Stephen Lawhead - The Paradise War

«Describe it!» He smashed the steering wheel with his fists.

«It was a man, I think. It looked like aman. I only saw a leg and an arm, but I think it was a man.»

«What color was it?»

«How should I know what color it was?» I demanded shrilly. «I don't know. It's dark. I didn't see it all that-«

«Tell me what color it was!» Simon's tone was cold and cutting.

«Green, I think. The guy was wearing something green-rags or something.»

Simon nodded slowly and exhaled. «Yeah, green. That's right. You saw it, too.»

«What are we talking about, exactly?» I asked. My stomach twisted itself into a tight knot.

«A huge man,» he answered quietly. «Eight feet tall at least.»

«Right. And wearing a ragged green coat.»

«No.» Simon shook his head firmly. «Not a coat. Not rags.»

«What then?» Tension made my voice sharp.

«Leaves.»

Yes. He'd seen it, too.

We stopped for gas at an all-night service station just outside of Inverness. The clock in the dash read 2:47 AM. Except for a flying stop to fuel the car and grab some sandwiches in Carlisle, it was exactly eleven hours since our last real rest break. Simon had insisted on driving straight through, in order to be, as he put it, «in situ» by daybreak.

Simon saw to the gas while I scrubbed the bug juice from the windshield. He paid the bill and returned to the car, carrying two styrofoam cups of Nescafй. «Drink up,» he said, shoving one into my hand.

We stood in the garish glare of the overhead fluorescent tubes, sipping coffee and staring at each other. «Well?» I said, after a couple minutes of this. «Are you going to say it, or am I?»

«Say what?» Simon favored me with his cool, bland stare-another of the many little tricks.

«For crying out loud, Simon, you know perfectly well what!» The words came out with more force than I intended. I suppose I was still fairly upset. Simon, however, seemed to be well over it. «What we saw out there.» I waved a hand to the highway behind us.

«Get in the car,» he replied.

«No! I'm not getting in the car until-«

«Shut up, Lewis!» he hissed. «Not here. Get in the car and we'll talk.»

I glanced toward the door of the service station. The attendant had wandered out and was watching us. I don't know how much he had heard. I ducked in and slammed the car door. Simon switched on the ignition and we pulled out onto the road.

«Okay, we're in the car,» I said. «So talk.»

«What do you want me to say?»

«I want you to tell me what you think we saw.»

«But that's obvious, don't you think?»

«I want to hear you say it,» I insisted. «Just for the record.»

Simon indulged me with regal forbearance. «All right, just for the record: I think we saw what used to be called a Green Man.» He sipped some coffee. «Satisfied?»

«Is that all?»

«What else is there to say, Lewis? We saw this big, green man-thing. You and I-we both saw it. I really don't know What else to say.»

«You could add that it's plain impossible. Right? You Could say that men made of oak leaves do not, cannot, and never could exist. You could say that there's no such thing as a Green Man-that it's a figure of antique superstition and legend with no basis in reality. You could say we were exhausted from the drive and seeing things that could not be there.»

«I'll say whatever you like, if it will make you happy,» he conceded. «But I saw what I saw. Explain it how you will.»

«But I can't explain it.»

«Is that what's got to you?»

«Yes-among other things.»

«Just why is an explanation so important to you?»

«Excuse me, but I happen to think it's important for any sane and rational human being to keep at least one foot in reality whenever possible.»

He laughed, breaking the tension somewhat. «So, seeing something one can't explain qualifies one as insane in your estimation-is that it?»

«I didn't say that exactly.» He had a nasty habit of bending my words back on me.

«Well, you'll just have to live with it, chum.»

«Live with it? That's it? That's all you've got to say?»

«Until we figure out something better, yes.»

We had come to a small three-way junction. «This is our turn,» I told him. «Take this road to Nairn.»

Simon turned onto the easterly route, drove until we were out of the city, and then pulled off the road onto the shoulder. He allowed the car to slow to a halt, then switched off the engine and unbuckled his seat belt.

«What are you doing?»

«I'm going to sleep. I'm tired. We can get forty winks here and still make it to the farm before sunrise.» He pulled the lever to recline his seat and closed his eyes. In no time at all he was sound asleep.

I watched him for a few moments, thinking to myself:

Simon Rawnson, what have you gotten us mixed up in?

I heard the deep, throaty rumble of a juggernaut and woke to find Simon snoring softly in the seat beside me. The sun was rising beyond the eastern hills and the early morning traffic was beginning to hum along the road next to us. The clock in the dash read 6:42 AM. I prodded Simon. «Hey, wake up. We've overslept.»

«Huh?» he stirred at once. «Oh, damn!»

«It's cold in here. Let's have some heat.»

He sat up and switched on the ignition. «Why didn't you wake me?»

«I just did.»

«We'll be too late now.» He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, checked the rear-view mirror, and then pulled out swiftly onto the road.

«What do you mean? The sun isn't even up yet. It's only a few more miles. We'll get there in plenty of time.»

«I wanted to be there before sunrise,» Simon told me flatly. «Not after.»

«What difference does that make?»

Simon gave me a derisive look. «And you a Celtic scholar.» His tone suggested I should be able to read his mind.

«The time-between-times-is that what you're talking about?» I was not aware that Simon knew any ancient Celtic lore. «Is that why we've busted our buns to get here so fast?»

He didn't answer. I took his silence as affirmation, and continued. «Look, if that's why you've been dragging us all Over the country, forget it. The time-between-times-that's just a folk superstition, more poetic device than anything else. It doesn't exist.»

«Just like aurochs don't exist?»

«Aurochs don't exist!» And neither do Green Men, I might have added, but saved my breath. There was no need to bring that up at this hour of the morning. «It's just screwball journalism.»

«That's what we're here to determine, isn't it?» Simon smiled deviously and turned his attention to the road. We were already in the country again, heading east on the A96 out of Inverness. The last sign I saw indicated that Nairn was only a dozen miles ahead.

I rummaged around on the floor of the car for the atlas, found it where I'd dropped it the night before, and turned to the proper page. The farm we were looking for was not on the map, but the nearest village was a mere flyspeck of a hamlet called Craigiemore on a thin squiggle of yellow road which ran through what was optimistically called Darnaway Forest. Probably all that was left of this alleged forest was a hillside or two of rotting stumps and a roadside picnic area.

«I don't see Carnwood Farm on here,» I said, after giving the map a good once-over. Simon expressed his appreciation for this information with a grunt. Motivated by his encouragement, I continued, «Anyway, it's seven miles to the B9007 from Nairn. And from there to the farm is probably another two or three miles, minimum.»

Simon thanked me for my orienteering update with another eloquent grunt and put the accelerator nearer the floor. The hazy, hill-bound countryside fled past in a blur. It was already plenty blurry to begin with. A thickish mist hugged the ground, obscuring all detail beyond a thousand yards or so, and turning the rising sun into a ghostly, blood-red disk.