Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(52)







JOURNAL ENTRY #12 [CONT.]


The knocking interrupted Reinhardt.

It was clear and consistent, so much so that I think a few of us thought it might be mechanical. A loose pipe or maybe, just for a second, an approaching vehicle. But as we all quieted down to listen, I could definitely make out the undertone of animal grunts.

Carmen stated the obvious. “Do you hear that? It’s them.”

thock-thock-thock

I couldn’t see anything. Nobody could. They must have been farther away. Among the trees or on the other side of the ridge.

Effie asked, “What do you think it means?”

No one answered at first. Not even Reinhardt.

The more we listened, the more we could make out a single source. A branch against a trunk? I’m not sure if the grunts were meant for us. Something about them; soft, low, chaotic, like they didn’t want their voices to drown out the knocks. That’s, at least, what I think now. I didn’t have a clue at the time.

I glanced at Dan, who was equally perplexed, and then at Mostar, who seemed to be waiting for something. For the knocking to end, or change? I didn’t ask.

“That’s communication!” Vincent surprised me. I would have expected it from Reinhardt. I looked over at him, the gasbag prof, who was, amazingly, yielding the floor.

Vincent stepped out of the circle, head craned toward the trees. “They’re trying to talk to us!”

“They’re friendly,” said Reinhardt, who, I think, was trying to get a jump on the next possible conclusion. “They must be! Communication implies intelligence, which implies an innate desire for peace.”

Is that true?

The Boothes seemed to believe it, or wanted to, along with Carmen and Effie. But Palomino, she kept her eyes locked on Mostar’s dubious face.

“Maybe we should…,” she started to say, but Vincent cut her off with, “Hello! Hello there! Friends! We’re friends!”

Bobbi let go of his hand and lightly slapped him on the shoulder. “They don’t speak English!” she scolded playfully, to which Reinhardt yelled out, “Bonsoir, mes amis!” The Boothes and the Perkins-Forsters laughed. Vincent, grinning from ear to ear, snatched Mostar’s bamboo spike.

“Everyone, shhh,” he whispered, smacking it against the wall of the Common House. Three hits, then paused.

The knocking stopped. We all froze. The grunts grew louder. Vincent beamed. The knocking resumed, faster this time, louder.

THOCKTHOCKTHOCKTHOCK

“Okay, yes, yes!” Vincent whispered to us and banged back faster with his pole. I heard him whisper “Friends, friends, friends” as he hammered the Common House wall. After a dozen rapid strikes, he stopped. They responded in kind.

Vincent waited for a crazy tense three count, then gave it another few whacks. Nothing came back. I could see the sweat beading up on his forehead, his glasses beginning to fog. Bobbi saw it too because she took them off, wiped them gently on her sleeve, and wrapped her arms around her husband.

We waited, we listened. Silence.

How long before someone spoke? Time really does crawl in those moments. But it couldn’t have been that long before Vincent looked back at us with earnest surprise. “We did it.”

Did he permit the group to accept this outcome or did they permit him? Once he said it, the sighs that broke out, the sudden choked sob from Bobbi. “We did it!” A hissing whisper, squeezing her husband’s waist, shutting eyes that sparkled at the edges. “You, you did it!”

Carmen hugged her daughter with one arm and reached out to touch her wife with the other. And Reinhardt, nodding as if he approved, gave Vincent a hand-rolling salute.





From my interview with Senior Ranger Josephine Schell.


Wood knocking seems to be pretty common in eyewitness encounters and no one knows for sure what it means. Likewise, no one knows how a wood-knocking response will be received. Language is tricky, even among our species.

She holds up her rounded thumb and index finger.

In this country it’s “a-okay,” in Brazil it’s “you’re an asshole.” And when you include the extra layer of inter-species contact…

She raises her head slightly, showing a discolored scar under her chin.

Six years old, over at my cousin’s one time, I didn’t know their old beagle would take my staring contest as a challenge. And for all we know, wood knocking denotes a challenge, which Vincent Boothe unwittingly accepted.





JOURNAL ENTRY #12 [CONT.]


The mood shifted; it was suddenly like a cocktail party. Everyone hugging and chatting, and a few people, Bobbi and Effie, wiping droplets from the corners of their eyes. Reinhardt was the first to leave. Beaming proudly for some reason, he placed a hand on Vincent’s shoulder and said, “Tomorrow, I believe we should begin collaboration on a paper detailing this historic anthropological discovery.”

Vincent, who was a little overwhelmed by his own achievement, just nodded. “Yes, yes, by all means, tomorrow…thank you!” And with a dramatic bow, Reinhardt stumped off.

“We should all have dinner tomorrow night!” That was Bobbi, correcting herself with, “Tonight!” It was after midnight by then. “Here in the Common House, all together. We need a healing moment.”

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