Best Friends (22 page)

W
ith the June 1994 issue, the magazine's circulation topped 10,000 and finally outgrew the label parties. The get-togethers were fun when there were only a few thousand zip codes to slap on envelopes, but they became drudgery, and totally inefficient, when the number passed five figures—and growing every month. Steven now had to ship the magazine layout to his friend in Phoenix to print and mail, and at the same time he moved his office to The Village.

He needed a quiet place to work. The Hamlet was getting to resemble Grand Central Station. Mariko Hirano, Chandra Forsythe, who had worked with Cyrus and Anne in Denver, and Faith's daughter Carragh now helped Estelle and Charity full time with the letters and phone calls.

The activity was spilling over to the new Welcome Center. Anne Mejia was no longer surprised to have two or three families a day stop in and ask if they could tour the sanctuary. It was becoming evident that as Best Friends reached out to the world, so the world was finding its way to the sanctuary.

To Cyrus it was clear that another chapter was unfolding. He remembered how when he first arrived, old Grant Robinson mentioned a Paiute medicine man whose people had once inhabited the canyon.

Once again he thought of the looting of the sacred places, the litter, and the carelessness of those who had passed through in earlier years. Cyrus felt that if people were again to be welcomed to the canyon there should be a cleansing and apology to the land for all it had endured. Cyrus would ask a blessing on Angel Canyon from the spiritual leader of the Paiutes.

 

Clifford Jake was a very old man. His movements were slow and stiff and he leaned heavily on a stout, polished staff as Steven helped him from his car.

Michael felt the eerie chill of
déjà vu
. Once again he flashed back to the ancient prophet who had appeared on a beach in the Yucatán Peninsula to foretell their coming to this place.

Anne and Cyrus weren't sure what they expected, but they were somewhat disappointed to see the medicine man in Levis and cowboy boots. The old Indian smiled. “We don't go around in feathers and breechclouts anymore,” he reminded gently.

Cyrus walked around the koi pond and took the old man's worn hands between his. “Forgive us. We are so honored to have you here.” He turned to Anne, who passed him a pouch of tobacco and the sage smudge stick he had made. Cyrus had been told that it was proper protocol to give a gift when you asked for a ceremony to be performed by such a powerful leader. He'd taken great care wrapping the sage branches, tying them into a wandlike rod, and drying the stick in the sun before the Paiute's arrival. The old man took the offering and nodded. Respect had been paid.

As cirrus clouds scudded across an azure sky the spiritual leader explained that most every curve of the canyon had been defiled by those who knew no better. Yet there was one sacred place from which his benedictions could heal all. With stately dignity, Clifford Jake directed the little band to Angels Landing. There, on the grassy carpet beneath the vigilant watch of the red rock dome, he carefully arranged the paraphernalia of ceremony.

The medicine man stretched his arms to the vast spaces of the mesas and intoned for the benefit of his untutored listeners. “This is the place where the nations used to gather to seek guidance from Mother Nature for their future.”

Clifford Jake closed his eyes. Silence swaddled them like a cloak. On the still, transparent air the distinct, true notes of the rarely seen canyon wren wafted sweetly in the afternoon. The Indian smiled. “Now we begin.”

Cyrus and Anne held hands as, from a worn leather pouch, the Paiute sprinkled cornmeal and tobacco in four directions. Steven and Michael listened quietly as he chanted words they couldn't understand. Clifford Jake culled a small, smooth stone from his effects and offered it to the heavens, the earth, the rush of spring river and surrounding cliffs. “I am calling the spirits back to make right what wrong has been done here,” he said.

Last to be chosen from the medicine man's belongings was a beaded drawstring bag. With utmost care, the old man opened the multi-colored purse and showed them an exquisite fan of beaten silver. “Now I invoke a blessing for all of you, and for what you're planning here.”

Clifford Jake instructed Cyrus to gather some juniper sprigs. “Only pick those upon which the full sun shines.” Cyrus brought the juniper and the old man lit the tips of the branches.

