The Smoke That Thunders Read online

  ***

  Nights at The Library continued, and the accidental friendship took root and grew steadily. Neither would have admitted to it, and both protested adamantly when someone noted that they seemed to be the best of friends. After all, Chad was still a stuck-up, entitled, irritatingly superficial cheerleader from the posh end of Jersey. Peter remained a has-been hippie from hick Oklahoma, selfishly wallowing in the mire of his self-imposed misery.

  They could not have known that this unlikely friendship would reshape and redirect who they were and who they would become. This friendship would be tested, refined, and threatened – it would face death and cry out for life. If they had known what lay ahead in the months and years to come, both the cheerleader and the hippie would have fled, quickly and swiftly, from this accidental friendship.

  CHAPTER 3

  A Foreigner Arrives

  Chad sneaked a six-pack into Peter’s room, and they reported on their summer vacations.

  Peter had little to say about his summer. “It started. Now it’s over. That’s about it.”

  Peter, as he had since he was thirteen years old, worked maintenance on his dad’s rental properties scattered around the eastside of Oklahoma City. Oklahoma summer’s blazing, merciless sun made every day a cruel endurance test. Each day was an unbearable descent into the depths of hell itself – painting, yard work, and the remodeling of abused rental houses in sweltering, hundred-degree heat. Even worse was cleaning the houses ravaged by lowlife human beings who, under the cover of night, would vacate the premises without a thought about unpaid rent. Inevitably, these families would leave behind piles of dog feces, heaps of dirty diapers, tons of garbage, and at least a million roaches.

  Years ago, Peter had stopped wondering how people could create such squalor and how they developed the ability not to care how they or their children lived. Somehow, despite daily frustration and anger, that father of his always believed the next family would be different from the previous tenants. Peter sometimes admired this unconditional faith in humanity, but more often he felt angry that his dad remained eternally gullible.

  When pushed, Peter told Chad he painted houses all summer and left it at that. After his summery, he listened to Chad complain about his summer job as a lifeguard, and then, the dreaded question came.

  “Girlfriend? Any interesting dates? Huh? Did you get any? Eh?”

  “No, no and no. No dates, no nothing,” Peter said and then awaited Chad’s incredulous response.

  Chad finished his second beer and nearly shouted, “Geez! How did you manage that? No chicks at all? I couldn’t survive! Man, how do you do that?”

  Peter forced a smile and feigned nonchalance. “I survived just fine, just fine. I don’t have to have someone. Unlike some. And you?”

  “Hey, just one – the usual one.”

  “Poor Natalie.” Often after his fourth or fifth beer, Chad would talk fondly about his first high school flame, which he tended to retreat to after playing the field during the school year. “Why and how does she put up with you?”

  Chad nodded and grinned. “Natalie loves me. She understands me.”

  Peter leaned toward Chad, and with a slight sneer said, “How is it you can go back home and get back with her just like that? She must resent being your summer fling. How can any decent, self-respecting female put up with that? With the likes of you?”

  “Same way I put up with her. It’s just an understanding we have.”

  Peter shook his head. “C’mon! Surely, she’s not like you. Surely, she’s not bouncing from guy to guy every three weeks. You always described her as so sweet, so innocent. I didn’t picture her like … well, being like you.”

  “She, Peter, is as sweet as they come. And to be honest … well let’s just say, what one does not know cannot disappoint or disillusion them.”

  Peter put on a disapproving glower meant to chastise. “Oh my God! You are more of creep than I thought. How can you treat someone like that? Use her like that?”

  “Geez, man! Quit with the guilt trip. I had a good summer. I love her in my way, and she loves me in hers. It works fine. Someday she’ll move on and someday I will move on. Until then, it’s a summer love that is now in hibernation.”

  “How do you live with yourself?”

  “I could ask you the same, Mr. Can’t-get-no-satisfaction, but I won’t.”

  Peter laughed, finished his can of beer, and said, “And your dear dad? How’d that go?”

  The flash in Chad’s eyes said more than words ever could.

  “That horrific?”

