The Fountain of Eden: A Myth of Birth, Death, and Beer Read online

  Chapter 14

  A Rousing Round of Revelations and Realizations

  When Jack arrived at 221-B Colonial Towne Road, the mournful sounds of a violin echoed into the night from within the rickety old farmhouse. The soul-searching music ended with a discordant screech when he rapped on the door, as if embarrassed at being heard.

  Moments later, Sir Arthur opened the door. It must have been the first time in hours he had done so, for a cloud of pipe smoke poured into the night as though grateful for release from the Englishman's domicile. Jack could barely see through the waves of bluish miasma pouring into his eyes.

  “Jack, how good of you to come!”

  “Yeah, some wild shenanigans went down at kung-fu class, but I'll let Master Mirbodi fill you in on that, because I’m still not sure what the hell it was. He should be here soon.” Jack looked over Sir Arthur's shoulder into the living room, where the effluvium had dispersed. “So can I come in?”

  Sir Arthur opened the door wide. “But of course, my dear friend! Where are my manners? Come in, come in. I have a pot of tea brewing, could I interest you in a cup?”

  “No, thanks. You got anything a little . . . harder?” Jack figured a little alcohol would help numb the pain that had invaded and conquered his body.

  “You know me—I have a decade's supply of Scotch whisky, and that’s it.”

  Jack grimaced, but he could use a drink. “All right. On the rocks, for me.”

  As the beekeeper went to the kitchen to pour two glasses of the genuine, Jack made himself comfortable in a voluminous red leather armchair and looked around.

  An ornate fireplace dominated one living room wall, and Victorian-era couches and armchairs peppered the area. The decorations included antique lamps on oaken end-tables, an elegant full-length mirror, an old-school changing screen, and a stand-alone wardrobe. Dusty old paintings within gilded frames adorned the walls, and bookcases filled to bursting with ancient tomes lined one wall. Upon the mantelpiece lurked pouches of tobacco, pipes, beakers with dregs of unknown concoctions congealing on the sides, pen-knives, and piles of spent revolver cartridges, which explained the many bullet-holes in the living room walls and ceiling.

  Sir Arthur walked into the room from the kitchen. He handed Jack a highball glass filled to the brim with Scotch whisky and ice, and sat down in an armchair. He took a long sip of his drink, lit a cigar, and peered over at Jack with his patented X-ray eyes.

  “So how have you been, Jack? How are things?”

  A wry laugh escaped Jack. “Actually, Art, things, as you say it, have been going extremely fucking weird recently.”

  “Is that so?” Sir Arthur puffed away at his cigar, lost in deep thought. After a few seconds of silence and imbibing of Scotch whisky, he looked up with a gleam in his eyes.

  “Jack, what do you know about the Fountain of Youth?”

  Jack sighed. It had just been that kind of day. “Well, Art, not too much, to be honest with you. It’s supposed to be somewhere in Florida, isn’t it?”

  Sir Arthur nodded. “Or at least that is what Ponce de Leon believed when he was scouring the Floridian wilderness for the mythical land of Bimbara.” He pursed his lips. “And what if I told you the Fountain of Youth was, in fact, not in Florida?”

  “Wait, I think I read something about this a while ago, in one of those magazines that have articles about how someone found Elvis’s long-lost half-monkey love-child being raised by its mother the gorilla in the Amazon jungle, and how monkey-mom's gonna sue for—”

  “Jack, that is not what I am getting at here.”

  “No, wait, isn’t the Fountain of Youth supposed to be on that Caribbean island owned by David Copperfield the magician guy? Yeah, and he said that if you put dead flowers into the Fountain water, they come back to life and bloom again, and it heals diseases and old scars and stuff.”

  Jack chuckled. Sir Arthur peered at him stoically, and Jack's laughter died.

  “Just what are you getting at, Art?”

  “Jack, the Fountain of Youth is in the state of Virginia.”

  “Aw, come on, man! The Fountain of Youth is a myth!” But Jack was suddenly unsure of this, because his confidence in what he had once believed were concrete things (such as reality) had been steadily withering over the past couple strange days.

  “Jack, the Fountain of Youth is not a myth. It lies within Tranquil Forest Park.”

  “The Fountain of Youth in Tranquil Forest, huh? Tell me, have you finally lost your mind living out here on the bee farm by yourself for all those years?”

  “Why do you think people were acting so strange the other day after they drank that Hoppy Heaven Ale? That beer is brewed with the Water of Life!”

