From The Journals of Dr. Ibo Bronski
(July 24, 1956)
dawn we broke camp and made our way toward the area indicated by the small,
Mexican peasant boy. Rueland and I have been in
We haven’t been able to breathe a word of our expedition to anyone. Poachers, photographers, the Pentagon – any of them would kill, maim and blackmail to find out where we are heading. (Which is why Rueland had to kill that small, Mexican peasant boy.) Rueland is all too willing to kill for our cause, giddy almost. He’s always saying “He knows too much, we have to kill him!” To which I usually have to reply “Who? The guy across the street?” He frightens me. Not just because he seems to be the blood-thirstiest of all the anthropologist/archeologists I’ve know – but his ability to cook the most delicious paella out of almost no ingredients is, frankly, creepy.
By noon we reached the foot of our prize – a giant mesa deep in the Mexican outback. Ancient Aztecs named this place “Muy Grande”, which in the ancient Aztec tongue meant “place high above the heads of the Gods”. For untold centuries it has been revered as a holy place, a place that should only be stepped on by the feet of holiest of men. It is a sacred place in the ancient culture of this land and it should be preserved. Rueland finished eating his Baby Ruth and dropped the wrapper. He always calls it a “marker” but I think he might just be lazy. When Rueland’s snack was finished we proudly, boldly began to climb the rock face that our hands weren’t worthy to touch.
took the rest of the afternoon. Sweat stung my eyes and my hands and arms were
numb from pulling myself bodily up the side of Muy
Grande. But our final destination was so close. I thought of all the people I’d
left behind; Cynthia, Lady Wolmsfort, Chelsea, The Mottogrott Twins, Jonesy, Atticus, Florence, Mr. Cuddlebumps,
the Great Britain Club for Mexican Adventurers Club, Claus Von Shnaussaubergenflauss, Judith and the Coughing Twelve, Mama
Pollenta, Kip, Chip, Father Lipps
and, of course, my cat, Scratchy Mcscratchumlotsaclaws.
When the climb got to be too much, I remembered why I was doing it for them. I
was doing it to make them proud. Except for
five o’clock, our European skins red with the kisses of the seductive Mexican
sun, we reached the top of the
As we moved forward over the warm, breeze-swept grasslands – we became aware of a sound. Dull at first, but growing. It was a sound like thousands of pebbles falling hard into mud. Then we saw the dust cloud rising just over the crest of the next hill. I broke into a run, my heart banging to get out of my chest, tears welling in my eyes. I could hear Rueland running behind me. So close to the dream. So near the end of our journey.
reached the top of the final hill, the full expanse of the
sweeping across the virgin grasslands of Muy Grande
like a beige river was the last herd of wild
Our quest was at an end.