Copyright 2011 Michael E. Henderson, all rights reserved. Return to:
Background: Margold James meets the Angel of Death while watching football, and is told that he is going to die. In this scene he is in a sweat lodge trying to purify himself in preparation for trying to free himself of Death. This the unedited draft as written.
The Indian Jim Big Crow and five of his friends came to Margold’s house with Bill for the sweat lodge ceremony. They built a fire outside the lodge in which were heated a number of large rocks. In the mean time, Margold, Bill and the Indians stripped, and wrapped themselves in towels. They all went into the lodge, bringing the hot rocks, a pail of water, a ladle, and a couple of smoldering logs. Inside the lodge it was pitch dark, lit only by the glow from the logs. The Indians had a sage stick, which is a
bunch of sage tied together in a bundle, a few cedar branches, and some big cigars. They put the rocks and the logs in the middle of the lodge, and they sat in a circle around the center. Indian Jim lit the sage on the smoldering logs, while his friends began to pound drums they each had brought. Jim put some cedar on the logs, and some on the rocks. The smell of burning cedar and sage filled the loge, and it started to become warm from the rocks and the logs.
“This is to purify the space and chase away the bad spirits,” Jim said, waving the smoldering sage around the lodge, and fanning it with a bunch of large feathers tied together into a fan. After a few minutes he snuffed out the sage and rubbed Margold with it, making black marks on his chest and face. He then poured water over the rocks, causing steam to fill the lodge.
Jim then lit a cigar for each of them, handing one to Margold.
“Puff on it,” Jim said, “then blow the smoke into the fire. The smoke purifies the atmosphere, and sends our prayers to the Great Spirit. And it will help you with your vision.”
“Vision?” Margold asked.
“Yes,” Jim said. “Once we get going with the steam and the smoke, you will need to seek a vision. You will be assisted in that my these little mushrooms.” He held out a handful of dried magic mushrooms for Margold to see.
At about that moment one of Jim’s friends let out a scream, which was really the beginning of a chant, but it was a high-pitched yelp that scared the shit out of Margold. Then the others chimed in, repeating the chant of the first, each beating a drum they held in their hands.
Jim tossed a bit more water on the rocks, sending up a hiss and a large plume of steam that mixed with the smoke. They all began to sweat as the heat became intense.
“Now you eat the mushrooms,” Jim said, handing Margold a few dried mushrooms.
“Where are they from,” Margold asked.
“They’re Equadorian,” Jim said, “good stuff.”
Margold took the mushrooms, put them in his moth and swallowed them. They tasted like hell.
“I don’t see anything,” Margold said.
“Takes about forty-five minutes,” Jim said. “Meanwhile, we smoke, sweat and chant.”
“I did some research on the sweat lodge ceremony,” Margold said, “and nothing I read mentioned eating mushrooms.”
“I told you,” Jim said, “this is Indian ritual according to Jim Big Crow. I found the eating of mushrooms to be a good addition to the sweat lodge. It’s my own little twist.”
“All right, chief, just don’t kill me.”
The others started to chant even louder and to beat their drums hard and loud, then quicker, but not as hard, then hard and slow again, alternating like this continuously. Then Margold started to see shit that wasn’t there as the mushrooms began working their magic. Margold started to see the colors of the burning logs to be very bright, and wavering, like heat waves off the street. The sounds of the drums became more intense and echoed slightly, and sound like someone tuning a steel drum. He was still conscious and knew where he was, and could talk to the others, but things shimmered and twisted a little, unless he were able to focus on it intensely. He laughed because everything to him seemed funny and absurd.
“How you doing?” Jim asked.
Margold heard the voice, and knew that it was Jim’s, but it sounded as though it came from somewhere else, outside of the lodge and from far away.
“I’m fine,” he answered. “This is wild. Everything is so intense–the colors and sounds are very vivid.”
“But you see us here and know that we are in the sweat lodge?”
“Yes.”
“Then I think you should take another few grams.”
“Lay it on me, chief.”