  “But that was just beer! Oh sure, it was good, great, phenomenal beer, but it couldn’t have been what you say it was . . . could it?” Jack recalled the taste of Hoppy Heaven Ale well. It seemed to linger in one's mouth for days—and it had tasted better than any beer he had ever before imbibed. In fact, he had reasoned at the time that it was the drink of the gods . . .

  “Okay, so the beer was better than should be humanly possible.” Jack picked up his glass of whisky and gulped away. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and said, “But surely you’re joking. Does that mean that everybody who drank it the other day has attained Eternal Youth?” He imagined what it would be like to live forever. To see civilizations rise and fall. To see what became of mankind throughout the ages. To see the end of the world . . .

  “Not necessarily,” said Sir Arthur.

  “Could you possibly elaborate on that statement just a little bit for me?”

  “If a human being drinks six pints of the Water of Life, they attain Eternal Youth. Just a few sips of the stuff will extend a person’s life for a couple years. But if you'll recall, no human being at the Farmer's Market had more than one pint of brew. Most likely our adversaries were just giving the stuff a test run to make sure the Water of Life retained its potency after the brewing process.”

  “Adversaries?” A queer expression passed across Jack's face. “Say, I had a few of those Hoppy Heaven Ales the other day. You'll recall there was no one-drink limit imposed upon me. So does that mean I'm gonna live forever?” He realized the absurdity of this question when he asked it, and could not believe he was playing along with Sir Arthur on this “Fountain of Youth” baloney.

  “No. Jack, the Water of Life does not affect you, because—”

  A pounding on the front door interrupted Sir Arthur. He stood up, peered into the peephole, and opened the door to the visitor. Master Mirbodi and Sitting Lotus entered the cottage. The Zen master threw a purple lotus down on the coffee table.

  “She has shown up already?!” Sir Arthur stared wide-eyed at the flower. Its petals pulsated with lambent purple light. He picked up the lotus by the black stem and placed it on the mantelpiece.

  Master Mirbodi said, “This mean Wheel tilt much more than we first think, and now spin off kilter.”

  “And if enough people drink that beer, the Wheel will spin from its axis,” said Sir Arthur. “And then . . .”

  Silence ensued.

  “And then . . . what?” said Jack.

  “And then that will be that,” said Sir Arthur.

  “That will be what?”

  “That will be that.”

  Jack sighed. “Please don’t make me ask it again.”

  “Come on, man, you know what I mean!” Sir Arthur pantomimed explosions with his hands. “Boom! Pow! Bang! Blast! Goodbye universe!”

  Jack remained silent and sipped at his Scotch, peering at Sir Arthur with dubious eyes.

  Sir Arthur shook his head. “But I still don’t understand why whoever is doing this would want to destroy the universe, since it would mean their own destruction as well.”

  “Destroy the universe, huh?” said Jack, going into sarcastic play-along mode, which seemed the only reasonable way to deal with this conversation. “Sounds tricky. How is that gonna work?”
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  “Our enemies are attempting to throw the Wheel of Birth and Death off kilter. If the Wheel is knocked off its axis, Shiva shall manifest in this universe as Nataraja, the Cosmic Dancer, and the Divine Dance of Destruction will begin.”

  “Uh-huh. And what is this Divine Dance of Destruction?”

  “The bad part—at least for us—of Nataraja's endlessly repeating Divine Dance of Creation and Destruction. It is called samhara by Hindus.”

  “And, enlighten me here, why would Shiva or Nataraja or whoever do all this?”

  “Nataraja will Dance samhara because human beings have overstepped the boundaries set for them at the beginning of Time. When humans begin attaining Eternal Life, breaking free from the Wheel of Birth and Death in abnormal ways, the Creator gods view it as if humankind as a whole is approaching godhood, perhaps in order to usurp them. The Wheel of Birth and Death acts as a warning mechanism. Shiva is its guardian, bound by great oaths to destroy Creation if humanity steps out of line.”

  “Well, I always figured we'd blow it at some point or other.”

  “It might not even take people actively attaining Eternal Youth. If a large enough amount of human beings take a few sips apiece at one time, it might be enough to jolt the Wheel from its axis.”

  Jack glanced at the mantelpiece. “But what's the deal with the purple lotus? And why is it shimmering with unholy light like that? Wait, let me guess. It's a magic flower.”

  “Lotus delivered by Kali, Hindu goddess of death,” said Master Mirbodi. “It warning mechanism. When light die, Nataraja Dance.”

