“Wowee! We made it.” The red hair young-looking man looked out from the driver seat. He was in his early twenties, dressed in the red shade round neck shirt and jeans with the sneakers. The young man has the freckles across his cheeks and nose. It was his ancestry inherited looks from across the continent to the northerner island of Ireland.
“Finally, we are at Grand paddy’s birthplace. He mentioned it many times when we were young.” The young man stepped out from the Cadillac and his eyes scouted the area.
“Ain’t much to see.” The voice then was the younger sister seated across him. “I was expecting …”
“Houses and shops? Marcia, this is the old western town or was a town. Grand paddy probably left here when he was in his teens. Since then, maybe no one cared about the town?”
“Well, it eerie-looking, Jack.” Marcia stayed in the car and looked out from the window. She could make out was the overgrown grassland and the uncommon pillars of structure but nothing was complete.
“Can we go?” Marcia asked her brother.
“I don’t think so. It's getting dark and I kinda lost without my GPS.” Jack replied to the sister.
“You dork! Did you not charge the phone then at the motel?” Marcia screamed out.
“No, I did not. You hoard the power cable and when I could, you made me rush out. You said we had to leave before the maid comes.”
Marcia looked away for Jack was right. She was hoarding the power cable for we needed her phone full charged and more to it, she broke the lamp in the bathroom and stuffed the bidet with rubbish. It was to leave or get caught and pay the repairs. They were low on cash and so it was the Bonnie Clyde dash to the car.
"Hey, Jack. Look at that.” Marcia suddenly called out. “Its …”
“R.E. Porter…. That’s grand paddy old man’s name. Ronald Edgar Porter.” Jack smiled. “It’s the place of his birth. But it ain’t much of a shelter.” Jack approached the derelict wooden structure. The front façade was there, and there was the mining bucket trolley in front of it. Jack recalled that their family were miners and traded in it. He saw then the grave market.
“Collette…..” Jack tried to read the name. He was autistic and reading was one of his impairment.
“Collette Ellen Porter. She was grand paddy’s mum. Our great grandmother.” Marcia had read the name when she stood by Jack. “She died young. She was sick.”
“Grand paddy told me she was a mighty fine woman,” Jack added on. He then looked to the sky and told Marcia they will sleep in the car. The latter agreed and took their shelter in the car, with the cold sandwiches and soda drinks. Soon they fell asleep.
“Get your legs moving or I will cut them off.” Jack woke up in a start. He was no longer in the car but on the back of the wagon. He was lying there with his legs hanging out. He looked up and saw his sister, Marcia standing there in the hoe sewn frock for a dress.
“Michael Frank Porter, are you coming? Mum’s calling.” Jack found himself climbing down the wagon and was stunned by the sight that greeted him. He was facing a caravan of wagons and there were scores of people of all ages. He stepped forth and saw they were in clearing with the long grass trampled by the wagons or the peoples there. He heard then the argument at the front of the wagons. He rushed over and after shoving some strangers, he found himself at the front with a view of four men withy rifles arguing with a native Indian. He could recognize the later from the loincloth and the bare chest with the streaks of shade.
“Ronald, the native says we can’t mine here. Its his land. And their dead are buried here.” Jack saw bearded man listen to the other.
“Oscar, I don’t care. I came here from Ireland to find a home for my family. Tell him to move or I will bury him here.:” The arguments continued on but Jack was deprived of it when his right ear was pulled hard. He called out in pain when he was dragged to the back of the gathering. He looked then at the person who could do that to him. It was a lady with a bonnet on the head, and a dress that may have on its ending wear through.
“Michael Porter, you are too young to standing there with your father. Now help your sister take the things down. We are staying here.” Jack was sent off to do his errands, He later found himself staring at a young boy of age ten in the mirror and not the Jack of the twenties. He was shocked by the new image and was to scream out in fright when he saw the bearded man approached the wagon.
“Where’s your mum?” Jack was stunned and then baffled. His mother had died some years back.
“Jack, be the man you will be. Where’s your mum?” The bearded man named Ronald asked once more. It was then the lady referred to as his mother appeared. The couple stepped off and whispered to each other. Jack could see that his mum was afraid and later cried on Ronald’s shoulders. Ronald then left the lady and approached Jack.
“Michael, we are in a hostile land. Do you remember how I teach you to shoot? Well, these are not a rabbit and polecats but savages. You must protect your mother and sister at all times. And the land.” Ronald told Jack then. “Be brave.”
Jack closed his eyes and then nodded.
“Michael, wake up. The others are ready.” Jack opened his eyes and he was no longer at the ground but seated on the chair in the wooden structure. He looked around and saw the place was the front of the store with the long counter and the glass window shelves; all filled with mining equipment. On the flooring at the walls were the shovels and picks with the wheelbarrows. There were gas lamps and lanterns. He saw himself on the man’s height mirror by the wall. He was no longer the ten years old lad but a square-shouldered huge frame man with the moustache that looked like his grand paddy.
“Michael, they are coming. I counted four cars and they are armed.” The scrawny figure in the overall told Michael. “The lads are ready.”
Michael looked to the doorway and saw four men still in their mining overalls and holding the rifles close to their chest. He had seen those men used the rifles in the Great War; they are deadly and killer beneath the dust-coated overall.
“Okay, lads. We came back to the land after sacrificing some years fighting those Germans. And we ain't giving up on our backyards.”
