Sweeney doesn't know what is going on, but he can at least sense that something more is going on with Shannon, "The old Chief was not doing well when I left him. The mission hospital is a good hospital, but they cannot perform miracles ...they can only pray for one. Old Chief has the island sickness, as some call it. They are not sure what brings it on, but only one in a hundred make it through."

Malu passes the message on.  Many of the islanders had thought they'd witnessed their old Chief die.  But they are happy to hear he hasn't died and that he has a chance to live.  The islanders ask Malu to help them pray for their old Chief.  

   Shannon and the others are very touched by the immediate concern of the islanders. They join hands with the islanders and lead them in their first prayer.   

Later that evening, Shannon inquires more about the island sickness, "Is it contagious?"

     Lorvin is very familiar with the sickness, "Very much so.  The islanders call it, white man's sickness.  The islanders never get it.  But it has wiped out more than a few of our missions.   They used to call it missionary dysentery because of the initial symptoms, but they've found this variation to be tragically different …though many still refer to it as missionary dysentery."  

Shannon had learned from the islanders, how the old Chief had become their leader. Their are those who know bits and pieces about the old Chief ...but, the rest is locked up inside him. The struggle is his, and his only ...well, not really. There is much more to this, and the most unbelievable part was that which Shannon had to convince the others as being true ...and not just delirium, a possible symptom of her catching the sickness herself. Shannon thinks back to that first moment of discovery:

Aleah is the first to take notice of the condition of the man stretched out across the saddle.   She has a couple of the men help lower him gently off the horse and to the ground.  And she confirms that she thinks this man has the same thing as Old Chief ---what they call the serious version of missionary dysentery. 

   Shannon kneels down beside him.  She gasps!  Lowering her head to his chest, she drenches him in her tears.   The 'Man in the mountain', now the 'Man on the beach', is ---but, how can it be?     

   "Oh, thank you, God!"   Her silent prayer continues, "Please let him live!  I don't believe you'd let me find him, except you'd have him live!" 

   Shannon tries to communicate, yet it is difficult through her sobs and tears.   Malu understands hurt and anguish and the private moments of it. He has the islanders give them space. 

   Lorvin, Moriah, Onithe, and Astuti take Shannon to the side to talk to her.   Aleah doesn't leave the man's side ---the nurse in her doesn't allow her departure.  She can hear what Shannon has to share later. 

   Shannon brings an intense amount of emotion to the side conversation. Lorvin suddenly has his own concerns.  He doesn't need a translator, yet he doesn't quite know how to express it.  He is quite certain he heard Shannon correctly ---he just fears what he'd heard.  It possibly means that Shannon is coming down with it too …the delirium very possibly setting in. 

   
    Lorvin agrees this should be dealt with privately.  He returns to Aleah's side, his intense expression now showing his desperation, "I think Shannon might be coming down with it too." 

 Once all secure on board, Lorvin again voices his concern about Shannon to his wife.  Lorvin is concerned that her delirium may be intensifying.   She remains at the mountain man's side, sobbing and babbling, "M-o-m, M-o-m ---I found him!" 

   Tears gather in Lorvin's eyes.  He has been of little comfort to Shannon.  She is coming down with this missionary dysentery.  And she is slipping into delirium, crying out like a child for her 'Mommy'.  

    Then they think perhaps Sweeney has come down with the delirium too ...as he gets into the act: 

  
    Sweeney gets into it, as if he's experiencing it at this precise moment, "You must understand …we are real scared.  At first we don't see Grandpa. He disappears into the smoke and flame.  We are about to go after him ourselves, when we see him emerge out of the smoke, dragging Doyle to safety.  We don't want him to see us, so we motor to the other side of Estie and get ready to speed back before we get caught ---but then we  see these two in the water, about to drown.  So we save them in our boat and take them back to where we're loading the craft …the aircraft."   

                                                                                                                                
    Lorvin spends the next couple hours attempting to calm Shannon down. Spending time with Shannon, he begins to believe that she doesn't have the missionary dysentery ---and it is not delirium, but rather years of grief stored up, only to be released at this moment.  

    Aleah also shakes her head.  It doesn't even look like him.  This is not her brother!  Aleah knows what Lorvin is thinking.  Shannon must be having an emotional breakdown, desperately pretending what she wants to believe ---what she feels will save her sanity. 

   What Shannon had discovered, was that the 'Man in the mountain' was her dad.  She didn't know how it could be ...but it was undeniable true.  The wedding ring with the inscription, the precisely marked birth marks on his arm ...and of course, the photo with him wearing that outlandish shirt she had bought him just before he'd disappeared. 

Shannon takes the zip-lock bag out of her pocket, the one Uata had given her from the box.  She takes out a photograph and shows it to Aleah. It is definitely ---Stephen! 

    Aleah begins to cry profusely.  Shannon not only recognized the photograph to be her Dad ---she remembers that same shirt he'd worn to work on the day he'd disappeared ---the shirt that she had given him which everyone considered so ugly.  And the second she had seen the photograph fall out of the claimed sacred box, she had connected the idea of the 'Man in the mountain'.  That's when she had leaped on Breeze and breezed up the mountain.  

Shannon wants to convince herself that being here for Dad will make a difference, yet she remembers how she had failed to connect with him in the past. What hope would she have of doing it now?

   At this moment ---discouragement, doubt, and deception join forces to attempt to defeat and destroy her. But Shannon know her Lord, and Savior ...and she knows her prayers will be heard.  She just hopes Dad can somehow sense her sincerity ...and her love. 

Shannon had a more recent conversation with one of the ladies at the missionary hospital:

Shannon looks into Maggie's eyes, "When do they begin the medication?"

   Maggie encloses her hands around Shannon's, "Hopefully, tomorrow. We don't have it here. We had to send for it as soon as we heard you were coming. We expect the plane may be arriving back tomorrow." 