  Chad grabbed two beers and leaned back on the bed. He threw one beer to Peter, opened his can, and said, “Worse than you can imagine. Fights every day, over nothing, always over squat.” Chad finished the can in three gulps. He went on, “I can put the garbage bin two inches too far over in the garage, and he’ll go ballistic, screaming that he couldn’t get his Cadillac in its hallowed spot. He screams when I sleep too late, shouts when I leave a glass in the sink, curses me when I sit in his recliner. You know, before I left, I purposely opened my car door hard into his Caddy and left a beauty of a dent. I was disappointed he didn’t see it before I left. I’m waiting for him to call me at any moment and cuss me out, declaring how incorrigible and hopeless I am.” Chad paused and spoke slowly, “No blows landed. Maybe that makes it a decent summer.”

  Chad looked through Peter’s sparse collection of eight-track tapes as he declared how infinitely superior vinyl LPs were and promised that eight-tracks were doomed to extinction. He read off the titles, each said with increasing and exaggerated shock, “Bob Dylan, Joan Biaz, Judy Collins, Simon and Garfunkel. Oh my God! Peter, Paul and Mary? And who is this? Wagner? And this? Shostakovich? Who the hell are they? Are you still wallowing in your Sartre phase or what? It’s high time you got into some good ole rock ‘n’ roll, pal. Get those endorphins of yours going. How can I ever respect a man whose has every Simon and Garfunkel album and whose favorite song is ‘I Am a Rock’?”

  “Right, and how can I justify wasting my precious time with a supposed man whose most beloved band is Led Zeppelin and his signature song is ‘We’re Gonna Grove’? Answer me that?”

  Banality filled the air. Both felt relief to leave summer behind and escape back to the false reality of young men pretending they owned the world.

  Chad asked, “Shall we visit The Professor tonight?”

  As Peter said, “Sure,” a voice came from the next room. The voice sounded odd, foreign. “You hear that?”

  It was a strange voice, someone introducing himself to Allen. Dear Allen, how they had missed him: The dorm’s most beloved nerd, the one college student who dared to admit to being a virgin, the one heartless students would continually mock without poor Allen even realizing it.

  “Maybe he’s from Boston … no …,” Peter guessed.

  “Maybe Canada. No, wait ...” Chad put his ear to the wall. “Nope, he’s English, a Brit. Definitely a damn limey. What’s he doing here? Didn’t we kick their asses in like 1783 or something?”

  They heard the stranger with the intriguing accent say, “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Allen. A pleasure indeed,” Before Allen’s door shut.

  Peter said, “We know what Allen’s up to now. He’ll be thumbing through his collection of comic books, and we’ll soon hear his eight-track endlessly playing that soundtrack of 2001: A Space Odyssey.”

  A knock on Peter’s door instinctively set the two in motion. In one swoop, all beer cans, empty and full, disappeared. Peter opened the door. There stood a man, somewhat short, slightly overweight, with a bit of a round face. A soft bronze complexion complemented his light brown hair that he carefully combed over to hide a newly receding hairline. The stranger spoke in a smooth, refined accent, with politely raised inflections at the end of sentences. “Hello. I am Simon Taylor. Just wanting to introduce myself. I shall be living in the room at the end of the corridor,” he said, pointing toward the end of th
e hallway.

  Simon’s friendly greeting was the sort usually heard at the start of a new school year by raw freshmen. However, no freshmen would dare knock on a stranger’s door, as this was a breach of sacred (albeit unspoken) campus etiquette.

  Peter stood motionless, looking a bit stunned. Had this been a clueless freshman, he would simply have shut the door. However, he knew he could not do that to this man from some faraway foreign land, one who obviously would not understand an American’s religious regard for privacy. “Um … Yeah. Peter, I’m Peter. This is Chad, but don’t mind him. He’s from New Jersey. He can’t help himself. ”

  The stranger stretched his hand out and gave firm and slightly prolonged handshakes – another breach of protocol that would be ignored.

  “Let me guess. Don’t tell me. You’re English, right?” Chad said.

  Simon laughed, “English? No indeed!”