Jack then got up from the chair and grabbed the rifle of his own. “We will see the back of their butts or die trying.”
“Give it up, Michael. This is not our land. We are ….” Jack saw himself in the new form hugged by a woman. He knew that face anywhere. It was his grandmother, Etta Simmons. She was a lot younger then compared to the photo he had seen.
“No, this is our land. We took it from the Indians and worked our sweat here. No one tells us where to go. R.E. Porter will stay till the day we are ready to give it away.” Jack then in the image of Michael then looked at the lads. “Right, lads, we are not giving it until we are satisfied.”
“Michael, do be careful. I need you home when our son or daughter will call your name.” Etta told her husband. Jack pulled her arms off his and walked with the lads to the road outside. The town named after his father, Ronald E. Porter was then a booming town with over twenty shops and houses with many more homes outside the town boundary. The rail tracks from the mines ran parallel to the road, where the rows of mining trolleys stood there on the tracks. The mine was two miles away from the town called Porter’s Mine. The ores were then transferred to the main rail line where it will be brought to the cities.
Michael saw the two natives Indians seated by the tracks smoking with their pipes. His father had fought them on occasions with knives and tomahawks or with bullets against arrows. It was all the same, Porter Mine grew from the ten families than to the stronger fifty families. The natives Indians have resigned to the outskirts of the town and the new poachers came.
Money and land grabbing tycoons. They wanted Porter’s Mine.
“The hell with your offer.” Michael had then stepped behind the mining truck to reload. He was with the lads in an exchange of fire near the mine. They were facing eighteen gangsters with automatics but the miners were veterans at the firefights.
“Nobody tells Porter when to leave.” The bullet impacted on Michael on the side of the head and darkness overtook him.
“Tom, wake up.” Jack heard the voice and opened his eyes. He was no longer at the mine but someplace cosy and warm. He reached for the side of his head and felt nothing there that was not to be there.
“Tom, if you think your armpit is the erogenous zone well, I am not keen on that.” Jack pulled his arm back and then to look at the person next to him. He was in bed and that other person was his mother. And she was beautiful
And she was naked.
Jack sat up in a jerk moment and swung over his legs. He saw himself looking at his own body. God, it was not his but he recognised the chest hairs. It was his father’s. He avoided looking at the genitals and it was then his mother’s voice was heard again.
“Was that it. Tom? A few thrusts and then the blow over. Well, I am still here.” The arms snaked around his waist toward his legs. He jumped off the bed and looked for the clothes. He was sure there were some clothes. He found it then. He grabbed his pants and stepped into it.
“Thomas Edgar Porter, you are a …. Worse than the whores down in the city.” Jack heard the wrath of the lady whom he recognised as his mother. He then saw himself in the mirror at the dresser. He was his father; younger and handsome. He must have been in his early twenties. He looked at the dresser and saw the bottles of lotions and stacks of powder. He saw then the calendar that showed the date. He was not even born then; not for another eight more years.
Wait, he did recall his parent married not that year but some years later. He looked out and saw the place was still the land that he recalled as Porter’s Mine.
“Thomas, are we still on or shall I look for my beau at Princeton?” Jack heard the threat. He knew who was in Princeton. The wart that excels in everything academic except sports and sex.
“Oh, no.” Jack could not believe he had such thoughts. He was with his mother then. He saw the discarded dress and handed it to his mother without a backward glance.
“What is wrong with you? One moment, you pawing me like a horny coyote and the next you are the prima donna persona.” Jack heard the lady complained. He felt the dress thrown over his head and was dragged to the bed by the vixen.
“Did I just call my mum, vixen?” Jack closed his eyes. He was autistic but certain words came to him naturally. Jack felt the hands roving over his body and then reached for the hook by his pants.
“No! It was wrong.” Jack turned and sprang out of the bed once more.
“Now tell me, Thomas Porter. Are we still a couple or not?” Jack heard the warning. By chance then, he saw the letter on the floor. It was his draft letter to join the Army. He was not smart and pieced the puzzle together.
He was leaving Porter’s Mine.
It was then he was pushed against the wall and knocked his head.
“Coo, baby. We are leaving soon.” Jack opened his eyes then. He was so weak and unable to move well. He saw himself swathing in the cloth and held close to the bosom. He looked up and saw it was his mother. He was a baby in her arm, and then he caught a glance of his father. The other was loading the bags into the boot of the Cadillac.
“Time to go, darling. We will build a new home for ourselves.” Jack heard his father. “Porter’s Mine will be closed.”
“I love the place. I grew up here.” Jack’s mother spoke out.
“So, did we the Porters’ but its time to leave. The town is dead and the Government is taking back the land for the Indian new reservation. It was never ours in the first place. We borrowed it and its time to return.” Jack heard his father’s words. “Grand paddy once told my dad, son, we are squatters here. All of us will live here for a time and then leave. Only the land lives on. Be proud that Porter’s Mine once lived here.”
“Only in name,” Jack muttered those words out but he was no more the baby in his mother’s arms. He was back in his true form, the guy who drove miles to see Porter’s Mine.
“You said something, Jack,” Marcia asked him. “Oh, its dawn. Can we find our way back?”
“Sure. We found our way here and we shall find it …. Back to other places. After all, we re just passers-by the place.” Jack replied.
“You are loco or high?” Marcia asked.
“I am fine. Porter’s Mine a ghost town now. Let them ghosts occupy it. I will find another and made it mine like what R.E. Porter did.”
“You are loco.”
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