   Shannon can't imagine the struggle that is ahead, "Has anyone survived as a result of this new medication?" 

   Maggie wishes she can give Shannon more hope, but she must be honest, "No, we've only tried it with one other person."                                                    

   Shannon doesn't wait to ask, "So, what happened?"   

   Maggie doesn't mean to dishearten her, "We don't know yet. That other person is the old Chief. Early yesterday morning we gave him the medication. We had to move him to another building because his screams were so intense, he was scaring the other patients. But sadly, we have to take these desperate measures. It is believed that our only chance is with the hope that these violent seizures that the medication causes, will force him out of the comatose condition." 

Shannon has to ask, "Aren't any of the rest of you afraid you are going to get it? Isn't it highly contagious?"

Maggie smiles, "We just recently received a vaccination for it. You'll be getting your dose within the hour."  

  

So this is why Shannon has this particular interest. Of course, she cares about the old Chief, and has prayed for him. But also, she knows that whatever the old Chief is presently going through, her dad will also be going through. She wants to be somewhat prepared ...and so she wants to check in on the old Chief, but first she has to call back to the States ...to Michigan, to help prepare Mom for what is going on:

"I'm doing fine, Mom.  How about you?  You sound tired ...must be all that celebrating.  By the way, happy birthday, Mom!"     
                    

Shannon smiles as she listens to Mom's response over the phone, "Well, technically speaking, it is my birthday.  But it's only a couple hours past midnight here.  But don't worry about that.  It's always so good to hear from you.  I know you must be caught up in everything ---it's a wonder you remembered my birthday.  But you are always sweet that  way.  I miss you so much, Shannon." 

   Maggie listens as Shannon replies, "I'm so sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to wake you.  I never could get those time zones straight." 

   Mom laughs, "Don't apologize.  I know you don't get much occasion to call.  And you know I'm worried sick about you all the time.  The best thing you could have done for me was to call.  You don't know how good it is to hear from you.  It always seems like forever to me, but I know you don't get a chance very often."

   Shannon is eager to move on with the conversation, "Mom, I have to tell you …I've had the most fantastic adventure here.  God works wonderful miracles in the mission field ---way beyond our imaginations." 

   Shannon can't see her Mom smile.  Everyone back home was aware of Rebekkah's surprise shipment. Mom imagines part of the reason Shannon hadn't called sooner was that she had received her surprise Arabian horse and she had probably ridden it every day from dawn until dusk, thinking of nothing else.  But Shannon is so sweet.  She had remembered her Mom's birthday.  "Yes, way beyond our imaginations.  I imagine you'll be coming home soon. You will be back in time for your sister's wedding, won't you?" 

   Shannon is preparing to spring her surprise, "I planned on leaving for home last week, but something came up and I've been rather busy ...but I'm doing my best.  I hope you don't mind me bringing someone home with me." 

   Mom laughs again, "Oh, silly me ...for a second there, you had me.   But you're talking about the horse, aren't you?"                                                          

   Shannon draws out the suspense, "No ---that was a wonderful surprise, but this is an even bigger surprise." 

   Mom teases, "So, you met someone?  The wedding bells will still be ringing in my ears from Leah's marriage …and then you?"   

   Shannon knows she will win this game of teasing, "No, it's not my marriage I'm referring to …it's yours." 

   Cindy laughs, "That doesn't sound like you, Sweetie.  I know Fernye has a knack for matchmaking, but don't tell me you are into it too."   

   There is a long pause.  Shannon is beginning to get caught up in her tears again.  And Cindy is just caught in quiet reflection.  She knows Shannon is just kidding, but she doesn't understand the sudden silence.   

   Cindy asks, "Are you still there?"                                                                     

   Kidding aside, Shannon fights back her tears.  "Yes, Mom, I'm still here."                                                                                                                                  

   It is so awkward and difficult to gauge emotions over the phone, but Cindy tries, "Is it Leah's wedding that you're referring to?  Are you worried that I'm going to try to take over her wedding …and not give her any breathing space?   Is that why you said my wedding …because you know how I get?   Well, I don't blame you …I do sort of get carried away.   I get all excited and want to do this and that …but you know how it is with me.   You know that when you say my wedding …you aren't talking about my  wedding.  You know I will never remarry.  But I can still get excited about one of my children getting married." 

   Shannon fights back the tears, "I didn't say your wedding, I said your marriage.  You've made it clear to all of your children that you would never remarry.  And that fact has made this occasion most beautiful."                                   

   Shannon draws a deep breath," Mom, I don't know how to tell you this, but ……"  

Meanwhile, in another building, an intense struggle is going on ---not just for truth, but for mere existence. A lifetime of events and struggles flash within a tormented mind ---a mind once belonging to who most would refer to as ---Crazy Larry.

   This is what draws Shannon away from Dad's room.  Her Dad will really need her tomorrow.  Meanwhile, there is a life that can really use her prayers now. And it will give her an idea what Dad will be going through tomorrow.  She will endure the screams of terror.  She will go to the old Chief's side ---and pray.  

Anyone could see the agonizing physical pain he is going through at this moment ---and anyone near could hear it too. No one should realistically expect anyone to endure this. But no one is here to really see what anyone could see …except an occasional look-see by a doctor or attending nurse. In complete isolation, what could anyone really do anyway? All they can do is wait …and pray.

   Though we cannot see the ordering of events, nor understand the necessity of it …God sees.    

In order to struggle back to sanity, Crazy Larry has to pass again through events in his life. They were torture enough the first time, but now are being repeated. Is he to order back a memory filled with disorder and confusion ---and attempt to gain back the sanity that most claim he never had?

