Post

Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.

March 25th, 2018
Issue XXIX. Feel It Still

Index
I. Interview with Cormactopia Prime
II. Spotlight News
-Citadel of Ricks: Get Schwifty
III. Ask Fredd!
IV. Druidic Lore and Celtic Christianity
V. Artwork of the Damned
VI. Tales of the Infernal: The Hitcher

Interview with Cormactopia prime
Interviewed by, The Stalker

1. Welcome Cormac, tell us what is the origin story of one of gameplay’s greatest savants? You’ve been a defender, a raider, a GCR delegate, and everything in between, where did you get your start?

Well, I started in a n00bish imperialist region most people probably won't remember, called Exshaw. Its Founder was Durkadurkiranistan II, whom many people know simply as Durk and whom older Feederites know as John Ashcroft Land or JAL. I had no idea at the time the reputation he had for couping The North Pacific, but I suppose in hindsight given my own history it's appropriate that I started out in a region he founded. Exshaw thrived for a little while in 2012 while script recruitment was legal on an experimental basis, but when it was made illegal again, Exshaw pretty much crumbled. I briefly tried founding my own region, Asgard, but it only lasted a few months. I landed in the United Defenders League, The North Pacific, and Osiris, ended up focusing mostly on Osiris, and the rest is pretty much history from there.

2. Describe your defender days for us, what was your favorite moment as a defender? Have a favorite mission you did? Would you ever return to being a defender?

My defender days were pretty great. I probably should have stuck with defending, but hindsight is 20/20, as they say. As odd as it sounds, my favorite moments from defending were probably the detagging operations we used to run when I was in the UDL. Most people didn't much care for detagging, and there were times I got tired of it too, but I had a lot of fun detagging with Ravania during minor updates. He had a unique way of making what otherwise seemed like a chore fun and competitive. As far as favorite operations, it's been so long now I'm not sure I could pin down a specific operation as my favorite. Anytime we successfully liberated a region was exciting and exhilarating. I probably wouldn't go back to defending in terms of making it my alignment again, but I wouldn't be averse to helping out with defending operations or anything.

3. Now you’ve also been a raider, tells us about that, what was your favorite moment as a raider? Have a favorite raid you did? Do you currently consider yourself a raider?

My favorite moment as a raider would still have to be Asgard's raid of Christmas back in July 2012. It was Asgard's first successful raid and the first time I was point, and the ensuing battle over Liberate Christmas was a lot of political fun too. Most raids during my time with The Brotherhood of Malice were a good time too. Really the best raids were the ones that I got to do mostly with my friends, I never much cared for the bigger raids involving a lot of regions, because there were invariably people on those raids I didn't like. I've never gotten along particularly well with most raider and imperialist regions. To answer your last question, no, I don't consider myself raider, nor defender. I would say I consider myself neutral, but that's boring, and independence has a whole connotation I don't like. I consider myself Cormac. I'm an alignment of one, really. Like with defending though, I'm not averse to raiding. I do oppose griefing though.

4. You are the Editor-in-Chief of the hard-hitting award winning and sometime conversational Miniluv Messenger, what made you start this newspaper? Have a favorite piece you’ve written? Is Big Brother still watching Gameplay?

It started mostly as a joke after the #miniluv IRC channel was exposed and everyone insisted it was some kind of gameplay conspiracy with me at the center, when in actuality at the time it was just a chat group with my close NS friends. Over time The Miniluv Messenger became more of a legitimate newspaper, and became famous (or infamous, depending on who you ask) for exposés like the article that exposed Operation Brave Toaster in the South Pacific. It was also probably the main source of resistance propaganda during Stujenske's 2015 coup of Lazarus. My favorite piece will probably always be the one I just mentioned, Operation Brave Toaster: Exposed. The impact it had on TSP really can't be overstated, even years later. For better or worse, TSP is in large part the way it is today because of that article and the impact it had on independent hegemony in TSP. Undermining Belschaft opened the door for Glen-Rhodes and others to push TSP in a more defender direction. I'm not sure that outcome thrills me, but it was still better than the alternative that Belschaft & Co. were pursuing at the time.

Big Brother is always watching gameplay. ;) I'm sure The Miniluv Messenger will be back at some point!

