Макс Брукс - Devolution - A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre

I wish I’d said something profound, insightful, anything except what I did say, which was, “They’re wonderful.”

Mostar smiled warmly and put a hand on my arm. “Thank you.” Her eyes shifted to the flowers rising from the flames. “I like to think that beauty can come from fire.”

Okay, this is going to sound weird, I know, but as she said this, for just a split second, she was someone else. Nothing you could put your finger on. Something with her voice, her face, the muscles around her eyes. Just for a second, and then one of those small rumbles hit and my heart practically jumped right out of my mouth. I must have made a move toward her sculptures, because her hand shot in front of my face.

“It’s all right, don’t worry. I put that, what do you call it? That pasty material, like you use for earthquakes in California. I’ve stuck it to all their bottoms.” Her eyes scanned the shelves. “Can’t be too careful, eh?”

“Got it!” Dan lumbered in with the other two bags, one under each arm. He hesitated in the doorway, expecting, I guess, a big expansive thank-you.

“What, you want a medal?” Mostar motioned to the workshop. “Over there next to the printer.” Dan hopped to, placing the sacks where he’d been told, then came out to receive, yet again, another slap on the arm.

“Look how helpful your man can be.”

I wanted to melt through the floor.

But I looked at Dan’s face. He wasn’t upset. And he didn’t have that “Oh God, what’s happening?” face anymore. This look, I didn’t recognize it.

“Now go help your wife and get your groceries.” Mostar gestured to the van. “Go on now, she’ll come help you put them away in a minute.”

He didn’t say anything, rushing out the front door. Neither did I, stepping into her workshop to lay down my burden. I thought I was done, just a few more seconds to escape. But she waited for me at the front door. That knowing expression from the first night we met.

“What was it?” she asked, watching Dan carry our groceries home. “Couldn’t get the job he wanted? First business failed? Couldn’t get back up because his parents never let him get knocked down?”

How did she know!

“Trust me, Katie, fragile princes aren’t new.”

I don’t know how I got out of there. A mix of nods and thank-yous and slipping out of her grasp like an eel. I don’t know if she watched me leave. I don’t care. I’m never speaking to her again. Crazy bitch.

But what she said.

I wasn’t mad. Not then. Shocked, I guess. Even now. X-rayed like that. Violated. Too oversensitive? I don’t care. It’s how I feel. All I wanted to do was get away, get past it, find some way to feel better.

I couldn’t go home. Dan was there. If he was angry, or hurt… I couldn’t deal with him right then. I couldn’t go back. I haven’t really talked to you about that time. When things didn’t work out, those silent, sullen days, weeks, waiting for the phone to ring. Waiting for the universe to recognize his genius. I had to recognize it. The endless compliments, reassurance, validation. The endless need. And when I needed him?

I thought about calling you, right there, scheduling an emergency session. I’m not sure why I didn’t, or why I decided to turn and head for the Durants’ house.

I rang the bell before deciding to. “Kate, what’s wrong?” Yvette answered, clearly pained to see what I was trying to hide.

I babbled something about having “a day” and if it’s not too inconvenient, if it’s not the right time, but since she asked if I’d like…

I’m not a crier. You know that by now. In control. Put together. But when she reached out to hug me, I came really close to losing it.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said over my shoulder, rubbing my back. “Whatever it is, I know how to fix it.” She released me just long enough to grab a couple of yoga mats and air pillows next to the door. “I was hoping you’d finally take me up on my offer.” She led me over to the Common House. “I’ve got the perfect meditation session for this.”

When Yvette instructed me to lie down, drew the shades, lit the fireplace, and hit the soft, soothing music app on her phone, I knew my unconscious choice had been right.

Her words, her guided imagery. She took me through these woods, just like I’d done on a physical hike. “Allow the forest to heal you,” she said. “Release your pain. This land gives you permission to unburden yourself with each step.”

She guided me up that familiar hiking trail, “dropping my anguish like stones.”

Unwinding my back, my jaw. I could feel my breathing slow as I mentally climbed the trail.

“And there she is,” said Yvette, “waiting with open arms.”

And then she said a word I’d never heard before. The name of who, what, was waiting for me.

Oma.

Guardian of the wilderness.

Yvette explained that Oma was a spirit of the First Peoples, a gentle giant that arrogant Eurocentric white men have perverted into the name “Bigfoot.”

I’ve obviously heard that word before, along with “UFO” and “Loch Ness Monster.” I don’t know much about it though, just what I’ve seen in those stupid beef jerky commercials. Screwing with Sasquatch? Is that the phrase? Is Sasquatch the same as Bigfoot? The creature in the commercials was a dumb brute. A grouchy neighbor just begging to be punked. I tried to get past those ridiculous images. Those “mutilations of truth,” as Yvette described it, “like everything else our society has done to what came before it.”

Oma wasn’t anything like that. She was tenderness. She was strength. “Feel her energy, her protection. Feel her soft, warm arms around you. Her sweet, cleansing breath surround you.”

And I could, imagining those giant arms embracing me, holding me. “Safe. Serene. Home.”

Again, the tears nearly came. I felt a sob make it halfway up my throat. Maybe the next guided imagery session, the next time Yvette takes me to meet Oma. And there will be a next time.

I’ve actually never done meditation. I think we talked about this. I can’t let go. That one class I took, I spent the whole time trying not to laugh. And all those times at home. When Dan was out, alone on the floor with the ear buds and the scented candle. My mind couldn’t stop checking boxes. Laundry, errands, work calls. I just couldn’t seem to focus.

But I didn’t have Yvette back then. Or Oma. Yes, my practical side still thinks it’s silly. Like that first thought I had about Mount Rainier watching over us. But is it so wrong to want to be watched over? When you’re feeling small and scared—which, let’s be honest, is pretty much how I feel all the time—isn’t it okay, just for a moment, to want someone, something bigger than you to have all the answers, to have everything under control?

I thought it was an earthquake. I woke up to this loud bang. It felt like a giant foot had kicked the house. I thought it was the kind of quick, bomb-type earthquakes we’ve gotten back in Venice that are over before you’re fully awake. I switched on the light and saw that the front bedroom windows were cracked. I could see lights going on in the other houses.

“Look at this!” That was Dan, behind me, standing at the back window.