Chapter 4 — The Plantation

This time, Steve checked the weather before driving out to the plantation. He almost rented a Jeep, but knew in dry weather the roads wouldn’t cause trouble and he stayed with his old favorite. This time, however, he wore jeans, a polo shirt, and sensible shoes. He’d not worn a watch since he’d left the hospital.

During Steve’s recovery, his junior partner loosely coordinated with him on the publication of Ms. Mase’s science fiction novel. After much back-and-forth over attributions of the manuscripts’ authenticity, the lawyers of Vitalis Librorum developed language for the reader to interpret, that would support the mysterious hook while protecting them from embarrassment. Steve, believing the veracity of the manuscript, objected vehemently to the milquetoast lawyers. His absence overrode his objections.

After closing the gate, he did during the day what he’d done that night so many weeks before. He just stopped the car and got out. The absence of designated parking was as alien to his culture as not locking the front door every time you walked through it. Today, he didn’t feel that. The hidden haunt in his mind, carefully concealed from his psychiatrist, weighed most prominently in this place where it had begun.

From the vehicle’s trunk, he removed the shovel he’d just purchased from the mom-and-pop shop in town.

He meandered toward the plantation house, ambling with the shovel as a walking stick. He stopped afar off from the old plantation home. He didn’t approach it. He looked at it thoughtfully, and stripped away all but the original home. He scanned the whole of the property, locating the barn and what could only have originally been slave quarters. He turned, oriented himself, looked up, and followed the arc downward. He made his best guess, walked over, and started digging.

Steve had dug two feet down, and about ten feet in diameter when Lowell walked up to him.

Lowell said nothing at first, just watching Steve dig. With each shovel full, Steve carefully shook it out into the pile around the ring of the hole.

Steve didn’t acknowledge Lowell in any way. He didn’t care that he was trespassing. He supposed that by the end of the day, he’d be back in the hospital. Before that happened, he hoped to find evidence. He didn’t know what he expected would turn up: nuts; bolts; a circuit board; maybe that tall, distinctive helmet; possibly a ray gun?

“It were ‘bout twenty feet over thar,” Lowell said. He pointed with a nod of his head. “I show ya where ‘xactly. Yeh can dig if’in yah want, but yah ain’t gonna find not’in.”

Startled, the shovel fell from Steve’s hands into his hole. He looked up, unbelieving, into Lowell’s eyes.

“What did you say?”

“Dah ship, it crashed ‘bout twenty feet over thar,” Lowell repeated.

Steve continued staring, his mouth still not closed from his question.

“Yer not crazy. Well, maybe yah are, but dat makes both an us crazy.”

Lowell looked down at his feet meekly and continued.

“I’m mighty sorry ‘bout what happen’ to yah. It didn’ happen to me like that.”

Lowell used his cane to step into the hole from where he stood, and sat on the edge. He motioned for Steve to sit. Steve just stood there.

“Go on, sit down,” Lowell motioned to the hole’s edge.

Without taking his eyes off Lowell, Steve shuffled to the hole’s edge. He put his hand out to find it, and slowly sat. He stared intently.

“I ain’t got no granddaughter,” Lowell started. “I’m the last of my family. No kin, no heirs.” He paused a moment. “I typed up Naomah’s book. Cleared up dah confusin’ bits from what I dreamed.

“I jes’ wanted to get her story out. I figgered if I said it were’ah true story … well, you know wha’da happen’.”

Steve was still speechless. Lowell wasn’t sure he was taking any of it in, so he jumped to the important bits.

“Dah ship crashed when my great grandaddy were’in jus a little one. It were righ’ before dah War Between dah States, in dah late eigh’een fifties. Mah great great grandaddy died in dah Battle of Richmond. I think that were sixty-two, but tha’h were victorious.

“As ya know, dah ship hit in dah midd’lah dah night. Thunderous noise. Woke ever’one up. Naomah said great great grandaddy said’n it were mighty strange. Dah hole it made …”

“A crater?” Steve asked suddenly, surprising himself. This part of the tale was not a part of the vivid dreams he’d had.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Yeah, I s’pose it were a crater, but Naomah said it wer’ straight an’ deep.”

Steve hung on every word the old man uttered.

“It wer’ lik’n scraps o’ tin in a crucible, she said. My great great grandfather said’n id jus’ melted away in’tah a deep silver pool. But it weren’ hot. Great grandaddy tried ta touch ‘er, but great great grandaddy stop’n ‘im.

“Dah big sound caused quite a stir, as yah imagine.Folk were ask’n ‘round all ‘bout town.Great great grandaddy didn’ want folk thinkin’ thar were evil in his land.He told nobody.He an’ his son dug up a big saplin’ put ‘er in dah hole, and filled it up.He figgered’ that’d keepin’ dah folk from thinkin’ ‘is land were cursed.

“And that were it … for many decades.”

Steve relaxed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees and stared into his hole. Lowell simply sat there staring across the lands of the old family plantation.

“What happened next?” Steve asked.

“Welp, Naomah’s stories, I b’lieve. As yah know, she wrote dah stories in her journal at ‘er school. That weren’t dah begin’n tho. As a child she use ta pretend her bed were a space ship. Can yah ‘magine that: a little girl in the eighteen nineties pretendin’ she were an astronaut? Can yah imagine?”