 

Though most would imagine it preferable to erase those memories, it is necessary to recall those agonizing moments, to restore the memory and preserve the mind …or is that just a psychological conundrum.  How nice it would be to be able to remember some of the nice things ---if there were any.  The ordering of significant events, after all, is considered the foundation of our memory ---our sanity. 

Dreams, nightmares, and reality are all mixed together ---and have to be sorted out. As the mind orders up these events, as usual, the memory begins with childhood:

                                                                                               

Other children call their caregivers "Mom" or "Dad", but I think I'm special because I am the only one who has a "Nanny".  My Nanny appears to love me, but she also appears to love something else.  You can tell just by the look in her eyes.  Her hands are on cleaning or cooking, but she moves about in strange ways.  She is the curious sort ---always trying to find something out.                                                                                                    

Of all the people in my life, she impresses me, and her ways are sure to create a great impact upon my young life ...as I begin hiding around the house, always near to where she is.  I will not be left out of this game. I will find out what she finds out.    

                                                                             

Soon, Nanny and I hear something I'm certain we are not meant to hear.  Nanny gets caught listening and gets fired.  I fear I'm going to get fired with her, but my hiding place is good and I'm not about to let anyone in on it.  Apparently, this family loves secrets and there is much they haven't let me in on.   

                                                                                           

I'm confused and concerned.  I overhear something they obviously wish to keep secret. According to them, I do have a Mom like the other children.  But they talk like my situation is different than that of the other children.  From what I hear, my mom  is supposedly diagnosed as having a severe case of retardation ---mentally handicapped, they say.   

They say her name is Callula. The strange thing is that I know this person.  I see her a couple times a year, during the holidays.  I don't know why they don't let me know this is my Mom.  Everyone else I know has moms who aren't kept secret.  

I decide to talk with her during the Christmas gathering, while everyone else is busy talking.  She says I am her son ...she has overheard them talking about it.  The way I figure it, they either think that she can't hear, or that she can't understand.  I think it's ridiculous of them to think that way …just because she is retarded.   Sometimes it's difficult to tell who are the slow ones.   

                                                                                 

But I hear that's common for normal people too.  So many times, parents talk in front of children and think they can't hear.  Or they talk in bed at night …thinking those little ears are asleep,unable to hear in the quietness of the night. 

                                                  

I have a very difficult time dealing with all of this. I guess I made it difficult for them too, not having Nanny around to take care of me anymore.  They had probably initially hired her to help keep me out of trouble.   And I could have still managed that if not for something they'd left lying around.  It is a telephone number …Callula's number.  They must think children can't hear or read.                                                                                          

The rest is simple.  I call the number and ask for directions.  I take a bus.  The bus driver is very helpful also.  I tell her I'm lost and I'm looking for my Mom. She drops me off right in front of the mental institution.  Mom doesn't appear happy, at all.  But when she sees me, she is happy.  And I stayed with her all day. She says it is the best day of her life.  It's soon night though, and I'm tired.  I curl up at the bottom of her bed and fall asleep.  When they find me there, they are not happy.  Mom is not happy that I have to go, but I promise her that I'll be back.   

   They make it difficult for me to keep that promise.  They make some arrangements through some church people.  I do not like my new home.  I don't know much about foster care, but what I do know I don't like.  I know I don't like all this shuffling around and being away from Mom.  And I know Mom doesn't like being away from me.                                                                                                

   I know it didn't go over too well the last time I visited Mom, so this time I decide to sneak her out to visit me.  The key to it all is that I do it at night, and I always make sure I sneak her back by early morning. 

   I know Mom isn't happy at the mental institution, but I should have just stuck with my night-time unauthorized visits. I got away with it for a couple years …until I began thinking she'd be happier at the foster home and that they'd accept her there.  That is my big mistake. I bring her back with me one night and she falls asleep at the foot of my bed.  After that it is shuffling time again.                                                                                           

   This time I'm moved to a group home. That's when the fearful things enter into my life. The man in the group home spends most evenings in front of his television. He always has it on his sports station, and he has it on real loud. He'd also drinks several cans of something, and belches really loud. The woman in the foster home does not appear the least interested in any of this. She puts earplugs in and goes to bed early.  

   It is really loud …but I like loud. It makes it easier to slip out at night. It is easy for a while anyway …until  this man begins to visit. He is certainly no stranger to me. This man is part of that group who spends time together, only during the holidays. 

 They say his visits are necessary to maintain funding for the home ---something to do with State regulations.  I see State regulations to mean a regular beating.  But that is nothing compared to the treatment one of the older girls in the home receives.  She is no stranger either ...only the situation became stranger.                                                                                                                                                                                      

This Khaki Mae is only eleven, yet older than me. She has been at the holiday gatherings also.  But she must have been kicked out just like I had been.   

                                                                                                                          

Not long after that, I find out from Mom that the man who beat me is actually my father.  I am the only one who felt Mom was not crazy.  She said my father was the sick one ...preferring to keep all his eggs in one basket.  And he doesn't like anyone to be well. He prefers his eggs to be cracked ones.                                                                                                                

No one will believe Mom ---she is just cracked.  And of course, being her son, I befall the same judgment. 

Crazy Larry's entire body writhes in pain, going through a sequence of seizures, too long and too intense for life to endure ---at least medically speaking. And locked inside are those agonizing memories.

                                                                                                                                              

Mom is considered insane ---and I am too, in believing her. But I am sane enough to know to never share with anyone the secret she told me. I am best to just deal with the horrible fact that the man who was beating me and abusing the older girl at the group home, is my father.  But during my last visit with Mom, I am told a much more disturbing fact …about this older girl. She is my sister.   

                                                                                                                                             
    I am in total shock!  I'm told that my sister does not know this secret. But knowing now that she is my sister, I soon become very angry.  I hide and actually watch what dad does to her during his abusive visits.  I feel helpless, but I have to do something about it!  After all, she is my sister!      

