Conjuror: Living the Tale

By Allen Pollens

A Development Deep in Mexico’s Yucatan Jungle Will Change Storytelling Forever
“CONJUROR – Living the Tale” tells of an extraordinary storyteller evolution taking place deep in a Mexico Yucatan jungle. Its discovery and introduction into the outside world has significant consequences.

Freelance writer Maureen Connor travels to Mexico’s Yucatan on her honeymoon. She and her husband, Vincent, visit Mayan ruins at Uxmal, Chichén Itzá, Tulum and Cobá ... all pictured for the benefit of the reader. With the help of an anthropologist, they return to Yucatan to risk entry into what is considered to be impenetrable jungle. Maureen is in search of a teller of stories, as in ancient times. The success of the book she is writing depends on finding this spoken spinner of tales. Their journey takes them to Chetumal, Campeche City, Xmaben and finally Macanche, where the road ends short of the dense Punta Put jungle. Along the way, they recruit others to help them in their quest. They also must contend with kidnapping thieves. Maureen brings the remarkable conjuror storyteller back with her to New York City along with the others from Mexico who joined the expedition. Readers are treated to pictures from the Mayan’s tour of Manhattan. As part of the promotion for her new book, major conjuring events are presented in New York City, Chicago and Boston. However, Conjuror is hounded by those who want to control him for personal benefit. Conjuror escapes to Mexico, but he is nearly destroyed by harrowing experiences he suffers there. He responds by conjuring a final colossal event in Mexico City.
CONJUROR offers intriguing characters, facing unexpected challenges, in exciting locations with many pictures to add to the enjoyment of the story.

CONJUROR – Living the Tale exceeds 80,000 words, runs more than 400 pages and has more than 80 illustrations.
.
This was author Allen Pollens’ third science fiction offering in less than two years and one of six books he has published. Retired from careers in software/hardware design, and high tech sales and marketing, Pollens has been telling stories his whole life. The stories he wrote for his grandchildren have become the basis for “Starfish Chronicles – Undersea Adventures with Sammy Starfish” and for “Superhero –Chronicles of Blue Knight Adventures.” He also turned the daily journal he kept on his European vacation into “Al’s London and Dublin Holiday,” published in full color, with ninety photos.

For more about “Conjuror,” or Al’s other books, contact Allen Pollens at 503-407-2850 (cell).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allen Pollens
• Release date: Feb 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301543472

Allen Pollens

"Starfish Chronicles" is my third fiction offering in nine months. It is middle-grade-reader fantasy and follows two adult science fiction books, "Creator, Apocalyptic Sci-Fi Epic, Earth’s Human Behavior Confronted" and "Alternative Lives, To Sleep Perchance to Dream...Another Life." In addition, “Superhero, Chronicles of Blue Knight Adventures,” book length fantasy for young adults, is just days away from publication. "Starfish Chronicles" is currently available in paperback and for Kindle at Amazon.com. My main retirement interests are travel, photography, and writing. My high-tech work life included hardware engineering on the front end, software engineering on the tail end, and 25 years of sales and marketing in between. Future writing projects include adult science fiction, “The Story Teller” (or “Conjurer” ... I have not decided yet). There is much else awaiting my attention: Butterphant stories for younger children; Lorna’s Legacy, adult novel based on true events; Sales – Honing the Craft, non-fiction. I have been telling stories my whole life. My children and grandchildren were ready audiences who assumed I could deliver a new story on demand and generally, I did.

Book preview

PREFACE

I ponder storytellers who preceded me. It seems that those born to tell stories must tell stories.

I believe some people who write or tell stories do it because it’s a job and better than alternatives. I hold a somewhat harsh view of this. Without the innate need to spin tales, these writers should stick to non-fiction or find something else to do.

While I have worked at various financially rewarding endeavors in my life that did not involve storytelling, I still needed to tell stories… I include in that the retelling and embellishing of jokes which I never told the same way twice.

I favor and appreciate fiction more than non-fiction, because that is my natural bent. CONJUROR is my latest story. I hope you enjoy it, but don’t ask me where I get my story ideas. There are many sources, and I never have story-block.

I’ll be straining to tell some yarn even as they lower me into the ground. If you happen by my grave, listen carefully for a new story coming from the other side… wherever that is. An audience of one works for me. I will be at the end, as in the beginning, a storyteller.

PROLOGUE

Everything started with my Storyteller article published in The New York Times. It led to a publisher contract for a book. I thought it would be easy… an in-depth treatment of the subject in my article. The story took on a life of its own, as often happens with writers. It took me where it wanted to go.