“How did you find out they weren’t just stories? After Naomi, who else knew?”

“As far as I know, no’one did.”

Lowell looked down at his feet. Steve could tell, from his body language, that he’d asked an uncomfortable question. He didn’t excuse his impropriety; he just waited.

“I were not what you’d call a good son. I left home as a young’en. Thought I were all grow’d. I couldn’t ‘ave been more than sixteen. I didn’ come back until me pop died. It ain’t right to speak ill of the dead, so I’ll jes say he were a hard man. I came back ta care for me ma. It broke mah heart to see her joy when I showed up ‘ere. She hugged me an’ cried an’ did’n let go ’til dah muffins started burnin’. I ‘spect after he were gone, those were ‘er happiest days. She pass’d ‘bout thirty years ago. I been here that whole time.”

“I’m sorry, Lowell. I can’t imagine how hard that would be. My dad’s a good man. I’m ashamed to say I’ve treated him no differently.”

“Son, that’s som’tn you gotta make right; yah need to be doin’ it now.”

Steve reflected for a moment. Lowell gave him the time to do it. Steve was a very successful publisher, but it had come at a price. Perhaps the price was too high. He knew it was, but at that moment, he couldn’t admit it.

“The house were’t well kept. I hauled all dah trash outta that place, ripped out dah sad kitchen and put ‘er back to dah way she were. There were no sense updating dat kitch’n with them metal cabinets. Damn foolery. There weren’t life in that metal like there were in wood. I put ‘er back to dah way she were.

“All dah nice stuff had been stored in dah old slave house. Guess I should’a be glad he were a packrat, or he’d ah get rid of it. I know he would’a if it hurt people. Even da bed mama’s daddy hand made for Naomah were out there.

“It were after dah house were all cleaned up, dah dreams started. I had da dreams fer years. Took me some time ta piece it all together.

“I figger’d I made Naomah’s ghost happy, an’ that we’re why dah dreams started. I think she were showing me ‘er stories to thank me for cleanin’ up ‘er old home.

“Dah way I reckon it, you got ‘er all at once.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, “you can say that. It broke my mind. I knew they were hallucinations, and I had to prove it to myself,” he motioned to the shovel then looked back to Lowell. “I got my answer, but not but not what nor in the way I expected.

“I’ve been rehearsing those images in my mind, over and over,” Steve continued, “They’re not like dreams, or memories of dreams. They’re so vivid, and I can recall them at any moment. It’s what I imagine photographic memory to be.”

“Yep. Same ‘ere.”

“The ship was beyond intelligent,” Steve observed, "It had emotions. Was the ship some kind of cybernetic creature — half organic, half machine — or was it some kind of super advanced artificial intelligent computer? The ship and the Explorer didn’t talk. How we would think an advanced computer would communicate with us? They thought to each other with some kind of spoken, image, and emotional telepathy.”

“I’m sorry, son, but I ain’t followin’ yah.”

Having never voiced his thoughts, Steve could not hold back.

“Surely, if they could cross space between solar systems, they were highly advanced. And they’d be highly ethical as well. The idea of cybernetics has always been an oxymoron to me. Other than prosthetics, I can’t imagine a society advanced enough to develop them, immoral enough to use them. Just the idea of ripping someone’s brain out to power a machine — it’s repressible. Maybe, just maybe if it were necessary to save someone’s life,” he thought for a moment, “No … no. Death would be better outcome for someone that ill or that injured. It had to be a computer, a machine, built of nanites! That pool of silver wouldn’t have been melted meta,l it would have been deconstructed nano-machines,” Steve rattled off excitedly.

“I’m not sur’ you’an I had dah same dreams.”

Steve was lost in thought. Lowell said something, a few somethings, but Steve did not hear him.

“… an’ that’s why …”

“The ship crashed over there?” Steve said, interrupting Lowell and pointing, very excitedly.

“Yeah dat’s what I told yah.”

“Where’s the tree; the tree your great great grandfather planted in the crater?”

“Well …”

Lowell’s oratory cadence could not have been more infuriating to a New Yorker than it was at that moment. It took all of Steve’s willpower to not cry out in urgency, 'Spit it out!’ he wanted to scream.

“… I told yah. Her daddy made ‘er bed outta it.”

In a moment, Steve understood as well as any modern human could understand. Lowell continued. Steve listened intently for any fallacies in his thinking.

“As dah story goes, thar were a fearsome storm. Howlin’ wind, giant hailstone, terrible lightn’n. Dah lightn’n split ‘er, and dah wind brought her down. My great grandaddy, who helped plant ‘er as a young’un, used dah wood from dat ole’ oak, and made ‘er four-post bed. She were ‘is only child, born when he were old. He adored her, an’ she loved that bed.”

Steve started laughing out loud.

“The ship’s computer broke apart and melted down with the rest of the ship, it had the ability to repair itself,” he told Lowell emphatically.

“As the tree grew,” Steve explained, “it absorbed the computer out of the ground. The computer did what it knew how to do. It started repairing itself. The computer is fused in the BED!”

Steve hopped up and began running toward the old plantation home.

Lowell looked at him quizzically, convinced Steve had gone insane. And knowing, if that were true, he was every bit as crazy.