5. You’ve spent a lot of time in the various GCRs, including having been Pharaoh of Osiris three times. Describe your time there, what was your favorite moment as Pharaoh? Looking back would you have done anything different? Would you ever pursue becoming a GCR delegate again?

My favorite moment as Pharaoh ironically happened before I was ever Delegate. It was the end of Gatesville's month-long coup of Osiris. Even though the end of that coup was reached through diplomacy rather than military liberation, it was still very satisfying to see that coup end after spending months as a first-time Delegate fighting a coup. There hadn't been a coup of that level of seriousness since Empire's coup of The East Pacific in 2008, so very few people still active in the game really had any idea what they were doing when it came to fighting a GCR coup. There were many times I didn't think the coup would end, so when it did I was relieved Gatesville hadn't kept Osiris, and it was a major accomplishment for me. It was also the last Sinker coup to be defeated. Every Sinker coup since has been successful, which I think illustrates how dire the situation was for us during that coup.

Things I would have done different: Almost everything after that. I regret stepping down as Pharaoh in September 2013 and supporting Astarial's dissolution of the Kemetic Republic of Osiris, which eventually lead to the Osiris Fraternal Order in December 2013, and then to another coup in April 2016. All of that really paved the way for the less active situation that exists in Osiris right now, as well as normalizing subversion and coups to the point that raiders (which I also extend to include imperialists and raider-aligned independents) now control four Feeders and Sinkers through autocratic or oligarchical regimes. I don't think you would have Wolfist Lazarus, for example, if there hadn't first been the Osiris Fraternal Order. So I very much regret all of that, the impact it had on Osiris, and the impact it had on gameplay. I hope eventually these trends will be reversed, and I would like to see that start in Osiris. By their own free will, of course -- I'm not talking about using force. If I've learned anything it's that you can't coup your way to a better region. It just doesn't work out like that.

Would I pursue becoming a GCR Delegate again? Probably not, but you never know with me. I would really like an opportunity at some point to have a normal tenure as Delegate of a GCR just to prove I can actually do that. :P But my days as a GCR Delegate are probably behind me, and that's maybe for the best.

6. If you sold your soul to me, I mean to the Devil, what would you ask for?

An unlimited bank account. You probably thought I would say something NS-related but I mean, really, money. Because obviously.

Spotlight News
Compiled by, The Stalker

Citadel of Ricks: Get Schwifty

The Citadel of Ricks opens its doors, homeland of Rick and Morty fans from all dimensions! *Bluurp* Where you can discuss the show, and even join the Council of Ricks and help run the Citadel!

The place for all your Pocket Mortys action, battle and trade your Mortys with fellow NationStates Ricks! (What is Pocket Mortys?)

The Council of Ricks
The Rick: The Rickest Rick
Second Rick: Rickoria
Rick of Development: The newly rebuilt citadel of ricks
Original Rick: Rick Sanchez
Rick of Interdimensional Affairs: Theimperialsociety

Check out the Rickstitution!

President of the Citadel elections are now underway with three Rick candidates running, Rick Sanchez, Theimperialsociety, and Rick f-238.

I want my McNugget dipping sauce Szechuan sauce, Morty!
That's what's gon-it's gonna take us all the way to the end, Morty!
Season nine more seasons, Morty! Nine more seasons until I get that dipping Szechuan sauce!

LET'S GET RIGGITY RIGGITY WRECKED SON!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Hell's Bells welcome submissions for future Spotlight News articles, contact The Stalker for details.)

Ask Fredd!
Advice Column by, Freddland

Fredd,
Do you celebrate St Patrick's Day in Hell?

Wondering

Wonderbra,
Yep. And just like everywhere else, we use it for an excuse to get drunk.

Fredd
---------

Fredd,
Ok. How about Easter? Surely you don't celebrate Easter in Hell.

Wondering

Wonderbread,
Yep. Easter, too. It's a big deal here. We start the day with the traditional exploding egg and "chocolate" (actually dog crap) demon hunt. Just before lunch, we have the traditional Easter Tequila drinking contest. And for the grand finale, at dusk we have the traditional Eastside vs Westside Knife and Nunchaku Fight. Good times. I love holidays.

