Cataracts and Magic Fungi

By Tim Epstein

In this corner, Timothy Irons, the now-famous hydrologist, and in this corner, Captain Bruce Hardon, San Francisco Cop, multiple jurisdictions, two incomplete men, two half’s of an incomplete person, thrust together by the appearance of dead bodies floating in a high desert lake. They join where water meets murder...

“Because,” Timothy Irons thought, “it really is all about water!” The rain gently starts to drop, and then a deluge follows, and people are swept away? It’s a phenomenon, nothing more? The hydrologist at the scene, Timothy Irons, labels this high desert lake tragedy, death by cataract! But he wonders, they all wonder, can it be cunning and scheming too? Is a cataract actually capable of multiple murders?

So it attacks, so it seems, or is it man? Seemingly murderous, and seemingly bountiful, cataracts patrol high in the heavens. Standing proudly above, the cataracts dump all that they have, and re-supply, turning patches of the desert into lush green plots. The fungus, especially, benefit from this, and reach maturity is just six days. But even with this wonderful bounty, people are still found in bodies of water, flirting with the shore, dead!?

The Cataract dance takes us to San Francisco, California, and then, to where it all began: Oaxaca, Mexico! It’s here, where the Cataracts have been fine-tuning their art through millennium, and the fungus (magic mushrooms, psilocybin) merely stands straight out of the soil. It’s here, in the jungles of Oaxaca, where the epic battle between two incomplete men rages, to eventually discover the fungi might possibly hold the ‘magic’ to glue a person back together,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tim Epstein
• Release date: Apr 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301996018

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Cataracts and Magic Fungi

Tim Epstein

Published by Tim Epstein at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Tim Epstein

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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Cataracts and Magic Fungi

By Tim Epstein

Chapter one

At 3,880 feet above the sea, in a high desert lake, the body, a dead body, flirted with the shore. The body was fully submerged and then it wasn’t. It briefly touched the shoreline, only to withdraw. The body bobbed and weaved, but in all honesty, seemed content with its predicament. There was no quit in it. So, quickly now, it blended with its universe, timing itself with the rhythm of the lake. The dead soul was content to swim at 3,880 feet above the sea …

The body adapted, and changed, while turning and adjusting with the tides. It turned and rolled to ride the lake’s little waves, only to be pulled back, to do it all over again, and again. Sometimes the aimless winds of the desert would screech to a stop, and try to push the body down, if only for a moment, as the body scratched through to ride the waves of that lake, appearing almost elated.

It went on like that, back and forth, up and down, with the body always winning, appearing elated. But as the sun began to rise, it illuminated something even more ghastly. In almost every crevice, inlet, cove, or bay surrounding that lake, another body and then another, bobbed and weaved flirting with that high desert lake’s shore, and most certainly, all of them ---dead!

As that first body twisted and turned with the waves, it seemed to embrace the rising sun with a morbid smile. When the other bodies became visible, for the witnesses, it became more and more …uncomfortable? They too, looked happy? The smiling corpses, was the way the press eventually penned this high desert lake mystery. As the sun kept climbing, dozens of dead bodies fell into rhythm with that lake, always with a smile, and yes ---stone-cold dead!

But the focus stayed centered, smack-tab, on that first body. It seemed to set the tone, the theme for all the smiling dead. The right side of his face was shaved, but the left side was left unshaved. He was dressed in a thousand dollar suit, postured as if carrying a briefcase, but with one-side of his face left unshaved? And of course, he was smiling.

They all seemed to step right off the escalator, In mid-stream, the press said, in the in-between’s of this life they just got up and ended here. And then the international press chimed in with a bunch of aimless thoughts. But the questions couldn’t be answered. People were afraid to ask the questions. The dead all had a smile?! The press quickly dropped the story? They didn’t believe a conclusion could be established. It was dated, as per procedure, thought to be ridiculous and attempted to be forgotten as it was filed-away with ‘similar-type cases’?!

As the investigation continued, the question that loomed larger than anything, could barely be approached, where did they all come from? The lake’s shore wasn’t dotted with any cars. Nobody left a clue. The winds ran around the lake completely free. The dead disappeared from where they were and appeared here. In dark corners, with barely audible whispers, it was questioned. Everything was backwards ---the lake sprinted towards the river ---the cliff raced forward to smash the waves?

The time of the mass-deaths, also, couldn’t be established. The corpses were in pristine condition, they almost had color in their faces, the coroner noticed. They all appeared to die ---right then, quite healthy in appearance. Of course the coroner was quickly labeled a clown. In the nature of things, the entire investigation was labeled ‘clownish’ with an enthusiastic exclamation. Days went by with the dead still bobbing and weaving flirting with the shore. People had no idea where to begin.