  “Irish then?” Peter responded.

  Simon shook his head.

  “Okay. Scottish?”

  Simon said, “Nooo.” One would think this stranger would have already tired of playing the game, as no doubt every time he opened his mouth in the States, people tried to guess where he might be from. Simon showed no annoyance though. Rather, he enticed them further into this guessing charade. “Not even close yet.”

  Chad said, “Got to be New Zealand, then.”

  “You’re getting slightly warmer, bru.”

  Peter declared with confidence, “Ah! Australia! Of course.”

  Simon shook his head.

  Chad said. “I give up. Don’t have a clue.”

  “South Africa. I am from South Africa.”

  Chad shook his head and bit his lower lip as he tried to picture the African continent, “Okay, but what country in southern Africa? That could be lots of places.”

  Simon laughed again and patiently stated, “South Africa is a country – the Republic of South Africa, the southernmost nation on the continent. Originally, I am from Cape Town, where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic.”

  Peter and Chad both shrugged their shoulders.

  Chad said, “Shoot! I always knew that geography teacher of mine was a dud. Kenya, Uganda, the Congo, Rhodesia ... I have heard of those, though I couldn’t tell you where they are. I’m afraid my knowledge of the Dark Continent is very … well, dark.”

  Peter responded apologetically. “Simon, I think you’ll find Americans can be pretty … uh—”

  “Provincial?” the foreigner interjected, offering some help.

  “Well yes. That’s putting it politely. I was thinking that we’re just plain dumb.”

  “Ignorant. I would say ignorant. Provincial? Yeah, that’s true. We don’t look far beyond our shores, and it’s even worse in Oklahoma. Most have never been the other side of the Red River. Peter didn’t know Kansas existed until he saw The Wizard of Oz.”

  Peter said, “Chad’s a master of exaggeration, but there is a bit of truth in that … well, not the Kansas bit. Sorry to say it, but we tend to assume the center of world is the USA.”

  “I suppose most countries feel that way,” Simon politely stated.

  “How did you find your way to … to Oklahoma, of all places?” Chad asked with a laugh.

  “I’m on an exchange program with the University of Cape Town and the University of Oklahoma. I’m spending a year in the engineering program here.”

  Peter and Chad bombarded Simon with questions just to hear him speak. They asked him about his impressions of America and Oklahoma. Simon talked with excitement about his first two weeks in America. He had made stops in New York and Chicago and made the comment, “I was amazed how friendly everyone one was in New York City and in Chicago. Everyone was so nice and helpful. It’s been a treat.”

  Chad stopped him, “Hey, wait. No, that could not be right. You’ve got your cities mixed up. New York, Chicago. Damn! They have some of the rudest human beings in all of the world, never mind America.”

  “Oh? Well, that was most certainly not my experience,” Simon replied with some surprise in his tone.

  Wanting to enjoy this refined accent and learn more of this foreigner’s tales of a strange and unknown land, they invited Simon to join them at The Library that evening. There, he stirred their imaginations with vivid pictures of his homeland’s beauty, describing its varied landscape: from mountains to seas and beaches to world-class cities to wildlife refuges. They were intrigued as he spoke with pride about the diverse cultures of his nation, explaining the complexity of the Dutch and English settlers who fought for control for two centuries while living amongst dozens of tribal peoples of African descent.

  Endless evenings at The Library followed. Simon continued to stir visions of a land so far away, so different, so otherworldly; visions that intrigued and stirred. These evenings became moments of escape, moments that seemed to offer hope, though neither was sure what the essence of this hope might be.

  ***

  Several weeks after their first meeting, they learned Simon would turn thirty on his next birthday. He was indeed the old man of the dormitory. Chad began calling him ‘Ole Bean,’ which others in the dorm soon adopted. Simon did not seem to mind, taking this as a sign of acceptance of the old man from a faraway world.

  Simon Taylor carried himself as a proper gentleman. He exuded a quiet pride that invited, if not demanded, respect from others. At the same time, there was a refreshing air of simplicity about him. He was an individual who, although wise beyond his years, was able to share his wisdom in a clear and simple manner – a manner, which caused one to wonder how he or she had missed such obvious truths.

