The
Continuing Saga of:
”ICICLE BILL and Tommy Two-Head”
Chapter Four: The Tea Leaves Never Lie
I slipped in and out of a coma like state for what seemed many days. At times I awoke hazy and unsure of where, or even who I was. I was in a tiny room, perhaps a small trailer. The windows were mostly covered, at times the only light was a single candle. There was an exotic looking dark skinned woman with knee length hair, sometimes cooking over a hot- plate or otherwise milling about. When she sensed I’d awaken I could feel her stare piercing through me, not malicious but truly unsettling. She would massage lotions into my wounds and chant melodic verses in a language I didn’t understand. She was of indeterminate age, olive skin, a body full in the right places, strong sure hands, large oval eyes of the deepest black that shone like a full moon on a mountain lake. I tried to see into those eyes, the iris and pupil were indistinguishable, as if all one large pool of darkness. When she spoke her voice was as sensuous as the rustle of satin sheets. ”Your friend will return with supplies soon Estrano, you must rest and heal.”
Friend? I didn’t even know the guy, but I guess if someone shoots off rattlesnakes attached to your arms and legs, he qualifies as friend. I asked, ”How do you know he’ll be back? Do you know him?” I was unsure. The last I recalled of Tommy Two-Head, he was asking me about the hundred thousand dollars he’d found in the car. Now he and it weren’t around and I vas at the mercy of a beautiful, but enigmatic and strange woman.
”Don’t worry for nothing Estrano, he has a good spirit, I read his leaves, the tea leaves never lie. As she leaned in, I once again tried to peer into those bottomless eyes, to see what was in there. All I could see was my own reflection, but I sensed something else...a true knowing. A knowing of everything and anything you might think of, in this world and perhaps others. It was unsettling and comforting at the same time. Errie and erotic, scary and sensuous. Similar to being aroused in unusual or perilous circumstances. She tipped the cup she’d been holding to my lips back and stared at the contents. ”He will assist you on your journey Estrano.” I was once again, or more appropriately, still confused. ”Journey? What journey is that?” Her answers were as confusing as the scenarios that prompted my questions.
”To find where you are going, you must know who you are. To know who you are, you must look from where you came. The tea leaves never lie Estrano.” Now what the Hello Kitty does that mean? I was getting frustrated.
Riddles, I don’t need. I need to heal, I need to find my car and my hundred large. I need to lose these weirdoes. The snake venom was still flowing through me and everything was getting hazy again. I fought to remain awake, I willed myself to stay alert...a losing battle. Sleep came over me quick and deep, like falling off a cliff into an, endless chasm... then came the dreams.
My small town Missouri hill-country childhood home of Braincreek was surrounded on three sides by the Braincreek River. It ran high and deep in the spring and drained to a trickle in the summer. Towering railroad track trestles crossed over cavernous gorges that seemed to a young boy like a mile down. No handrails, no bridge lattice. To walk across those trestles meant to defy death. One strong breeze, one misstep and you’re over the side. The fall surely a death sentence. If you were lucky enough to hit the river far below, and it happened to be running high, you might survive, if you didn’t drown. But chances are you’d crash into the gorge walls first, breaking bones and tearing flesh as you careened to an untimely and unusually treacherous and painful death.
Melting snow dripping from the trestle formed massive icicles that would hang down from the bridges, suspending these huge jousting lance type frozen stalactites. Dozens of them in varying lengths and thickness, hanging in rows like sentries guarding the desolate ravines below the trestles, formed harder and longer and more ominous as the winter progressed. The harsher the winter, the more menacing the icicles.
There was a legend in Braincreek that a ghostlike maniac roamed the hills under the bridges. He’d break off icicles and stalk and kill his victims. If you were good and noble, the icicles would melt or break before he got you. If you were evil, he’d find you and stab you to death in your sleep; the icicle melting to leave no trace, your bill paid for your wrong-doing. He was known as...Icicle Bill.
From the age of four I was orphaned and abandoned. Shortly thereafter I was taken in by a foster family in Braincreek. The father was psychotic and a dangerous, abusive monster. To the outside world he appeared normal and even benevolent, nothing could have been more inaccurate. He’d work me like a slave from dawn to dusk. If there wasn’t a beating to be had, it was a good day. The constant yelling and verbal abuse was nearly as damaging. The fear of beatings and harassment filled my days and nights. Lying in bed listening to his mistreatment of the wife was agonizing torture. Why she never left him I could never understand. Life was hell.
For sick entertainment he’d force me to accompany him on hunting trips on foot through the snow, down to the trestles. There, he’d badger me to cross that icy track, all the while laughing and berating derisively. The spaces between the ties were big enough to swallow up my four year old legs, the drop inevitably fatal and ever present in my terrorized mind. Sometimes, you could hear a train whistle in the distance. To imagine being halfway across and hear that whistle is the stuff of true nightmares come to life. Fear is a dreadful emotion; fear and panic together, paralyzing.
As the years passed, the dread of the trestle didn’t lessen, but my ability to mask the fear did. The winter I was to turn thirteen would be my last crossing. It had been a severe winter snow season, the icicles hung massive at four and five feet long, frozen solid and thick as legs. I was midway across when I sensed danger and turned. Foster dad’s face was a distorted, crazed grimace. Steam rose from his head like waves of hatred. He spat, ”You think you’re brave!? You think you’re a man!?” He violently nudged me with his hunting rifle. Shocked, I staggered on the slippery tracks. He lunged and caught my shoulder. I quickly realized that this psycho freak is going to kill me! Over the side, one more shove and I’m gone. It’ll look like an accident and who’s to know? He pulled the gun back like a baseball bat. Time slowed down, I recall thinking that he had probably been planning this all these years...but why? No time to really ponder all that now, the instinct to live is strong in those not ready to die. I wasn’t ready. I ducked. The gunstock whirred over my head, then silence. I readied for another attack but none came. I looked up from my crouch and I was alone.
The sheriff delivered me and the news to the widow late that night. In solemn whispers he related how I’d walked the two miles to town and lead them to the body. ”Terrible accident, musta slipped on the tracks. The fall might notta killed him but he knocked loose one a those damn icicles. Came down right through his heart where he lie, oddest thing.” The sheriff and the widow just shook there heads in bewilderment and bereavement. The sheriff continued, ”God rest his soul.” I knew, God would never have the chance.
Soon after, I was shipped off to distant relatives a state away. I never thought about Braincreek again, not till this dream... The sun had been out strong that day, the accident had been in the early morning. As the day passed and the sun rose higher and warmer, the footprints in the snow that lead down to the still breathing body of that evil prick, melted away. True, the fall had dislodged some icicles from the bridge and they’d fallen harmlessly to the creek bed. Some so solid that they wedged into the moist earth near the body. It didn’t take much to pry one from the ground.
Now,
only now, all these years later as I’m coming out of a deep snake venom
witch’s tea induced sleep did I realize from where I’ve come and
who I am. I woke up sweating and screaming...”I’m Icicle Bill!!!
I AM ICICLE BILL!!!”