The investigation was passed from him to her and then it was difficult to pass without the use of intimidation. Nobody could afford to take the case. It was a killer. Careers were destroyed. Nothing could be done, nobody could be identified. They were ghosts, the dead, maybe from the start. People were absolutely terrified. Both sides, all sides, every side approached the courts with allegations of incompetence.

But, it was in the courts. This was the comforting mantra sang by those involved. They sang away night and day. But, something had to be done, anything, the ashes were still smoldering, the memory, still alive. Soon people played with murderousness, Would you think twice about squashing a few red ants? Fuck them!? Forget them!? It never happened?!

Chapter two

. . . Hundreds of miles away, in a tiny apartment, Timothy Irons wonders if his neighbors can hear his movements. He hasn’t left his apartment in months. He thinks he’s close to a conclusion, but his mind could be ‘playing tricks on him’. He holds his breath, presses his ear to his neighbor’s wall, and suddenly notices he’s naked. Embarrassed in his own company, he grabs some clothes. But, all for not, he concludes, because nothing can be heard but his wave-machine.

Tiny, three inch tall waves, in a glass house, run the length of his apartment. With computers and measuring devices atop some decks, which run parallel to the wave-machine, nothing else can fit in his apartment. In some places, stacks of paper are plied two feet high. He takes records and measurements. The power generated by the small waves is constantly monitored. He squints, stands up, and looks at the tiny waves from an awkward angle, tugging on his unshaven face. He places some rocks in the path of the waves, intent on watching the water slowly carve them away.

Timothy Irons is a Hydrologist. Timothy studies water; the composition, the movement, how it moves from here to there, the quality, water below the earth’s surface, on the surface, just above the surface, and not just on this planet, but other planetary bodies too. In every facet of our lives hydrologists are there, in every real sense, following, protecting, and witnessing the distribution of life. That was Tim’s mantra. But Timothy has a usual arrangement. He works for the criminology department, FBI, Chief Hydrologist. He heads up some investigations where the victims have died in bodies of water. Timothy works where water meets murder. It’s been some time since they’ve needed his services. A phone is grabbed and Tim’s number is depressed...

… Timothy runs for his phone. He’s almost relieved and depressed at the same time. It’s his boss, Captain Bruce Hardon, San Francisco cop and special agent, FBI, multiple jurisdictions. Hi Tim, um …it’s very puzzling …Yep. Long pause, he clears his throat vigorously into the phone, Tim grimaces. Um …I don’t know how to say this, but …but … up here in Reno, Nevada, at Pyramid Lake, the hand of God has left twenty-two dead. Twenty-two Of God’s souls have been banished from this Earth. Tim, we don’t even know where they came from. Can we embrace the lord al ‘mighty God, and please Tim, come on down ---now!

Timothy hates his boss, but it was Hardon who gave him this once-in-a-lifetime position. Hydrology had never entered the minds of any other criminology departments. Most are still shaking their heads: Water and murder?! Timothy tried his best to oblige his boss. I’ll be right there. At that moment he was quickly excited about this new case.

It sounded interesting when the boss used God three or more times in a conversation. God is water, Captain. Tim grabbed his already packed gear. He drove fast and steady, never stopping for a bathroom, he didn’t care. He turned on his car radio, turning it here to there, …Static …Static …We’ll embrace him with a million tears …I can’t get no Satisfaction … Static…Just remember that Jesus loves you …The twenty-two dead, the smiling dead …. The dead ...Praise God …It was a wicked cataract, a cataract?-a deluge of water, tons of water all at once! Timothy Irons was getting close …

Finally, they could now be seen: Temporary police office’s stood directly adjacent where the Truckee River ran into Pyramid Lake. Tim looked in his mirror to see if his badge was properly positioned. He stopped and got out to remove a large barricade. He squatted down and held his hand over his eyes. He felt the wind. You could almost see his brain ---begin. He was now in his element, ‘in the thick of it’. He pauses there for more than a moment. With his hand gaging the wind, he walks down to get a water sample. He shakes the lakes contents. He swirls the tube. At the water’s edge, the Captain sees him.

With some irritation, a lot actually, Tim feels his presence. He avoids eye-contact, completely, Do you have the toxicology reports? They haven’t looked each other in the eye in over twenty years.

Hi Tim.

Sorry, he says, smiling a wry smile, only seen by Hardon at a right angle. Tim hates his boss, Hi, Hardon. How’s it going?