  “Despite her reputation, Kali is not all about death and destruction,” said Sir Arthur. “She is Mother the Terrible, but also Mother the Benign. She is Adi-Shakti, the ultimate feminine power inherent in all of Creation. She is called the 'Force of Time,' and for this she is perceived as evil. But if you believe Kali an evil being, you must also regard the fact that time passes and everything must end as evil. And yet the passing of time—the inability to make things last—is simply the way it is. Human beings—and, yes, even gods—must grow old and die. Therefore Kali, just like Time, simply is.”

  “Ah,” said Sitting Lotus, deadpan. “That explains why she was sending me subliminal messages to kill myself earlier this morning in Tranquil Forest.”

  “She need make sure you worthy before she make you her messenger, novice,” said Master Mirbodi.

  Jack Whiskey's brain felt like it was about to explode. “Well, all that sucks, doesn’t it? Not all that stuff about Kali being a nice goddess somewhere deep down inside, but that whole thing about how the world's gonna come to an end.”

  “Yes, Jack, it does, as you say, suck,” said Sir Arthur. “But don’t worry overmuch. The Creator gods will create a new universe at some point or other. No human or mythological being now alive will be around to see what that will be like, but our dispersed molecules will forever be a part of the universe, so all is not necessarily lost.”

  Jack's brow furrowed. “Did you say . . . mythological being?”

  Sir Arthur and Master Mirbodi exchanged a look, and Jack’s eyes narrowed. “All right, guys, let's kick the bullshit to the side of the fuck-you factory. What's going on here? Please, if you're pulling my leg, tell me now! I've been seeing weird shit around town all day, and now this!”

  “Jack, Fountain of Youth much more than what it believed to be,” said Master Mirbodi. “You ever hear term ‘sipapuni’?”

  Jack, mystified, shook his head.

  “Sipapuni Hopi Indian word. According to Hopi, sipapuni where man first emerge into this world from last world. Sipapuni translate as ‘place of emergence.’”

  “What does that have to do with the Fountain of Youth?”

  “There many Worlds out there, and many beings use sipapuni to travel between Worlds. Fountain of Youth like World Tree, with Water instead of Wood.”

  Jack sank into his chair and looked to the heavens. “Ye gods, will this madness never end?” His eyes returned to Earth and Master Mirbodi. “Are you saying the Fountain of Youth is some kind of gateway between worlds?”

  “Indeed, Jack,” said Sir Arthur. “The sipapuni leads to the Ocean of Myth, which is employed as a kind of cosmic superhighway between Earth—the Key World—and the Worlds of Myth. You have seen many beings that hail from the Worlds walking the streets of Eden.” He grinned. “Mythos are quite adept at concealing themselves from prying human eyes.”

  “Of course they are,” said Jack, fingers gripping his temples. His head throbbed. “How else would they survive in the technological age?”

  “The human mind has an in-built defense mechanism, actually. Even if they do see a mytho's true form, or witness mythical happenings, their mind refuses to accept it as such. The senses and the memory do their utmost to turn it into something normal, acceptable to the reality they know.”

  Jack was silent for a moment. He thought back on the bank teller and the little people. And Sam Waa's burning eyes. Master Mirbodi's light-bringing fist. Something tickled the back of his brain. “Tell me, how many of these other Worlds are there?”

  “Other Worlds infinite, uncountable,” supplied Master Mirbodi. “Any domain or realm, heaven or hell, or world in wardrobe invented by Mind exist somewhere, no?”

  Jack thought for a while, then sighed. “So I drank the Water of Life from the Fountain of Youth. Well, I suppose now I’m gonna live forever until the universe implodes. At least from what you guys say, it’ll only be a few more days, though.”

  “Nothing lives forever, Jack, but you will live for a very long time,” said Sir Arthur. “But not because you drank the Water of Life.”

  “But you just said that if a human drinks six pints of the Water of Life they’ll live forever! So why does the Water affect other human beings, but not me?” His patience at an end, Jack downed the last of his Scotch, slammed the glass down on the coffee table, and glared around the room.

  Sir Arthur sighed, then obliged Jack in his quest for knowledge. “Jack, the Water of Life does not affect you because you are not a human being. You are—as am I, mind you—a mythological being. How else did you think you could have worked for Colonial Eden for over half a century without aging a day?”

  But Sir Arthur received no answer, because Jack Whiskey fainted dead away, rendered unconscious by a power lodged deep within his psyche.