Fredd
---------

Dear Fredd,
All of your advise sucks. What's wrong with you?

Disgusted

Dear Disgusting,
My advise sucks because all of the questions are from idiots. Garbage in, garbage out.

Fredd
---------

Fredd,
Bull. You have gotten legit questions. But your answers sound like they were written by a drunk, halfwitted, depraved homeless person.

Disgusted

Disgusting,
Not true. I have a home.

Fredd
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Have a question for Fredd you'd like to see answered in the next issue of Hell's Bells? Submit here via telegram to Freddland.

Druidic Lore and Celtic Christianity
Article by, Ingskalla

Celtic culture on the island of of Britain was pervasive before the Saxon invasion around the 6th Century, it was the Romans that subjugated the Brythonic peoples, the Saxons did not invade these Celtic lands until after the Celtic people had been significantly enfeebled by centuries of incessant discordance, conflict, assimilation, and occupation by the Romans The Celtic Solstice traditions are where druids would cut the mistletoe that grew on the proffered oak tree and presented it as an annual blessing. On the solstices of each year the Oak King, representing the light, and the Holly King, representing the dark, would fight, with the Oak King emerging victorious at the winter solstice, enabling the return of the light. The Gaelic tribes of Hibernia (Latin for Ireland) created an entire language known as Ogham which is based on the Sacred Celtic Trees and bear semblance to the Futhark Runes of the North Germanic peoples.

The winter solstice tradition dated to the Proto-Germanic Funnel Beaker of north-central Europe and Bell Beaker Proto Celtic R1b people as evidenced by the underground cairn in Newgrange, Ireland, erected approximately 3200 BC, illuminated on December 21st during the dawning of the Winter Solstice. Regarding Christmas and the relation to the Italic Saturnalia Pagan festival, there is diminutive pertinence to the Picts of the Scottish Highlands or the Gaels of Hibernia who were never occupied by the Romans so their traditions were not adulterated. Celtic Christianity incorporated elements of the old Irish Pagan traditions such as the Triple Goddess/Crone being associated with Saint Bridget and a surfeit of other connections, this was necessary in order to Convert the various Celtic Kings and Princes by providing them with a familiar link to the old spiritual customs, hosted from these Royal houses that the Celts took reverence from so it was important in prosthelytizing to the new Semitic religion of the Levantine desert.

The Irish Monks were renowned throughout Continental Europe where Iona in Scotland and the Monasteries of Ireland were a main hub of higher learning and the Emerald Isle was known as the land of Saints and Scholars where Monarchs, Nobility, and Princes from across Christian Europe received their education at the hands of these exceedingly scholastic Monks. Alas, much of this was put to a cessation when Norwegian Viking raiders beginning around the eight Century and and continuing until the 11th Century when the stranglehold of the Norsemen were finally fractured by Brian Boru of Dál Cais of Munster in Ireland. By this phrase however, much desecration been done with Iona having been largely abandoned and tens of thousands of ascetic holymen slain by the pagan occupiers. Over the course of the ensuing decades, Norwegian settlers that hadn’t sailed to Iceland with their bounty of female thralls or back to the fatherland inevitably assimilated into mainstream Irish society and bewed married ito Celtic nobility, eventually converting to Insular Christianity. It is interesting to remark from analyzing the genetic makeup of contemporary Icelanders, about 18% of males (remaining genetic composition deriving from West Norway) and comparisons of Icelandic mitochondrial DNA in females closely matches Gaelic populations in the British Isles. Several geographical locations in Iceland including Vestmannaeyjar (Westmann Islands), Írafellsbunga (Mountain of the Irish) in Norðurland vestra, and the town of Akranes has stark Hibernian historical influence.

Artwork of the Damned
"Self Portrait"
Collage / minor Origami 26x20 by, The Stalker

The Hitcher...
Tales of the Infernal by, The Iron Helm
(Retelling of The Hitch-Hiker by The Twilight Zone)

Gather around, you denizens of the dark. Step into the shadows, into places where mortals fear and even the damned dare not venture. These are stories from the other side, the weird, the impossible, the horrifying. All of them different, but in the end, they are all... TALES OF THE INFERNAL...

