The Grantville Gazette - Volume 6 Part 16

Inside the reconverted garage one of the horses snuffled and snorted softly at the scent of a stranger outside. Tom automatically made a soft shus.h.i.+ng sound and the horse quieted down.

Another problem he didn't need was having the horses' owners wake up. He eyed the big door and the smaller one to the side. The smaller one would have to do-he didn't think he could get the big one open.

Once inside the stable Tom leaned against a stack of hay bales. A couple of more coughs shook him and he was grateful for the solid support. Taking the chance that no one in the house was awake he felt along the wall for a light switch. He found it on the right side; two steps in from the door. Blinking in the brightness of a forty-watt bulb Tom looked around. Two equine heads looked back at him. To his left was a big bay with the small ears, wide brow, and small muzzle of a Quarterhorse giving him a quizzical look. On the right a little white mare nickered softly in recognition. Tom smiled, leaned his right cane on the hay and rubbed the mare's face.

"h.e.l.lo, my little China Doll. I've been watching you for months-since they first brought you here. Old girl, I'm so glad you're still being well taken care of." The window of his room overlooked this barn and he'd been surprised to see this old friend grazing in the small pasture next to the barn. He'd watched in pride as she calmly carried a pair of children off to school. A jealous pang hit him when he saw the boy getting her to bow and shake hands. She had learned those tricks-and several more-from him years before.

Small, white, part Welsh pony, part who knows what, China Doll had been one of three ponies he'd purchased so the grandkids would have something to ride. Finding her smart and willing, Tom had taught her tricks and begun riding her to keep her in shape. He'd sold off the other two ponies when the kids had grown too big and found other things to do with their time, but he'd kept China Doll for himself. When the weather was good, the pair would ride up past the cemetery to the ridge above. If it was rainy or snowing, Tom spent time brus.h.i.+ng China until her white hide gleamed.

Mary Jane had often teased him that he cared more for "that d.a.m.ned pony" than for her. Then the day had come when Mary Jane was diagnosed with cancer in her pancreas. Everything changed overnight.

"Old girl," Tom explained as he stroked the little mare. "I took Mary Jane up to the hospital in Pittsburgh. Didn't have time to think about anything or anyone else. We thought we'd be there for five or six months. That's how come Harry sold you off-he thought it would be too much trouble for me to keep you. Then Mary Jane was gone inside of three weeks." Tom shook his head. "At least death came fast for Mary Jane. When I brought her back you were gone. Harry told me he'd sold you to a kid in Fairmont."

The bay gelding, jealous of the attention to his stable mate, started kicking his stall door. Tom found grain in a metal trash can and scooped some out and into the bay's feedbox. A couple of flakes of hay followed. "That should keep you busy, fella," Tom grumbled affectionately. "Now, I've got to get on to business."

Two saddles rested on sawhorses and Tom smiled to see that one was his old saddle for China. "Well, girl, Lady Luck is running my way tonight." He slid the bolt back and tugged at the stall door. Whoever had rebuilt the stalls had done a good job. The big stall door glided easily along its tracks. China Doll stepped daintily out of the stall and stopped beside him, whiffling quietly, sniffing him, finally snorting at some smell clinging to his clothes.

Tom threw his arm across her back and cued her to walk forward. She hesitated for a moment and then moved slowly, a single carefully placed step at a time. He'd taught her this trick when the arthritis had gotten bad in his knees and ankles. Patiently she supported him and helped him shuffle to the saddles.

"Good girl, smart girl, wonderful girl. You haven't forgotten anything, have you, Doll?" Tom whispered. The pony flicked one ear back to listen and gave another soft snort. Tom laughed and stroked her neck. "That's my Doll! Whoa, girl. Let me think about what I've got to do next."

s.h.i.+fting his weight back to his cane, Tom reached down and unbuckled her blanket. With a grin he gave her another cue and laughed as she grabbed the edge of the blanket and pulled it off her back. A gleam in her eyes showed that she not only remembered this trick but also was enjoying performing it for him. He cued her again and the pony dropped the blanket into a heap in front of her.