The initial direction was clear. Serious coverage of the subject required a return to the earliest times of storytelling. Was it possible storytelling in the same way was taking place in the present day? Traditional telling insulated from our modern high-tech world? There was no choice. My story demanded it. I had to find out.

I credit my husband, Vincent, for his support, understanding, and participation. Sweatshirt Man is a precious jewel I am fortunate to have in my life. Read my book The Conjuror and you’ll know him well.

The Conjuror! That’s right. My Storyteller book turned into The Conjuror because that’s where it wanted to go. I began by looking for hidden places with storytellers still telling tales in the tradition of days long past. Then I happened on storytelling of an unknown nature. How could I not pursue it? It was at the same time fascinating, dangerous, and irresistible.

I still have not written Storyteller and, after living and writing The Conjuror, I am not sure I can. Perhaps it’s a subject looking for another author, one not already consumed and affected by my unexpected conjuror experience.

Maureen Connor

Freelance Writer

Chapter 1 – La Selva

The birds of the jungle are marvelous, Maureen thought. She held her Sony CyberShot at the ready. The strap was around her neck, and the camera in her hands was on auto. She stopped short. Just ahead to the right was an extraordinary sight, a Keel-billed Toucan, sometimes called Rainbow-billed. Maureen had never seen one before. She slowly raised the camera and brought the toucan into view. Then she zoomed in and pressed the shutter control. She snapped two additional photos. Switching to the access mode, she reviewed the shots. Excellent, excellent… I can’t believe it! She had caught the toucan with a ray of light centered on the vivid green, yellow, blue, and red colors of its large bill.

Maureen wanted to linger, but did not want to miss what was up ahead and proceeded on the path. La selva was what Yucatán natives called the jungle. La selva, she liked it. She would refer to it as la selva in her book. She continued with sightings of a Painted Bunting with a blue head, red breast, and green back. Then, she saw a blue-headed Green Jay and a red, white, and gray Yucatán Woodpecker. She also saw green Yucatán Parrots, an Orange Oriole, hummingbirds, and a magnificent Gray Hawk.

Enthralled as Maureen was, she thought, These pictures will astonish Vincent when he sees them. Then, suddenly confused she asked herself, Where is Vincent? Where am I? How did I get here and what is this place? She looked down the path in both directions. La selva appeared the same either way. She decided to continue in the direction she had been traveling, but capped the lens on the camera and let it hang down, swinging back and forth with her steps forward. Her picture taking was over. She had to find a way out of la selva. Why can’t I remember how I got here and what if I’m here when nightfall comes? The thoughts of reptiles and other animals that might be near had her close to a panic.

Maureen ran… faster, and faster. Running out of breath, she had to stop. Perspiration ran down her forehead into her eyes and onto her cheeks. She ran her fingers through her soaked red hair, pulling it back from around her face as much as possible. She stole a look behind her. Something red and blue slithered across the path in the distance. She turned, preparing to continue in the direction she had been going. YOW-W-W! she screamed at the sight of a native with a painted face. He was naked except for a loincloth, and he held some manner of crude spear.

Come now, he said beckoning off the path deeper into la selva.

Maureen shook her head and backed away from the native.

Me, Ah Mun. You come now.

Without answering, Maureen turned and ran down the path away from Ah Mun but then he was directly in front of her. She reversed direction and almost instantly, he was in front of her again. What do you want? she screamed.

Ah Mun takes you to Vincent.

Vincent? Where is my husband?

The native pointed into la selva. Come with Ah Mun, he said motioning again off the path into the dense jungle, to Vincent.

Where and what is this all about?

Come now with Ah Mun to place of honor. Must go now! Ah Mun demanded, brandishing the spear.

Ah Mun appeared to know exactly where they were going although there was no discernible path. Maureen tried to question him further. Sh-h-h, he whispered, placing a finger in front of his mouth. All be good. Come with Ah Mun to time of giving. We waiting for you. Not worry.

Maureen pondered. Where are Vincent and the others? She hesitated.

The native man prompted, Now to Muy Alto, pointed place of honor. Others wait us there.

My husband Vincent and the others?

He nodded. Many others… I, Ah Mun, takes you to them.

Maureen was desperate and without options. She followed. Periodically she questioned Ah Mun further, but he either did not understand or did not wish to answer.