The twigs smoldered as he walked the perimeter of Angels Landing. The silver spines of the fan ruffled the smoke under the varnished rock of the cave, over clutches of scarlet-flowered globe mallow, purple mulberry, and gray-green mullein, finally enveloping the still forms of his hosts in the fragrant vapors.

After the spiritual leader had taken his leave, the little group repaired to the Welcome Center. The prayers of the medicine man had a powerful effect. Each felt the blessing to go forward, sensed the presence of the spirits of the canyon.

Cyrus put forth a suggestion. He and Anne should find another place to live nearby. Norm Cram's stone house should be dedicated to receiving the many thousands of visitors the old Paiute predicted would be coming.

Before the evening shadows descended it was agreed that the Welcome Center should be Anne Mejia's province. As the acknowledged master of the history, flora and fauna of the canyon, artist extraordinaire, and grand teller of tales, Cyrus would be their new ambassador and conduct the tours of the canyon.

Anne had a million plans. “I'll put in a lovely gift shop. We'll make a video of the sanctuary for people to watch in the living room.” She glowed with excitement. “I love the pond. After all, it was because of that pond we have our Welcome Center. I want to plant a beautiful wishing garden, a place to thank everyone for helping the animals.”

“Interesting,” Michael said. “How would it work?”

“People would send in their wish. We would inscribe it on special biodegradable paper that we'll then wrap around a flower seed and plant. We will bless the flower and pray that as it grows their dream comes true.”

Michael smiled at her enthusiasm. Anne Mejia would turn the stone house into one of the most inviting and welcoming places in the sanctuary. She and Cyrus would be the ideal gatekeepers for the canyon.

As Faith had realized years before, each of them had their own special gifts which contributed to the whole that was Best Friends, and Michael was soon to see even more clearly the truth of her prescience.

M
ichael walked slowly. Up ahead, That Naughty Girl and three newcomers he was fostering for Faith romped and teased an increasingly irritated Sun. The Doberman didn't want to be bothered this afternoon. He still enjoyed his daily exercise, but Michael saw that the dog moved stiffly lately. The whirling, twirling bounciness of youth had given way to sedate, deliberate meanderings along familiar trails. Sun was showing his thirteen years.

The daily hikes with his dogs had become a pleasant ritual. Michael never tired of their frolicking, and in the solitude of the high desert he did some of his best thinking. At that moment he was pondering how each of the Best Friends were finding their own niche in the new scheme of the sanctuary.

Nobody had dreamed that Virgil Barstad, their soulful violinist, composer, and lover of John Deere tractors—the bigger the better—had a talent for math.

“I need help!” John Christopher groaned after one particularly grueling month of juggling income with outflow and still coming up short.

Virgil was home from tabling in Colorado. “I had a pretty good head for figures in college,” he offered.

John opened his drawer and tossed over an accounting primer. “If you can make sense of that you're mine.”

Virgil found bookkeeping pretty easy. John was delighted; he could possibly go to bed before midnight once in a while when Virgil was in the canyon. Gradually the violinist spent more days easing John's work overload, much to everyone's relief. They all loved their gruff treasurer with his dry humor and big heart.

Then there was Gregory Castle's surprise.

When Francis was at the sanctuary, he and Michael liked to stay up and talk after the others had gone to bed. Gregory usually was among the first to leave the supper table. Tonight he stayed.

Michael was aware that their soft-spoken friend was fidgety, only half listening—most unlike him. Finally Gregory could stand it no longer. “I heard from Governor Leavitt today.”

Michael stopped in mid sentence. “How was he feeling?” he deadpanned.

“I only spoke to his office, he's fine and—” Gregory paused as he realized Michael's bait.

“Ignore him,” Francis said. “What's this with the governor?”

Gregory wasn't used to being put on the spot. He started slowly. “Of course, it's sort of a fund-raising thing, but Michael's always talking about a nationwide network of animal lovers. So why not start with a state? Maybe a Utah's Week for the Animals. It could be a fun, festival sort of thing with adoption fairs, spay and neuter marathons, doggie contests, pet block parties . . .” His words tumbled fast now around his ideas.

“Do you know what would be involved in pulling that together?” Michael asked.

Gregory was momentarily nonplussed.