Jim fed Margold another few grams of dried mushrooms. Jim and his friends continued to drum and to chant. Margold heard a buzzing sound, and everything seemed to vibrate with it. He looked around the lodge and could see the others faintly, as the only light came from the logs in the middle of the lodge. The room took on a metallic look, mercuric, flowing and wavering, reflecting the light of the fire. He looked at the others in the lodge and felt a kinship, or even love, of them, though he did not know them, except for Bill.
He did not see strange animals, or anything like that, and he was still aware of where he was and who he was with, but they were altered in form to the extent that they wavered a bit, as though looked at in the reflection of a pond into which someone had thrown a stone.
Jim threw some more water on the fire, and had Margold drink a little water, mainly to keep him from overheating. The lodge was intensely hot and the sweat flowed from all of them because of it, their bodies glistening in the dim light of the glowing logs. Then Margold saw women in the lodge, their naked bodies also glistening with sweat from the heat and steam.
“Well, that’s better,” Margold said, “someone brought some broads.”
“What?” asked Jim, not seeing the broads because they were not there.
“These girls, quite beautiful and well endowed, sitting across form me.”
The drummers and chanters continued to drum and chant, the sound of which sounded to Margold as though it were in the next county. Jim and Bill looked at each other in questioning surprise.
“Is he okay?” Bill asked Jim.
“Yeah,” Jim said, “he is just having a bit of a vision. At least he is seeing naked women and not the minions of hell.”
Bill laughed. “What do you think that means?”
“I don’t know,” Jim said. “I take it as a good sign, though. Naked women do not portend an evil spirit.”
“Maybe he is already freed of it,” Bill said.
“Not likely. We are just trying to purify him. Maybe he just sees naked women all the time in his imagination.”
“Don’t we all?”
Jim laughed. The drummers drummed rapidly, and then slowly in loud sharp stokes of the drum, and then rapidly again, chanting and singing in a high-pitched Indian squall. Margold could hear the whole conversation and the sound of the drumming.
“Oh, I hear you,” Margold said. “But there are still naked broads in the lodge.” He reached out as though to touch one right across from him, but there was nothing there. Then in front of Margold stood a man in white linen. Margold started to talk to him.
“Yes, I know,” he said. “I am a son of a bitch and I am going to burn, but I don’t believe in you.”
“Who the fuck is he talking to?” Bill asked Jim.
“I think he’s seeing Jesus, or something,” Jim said.
Margold stared straight ahead as though looking at something or someone sitting on the other side of the lodge. The drummers drummed and chanted fiercely.
“I’ve got a few questions for you,” Margold said to whomever or whatever he was talking. “I mean this creation shit is a little hard to take.”
“Oh Christ,” Jim said, “he thinks he’s talking to God.”
“You mean on this little bit of shrooms he sees God?” Bill asked.
“Seems so,” Jim said.
“Naked broads and now God. I think we should snap him out of it before he starts to play with his dick, or something.”
“We can’t snap him out of it, we have to wait for the shrooms to wear off.”
“Well, keep the son of a bitch covered by a towel.”
“Naked broads are God,” Margold said.
“Now ain’t you the philosopher?” Jim said.
“The man in white linen told me to tell you to shut the fuck up.”
“Is that how he talks?” Jim asked.
“That’s what he said,” Margold said, “and I second it.”
Jim relit a cigar and the sage and fanned the smoke around the lodge. The rocks were beginning to cool, but they were still warm enough to throw off steam when water was put on them, and to send the smell of the cedar into the air. The drummers pounded hard and slow, then sped up the rhythm.
“Aw horse shit,” Margold said, suddenly.
“What?” Jim asked. “Who are you talking to?”
“What, what?” Margold asked, now looking at Jim with a face that said he had ended his vision and was back to reality.
“You said horse shit,” Jim said. “Who were you talking to?”
“The man in white linen said that I was gonna die and that there was nothing he could do about it.”
“Did he ever tell you who he was?” Jim asked.
“No, but he acted like he owned the joint.”
“All right, let’s go outside and cool you off.”
The left the lodge and when they got a few feet away poured cold water over Margold’s head.
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