I have no real idea what I'm going to do, but before I figure it out …she is the one who brings about a change.  She now begins eating and eating …and eating.   I figure I know why she is eating so much ---and I begin to give her my food too. 

                                                                                                                                   

I see that as she eats and eats ---she gets bigger and bigger.  She just sits around and belches and performs other sundry gross functions.   Soon our dad, whom she didn't know of, no longer comes around.   I am very thankful for that, and I am very thankful for her.  I somehow feel her gross mannerisms are responsible for his not coming around anymore.  And that means I am no longer beaten, and she is no longer abused. 

Crazy Larry's body stops shaking. Shannon wonders whether he is still alive. She is too frightened to get closer, but she must. He is sweating profusely and she checks his pulse. His heartbeat is racing. Suddenly, he grips the rails of the bed, his fingernails cutting into the bottom of his palm, causing it to bleed.

                                                                                                                

I really look up to her.  She is the reason I no longer am visited by my dad for these senseless beatings ---sometimes nearly beaten senseless.  I see her clever ways.  Once he stops coming around, she stops eating so much.  She only eats here and there.  But she continues to keep the weight on.  That is a mystery to me, until I happen upon her secret.   

                                                                                                                                                

I see her sneak out of her bedroom one night ---and I follow.  She goes to the basement. There is a room down there set up as a weight room.  And that's where her secret is revealed to me. She doesn't see me.  But I see as she peels off layer after layer of clothes ---and some stuffing that she'd duct-taped to herself.  I see that she isn't big anymore ---or rather she is big in another way.  She is now becoming very muscular. 

She had turned her weight into muscle, but she still stuffs her clothes to make it look like she hadn't changed. It is a real art, and she is really good at it.  If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have never known.     

                                                           

Then one night, she sees me. I promise I won't tell, but I don't think she likes me.  She doesn't like anyone sharing in her secret ---and I think she still fears that man will come back. 

            

     At eighteen, my sister leaves the group home.   With too many painful thoughts and memories …I fear I'll never see her again.   I hear she wants to become a nurse.  There are many things I want to end up becoming, but I end up in a private mental institution …with none other than my sister as the nurse.  I discover that our father owns the facility, but I'm certain she never knew of his connection to the place …nor to her.  I begin to realize what Mom had said about my father keeping all his cracked eggs in one basket.  He is still attempting to maintain that control …while still keeping that grip of fear wrapped around her.   It is sick the way he tries to keep us both within his wicked and watchful eye ---his basket of cracked eggs.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

    She continues to wear her armor ---in fear that if she didn't, he'd make himself known in the way he had in the past.   She does a good job at making herself look big.  But if you know her secret, like I do, you can tell by the muscles in her hands.  

                           

At the mental institution, I meet someone who I oddly trust from the very beginning.   Previous to this, I've only trusted two people in my life ---Nanny and Mom.  Her name is Maggie Major.  And it is quite an experience knowing her.  

   

Crazy Larry begins shaking the bed. This time his entire body doesn't shake ---just his upper torso and arms.

                                                                 

I am only trying to help the helpless young man.  It seems all my sister's horrible memories are being taken out on the young man.   She strips herself of her armor.  Now dressed like one of those All-Star wrestlers, she exhibits her quite unbelievable form …from all those driven agonizing hours of workout. 

   She picks up the young man over her head, as if to say that no man will ever control her again.  Then she slams him down, slams herself upon him, and pins him to the floor ---before leaping up with arms raised in victory.  

It is scary!   In an attempt to show that she will not be controlled, she is fully demonstrating that she still is.                                                                                               

I fear for the young man's life.  The inevitable is soon to happen.  And the confrontation leads to ….the accident.                                  

An attempt to save the young man's life ---costs my sister hers.   And I land in prison, where I rightfully feel I belong. 

Shannon cries and prays ---cries and prays. She prays he is not caught in past destructive memories. The mind is not merely a receptacle of past experiences. New ideas can also enter the mind. She prays that his mind will be renewed.

                                                                                             

Suddenly, it gets real quiet.   She wonders whether he's alive, as he lies there so deathly still.  She immediately checks his heartbeat.  It has slowed considerably ...and he is breathing normally.  Shannon can't bear being away from Dad's side any longer.   She kisses the old Chief on the forehead.  She whispers, "God be with you."  And she departs.

The thoughts do not depart from Crazy Larry though. He sequences through his past:

                                                                                                             

I recognize the connection with one of the psychiatrists.  I had only seen him one time at the mental institution, but the possibility of the connection scares me.  Then there is another Stephen that comes into my life.  What is it with these Stephens?   Every time there is a Stephen, something happens.  And sure enough it happens! 

                                                                                                                        

All the lights go out, except for the fire.  Everything is out-of-control. No one really knows what happens inside of a prison, except those who witness it ---and that truth is locked up inside a person, in fear the truth may escape. 

   The truth is, I feel no one cares what might happen to us.  I feel it's up to us to find our own way out.  But some of us are trapped within our rooms by the wall of flames. 

                                                                                                                   

The flames are so lively one minute, I can't imagine how they are diminishing so quickly.  Then I see that faint form.  Someone has a fire extinguisher …but that someone has nearly extinguished himself.                                                                                                                           

The last flame being extinguished is the last glimmer of light.   And that last light is barely enough to see that faint form fall to the floor. 

                                                                                                                       

I react!   I have to save the person who had attempted to save me.  I somehow feel it must be Stephen behind that bit of heroics.   Now I must save him.  

It's pitch-black, but I gauge the distance from which the figure has fallen.   I try to pick him up, but I'm not that strong ...I think it's this medication they have me on.                                                                                                                       

I see flashlights down the hall and hear Casey's voice, "Every man for himself!  You gotta find your own way out!"  