I'm in an auto camp on Route 66 just west of Gallup, New Mexico.
If I tell it, perhaps it'll help me -- keep me from going - going crazy. I gotta tell this quickly. I'm not crazy now - I feel perfectly well, except that I'm running a slight temperature I think.
My name is Ronald Adams. I'm thirty-six years of age, married, tall, with dark close cropped hair. I’m a Teamster for the Consolidated Freight Company, an I’m driving a 1956 Mack Model R Tractor with the license plate 6Y175189, hauling a load of ball bearings, I’ve got the bills of lading to prove it. I was born in Brooklyn. All this I know. I know that I'm at this moment perfectly sane, that it's not me who's gone mad -- but something else, something utterly beyond my control.
I've got to speak quickly. At any minute the link may break. This may be the last thing I ever tell on earth - the last night I ever see the stars.

Six days ago I left the Brooklyn terminal, bound for California. As I usually do, I called my wife Amanda on the phone to let her know how long I’ll be away and where I’m heading to. “Goodbye Ron, Please be safe on the road, you know how worried I get about you.” She said. “I wish they would just keep you local, I hate there long runs you have to make.
“Oh come on now honey, I’ll be just fine.”
“Oh, I know, dear. I - I'm sorry. But I - I do hate to see you go so far, I can’t help it.” I laughed. “The run is a good one, with these miles I’ll have a swell paycheck coming, I just can’t turn down a good paying trip like this.” I said. She sighed slowly on the other end. “I know, but - you'll be careful, won't you? Promise me you'll be extra careful. Don't fall asleep or drive fast or pick up any strangers on the road. Now I couldn’t help but laugh out loud, I’d been driving a truck since I’d got home from the war, and going this far out was never a worry for me. “Gosh, you'd think I was still seventeen, to hear you talk.” She nevertheless persisted. Promise to wire me as soon as you get to Los Angeles?”
“Of course I will. Look, don’t you worry. There isn't anything going to happen. It's just eight days of perfectly simple driving on smooth, decent, civilized roads with a hot dog or a hamburger stand every ten miles. Everything is going to just fine dear, I love you.”

I remember climbing up into to cab of the red R model after doing my usual pre trip inspection. I was in fine spirits as the engine roared to life and I slowly rolled out of the freight yard in the wee hours. The drive ahead of me, even the loneliness, seemed like a lark.

But I reckoned without him.

Crossing Brooklyn Bridge that morning in the rain, I don’t know exactly what happened, maybe I began to nod off and didn’t notice or maybe another driver just got too close, but I recall swerving as a new model Buick cut in front of me. I swore aloud and worked the sticks quickly, dropping 4 gears quickly as I pulled into the far right lane closest to the side of the bridge. The car sped off as I regained control of the rig, and gradually I began building up speed again. I laughed nervously to myself at my close call. If only Amanda had seen that! It was then, in the early morning mist, that I saw a man - leaning against the cables. He seemed to be waiting for a lift. There were spots of fresh rain on his shoulders. He was carrying a cheap overnight bag in one hand. He was thin, nondescript, with a cap pulled down over his eyes.
I would have forgotten him completely except that just an hour later, while crossing the Pulaski Skyway over the Jersey Flats, I saw him again. At least, he looked like the same person. He was standing now with one thumb pointing west. I couldn't figure out how he'd got there, but I thought probably another truck had picked him up, beaten me to the Skyway, and let him off. I didn't stop for him. Then, late that night -- I saw him again.
It was on the new Pennsylvania Turnpike between Harrisburg and Pittsburgh. It's two hundred and sixty-five miles long with a very high speed limit. I was just slowing down for a curve before one of the tunnels - when I saw him - standing under an arc light by the side of the road. I could see him quite distinctly - the bag, the cap - even the spots of fresh rain spattered over his shoulders. He "Hallooed" at me this time.
“Hellooo! Hellooo!” I rolled by him, watching out the window, wondering if I’d indeed seen him before, then I cleared the curve and I stepped on the hammer like a shot.