The reptiles and insects of la selva did not bother to conceal themselves. Ah Mun was not concerned about them and led the way in through deep broad leaf vegetation. Maureen sweated profusely and wished she had something to quench her thirst. She was near fainting when they reached the beginning of a cleared path, almost a roadway emerging out of la selva. Large stones, evenly spaced, bordered it on both sides. Ancient Mayan images decorated most of them. Maureen needed to rest and collect herself. She motioned for Ah Mun to stop while she sat down on one of the stones.

He calmly nodded his acceptance.

Maureen pondered her situation. This is madness. I am lost, following a near naked native through the jungle. I don’t know anything about anything except he knows about Vincent. Ah Mun either does not know or does not want to tell me more.

Ah Mun, motioned for them to continue. When Maureen got up from the rock on which she had been sitting, she recognized the image of Yum Cimil, the death god. She hoped it did not portend what was up ahead. At least the way was easier than the dense la selva through which they had come.

Before long, other natives, mostly women and children began to appear on the sides of the road. The onlookers were silent and unsmiling. They stared at the red haired woman as Maureen passed them. It was ominous. She stopped.

Ah Mun was far ahead before he realized Maureen was not following. He looked extremely upset and raced back to where Maureen stood. Others will be angry we come late. We go fast, NOW!

Maureen shook her head. Tell me where you are taking me and why!

Ah Mun became extremely agitated. Finally, he pleaded, We go pyramid… to Vincent… he waits.

I don’t believe you, Maureen declared.

The roadside onlookers continued in expressionless silence until Ah Mun shouted something to them in a language that was not Spanish or English. Maureen assumed it was old Mayan.

The roadside came alive as the previously silent ones became enraged. They responded in the same unknown language Ah Mun used. They yelled and pointed in the same direction as Ah Mun had been heading. This and their movement off the sides, advancing on Maureen, was her most frightening nightmare come to life. She had no choice but to follow Ah Mun as the screaming throng behind them increased with every footstep. To Vincent, to Vincent, Ah Mun shouted.

What are we into, Vincent? Maureen asked herself. How could coming to Quintana Roo to gather research for her Storyteller book come to this? Finding a storyteller in the tradition of village story makers was not worth risking their lives. She knew Ah Mun was using Vincent to get to her.

She and Vincent were so happy when they embarked on this trip. Maureen had an advance on her book, and recently graduated Vincent had not yet started his duties at the university. No one warned that it could be dangerous. I have to find Vincent. I can’t make it if they have hurt him… or worse. She had to banish the thought.

Maureen looked up the impossibly steep steps. This was where Ah Mun had intended to take her. She knew she would never make it.

Out from under the la selva canopy and standing in the cleared area around Muy Alto, the blazing sun was too much. Maureen swayed and fell to the ground.

Suddenly in the blackness, water was pouring down on Maureen, wetting her hair, and running down her face on to her shirt. She opened her eyes and looked around.

Somehow they had carried her to the top of Muy Alto. Ah Mun was there but stood to the side as a heavily tattooed, masked person forced her to stand.

The mask’s expression was grotesque and the eyes behind gleamed with an insane malevolence.

He spun her around so she could face Vincent strapped to the altar.

His swollen face and his bloodshot eyes enraged her. You devil… what have you done to him? Maureen screamed.

"I am El Elegido, the chosen one. I answer only to the gods. They wait for Vincent. He is ready."

Let him go! Maureen demanded. She leaned over to Vincent and stroked his hair.

Vincent blinked and in a raspy voice muttered, I love you, Maureen. Too late my dear …

Suddenly El Elegido forced the handle of long, sharp knife into Maureen’s hands, guiding to where it was pointing down directly over Vincent’s heart. The Mayan priest announced, Vincent’s spirit goes now to honor the gods.

Never! Maureen screamed. Then she called on every bit of strength left in her body. She turned the blade and plunged it into El Elegido’s right eye.

El Elegido struggled to extricate the knife with one hand, while holding firmly onto Maureen with the other. Viscous fluid flowed from behind the mask.

Maureen closed her eyes. She descended into darkness, and all sound faded into silence ...

Chapter 2 – Maureen

Year 2020, several months earlier…

Maureen lived in New York City. She received a call from Philadelphia in early March inviting her to participate in a specially arranged JHU Psychology Department meeting on Saturday, March 28, 2020. She had her doubts about attending. This is going to mean trains to and from Philadelphia for me. Are you sure it’s me that you want?