                                                                                                           

I need help, but I can't count on Casey.  He's not going to help a prisoner.  He won't even help a co-worker.  He will only help himself.

                                                                                                                       

I holler out to Tennessee Trucker.   I know he will help me.  And he is stronger than anyone I know.  

                                                                                                                    

Trucker follows my voice, his strong arms gathering beneath my straining effort ---picking up our fallen hero with ease.                                                                                                          

I run into my room and grab my sheets ---I don't know why, but they come in handy.   In the foster home, I used to make ropes out of them to climb out of the second story window.  

My eyes begin to adjust.  It is an overcast night, but for one brief moment the clouds part and the moon illuminates part of the fence.  There is a gigantic hole in the fence.  Within the lights of his vehicle …the perimeter guard cautiously approaches.  I have to act before his lights shine on the hole in the fence.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               

It is a very windy night.  I wait until the right moment ---and I release the sheets.  I run towards the sheets ---screaming.  Trucker knows what to do.  I had created a diversion.  Every prisoner knows well what a diversion is.  He breezes through the hole in the double fence ---the moon's light helping him avoid the razor wire strewn about.  

                                                                                                                      

The moon moves back behind the clouds.  I don't see Trucker, I just see the guard standing in the light of his own vehicle.  He raises his rifle and aims at me. I don't think my screaming was such a good idea.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

I think I would have gotten shot by the perimeter guard if Trucker had not dropped what he was doing, or who he was carrying ...and grabbed the perimeter guard.  He squeezes him until he falls into a heap.                                                                                                                                                                                                               

   Then Trucker does what he hasn't been able to do in years …he gets behind the wheel of the truck.  He drives to where he had dropped Stephen.  Yes, by the lights of the vehicle I see that it is, in fact, Stephen ---no one else would have tried to save us.                                                                                                                                                                                                            

   The lights of the vehicle now illuminate the area of the fence, so I can step through the hole and avoid the razor wire.  I can never stand seeing anyone injured or in trouble, especially if it's life-threatening.  I run to the guard's side.  A pulse, still breathing, ---must have the wind squeezed out of him.  It's a real relief that he is alive.  I also relieve him of fifty dollars from his wallet. After all, there is also another life I must be concerned with ---that of Stephen.   

When I get to the truck, Trucker reaches down within his tucked in shirt.  He hands me a bag.  I look inside.  It's his playing cards!   He has every one of his decks, his precious Possessions, in that bag ---and he is giving them all to me! 

                                                                                                                      

I don't know what to think next.  Trucker says he's going back.  I don't understand ---but I do.   He's been locked up so long, he is afraid to face the outside world again.  In a way, prison isn't much different than his trucking business.  It's an escape ---one he's not ready to escape from. The very reason he took to trucking was to avoid confrontation ---to avoid interactions for the most part.  And in the system ---that makes for a model prisoner.  The ones who do the best in prison are the loners ---as long as they are left alone.  And with Trucker's size and strength, everyone leaves him alone.                                                                

   Clothed and with three square meals ---Trucker has what he wants.  The trucking business he had worked for, had become too confrontational.  His peaceful job had become less than peaceful.  Rumors circulated of illegal substances.  And that load fell upon Trucker.                                                              

Prison isn't so bad, for some ---it is the process of getting there that is bad.  It's the confrontation ---the arrest ---the judgment ---the less than humane treatment.  But now he is in prison, and he can be a loner again.  And furthermore, he is respected and accepted by all the other prisoners.  As I see it, it's a clear choice ...the prison, or the outside world?  The outside world is too unstable ---he will stay.                                       

                                                      

I'm so touched by Trucker giving me his prized possession.  I want to give him something in return ---but what do I have to give?                                                                                                    

I give Trucker a hug ---but am thankful he doesn't hug me in return.  I don't want to end up like the guard.  What else can I do?   I offer him the only thing I can ---"You can sleep in my room tonight.   That is ---if you don't mind not having any sheets.  There's still a blanket and bedspread for you."

            

I've only driven a few miles when there is a car blocking the road.  I imagine they may be setting up roadblocks to try to stop me, but how could they have responded so quickly?                                               

Then I see something I can relate to.  Someone is kicking the car.  It isn't a blockade.  So, I stop.  A young man is going to take a friend to the midnight movie, but his car keeps stalling out.  I tell him I will trade ---I'm good at fixing cars.  He says he really likes trucks and his friend will really be impressed if he picks her up in one.  He points to the house he lives in ---and says I'm a real pal.  If I get the car fixed, he says I can take it for a spin.                                                                 

I get it fixed and take it for a spin.  I spin it all the way to ---Maine.                       

I try to blot out all the things I've done, but I can't.  I was sent to prison for something that wasn't my doing ---I had tried to prevent it.  I still feel guilty, but it wasn't really my fault.  I should not have been sent to prison, but now that I'm out, I'm finding myself doing all the things I don't want to do ---that I would have never done before.  So much of my life I've been called crazy, but I have a high set of standards.  I'm in this mess in the first place because of a long list of injustices ---and I was beginning to hate myself.                             

Then I met Maggie.  She made me feel special.  But those days are over. Now I'm turning out to be exactly what everyone expects me to be ---and I'm doing the very things I hate.                                                                                                                  

What is this torment of injustice?  "If you can't beat them, join them" ---it's a terrible solution.                              

One wrongdoing leads to another.  Now I'm a fugitive. I took the money.  I took a car, or traded a car ---which really was stealing.  'Make a Wish Foundation' becomes my next lie, and I become a stowaway on an airplane.  I really hope this Stephen doesn't get airsickness.        