It's lonely country through the Alleghenies, and I had no intention of stopping. Besides, the coincidences, or whatever it was, gave me the willies. I stopped at the next filling station to fuel up and take a break. The middle aged attendee came ambling out of the office wearing a pair of old dirty coveralls and an unlit cobb pipe clenched in his teeth. He smiled broadly.
“Evening driver.” His thick and friendly accent put me at ease. “Good evening , do me a favor and fill 'er up will you please?”
“Certainly, sir. Check your oil?”
Knowing I’d checked over the engine before leaving I simply said. “No, thanks.”
“Nice night, isn't it?” He mused dreamily as he stared up at the night sky. “Yes It sure is.” I said. I added quickly. “It hasn't been raining here recently, has it?”
He smiled again merrily as the fuel pump ticked off. “No sir, not a drop of rain all week.” Figuring I’d press him a bit further I said. “Oh? Oh, I - I suppose that hasn't done your business any harm?”
He glanced at the pump and answered in his happy offhand way. “Oh, people drive through here all kinds of weather. Mostly business, you know, trucks and the like. There aren't many pleasure cars out on the turnpike this season of the year.”
I swallowed hard, almost afraid to ask the question. “I suppose not. What, ah - er - ah - What about hitchhikers?
“Hitchhikers? Here?” He chuckled. “What's the matter? Don't you ever see any?” He shook his head, “Not much. If we did, it'd be a sight for sore eyes.” “Why?” I asked as the pump clunked to a stop and the alarm bell clanged.
The attendant shrugged as he hung up the hose once more and screwed the cap back on the truck’s passenger side tank. “Oh, a guy'd be a fool who started out to hitch rides on this road. Look at it.” I glanced out at the lonely dark stretch of road. “Then - you've never seen anybody?” “No. Maybe they get the lift before the turnpike starts. I mean, you know, just before the tollhouse. But then it'd be a mighty long ride. Most cars wouldn't want to pick up a guy for that long a ride. And, you know, this is pretty lonesome country here, mountains and woods. You ain't seen anybody like that, have you?” I laughed aloud trying not to show my unease. “Oh, no. Oh, no, not - not at all. I was just-- Ah, uh, a technical question.” He smiled again. “Oh, I see. Well, that'll be just twenty five forty-nine, with the tax.”

The thing gradually passed through my mind as sheer coincidence. I had a good night's sleep in Pittsburgh. I didn't think about the man all next day until -- till just outside of Zanesville, Ohio. I saw him again.

It was a bright sunshiny afternoon. The peaceful Ohio fields, brown with the autumn stubble, lay dreaming in the golden light and I was driving slowly, drinking it in, when - the road suddenly ended in a detour. In front of the barrier, HE was standing....

Let me explain about his appearance before I go on, there was nothing sinister about him. He was as drab as a mud fence, nor was his attitude menacing. He merely stood there - waiting, almost drooping a little, the cheap overnight bag in his hand. He looked as though he'd been waiting there for hours. And he looked up. He hailed me. He started to walk forward.
Hellooo! Hellooo! I began to feel a horrible feeling of dread and confusion overtake me as I sat there. “No, not just now, sorry!” I yelled. He called out to me. “Goin' to California?!”
“No, no, not today! The other way! Going to New York! Sorry!” I put the rig into gear and turned down the detour, shifting as quickly as I could. After I got back on the road again, I felt like a fool. Yet the thought of picking him up, of having him sit beside me, was somehow unbearable. At the same time I felt - more than ever - unspeakably alone. Hour after hour went by. The fields, the towns, ticked off one by one. The light changed. I knew now that I was going to see him again. And though I dreaded the sight, I caught myself searching the side of the road, waiting for him to appear. I was beginning to hate the truck as I drove on, mile after mile, hour after hour. If I could've found a place to stop, to rest a little... I was in the Ozark Mountains of Missouri now. The few resort places there were closed. Only an occasional log cabin, seemingly deserted. That's all that broke the monotony of the wild, wooded landscape. I knew I'd see him again. Maybe at the next turn of the road. The thought of it, the pure dread of it all began to overwhelm me. He was following me, why I didn’t know, but I knew that when I saw him next -- I would run him down.

