The ISSA Interview: A Jack Rabbit Novel

By R. C. Westland

The ISSA Interview is an imagined interview of Jesus Christ by Jack Rabbit, hero of the White Glove Fiction series. Jack Rabbit is a changeling who can travel through time. He undertook to do this interview after learning that children in contemporary times wonder what happened to Jesus between his ages of 12 and 29. The Christian bible says not

• Language: English
• Publisher: White Glove Fiction
• Release date: Sep 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781648831973

R. C. Westland

Rem Westland turned to writing after a career in the Canadian Forces, academia, public service, consulting, and politics. He has self-published, with his imprint Polarbear Lane Editions, a non-fiction account on his run for Canada's parliament in the 2011 federal election (Running for the People?) and a creative non-fiction history (Once Upon a Time: the Stories of a Heritage House, 2021). His first novel (Badly Hidden, 2017), also published by Polarbear Lane Editions, is about a former soldier who kills his wife during a PTSD event. His second novel (Nobody Cares, 2021) was published by TotalRecall Publications Inc. His short stories have been included in anthologies published by Ottawa Independent Writers.

Book preview

FOREWORD

It was a typical morning, hot and sunny, in the hill country of a place that – seven hundred years later – would become known as Texas, in the United States of America. It was 1100 Current Era (CE). More will be said about the CE nomenclature later.

A large jackrabbit, two feet long from nose to tail and ears of almost equal length, was moving away from its nest in a hollow in the desert sand. Its daily scrounging for edible sprouts, to maintain a body weight of nine pounds, had begun. The jackrabbit – technically a hare – weaved around the cactus and sage brush, its palpitating nose directing the rest of its body westward, toward the high ground.

A sound stopped the rabbit in its tracks. It flattened itself to the sand, just below the top of a grassy knoll. On the other side, echoing off the wall of a cliff that rose hundreds of feet into the cloudless sky, the sound continued. It was a kind of chant, one that the rabbit felt deep in its bones. Keeping its long ears pulled down, the rabbit peeked cautiously over the top.

Jackrabbits have excellent vision.

Now, before I tell you what the jackrabbit saw, let’s acknowledge a prevailing concern. Some readers will say that only jackrabbits have the cultural standing to tell this story. Oh, well…

We will proceed on the assumption that truth, and only the truth, can displace political correctness.

So this, truly, is what the jackrabbit saw:

An Apache medicine man, a shaman, was dancing around a ceremonial fire…

Oops. There’s that cultural issue again.

Some will say that only Apache tribe members have license to write about an Apache shaman. Furthermore, purists might object to the word dancing as pejorative. It implies a frivolity that the shaman, I can assure you, did not intend. To dance, for him, was to celebrate. To honor. And, yes, to be joyful.

Once again, let’s let truth prevail.

The shaman’s face was aimed toward the rising sun. It really, truly, was.

The shaman was dressed in feathers and his body was painted in many colors. Most noticeable was his left hand. It was painted all white, up to his wrist like a glove. In his right hand, he held what appeared to be a ball consisting of stones, sticks, feathers, cloth, and who knows what else, all wrapped around something that looked to be a skull.

A sharp crack in the cliff wall had both the rabbit and the medicine man glance up. A puff of dust near the top of the cliff marked where a large piece of stone broke away from the rockface. As a boulder, it hurtled down. As rabbits do, the frightened animal screeched and bolted. It hurtled toward a crevice in the cliff wall where an overhang might provide protection. Jackrabbits can race from zero to forty miles per hour, in seconds.

The medicine man, shocked out of his trance, stepped sideways into the path of the hurtling rabbit. The force of impact threw them both into the same safe place. The shaman, his body flying through the air, lost his grip on his ball of peculiar items. The trajectory of the ball sent it deep into the crevice, into a dark cave.

Together, the rabbit and the shaman lay in a heap just under the overhang. The boulder crashed to the ground. Dislodged stone hailed to the ground in pieces as large as bricks.

The boulder landed exactly where the shaman had last stood, to the side of the small fire. The flame was put out by the whoosh of air.

The rock then bounced off the hard earth onto the spot where the rabbit had flattened itself. It rolled a few feet down the knoll toward the rabbit’s hollow and stopped.