                                                   

Once we land on the island, I can barely walk.  The plane ride was so long ---and in such a cramped area. Stephen is really sick.  He had smoke inhalation from putting out the fire ---then I was so driven to escape, I stupidly stuck him in the trunk and exposed him to more fumes. Then when the boat caught on fire, we jumped ship and he nearly drowned.  Now I'm airsick ---from all that refueling.

When they go to greet the others before unloading the plane, I make my escape.                                    

I can't escape my guilt though.  I should leave Stephen here and let them take care of him, but instead I steal a small boat and take Stephen with me. All I want to do is escape.  I just want to get away ---from everyone.                                          

But obviously I don't want to run from everyone.   After all ---I have Stephen with me.  If he survives, I can tell him how I saved his life.                                          

We drift for days ---upon days.   I'm getting sick, but he's beginning to come to.  I'm not fully aware of his improved condition though ---until he stands up.  I can't believe he has the strength to stand, but he does ---and he falls overboard.                               

The boat has life preservers.  I don't know why so many of us refuse to put them on ---feeling it's okay to just have them in the boat.  It's like strapping a helmet to the back of a motorcycle ---a lot of good that does.                                            

I grab the two life preservers.   Instinctively, Stephen is flailing ---not swimming, but thrashing.   I don't know if he can even swim, I just know he isn't doing too well at this time. I throw both life preservers at him.  One of the preservers hooks one of his flailing arms, remarkably keeping his head above water.  At least one thing has worked better than I expected.              

                                

I jump in after him ---have to get to him before his arm gets loose.                                                                                 

So much for preparing to tell him how I saved his life ---I'm almost killing him in the process.  I took him from a fire and brought him to a fire.  Twice fumigated him ---once in the car trunk and another time traveling 'fugitive class' air travel.  And now this makes twice that I almost drowned him.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

By the time I reach him, his arm is almost out of the strap.  I pull on it once from behind, then with amazing ease, I'm able to slip it over the other arm.  I quickly clasp it in front.  Okay, I reached him in time. He's safe and secure ---now to get my life preserver on.                                                                                 

I have a much more difficult time getting mine on.  I have a backpack on ---and I'm sure a life preserver isn't meant to go over a backpack.                                                                                                                                                                                               

I'm so exhausted ---no effort to even worry.  I've no idea where I really am.  All I can see is water, water,and more water.  I'm so tired.

Stephen already appears asleep.  I put my arm around his neck to keep his head from dropping down. I want so much to sleep too ---and I do.                                                                                        

When I awaken, I feel so relaxed ---moving smoothly through the water with my arm still around Stephen.  I guess I'm rested enough to start worrying again.  Where is my boat?  And I also hope the waters don't contain anything that might consider us part of the food-chain.

The scorching sunlight glimmers across the water, blinding my vision, so I close my eyes again.  It is so relaxing.  It feels like we're gliding slightly faster through the water than I'd anticipate from a simple drift.  I let my mind drift once more, imagining how at times people had reported being saved by dolphins.  I let that thought drift for only a second or two, before I turn around and open my eyes gradually.                                                                                                          

I suddenly see that it's not on porpoise ---but it's not by accident either ---why we are drifting so quickly.  Perhaps I'm hallucinating ---hunger, thirst, and exhaustion, ---all playing a factor, along with this blinding light, and wishful thinking.  I close my eyes again, this time opening them more slowly, allowing more time for my eyes to adjust.                                                                                             

I see a shadow.  My vision is still blotchy from the intense sun refracting zillions of prisms of light from each surface droplet, extending out for ---forever, across the boundless waters.  I focus hard. The faint shadow is ---my boat!                                                                                                                    

I turn my head back as far as I can.  Suddenly, I see that it's not my boat anymore!  It never really was my boat ---I had taken it, but now someone had taken it from me.                                                                                                                         

There are two boats ---the one I had considered mine and the other one which has us in tow, by a rope or woven vine, tied to the back of our life preservers.                                                                          

Such a rapid transition from such peacefulness and tranquility ---to such a state of panic.   It's a tribal people ---the type the missionaries so freely greet with happy faces ---but this is a reverse greeting.  I don't feel like I can express myself freely ---it feels like we're being held captive.      

                                                   

I guess I can be thankful they saved us ---but, saved us for what?   The facial paint is rather intimidating, not to mention the clubs and spears.                                                                    

When we near their island, the water is too shallow to bring us in tow, so they literally carry us by the back of our life preservers ---one on each side of each of us. Then they lower us gently to the sand.                                               

I try to shore up the proper emotion ---to try not to show fear.  Having been in mental hospitals and prison, I have a broad perspective on what should be the thing to do in almost any situation ---I think.                                                          

In the prison, I tried not to act like I was intimidated. That wouldn't work here ---I am intimidated.  In the mental hospital, if I showed fear ---everyone else may likewise react in fear.  I don't want that!   Fear and spear may go hand in hand …or from hand to heart.                                                     

I have no clue.  I have no idea what to do ---but whatever I do, I feel I should do it quickly …in a slow kind of way ---not to make them defensive.                                                  

I breathe deeply, groan, and grunt.  I feel this is probably universal ---and they'll think I'm in distress.                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

I take off my backpack, in hopes they'll think I am getting a gift for them, rather than think I'm retrieving a weapon.  I had taken a huge zip-lock bag from the airplane.  It has first aid items and a camera inside.  I'd also placed the precious gifts I had received from Trucker in the bag.   It isn't much, but it's all I have.  Food would be nice, but I had pureed and spoon-fed Stephen our last.                                                                                             

I'll show them how the camera works, ---they'll be amazed.  Don't aim it at them, I tell myself, it may startle, or anger them.  But I can take Stephen's picture.  And I can use the flash for effect.   