Francis frowned. “Michael's got a point. We've been doing stuff along the same lines in L.A. but nothing on the scale you're talking about, Gregory.”

“All I'm saying is that besides the organizing of all the events and volunteers, we'd have to enlist the support of city officials, humane societies, veterinarians, the media,” Michael explained.

Gregory had a rare stubborn look about him. “I made a promise to myself. If Governor Leavitt would endorse the idea, whatever it took I'd make it happen.”

Michael looked at the very serious face of the philosopher in their midst. He could just see their reticent Gregory sitting behind a table in a Salt Lake City mall on a slow Monday, dreaming of his great festival for the animals. He also understood the months of preparation for the presentation of such a plan.

Gregory Castle had been with them from the beginning, an unobtrusive force on which they could always depend. Suddenly he was taking center stage in the state they called home. In the Best Friends outreach to the world, Gregory Castle was claiming his place and would not be denied. Michael poured them all a glass of wine. “Why don't you tell us more, Gregory?”

 

One revelation followed another. The next morning Chandra Forsythe had something on
her
mind. The girl with the wheaten hair that framed Russian Blue cat eyes sat across from Michael in the meeting room, inhaling the steam from her breakfast mug of fresh-brewed coffee. “I can't live without my caffeine.” She smiled.

Michael waited.

“You know I answer all the letters concerning rabbits?”

Now it was Michael's turn to smile. Chandra Forsythe had been brought up on a farm on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. Her father had a fondness for rabbits, letting them breed indiscriminately in their barn. “Sometimes we'd have as many as five hundred of them,” she had stated matter-of-factly.

As a child Chandra could never understand why the bunnies would disappear all the time, only for new ones to arrive and the whole cycle repeat itself. When she was ten her farmer father told her the facts of life. Chandra was shattered to hear that her gentle friends ended up on dinner plates. She never went into the barn again.

Chandra Forsythe had worked with Anne Mejia in Denver, often volunteering to drive supplies to the sanctuary, invariably staying an extra couple of days to help with anything she could. When the crisis of 1991 forced all the Best Friends into tabling, she was right with them. When Chandra made the canyon her base, Faith was happy to turn over the care of her rabbits to the competent young woman.

Now Chandra fished in the pocket of her cardigan and handed Michael a letter. “I really liked the article you did a couple of months ago about Tony the Tasmanian devil dwarf. The lady who wrote this really liked it too. She asks why you don't do more bunny stories.”

Michael laughed. He'd rather liked Tony himself. A visiting member had found the palm-sized creature cowering beside the highway outside Kanab. For the first twenty-four hours, the tiny brown rabbit had squatted frozen in Chandra's living room.

Taking pity, Chandra tried stroking the terrified animal. The rabbit latched onto her finger with needle-sharp teeth and refused to let go. Since she didn't want to frighten the three-pound infant any more than it was already, she gritted her teeth and endured the surprising pain.

They found out later that Tony had escaped from a trailer where the only place a couple with eleven children could find to keep him was in a bucket. Tony showed his undying appreciation of Chandra's loving care by following her around and nuzzling his velvet nose against her ankles at every opportunity.

Michael could just see the circumspect Canadian tiptoeing around her room to be sure she didn't accidently step on the diminutive creature. “Your lady's right. All the animals should get equal coverage.”

“Oh, no.” Chandra said quickly. “I realize more people relate to cats and dogs. But I was wondering . . .” Michael noticed her hands were trembling. “You want to do something for the rabbits, don't you?” he said with a sudden rush of understanding.

“I have members who'd like a rabbit house. If I wrote to each one personally, I think they'd support building one.”

Michael looked at the earnest face of the woman who had always helped her friends. Chandra adored her rabbits. She would raise the necessary money. “It's a great idea. I'll tell our members about it in the magazine.”

Chandra laughed happily. “Do you think Rabbit Redford's House would be
too
cute?”

 

Michael retraced his steps to his trailer. He saw the journey clearly now: a winding highway down which they had come, stretching into the infinite future. One by one, at each bend in the road, the people in the canyon slipped into the roles they hadn't known were waiting for them. He couldn't wait to see what tomorrow would bring.