Tom ran his free hand over China Doll's back and sides. Not only did her winter coat gleam but it was free of dirt and old sweat. That wasn't easy to accomplish with a white horse.

"Somebody's been taking good care of you, Doll. Real good care. I've worried about that." Tears trickled down Tom's cheeks as he leaned on Doll, stroking her neck and straightening her mane.

"Thought so, from what I could see out that d.a.m.ned little window but it's good to know for certain. I'm borrowing your four good legs, girl. Just for a little while. You'll be home in time to take your kids to school."

Getting the saddle blanket on one-handed wasn't hard. Nor was making sure that it was on just right, no wrinkles or bunching. The saddle was a different matter. Tom leaned against Doll's side studying the matter. Finally he laid his canes across the other saddle and took hold of Doll's saddle with both hands. A surge of strength came to him from someplace and he was able to pivot and place the saddle gently on Doll's back. While the strength flowed he flipped the cinch off the horn and started to bend down. Warning pains in his back flared. In exasperation he muttered a curse and reached for one of his canes. Reversing the cane, he used the handle to hook the dangling cinch and pull it up. Once the cinch ring was in his hands it was a matter of seconds to thread the latigo through the ring. His hands worked quickly and confidently and the cinch was tight.

"Now let's see, Doll. Are you holding out on me? Do you still take a deep breath when you're cinched up? Tina didn't think it was so funny when she ended up under you that time. See, girl.

I'm not so young any more. I need your help." China Doll turned her head and blew her warm breath across his face. She nodded her head and grunted and the cinch suddenly hung loose. Tom stroked her face, rubbing behind the ears just the way the white mare loved. Wise to the ways of even the smartest and most generous of ponies, Tom rapidly pulled the cinch tight and neatly tucked the latigo end into its keeper.

"Now, girl, we have a couple of problems. I've got you out of here and get onto your back.

We're going to walk out the small door, Doll. You can do it, I've been watching you. The boy can't get the big door open, either. He takes you out the small one all the time. Mind, Doll, there isn't any need to snort and carry on with me. I know what a smart girl you are and I know you aren't afraid of that door. Not my China Doll." While he was talking to the mare Tom retrieved his other cane and hooked it over the saddle horn.

With his arm across the saddle, man and pony crossed the stable floor to stand in front of the smaller door. Hanging up on hooks by the door were two bridles. Doll stopped, turning her head toward Tom. He chuckled, coughed, and slowly stepped in front of her. Taking hold of a bit of her mane behind her ears he opened the door and eased out. The mare followed him quietly.

Outside she drew a deep breath, sampling the night scents.

From somewhere down the block a dog barked halfheartedly. Tom looked around, checking to see if anyone responded. Up the block the lights of the nursing home shone steadily. Best of all, there was nothing to indicate anyone there knew one of the inmates had escaped.

"Okay, girl. Let's see if I can get my old carca.s.s into the saddle one more time." With only a couple of unsteady moves Tom managed to scramble into the saddle. Once there a sense of peace came over him. The mare stood still and rock steady, only her breathing indicating she wasn't a statue. Tom sat still, feeling the warmth of China Doll under him, enjoying her strength, and wondering again at the willingness of horses to carry people. A faint gray on the horizon told him it was later, far later, than he'd thought.

Looking down, Tom realized he had dropped his canes. "No matter. I don't need them when I've got you, Doll." With a slight squeeze of his legs he set China Doll walking out and up the street. Together in companionable silence, the pair clopped up the streets and through the sleeping town. China Doll seemed to know where Tom wanted to go; any cues he was giving her were unconscious. Up they went, up old familiar trails they hadn't been along for years.

Finally, at the cemetery gate China Doll hesitated. She turned her head back as if to ask where Tom wanted to go. "Yes, girl. Clever, clever Doll. This time we go in. Mary Jane's here, waiting.