He is stretched out on his back on the sand.  I don't realize he is coming to.  I aim.                                                                                                                                            

Suddenly he sits up!  In a flash, he falls back.                                                                 

The tribal people look on.  Do they think I injured him?  It is an instamatic camera.  I wait for the picture to develop.   Then I show it to them.   But they don't seem amazed ---they seem confused.  And I'm afraid what confusion may prompt them to do.                                                               

One of them begins searching through my backpack,while another has the zip-lock bag ---and spills a deck of cards across the sand.  To this ---they jump back!     

A King, Queen, and Jack are facing up.  There is a Joker too.  Perhaps the playing cards look as tribal as the tribe themselves.                                                                                                

I pick up another deck of cards and begin shuffling them in an impressive manner ---though I doubt they are impressed, by the look on their painted faces.                                                    

I don't know what to do next, so I do the only thing I can think of doing ---what Trucker would have done. I ignore everything around me and I play Solitaire.                                                   

It seems I can do nothing right.   Perhaps Stephen and I are doomed.                                                                                                             

Suddenly the earth shakes.  The tribal people take notice now ---but not of me.                                      

I try to mimic the sound ---with my loudest vocal blast.  I throw the cards high into the air, and let them float back to their place on the sand.                                                                                 

Now I have their attention!   I begin to draw frantically in the sand.  I draw the mountain, pointing at the mountain.     

                                                       
   I quickly grab another deck of cards, holding the mat the drawing of the mountain top while giving another vocal blast …as I throw those cards into the air.                                                                                

   They jump back!  Suddenly I feel no fear. I'm in control again.  And I have their undivided attention.                                                               

   I pick up several of the face cards and run to the water's edge. With another vocal blast, I throw those cards in the water.  Then I pick up one of the life preservers, with the vine rope still attached, and throw it in the water.                                                                    
   
   Now things are working right for me. As I pull on the vine rope, retrieving the life preserver ---to my delight I see there is a playing card caught within.  It is at this moment that I realize the similarity. Stephen's shirt is as bizarre looking as the designs on the playing cards.                                                                                              

I point to the playing card and I point to Stephen. I hold the playing card in my hand, and the photo I had taken of Stephen with the camera. I quickly put the playing card behind Stephen's photograph. I show them Stephen's photo and quickly gather together as many of the playing cards as I can, putting them in their box, and placing them on the sand at the foot of the mountain drawing ---with Stephen's photo on top.  

I dig a hole at the top of my mountain drawing. I get two Jacks and place them on each side of the deck and walk the deck up the mountain with Stephen's photo on top. Then I place the deck and Stephen's photo in the hole I had dug at the top of my mountain drawing. I cover them up with the sand, having the two Jacks walk back down the mountain.    

                                     
     

The tribal people suddenly leave.  I'm relieved, but I wonder what they will do next.  I am not looking forward to their return, nor the anticipation of not knowing when that will be.                                                                                  

I wonder why I had done what I had done.  But for the moment, I'm thankful.   In a panic situation, people do the most bizarre things ---and even more bizarre ---others often follow them.                                                                       

The next day, the tribal people return.  They have a small platform on poles.  They pick up Stephen and place him on the platform.  Then they begin carrying him up the mountain.                                                                            

I hadn't even understood what I was doing, but they understood.  The loud blast had sent Stephen from the mountain ---out to sea.  Or had Stephen run from the mountain?   Whatever their beliefs, or understanding of it, they are now returning him to the mountain ---to pacify the mountain.                                                                  

I follow.  I have to see what they are going to do with Stephen ---after all, it is my doing.  Whatever they are about to do, I'm responsible for it.                                                                      

They carry him to the edge of a deep canyon.  At its narrowest point, there's a plateau about fifty feet away ---on the other side of the canyon.  Several other men of the tribe come from behind a large tree with what appears to be a ladder, with ropes made of vines attached.  With very precise movement, they swing the ladder out, and touch it to the other side. To my amazement, they pick up the pole platform and walk, with Stephen, across their constructed ladder to the plateau.  For the first time, I see one of the tribal people smile, as I cautiously crawl across to join them.   

At the far end of the plateau is a cave ---or tunnel through the rock.  Light can be seen on the other side.  They place Stephen in the hole and I watch as two men carefully scoot back through the narrow tunnel.  After a couple minutes, they return without Stephen.                                                                                                                           

They then escort me back to the ladder bridge, and allow me to drop down on all fours ---to crawl back across, while several of them continue to smile.                                                             

About fifty of the men stay on the plateau as the makeshift ladder bridge is removed.  Nearly five times as many remain with me and proceed down the mountain.                                                                                                         

My first thought is to begin gathering food for Stephen.  I begin placing the food on the platform they had carried him up the mountain on. Soon they catch on to what I'm doing. They smile ---and emerge with a staggering amount of food they had already gathered and prepared.                                                      

They carry the food up the mountain and to the plateau.  The fifty men appear grateful for the food we had brought them.  But more importantly, I watch them bring some food to the tunnel at the other end of the plateau.                                                                          

Three days pass where they bring food to the tunnel ---then on the fourth day Stephen crawls from the tunnel.  A couple of the men help him back through the tunnel. They want him to eat, but not eat with them.  He has to stay in his proper place through the tunnel. 

I am so happy to have seen Stephen, I get there early on the fifth day.  Once again, I see him crawl from the tunnel ---and two men drag him back to where he belongs.                                                                                 

The sixth day, I do not see Stephen.  I wonder if they'd been so frantic about him leaving the tunnel that they might have hurt him.                                                               

On the seventh day, Stephen does not crawl from the tunnel ---he bolts from it!                                                                 

He gets past nearly a dozen men before they even have a chance to react, but then ---react they do!