But I didn't see him again. I didn't see him until late next afternoon. I'd stopped at a sleepy little junction just across the border into Oklahoma to let a train pass by ... when he appeared across the tracks - leaning against a telephone pole. It was a perfectly airless, dry day. The red clay of Oklahoma was baking under the southwestern sun ... yet there were spots of fresh rain on his shoulders. I couldn't stand that. Without thinking, blindly, I slammed the truck into gear and lurched across the tracks towards him, engine roaring and black exhaust blasting from the stack. I swear before God, didn't even look up at me. He was staring at the ground. I stepped on the throttle hard, veering the wheel sharply toward him. I could hear the train in the distance now, but I didn't care. Then, it happened, something went wrong with the truck, it stalled right there on the tracks.
The train was coming closer. I could hear its bell ringing and the cry of its whistle. Still he stood there. Now I knew that he was beckoning -- beckoning me to my death!
Well ... I frustrated him that time. I frantically worked the choke and the starter worked at last. I managed to back up. When the train passed, he was gone. I was all alone in the hot, dry afternoon.

After that, I knew I had to do something. I didn't know who this man was - or what he wanted of me. I only knew that from now on -- I mustn't let myself alone on the road for one minute. My prayers were answered as up ahead I saw the figure of a person, it wasn’t him as I’d feared, it was a woman, slender and auburn haired, she had her thumb extended for a ride.
I slowed to a stop and open the passenger door, I called to her over the rumble of the big diesel engine. “Uh, hello there! Like a ride?” She smiled and stooped to gather up her suitcase. “Well, what do you think? She laughed. “How far are you goin'?
Not knowing what else to say I managed. “Uh, where do you wanna go?”
“Amarillo, Texas.” She said as she climbed in and slammed the door closed. “I’ll drive you there. I blurted out. Her eyes were sparkling and her smile got bigger. “Gee, that’s wonderful of you mister.”
We began picking up speed as I worked my way through the truck’s gears. She glanced over at me and asked “Uh, you mind if I take off my shoes? My feet are killin' me.” “Go right ahead.” I smiled. “Ohhhh. Gee, what a break this is, let me tell you. It’s tough sometimes in these great open spaces to get anyone coming, let alone anyone to stop for you.”
“Yeah, I should think it would be.” I said. Though I'll bet you get a good pick up in a fast car, if you did, you could get places faster than, say, another person in another car, couldn't you? She looked at me quizzically “I don't follow you mister.”
I licked my lips, trying to stay calm. “Well, take me for instance. Suppose I'm - I'm driving across the country, say, at a nice steady clip, about fifty-five miles an hour. Couldn't - couldn't a girl like you, just standing beside the road waiting for a lift, beat me to town, or any town, provided she got picked up every time in a car doing from sixty-five to seventy miles an hour?” She furrowed her brow and laughed. “I don't know. What difference does it make?” “Oh, no difference.” I managed to say. “It's just a crazy idea I had sitting here.” She smiled at me. “ just imagine spending your time thinkin' of things like that.” “What would you do instead?” I asked. “What would I do? If I was a good-lookin' guy like yourself? Why, I'd just enjoy myself, every minute of the time. I'd sit back and - and relax. And if I saw a good-lookin' girl along the side of the road-- Hey! Look out!” She shrieked as i cranked the wheel to the right and the truck veered to the side of the road then back onto the pavement. “Did you see him, too?” I implored. “See who?” She said concern and fear creeping into her face. “That man, standing beside the barbed-wire fence.” “What? I didn't see - anybody. It was nothin' but a bunch of cows and - and the wire fence. What'd you think you were doin'? Tryin' to run into the barbed-wire fence?” She cried out.
I was beyond control now. I began to rant uncontrollably. “There was a man there, I tell you! A thin, gray man with an overnight bag in his hand.” I slowed down, and deliberately said. And I was trying to run him down.” “You mean - kill him?” She screamed?” She began fumbling with the door. “How does this door work?! I - I'm gettin' outta here!” I stopped the truck and tried to console her, realizing what I’d done. “Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't-- I - I don't know what came over me. Please, don't go!” She snatched her suitcase and jumped out before I could do anything.
She ran from me ... as though - I were a monster.
A few minutes later, I saw another truck pick her up.
I knew then that I was - utterly alone.