The caller responded, Yes, you are one of the select few qualified to help decide on a significant matter. The reason for your participation will be clear at the meeting. However, I assure you, it will be worth your trouble.

The person was correct. It changed everything for Maureen.

A native of Massachusetts, Maureen passed up a marriage opportunity to an older man when she was not yet twenty. It was the summer of 2007 and Maureen was eighteen years old. She and her family were summering on Cape Cod. They’d rented a cottage not far from the beach for a month. She ended up spending a lot of time with a man who was more than twice her age, but was entertaining and fun. His name was Ralph.

She was sunning herself on the beach one day when Ralph walked by and stopped. You need to be careful of the sun. You can easily get a burn that will ruin your vacation. I’ll put some lotion on your back if you want. My name is Ralph, by the way.

That’s kind of you, Ralph. My name is Maureen. Are you sure you don’t mind helping me with the lotion?

Of course not. I have a daughter about your age.

Do you visit here often?

Maureen learned Ralph owned a cottage near where they were renting. He had been coming there for more than fifteen years, but it wasn’t the same without Nancy, his wife. She’d died of stomach cancer two years earlier. Ralph had adjusted to the loss, but his grown up children were off on their own pursuits.

I’m driving up to Provincetown tomorrow, Ralph said. Would you like to come with me?

If you have business there …

No, it’s just a day in Provincetown. I enjoy the place, and it’s a break from the sand and sun here.

I’d like that Ralph. I appreciate the invite.

Later, at home with her parents, Maureen was able to confirm Ralph was exactly who he said he was and could be trusted.

They spent a lovely day in Provincetown. Maureen noticed how vigorous Ralph was for an older man. He looked close in age to her father, and, as the summer wore on, was like a second father.

Maureen shared with Ralph her plans for college and ambition to become a journalist. He said she had a lot of terrific stuff in her and could probably do whatever she was set on doing. They were inseparable for the whole month.

Ralph became more and more upset as the day of her leaving with her family approached. He shocked her when he asked her to marry him.

I have a good business, and a decent amount of money in the bank, he told her. I know we’re years apart in age, but I like you and am lonely since …"

I know Ralph, I know… and I like you. This is an enormous surprise. I need to think about it overnight.

Ralph allowed that he would meet her for breakfast on the following day.

Maureen would want for nothing if she married Ralph and her fondness for him would likely turn into love over time. However, Maureen could not escape the desire to experience a love of overwhelming passion. More than ten years went by, and Maureen’s dream of an outstanding love became a fading memory. Having just turned thirty, she was at a critical point in her life when she attended the JHU meeting.

As advised earlier, the small gathering consisted of a select group of individuals. They were there to consider whether to carry out a secret procedure that could have a profound effect on society. It involved possible implementation of life altering extended sleep in specially designed stasis chambers. A freelance writer, Maureen’s New York Times articles related to her involvement.

The meeting was fascinating, and Maureen ended it with material for a new story. That would have been enough, but she also met Vincent… soon to be PhD Vincent Pommel, JHU Psychology Department. JHU… a bit confusing, thought Maureen

Philadelphia JHU existed in the shadow of better-known Baltimore JHU, Johns Hopkins University. Jess Hawkins University was less known and not Ivy League. It did, however, have a rich history.

Jesse Hawkins read the news of gold in the Klondike. He was 51 years old, retired from the military and living in retirement, in California. Bored with his quiet life, he joined in the Gold Rush. History did not record the exact nature of Jesse Hawkins success. However, he became a person of substance. Jesse arrived in Philadelphia in 1900 at the beginning of the new century. He established a large estate on land, which later became the grounds of JHU.

Jesse married a widow who was a few years younger. Their winter marriage was happy but childless. Jesse’s wife, Lydia, urged him to leave their wealth to the creation of Jess Hawkins University. It would be a lasting legacy of his all-American white, Indian, and Negro ancestry. The 1925 bequeathal stipulated it should be a small, but diverse school for students of limited means. The executors of the estate interpreted this to mean low tuition and generous scholarships. This continued into the modern day. The policy made attainment of educational goals possible for a person like Vincent. In addition, it was in a location convenient to Vincent’s parental home in Atlantic City, New Jersey.

Vincent attracted Maureen almost from the start. His boyish antics during the JHU meeting were sometimes hilarious, but he made excellent suggestions. He also was considerate and listened carefully to what others had to say, commenting, but never interrupting. He startled her when removed his jacket, revealing a white sweatshirt with black lettering proclaiming, Danger… PJHU Captive! On noting Maureen’s surprise, he confided, "I’m known as sweatshirt man. This is not my best. I’ll show you my collection," he said, winking.