The shaman shook himself off, stood, and looked back at the rabbit. Wow! That was close. You saved my life. What’s your name?

Those were simpler times. Shamans were in touch with the earth and with all things that lived upon it. Indigenous people the world over tell tales about those times. We do wrong when we dismiss indigenous lore by calling it myth.

Jack Rabbit, replied the rabbit. The poor creature was still in shock. The shaman had landed on top of it.

Well, hello to you, Jack. My name is Mohan. I’m the medicine man, for my Apache tribe. Mohan did not sound winded at all. A large rabbit makes for a good landing pad.

Wait a moment, said the rabbit, somewhat recovered. How is it you can understand me? How do you know what I am saying? Rabbits can screech. Otherwise, all they do is blow air out of their mouths. Rabbits huff and puff to each other in a kind of Morse code. Jack knew this about himself.

The gods have empowered me, as a shaman, to feel what you say. My understanding comes from that. You might say I can read your mind.

Jack took this in without debate. Throughout his short life, Jack had communicated easily with other creatures and with the earth itself. He overheard the eagles high above when they planned their attack. He heard the whispering of coyotes hiding behind rocks when they organized themselves for the chase. He had heard the warning squeal of a tiny mouse when he looked up to see the loosened boulder.

I have a more pertinent question, said the shaman. How is it that you, a jackrabbit, can understand me? Mohan had never had a two-way conversation with an animal before.

You are a remarkable rabbit, said the shaman. I wonder if you aren’t every bit as wise as I. The shaman looked closely at Jack and thought some more.

The gods have empowered me in many ways, the shaman said. I have the ability to perform wondrous tasks. The shaman paused again. In Jack, the shaman saw an impressive mix of awareness, intelligence, modesty, and courage. One of my powers, Jack, is to grant wishes. So, let me ask you. Is there anything you particularly desire?

Jack was not surprised by the question. Shamans are much like genies, are they not? Magical beings grant wishes. It is what genies are all about.

So, Jack was ready with his wish. My life is too short, he said. I am already four years old. I will be lucky to make it to eight. To be a jackrabbit is OK, as far as it goes. For as long as I remember, however, I have wanted to be many things, go many places, travel through time, and have a very long life on this beautiful planet.

Wow, said the shaman. Mohan stood up, wiped down his leather chaps with the back of a hand, walked out of the crevice, and rebuilt the fire. Jack stayed where he was, watching from his safe place.

Once he felt his fire was the right size, Mohan returned to the crevice, stepped over Jack, and edged himself sideways into the cliff wall. He went deep into the darkness of the cave. He was mumbling words Jack suspected to be incantations of some sort.

Jack heard tapping and scraping, then a loud Ah ha! Found It! that made Jack jump.

Mohan worked his way back through the narrow slice in stone, back to the front of the crevice, then out and back to the firepit. The shaman had the medicine bag with him. He pulled a short stick out of the bag, touched the flame in the pit, and the fire returned to the vigor Mohan wanted.

Mohan pulled several other items out of his bag and began again to chant his rhythmic phrases. His steps around the fire picked up in tempo and became a dance. He called for Jack to come out of the crevice. Join me, Mohan said.

Jack crept out. He positioned himself halfway between the cliff wall and the fire, which were only a dozen feet apart. He was afraid to get too close to the fire. Everyone knows that rabbit fur burns easily. He stood on his back legs and hopped from one to the other to the beat of Mohan’s chant.

Mohan, now dancing quite feverishly, threw something into the flames that exploded. Jack jumped farther back, toward the safety of the crevice. Mohan saw this, slowed down, and laughed. Do not be afraid, my friend. He directed Jack to sit on a stone so close to the fire that the fur of most rabbits would have been all aflame in seconds. But Jack, to his great surprise, felt only comfort.

Stay right where you are, Mohan said.

After another few times around the fire, hopping nimbly over Jack, Mohan stopped right in front of the rabbit. He grabbed a cloud of dust out of the air and threw it onto Jack’s head. Jack’s eyes and ears were filled with powder. In fact, the powder covered Jack from his head all the way down to his lucky feet. It should be said that, for rabbits, their feet are lucky only if they remain attached to their legs.

Mohan’s chanting began again. Jack began to sway his whole body to the rhythm.

