Rise and shine!"

 

What an unusually strange dream that was, I thought. I eased myself off of the bunk and walked out of the shelter. For a moment, I reflected on the wonders of nature and the goodness of its gifts. It was a glorious day. the sun was streaming through the towering trees and warming the earth. "I'm just going down to the stream to wash up. I will be back in a few minutes."

 

"Well, be careful," warned Hank. "I saw a huge razorback rooting around down there about an hour or so ago."

 

I looked at him warily. "You're joking, right?"

 

"You'd better take your six-shooter, just in case," was his reply.