The meeting went on for several hours and included just five people, in addition to Maureen and Vincent. They were PJHU Psychology Department students Anne Yun and Charles Mathews, George Hemmer from Omega Corporation NIH Relations, and finally high school computer science teacher, Harold Treadwell, and his wife Melanie. The basis for the meeting related to information recently received by Harold Treadwell.

Harold began the meeting by describing the information and its source. He then divulged the reason for selecting each person attending the meeting. The implications were staggering, but as it turned out the participants were well chosen, and the course settled on was far better than expected. (There may be readers who want to know more about the basis for the meeting. The full story is documented in the book Alternative Lives by Allen Pollens.)

The success of the meeting pleased them all. They did not want to end their time together abruptly. They decided to reconvene and celebrate at Restaurant Arturo. Maureen gathered up her laptop, and other personal materials. As she exited the meeting room, she found Vincent was waiting for her at the doorway.

Shall we go together? he asked tentatively.

I would like that, Maureen responded placing her arm in his. They proceeded to his car, and Vincent drove to Arturo’s.

They spent the rest of the afternoon with the other meeting participants. They discussed backgrounds and talked about their families and desires for the future. Harold collected all of their contact information. Arturo made copies of the compilation for everyone. By six o’clock, only Vincent and Maureen remained sitting opposite one another at a small table towards the rear of the restaurant.

Maureen told Vincent all about growing up in New England and about her experience on Cape Cod with Ralph. She also told him about her career endeavors and success as a freelance contributor at The New York Times. She made no mention of the disappointment she endured on the personal side in not meeting a person with whom she could share her life. She dwelled on her professional successes but silently harbored the pain she still felt at turning thirty alone.

Vincent was upbeat. He talked about his unique upbringing in the backyard of the Atlantic City Boardwalk and gambling casinos. He told her about his parents and their jobs as dealers in the casinos.

Maureen reminded Vincent she still has a train to catch back to Manhattan.

Stay over with me, pleaded Vincent. You can have my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch in the living room. My place is not fancy …, Vincent said suddenly stopping and going quiet, as he blinked his eyes, not able to continue.

Are you okay? Maureen asked.

Vincent took a deep breath. Do you believe in love at first sight, Maureen?

Her heart was beating so fast, she was afraid she was going to faint. She stared into his soft, kind eyes and then kissed him on the cheek.

You are so beautiful and smart, Vincent at last continued. I’ll be done with my schooling in a couple of months and will have my doctorate…

Sh-h-h, she said as she rose from her seat. I do believe in love at first sight. I will stay over with you.

They held each other in a warm embrace. Vincent could not stem his tears.

In the days that followed, Maureen and Vincent spent as much time together as possible. They each expected that what they felt on that first day would soon abate but it did not.

Maureen came to Philadelphia as often as possible. Vincent met her at the train station. Each time, he waited nervously until he saw Maureen coming toward him. The feeling in his chest was always the same… wonderful, to the point of pain. He loved and needed her to be in his life for as long as he lived.

She would approach him each time in the same way and confirming what she had spoken of before. I waited long for you, Sweatshirt Man. You will never be free of me. I love you.

Vincent always threatened to put it on a sweatshirt so the world would know.

Maureen would respond, I want the world to know. Then they would lose themselves in an embrace until some passerby asked if they were okay.

It was only a matter of time before they would make it official and be together forever. Vincent still had his doctoral requirements to complete, and Maureen had article fulfillment commitments to The New York Times. The most significant was the one titled The Storyteller. The month of June would be the busiest for both of them, and they set Saturday, the Fourth of July as their own Celebrations Day in New York City.

Chapter 3 – The Storyteller

Non-fiction was Maureen Connor’s specialty. She had no difficulty finding subjects to write about that were of current interest. She had an excellent relationship with Editor Terrance Ford at The New York Times. He usually accepted her articles for publication.

Maureen had a strong appreciation for the art of storytelling. While she didn’t write fiction, she enjoyed reading it. She kept an information file on the subject and added to it when she came on pertinent remarks and references.

She mentioned she was considering an article on storytelling, past and present, to her Times editor, Terrance Ford. Sounds interesting, he responded. We’ll consider it. If you write in your usual excellent style, we’ll publish it.

Maureen set about almost immediately to assemble her thoughts on what she wanted to say. She needed