I think I understand the motivation for each.  The tribe feels that for the mountain to be satisfied, Stephen cannot escape. They want to return him back through the tunnel where they feel he belongs.  And of course, I cannot deny that this is mostly my doing.   I don't know what I thought I was doing, but I somehow had brought them to believe this.                                                 

Of course, what I didn't tell them is perhaps the most fearful of all.  I didn't tell them what abilities the 'Man in the Mountain' possesses.  So, they've no real idea what they're up against.  Perhaps he can leap that fifty feet from the plateau to the other side.  After all, they believe he had escaped before ---they don't really know how, but they obviously fear what might happen if he escapes again.                                                                                                              

Stephen, on the other hand, is motivated out of love.  He has to get back to his family ---somehow!      

The tribe responds as one.   It seems they feel they have to stop Stephen before he reaches the end of the plateau. We'd just brought all of them the daily ration of prepared food, so some of the men have a much greater distance to go ---but that distance is quickly diminishing.                                                                                

Stephen shows some rather unbelievable moves to get past the front-line of defense.  It looks like a highlight film of the best of the NFL. He breaks one tackle after another ---as they unsuccessfully try to stop him.                                                                                              

As Stephen reaches the end of the plateau, he suddenly realizes that there's no way out.                                                                                         

He looks up at me ---only fifty feet away, but across that dreaded canyon. Impressed by his drive and determination, I throw up my arms to signal "touchdown".                                    

The men standing with me also throw up their arms.  I walk past the men and give each of them 'high-fives'.                                                                                      

The men on the plateau had formed two straight lines behind Stephen.  I anticipate they are preparing how they are going to grab him ---to return him back through the tunnel.  But to my surprise, they also throw up their arms.  They are all lined up like a Military Honor Guard, but they are smiling.  These men appear to standing in apparent appreciation of Stephen's grand effort.  

Stephen turns around suddenly and throws up his arms.  He walks down between the two lines of men, giving them all "high-fives".  Then he turns back to me.  I will never forget the conversation that takes place next.  It isn't really what Stephen says.  It's more of what I tell myself.   I feel terrible at this moment, as if I suddenly believe what my father had said ---or I'd imagined he said.

I seldom had individuals come into my life who were encouraging ---who made me feel good about myself, not until Maggie came along, and ---now, with Stephen.                                                          

Now, the only one who comes close to understanding me or caring about me ---is Stephen.  I still believe he cares, but he doesn't understand my fears.                                                                                   

Stephen wants to understand, "Well, that was certainly entertaining, wasn't it! Anyone else here speak our language, Larry?"                                                                                             

At this point, I don't know if anyone speaks my language ---the language of fear.                                                                                          

I'm afraid of myself ---my own failures.  I don't want to be accountable for anything.  I've been held accountable for something I hadn't done ---and had gone to prison. Now, all I want to do is run away and hide.  And I feel this island is as good a hiding place as any.                                              

I feel accepted here in a strange sort of way.  My whole life has been a strange sort of way.  But no one here will make me face any of that.  I only have to face Stephen's questions, "No, far as I know, no one speaks our language."                                                                                   

Stephen takes a deep breath, "Well, I guess it's  up to you and me then.  I hope you can do a lot better than me with the what, where, and how  categories ---'what' are we doing here, 'where' is here, and 'how' in the world ---or 'where' in the world, and 'how' did we get here?"                                                                                

I had long been proficient in evasive techniques, "You forgot the why  question ---I believe that is probably the supreme question."

 Stephen tries to avoid tension by attempting to be slightly more lighthearted, "You mean, why the reversal of roles?  Why are you now free, and I appear to be the one held captive?"                                                                                        

I've been in so many therapy sessions throughout my life, I know just what to say, "Are any of us truly free?  Those of us who think we are free, are often imprisoned within ourselves."

I have to step away at this time.  I don't really believe in what I was about to say next ---so I don't say it.  How am I going to tell him that I saved his life twice, maybe three times ---when it was I who had put his life on the line?  And I should expect him to be grateful ---for what?                                                                          

Stephen probably doesn't consider this being saved.  All he would care about at this time would be his family ---they are his life.  I'm not giving him life, I'm helping take it away.  But I still can't be sure what would happen if I tell these tribal people that he is not really the 'Man in the Mountain'.  I can't deal with all this guilt.                                                                                      

I'm afraid to make any more decisions, to take any more chances.  

I decide not to chance letting Stephen see me again.  I will get rid of these clothes ---and clothe myself with the island.  I will paint up my face and rub the earth into every pore of my body. And I will become ---as the earth.                                                                                   

I will become the people ---the people of the island.                                             

I want to blend in with them and not be noticed.  I try to keep myself hidden. Then something very strange happens. Our island is invaded by Komodo dragons.  

   I think they blame me.  Stephen is believed to be the 'Man in the Mountain', but they seem to think somehow that I must be the 'Man of the Sea'.  And they seem prepared to return me there ---like they did  Stephen to the mountain.   Like they returned Stephen to the mountain to appease it ---they are likewise prepared to return me to the sea ---so the Komodos will stop coming.                                                       

I don't particularly like that plan, so I come up with my own plan.  I begin herding all the Komodos ---to the canyon.                                                                                     

I amaze them with the cigarette lighter that I had taken from the zip-lock bag. The entire tribe jumps back as I quickly produce fire.  Then with huge fire sticks, I herd the Komodos.  The tribesmen chant together, "Vea Viliami".                                                                  

At that point, they make me their Chief.  And one chief thing I make sure is always done ---the 'Man in the Mountain' has to eat.  And his guardians on the plateau have to report back to me ---whether the 'Man in the Mountain' has eaten, and whether he is well or not.                                                                                         

I feel I'm responsible for Stephen being here, and I'm going to continue to be responsible.  I'm going to keep him alive.  He may wonder, for what?  But there is something to be said for being alive.