I was in the heart of the great Texas prairies. There wasn't a car on the road after the truck went by. Tried to figure out what to do, how to get a hold of myself.
If I could find a place to rest or even if I could sleep right here in the truck for a few hours along the side of the road ...
I was getting my overcoat out of my luggage to use as a pillow, when - I saw him coming toward me - emerging from the herd of moving cattle.
Frantically I started up the truck and sped away as fast as I could.
Maybe I should have spoken to him then. Fought it out, then and there, for now he began to be everywhere. Wherever I stopped, even for a moment - for fuel, for oil, for a drink of pop, a cup of coffee, sandwich - he was there!
I saw him standing outside the auto camp in Amarillo that night when I dared to slow down. He was sitting near the drinking fountain of a little camping spot just inside the border of New Mexico. He was waiting for me outside the Navajo reservation where I stopped to check my tires. I saw him in Albuquerque when I bought twenty gallons of diesel. I was afraid to stop now. I began to drive faster and faster. I was in a lunar landscape now -- the great, arid mesa country of New Mexico. I drove through it with the indifference of a fly crawling over the face of the moon.
Now he didn't even wait for me to stop! Unless I drove at eighty-five miles an hour over those endless roads, he waited for me at every other mile. I'd see his figure, shadowless, flitting before me, still in its same attitude, over the cold, lifeless ground -- flitting over dried up rivers, over broken stones cast up by old glacial upheavals -- flitting in that pure, cloudless air.
I was beside myself when I finally reached Gallup, New Mexico, this morning. There's an auto camp here -- cold, almost deserted, this time of year.

I went inside and asked if there was a telephone. I had the feeling that if only I could speak to someone familiar, someone I loved, I could pull myself together. I slipped in the coins and waited for the operator, when she finally came over the speaker. “Your call, please?”
“Long distance.” I managed to croak. She responded politely. “Long distance? Certainly.” “I'd like - I'd like to put in a call to my home to Brooklyn, New York. I'm Ronald Adams. Um, the number is Beechwood two-oh-eight-two-eight.”
I said.
“Certainly sir. I'll try to get it for you.” I'd read somewhere that love could banish demons, and right now the only person I loved in the world that might be able to help me was half a continent away. It was in the middle of the morning. I knew Amanda would be home. I pictured her, tall and blonde haired, in her crisp house-dress, going about her tasks. It'd be enough, I thought, just to hear the even calmness of her voice. I was daydreaming about just being with her again when the voice of the operator came over the line. “Ready with Brooklyn. Go ahead, please.”
“Hel-Hello, Honey it’s me.” I gasped

A voice I’d never heard before came back. “Mrs. Adams' residence.” “Hello? Hello, Amanda?” “This is Mrs. Adams' residence. Who is it you wish to speak to, please?” Astonished and annoyed, I insisted. “Wha--? Who's this?”
“This is Mrs. Whinney sir, I’ve already told you.” “Mrs. Whinney? I - I don't know any Mrs. Whinney. Is this Beechwood two-oh-eight-two-eight?” “Yes.” She said. “W-w-where's Amanda Adams? Where's Mrs. Adams?” “Mrs. Adams is not at home. She's still in the hospital. Who is this calling, please? Is it a member of the family?” Mortal terror gripped me as never before. “What's she in the hospital for? Is she alright?!” The woman continued. “She's been prostrated for five days. Nervous breakdown you know, Its all taken place since the death of her husband, Ronald.

I can’t describe exactly how I felt at that moment, whether it was fear or anger or concern for my wife that was behind it all. “What's this? What number is this?” I asked. My mouth bone dry, body trembling. “This is Beechwood two-oh-eight-two-eight. It's all been very sudden. He was killed just six days ago - in an automobile accident on the Brooklyn Bridge.”

And so - so I'm sitting here in this deserted auto camp in - Gallup, New Mexico.
I'm trying to think.
Trying to get hold of myself.
Otherwise, I - I'm going to go crazy.
Outside, it's night.
The vast, soulless night of New Mexico. A million stars are in the sky. Ahead of me stretch a thousand miles of empty mesa -- mountains, prairies, desert. Somewhere among them, he's waiting for me. Somewhere I shall know - who he is - and who I am.

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