The rest of the family is, too, girl. Grandpa Sam would have loved you, Doll. He's the one who taught me about horses. He's waiting here. So's my little sister, Lizzie. She loved horses and ponies. Always had an apple or sugar cube in her pocket. She would have loved to pet you and feed you pieces of her apple. The diphtheria got her, Doll, when little Elizabeth was just ten. Here we are, Doll. That's Mary Jane's place there and here, next to her is my place."

Tom sat looking over the gravestones marking his relatives' graves. Some were old and badly worn, the lettering hard to make out. Others were still clear. Clearest and sharpest of all was Mary Jane Stull Musgrove. The sky was light enough to read the markers if Tom had needed to.

He knew these graves, knew which belonged to Grandpa Samuel Edward Musgrove, to his great aunt Edna Catherine Musgrove, and that the little one under the tree was marked "Elizabeth Edna Musgrove." All his relatives were gathered here in this little corner of a West Virginia graveyard.

Tom knew where every grave was and who was buried in it. He knew what relation they were to him and he knew their stories. He knew which relatives were missing. Uncle Vern and Great Uncle Ed had been killed in WWI and buried in France. Cousins Bobby Joe and Johnny were also buried in France, killed in the Normandy Invasion. His older brother Steve wasn't there, either. He had been shot down somewhere in the Pacific. Farther back there were a couple of others that hadn't come back from Cuba, or the Philippines. Several graves were missing for those who had died in the Civil War.

China Doll s.h.i.+fted under Tom and her movement brought him out of his thoughts. "Sorry, girl. Didn't mean to keep you waiting around in the cold like this." Groaning, Tom managed to dismount without falling. He patted the mare on her neck, enjoying her warmth and the feel of her muscles under the white hide. "Time for you to go, Doll. You'll have to hustle to be back in time for school." He pushed her head away and slapped her on the shoulder. "Go on, Doll. Get!"

The mare trotted off a few steps and stopped. She turned around and eyed him questioningly.

"Go, Doll. You got me here, that's all you have to do." Tom wheezed. His lungs rasped wetly and he began to cough. Stepping back he leaned against his grandfather's gravestone. "Go home, Doll.

I've done what I meant to," he managed to get out before more coughs claimed his attention.

China Doll paced slowly forward until she stood beside Tom. She stood patiently by his side until the coughs subsided. "Go home, Doll. It's cold out here. Your breakfast is back in your nice warm barn," Tom protested to the silent pony. "Oh, Doll. Your part is done. You've helped me escape that G.o.d-awful place with its people poking and prodding me. They won't leave a man alone there. Won't let him die in peace and dignity. h.e.l.l, Doll, They put diapers on me 'cause I move too slow to get to the pot." He wheezed a bit and continued his plea to the mare. "I've always lived free. Figure I should be able to die free, too. Let 'em keep what little real medicines they have for the young folk who still have lives to live."

Tom took hold of China Doll's saddle and pulled himself beside her. Clutching the cantle he managed to move his feet until he was standing next to his wife's grave. Using the stirrup leathers he lowered himself down until he was seated next to Mary Jane. A feeling of peace eased his heart and he found himself able to cross his legs without pain. A chuckle escaped him. "We beat 'em, Doll. We beat 'em."

By the time the sun rose fully the police found both the missing nursing home resident and the stolen pony. As the cruiser turned in the gateway the white mare lifted her head and nickered.

The man seated on the ground didn't move.

"How the heck do you figure he managed this?" The older cop mused. "I mean, from the description we got, old man Musgrove was too sick and crippled up to get out of bed. He must have had a powerful reason. "

"Man, it's cold out here," commented the younger cop. "Call it in. With any luck the funeral home will send somebody quick. I don't want to stand around all day. Graveyards always give me the creeps."

The Dalai Lama's Electric Buddha

by Victor Klimov

"Respectful greetings from His Majesty Gegen Setsen Khan to Your Holiness, Kundun," said the emissary. It was not really warm in the library, but the atmosphere felt warm and friendly.

"Let me present you this surprise from the Western lands."

Dalai Lama V Ngaw.a.n.g Lobsang Gyatso, who-in another universe-would later be called "The Great Fifth," respectfully put his hands together to greet the image of the Victorious One.