Magical powers swirled all around them. Sparks flew from the fire, jumping onto the bits of dust Mohan had blown into the air. Far overhead, way above the cliff, clouds rolled in. Lightening lit up the darkening sky. A star shot over the cliff toward the horizon in the east. Thunder rumbled through the depression in land between the top of the knoll and the stone wall of the cliff.

Then the cacti burst into flame. Remember the burning bush in the Old Testament of the Christian bible? It marked the location where Moses was appointed to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. Spontaneous combustion is a phenomenon that often signals the onset of wonder.

The wild grasses, brown and yellow, turned emerald green. Water sprung from the crevice where Mohan and Jack had sat. A small creek gushed toward them. Things whooshed, crashed, rattled, and roared.

Jack lost all sense. He passed out.

Jack awoke feeling strange. Looking around, he saw Mohan lying on the ground next to the dying fire. Jack got up. He hopped toward the still-running creek to get a drink. The water was the sweetest he had ever tasted. He spotted some fresh, green, tender sprouts. They tasted awesome. When sated, he hopped over to Mohan, who had begun to rouse.

What just happened? asked Jack.

Mohan sat up and stretched. Well, Jack, he said, you are now a very special being. I verily do believe that your wish has been granted.

Jack was dumbfounded.

OK, said Mohan, with a smile. Let’s find out. I want you to picture in your mind that you are a warrior of my Apache tribe. You have seen us at a distance often enough. You know what our warriors look like.

Jack closed his eyes. For a reason he could not have explained to anyone, he tapped his left front paw onto the ground. As he did so, he pictured an Apache warrior in his mind and he said out loud, I am an Apache warrior!

POOF

A wind blew into Jack’s face. A tear squeezed through each eyelid. He sniffed, as one does who is catching a cold.

Jack, go look at your reflection. Go to where the water of the creek is pooling.

Moving to the standing pool, Jack peered down. Looking back at him was as handsome a warrior as he had ever seen. Mohan, he cried. What is going on?

Mohan laughed ever so gently. "Jack, my friend, you are now what is called a cambiante, a changeling.

A changeling, he continued, "is a being with the power to change into whatever and whomever they wish.

"You have the power, Jack, to change into a creation of your own or to step into the body of a creature or person whose essence you replace. With every change, your life starts over. No need to ever get old. If you step into the body of another, be respectful. Give the body back to its true owner as soon as you reasonably can. Don’t get old or die on someone else’s dime!

"The spirits, Jack, have also given you power over time. One day, when humans entertain each other with moving pictures, go take a look at the Russian Doll series on Netflix. You will see what I am talking about.

"There are, however, some very important limitations.

"Now, Jack…listen carefully.

"First, you travel to witness. You may not change the course of events. You do not travel to intervene. Those who best bear the mild yolk of life, who stand and wait, serve best. No need to be a hero. Use your power, Jack, to help the world understand itself by seeing it through a thousand eyes.

"Second, you may do no harm to other living things unless a greater harm must be stopped.

"Third, protect the innocent – especially children. If a child asks for something you can provide, do your level best to respond.

"Above all, Jack, pursue your dreams. If the Great Spirit bids you to go to any place or time in particular, do what you have been bidden to do. If you come up with a good idea all on your own, go for it!

"On your journeys, leave with only the clothes on your back. Trust that you will be provided for.

"If you believe you must take something from one world into another, you will need my express permission. To compromise one world by something produced in another might be very dangerous.

"You can come back here, to me and my fire, anytime. I will be your teacher, your guide, your mentor. Stamp your left foot, hoof, paw, or even fin – if you happen to be a fish at the time – on a hard surface and call my name.

"You will be transported in an instant. So, find a private place when you do this. No one needs to know you are a changeling.

Oh, and never, ever, go to Easter Island. And never eat papaya fruit.

It was both a dictum and a test. Miracles require unquestioning belief, do they not? Everyone who has experienced a miracle knows that. If you cannot believe, no shaman will ever be able to do for you what Mohan did for Jack.

There was a time – long, long ago – when a dictum and test turned around a simple apple. You learned about this when you were a kid. Eve and Adam ignored the dictum and failed the test. Just look at what happened!

***

Jack visited Mohan every morning, for months. It may have been years. In a place of magic, time has no meaning.

During those many