  Simon learned from his new friends as well. With keen curiosity, mixed with childlike eagerness, he asked probing questions about America, its culture, and its history. Chad and Peter did their best to satisfy his curiosity but both felt they revealed more ignorance of their own country than they had imagined they possessed.

  Peter introduced Simon and Chad to snippets of Western culture. They took a day trip to the Indian City in Anadarko and had lunch in an authentic Kiowa teepee. At the Cowboy Hall of Fame, Simon bought a Charles Russell print, Cowboy Roping a Steer, which he sent home to his father. Three times, they drove fifty miles to eat buffalo burgers at The Cherokee Trading Post on Route 66, near El Reno.

  One night, the sort of night that comes when college students’ common sense is numbed by either too much studying or too much alcohol, Peter took them to pastures west of a town aptly named Slaughtersville and introduced them to cow tipping, a sport clearly created by bored and, likely intoxicated, country youth. It involves sneaking up on sleeping cows and pushing them over. It was an adventure Chad and Simon would reminisce and laugh about for years to come.

  Chad made sure Simon and even Peter attended some football games to watch his beloved National Championship Sooners. Simon enjoyed America’s version of football although he was always quick to explain that ‘real football’ is what Americans, for some unknown reason, insist on calling ‘soccer.’ American football reminded Simon of his favorite sport, rugby. He was as obsessed with rugby as Chad was with football and often bragged about the South African national team, the Springboks.

  When Simon first witnessed Chad perform as a cheerleader, he was shocked and awed. He laughed through most of the game, keeping his eyes fixed on Chad waving his arms about, throwing girls high into the air, and performing back flips in sequence with the other cheerleaders, all to the tune of loud music coming from the band. After that first game, Simon rushed up to Chad to share his enthusiasm and found that Chad could hardly speak. Chad whispered that his exhausted larynx proved he had fulfilled his role in working the crowd into a frenzy.

  Peter endured the tedium of the four-hour games with feigned politeness; however, the experience simply reinforced his distaste for the barbaric sport and the ludicrousness of cheerleading.

  ***

  Over the next few months, the three spent countless lost hours
at The Library, downing beers while exploring life’s absurdities, delving into politics and philosophy, and debating Simon’s favorite subject, theology. Both Chad and Peter constantly questioned Simon about doctrines they knew next to nothing about: predestination, universal salvation, theodicy, and the cosmological evidence for the existence of God. Simon presented clear and logical arguments that the two Americans would vehemently disagree with simply to see him flush with frustration. For Chad and Peter, these assignations offered benign entertainment, always bolstered by the increasing buzz of the next beer.

  Simon embraced the challenge of provoking his new friends to deeper thought. He feared that potential was slipping away, and that confusion was taking root and skewing any sense of direction and purpose. He saw two young men drifting toward dreary wastelands, two souls lacking faith in themselves and unknowingly desperate for faith in something more. He often told them in passing, “I worry about you two. I do.” Neither Peter nor Chad dared to ask Simon what he meant by that statement, which would come unexpectedly in any place or time.

  One evening at The Library, before the first beer was opened, Simon said, “I am worried about you two fellows. Let me ask you this … and let’s get past the nonsense –what does faith mean to you? What is it you really believe?”

  Both shrugged their shoulders and looked at each other.

  Peter finally said, “I believe God is there. I believe Jesus cares or whatever. I just don’t see it.”

  Chad said, “God is great, God is good, so great and so good He kind of scares the hell out of me.”

  Simon smiled and asked, “Why’s that, Chad?”

  Chad opened his can of beer, started to take a sip, then set it down. He said, “I was raised in a Lutheran church. Oh, how they love their canticles, elaborate liturgies, and long, pointless sermons. I always felt their God is both heartlessly aloof and so very demanding. In my last year in high school, I decided not worry too much about church or if I’m honest about their God, or God in general. Oh, I still believe. We all have to believe in something. Right?”