The little statue looked unusual. It was made from material like ivory but was obviously much lighter and it was pink in color. The Victorious One was meditating.

"If I press this k.n.o.b . . ."

The image lit up with a steady internal light. It looked a little bit like a colored lantern, but the light was not flickering. The emissary pressed the k.n.o.b again and the light disappeared.

"Thank His Majesty Gegen Setsen Khan and thank you, Dr. Luvsan," said Dalai Lama and accepted the holy image. Ngaw.a.n.g Lobsang was fascinated. The statue was light, but not so light as it looked. The weight seemed concentrated in the base under the lotus seat. The texture of the surface felt smooth, somewhat like smooth wood but not quite.

Dalai Lama pressed the k.n.o.b. The statue lit up. He looked at the emissary, lifting an eyebrow.

"What causes this?"

"Kundun, as far as we know there seems to be a kind of prana energy concentrated in the base of the statue. . . ."

"Ah. That's why it feels heavy there."

"Probably, Kundun. And the trader it was bought from warned that the prana in the statue should somehow be replenished after a while. But it seemed he did not know how. He said that if it were used sparingly it should last a couple of years."

Dalai Lama switched the light off. He looked at the statue, then at the emissary. "What do your yogis say?"

"They feel the prana but they are not sure whether they succeeded in replenis.h.i.+ng it."

"Very well." The Dalai Lama nodded slowly. "We'll try here, too. But tell me please the history of the statue. How did His Majesty acquire it? You said it came from the West?" The emissary nodded. "Yes, Kundun. The Khan of Dorvn oord [Kalmyk]

sent it to His Majesty. The Khan bought it from a trader from Phe-rang [Europe] for one hundred horses. The trader said that the holy statue miraculously appeared in the center of a great circular Mandala, which also contained a whole town."

Dr. Luvsan moved his hand in a graceful gesture in the direction of hundreds of volumes wrapped in brocades and silks. "Naturally, the trader did not know the relevant terminology.

What I'm telling now is what the Khan's advisers were able to get out of the trader. He didn't see himself the holy mandala. He only heard about it from the person who sold him the relic. His description of the town in the mandala corresponds somewhat with descriptions in the Kalachakra tantra.

"It appears very probable that the town came from another dimension. The trader was very sure that n.o.body has ever seen anything like this before. And the people of the town appear to be mighty warriors. The trader was sure about that. And they also ride iron horses. I don't know if one could believe that."

"Hmm . . ." The Dalai Lama stared into s.p.a.ce for some time. "Why would a Shambhala town manifest in Phe-rang? Well . . . One never knows. The compa.s.sion of the Victorious One is infinite. We must investigate this story. We must find out whether there was indeed a mandala manifestation. And also we should find out how to replenish the light producing prana." Dalai Lama smiled.

"Yes, Kundun."

Afterword: Kundun: an honorific referring specifically to the Dalai Lama.

Prana: in yoga, the breath seen as one of the life-giving energies or forces of the universe.

Dorvn oord-"The Allied Four" also referred to as Oyirad or Kalmyk people. They were the dominant group from Turkey to the Gobi Desert from the 13th through to the eighteenth century.

A mandala graphically depicts a landscape of the Buddha land or the enlightened vision of a Buddha. Mandalas are commonly used by Hindu and Buddhist monks as an aid to meditation.

Kalachakra is a term used in tantric Buddhism that means "time-wheel" or "time-cycles." The Kalachakra tradition, which is described in the Kalachakra Tantra (which is a book, a collection of Buddhist writings), revolves around the concept of time and cycles: from the cycles of the planets, to the cycles of our breath and the practice of controlling the most subtle energies within one's body on the path to enlightenment. The Kalachakra deity represents a Buddha and thus omniscience. Everything is under the influence of time, he is time and therefore knows all.

Similarly, the wheel is beginningless and endless.