Tim, we’ve been here for weeks ---nothing.

The toxicology reports?

Nothing unusual. Mr. Hardon stands there, but now, with his hands on his hips. He watches Tim walk to a little bay at the lake. Mr. Hardon fights following, but, nonetheless … starts to run after him, cursing as he runs.

Tim points to the little bay, and stands in such a manner where his eyes are diverted away from Hardon. Almost as if talking to himself, This was where that first guy was found? Ya, he came to this lake ‘the regular way’. He points to the Truckee River. He came down the Truckee River.

How do you know that?

Tim doesn’t bother to answer. Do you have the file? The dossier is handed over. You’re right, he was found here. Hardon seems almost irritated at the ease and speed of Tim’s conclusion.

Tim thumbs through the dossier, Yep! He looks over at Hardon, Why so glum? Your job is done here. He starts laughing, And, after how many cases? He points to the river. Can’t you see that it was water? It’s always water! He turns and admires the lake. I’ve heard of these happening in exotic lands, but not in North America?-Well …Not like this. Yes, in the tropics, frequently …Anyways ---It’s death by cataract!

Death by cataract? Hardon just started laughing.

Yes, almost as if they planned it, huh?

They?

The cataracts.

Huh?

Yes ---cataracts are the killer! C-A-T-A-R-A-C-T-S, it rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?

Cataracts are the killer! A rain storm is a killer?! Are you serious?

Cataracts are very God-ish, he points at a dead body, As you can see. Cataracts are a specific type of rain storm. Right, Hardon? He started walking away, I’ll put it in my official report.

You bet your ass Irons. I want to see you out here every day after day. Do you understand me?

Yes Captain.

… Tim combed the lake’s shore for weeks. It was all gone, all the evidence, the witnesses, the water, were all tried up. He noticed people came and went to Pyramid Lake in increased numbers after the discovery of the the smiling dead. They would stand on the lake’s shore, try to think about their breathing, and wait for the answers to somehow penetrate … Bruce Hardon was sometimes found on the shore with them. It didn’t look good. Nobody had the courage to say …Death by Cataract! Except for Irons …

Perhaps, strangely, the smiling dead had to end up here. Perhaps, it was because the inhabitants of Reno considered Pyramid Lake their ‘desert lake jewel’. Perhaps, a place so unusual, they say, had to have a good story? In a high desert there’s a lake? It was always this way. The fables they spoke of were like history books, people took them as fact, ‘there are underwater rivers running throughout and around Pyramid Lake.’ It’s described as a place ‘where the dinosaurs roam’. It’s old. Please, don’t try swimming across the lake! You’ll die! The stories seemed to fill-in the pauses of any awkward conversation. A friend of mine caught a fish from China ---At Pyramid Lake!

And now, the inhabitants of Reno had the smiling dead. It was theirs to keep, for now?! The mystery would stay at the lake? If only they had called Timothy Irons earlier, the now-famous Hydrologist!

Timothy Irons wrote his official report to Captain Bruce Hardon, in such a manner, as to, if you will, ‘speak his language’ …

Dear Bruce,

The sudden mass movement of people from one place to another, without their consent, can only be accomplished by the movement of water, a tremendous deluge is likely! Yes ---Death by cataract! Because, when we look at the man with one side of his face unshaved, you can easily surmise he was taken away without his knowing. It happened all at once. He was taken by surprise, a surprise attack if you will, but definitely taken by a cataract! Also, something about what the press said is fitting. They said the victims were found at the lake in mid-stream. Of course, this is so appropriate. That’s the way it happened. A tremendous downpour, a deluge, then, all this proceeded by a flood, and people are washed away. It’s a phenomenon. Nothing more but a cataract!

What is unusual is that it can’t be located: The weather! I can’t be wrong. I really am the most unassuming man, in almost all matters. I know you know that! I know you don’t think I’m a fool?! But the weather, the Doppler, has no record of a cataract in the general vicinity. Nowhere! We’ve expanded our search hundreds of miles in diameter, yet, still nothing. It might be even more puzzling if we were, actually, able to find out that these victims were living hundreds of miles away from Pyramid Lake. We’re almost grateful that the investigation has stalled. Yes, very grateful.

Also, the condition of the corpses bothers me. This might be far from my expertise, but again, I beg to doubt you sir. The people were, quite healthy in appearance, according to the coroner, and, seemed to die, right then, which is absurd. They had something in their bloodstream that we can’t understand, something mystical perhaps? Cyanide turns a victim slightly rosy upon death.

On another note