A kalachakra mandala is pictured at http://www.exoticindiaart.com/product/TF75/ In Tibetan Buddhist tradition, Shambhala (or Shambala) is a mystical kingdom hidden somewhere beyond the snow peaks of the Himalayas. It is mentioned in various ancient texts including the Kalachakra and the ancient texts of the Zhang Zhung culture which pre-dated Tibetan Buddhism in western Tibet. The Bon scriptures speak of a closely-related land called Olmolungring. The Kalachakra indicates that when the world declines into war and greed, and all is lost, a King of Shambhala will emerge from the secret city with a huge army to conquer evil and herald the Golden Age. Some suggest this king may be Kalki, a similar figure.

The myths of Shambala were part of the inspiration for the tale of Shangri-La told in the popular book Lost Horizon, and thus some people even refer to Shambala improperly as if it were a Shangri-La. Shambala's location and nature remains a subject of much dispute, and several traditions have arisen as to where it is, or will be, including those that emphasize it as a nonphysical realm that one can approach only through the mind.

CONTINUING SERIALS.

The Doctor Gribbleflotz Chronicles, Part 1:

Calling Dr. Phil

by Kerryn Offord

Sunday. After Church Lunch, Drahuta Property Deep in the middle of "Kubiak Country" the extended Kubiak clan had gathered at the home of Belle and Ivan Drahuta for Sunday lunch. Grown men and women were messing about playing touch football in the yard with some of the children. Others congregated around the grill chatting and talking while Ivan and Tommy Barancek attended to burning lunch. Children of all ages were running around underfoot. On the sheltered veranda a group of women lounged comfortably, watching the activities, relaxing after finally getting their a.s.sorted babies settled.

Erin Zaleski, one of Ted's cousins, grinned. "How's the military outfitting business going.

Tracy?"

Tracy Kubiak dragged her eyes from her husband Ted, who was playing in the yard. "We're still being run off our feet." Tracy looked around the a.s.sembled women. They were all, like Ted, direct descendants of Jan and Mary Kubiak, the original owners of the land known locally as "Kubiak Country." "I've got a pile of jackets that need b.u.t.tonholing if anybody wants a job."

There was a smattering of "I'm in" and "Yes, please" from the other four women. Tracy gloried in the easy camaraderie and supportive nature of the Kubiak women. So different from her own family left up-time in way-off Seattle. "If you come over the road after lunch I'll show you what needs to be done and give you the necessary thread and b.u.t.tons." There were murmurings of agreement before the women turned back to watching the activities going on in the yard. Their quiet contemplations were disturbed only when Tasha Kubiak settled a covered tray of steaming biscuits on the table. "Tuck in while they're still warm, girls. After this batch, there are no more."

Mary Rose Onofrio turned away from watching Jana Barancek and a couple of other cousins calling everybody to a couple of food-laden tables set out by the grill. "What do you mean, Tasha?"

"This batch used the last of my baking powder." Tasha replied.

Belle Drahuta waved a hand. "I've still got some if you need it."

"Same here. I haven't had time for much baking lately. I think I've still got an unopened can in the pantry."

"Thanks Belle, Tracy. You'd think there would be a way to get more baking powder wouldn't you?" Tasha shook her head.

Mary Rose snorted. "Get real, Tasha. If it doesn't go boom, none of the guys are interested. I can just imagine going up to Cousin Greg and asking him to please make some baking powder so we can do some baking. He'd laugh his head off."

"You really think Cousin Greg would know how to make baking powder, Mary Rose?" Tasha asked.

"If he can make his boom toys and rockets I don't see why he can't make baking powder. I mean. It can't be that hard. Baking powder has been around I don't know how long. It's probably written up in one of his books somewhere and all he needs to do is look it up."

"But, Mary Rose, that doesn't get us any baking powder."

"No, but it would get us some instructions on how to make it. Maybe Cousin Greg can write out a recipe. Something easy to follow. Then we could make our own baking powder." Mary Rose looked around the table at the other women, an excited look in her eyes. "That would be great wouldn't it? No need to worry about running out of baking powder ever again."

"So when can you ask Cousin Greg for an easy to follow recipe for making baking powder?"