2008-7-30 04:36:00
by Ted Dewey
Three uneventful days had gone by since Baker and Phillips had called on Henry. They had not returned; neither had he heard from Oran Thomas.
Henry was not the type of man to just sit and listen for the phone to ring so he found something to do.
He had an excellent view of the big bald mountain located just back of the motel. This seemed to be a challenge to him so he went to work. He made a trip down to the lumber yard and bought a piece of masonite pressed wood. It was about two feet square.
This material was slick and smooth on one side and slightly rough on the other. He then took a piece of sandpaper and sanded the rough side until it was almost as smooth as the other, but not quite. The tiny check marks would look like fine canvas when he was finished.
He brought a leather bag inside which he always carried in the back seat of the Ford. In it was everything he would need; paint brushes, oil, and thinner.
Next he gave the rough side of the board a light coat of linseed oil and set it out in the sun to dry. In about an hour it would be ready.
Henry had often wondered what that mountain would look like if it were covered with wind machines like those on the ridge. Well, there was one sure way to find out.
First on the rough side of the board he made a pencil sketch of the mountain, putting in many of the small details. He included most every rock or bush that was visible, even the big "P," which someone had put there years ago. The "P" stood for Prescott. They had dug a trench forming the letter and then poured in some white lime.
Next were the wind machines, the storage pipes, and the powerhouse. He took a ruler and lined everything up in neat, straight rows showing everything from a close-up to mere specks that vanished over the distant horizon.
Now the picture was ready to paint. He dug out his oils and went to work. First he painted the mountain, then the gray colored wind machines spinning in the gentle breeze.
Henry painted until the afternoon of the third day and the picture was finished. Henry felt proud; the thing was indeed a masterpiece, he thought.
If anyone ever came up with the idea that these things would be an eyesore to the community then let them take a look at this.
It was beautiful!
He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. This Looked like a dream that had come true. Maybe sometime in the future the mountain would look exactly like this. Not only would this mountain be covered with wind machines but they would be all over the country. Service stations would spring up everywhere, selling compressed air -- self service at a couple dollars a tank full. Let those Arabs keep their oil.
Once again cities like Los Angeles would be free from smog. Once more the people could see those beautiful mountains in the distance.
The price for home energy would drop way down, and like himself most of them would have their own machine with a tank buried in their back yard with plenty of energy for the house and their new air car!
No longer would the power companies have a monopoly, and we would have a better cleaner world to live in.
There was a ringing in Henrys ears. He sat up straight and blinked his eyes... Had he fallen asleep? Had he been dreaming?
No. There it was again! He jumped to his feet. The telephone was ringing! He picked up the receiver. Oran Thomas was on the line. "Is that you Henry?"
Henry grinned. It was good to hear the man's voice again. "Yes this is me. Where are you?"
"I am in New York. I will arrive in Phoenix tomorrow at ten, same place, same station. Will you meet me there?"
"Sure will. And it will be good to have you back. Have you decided yet just where we are going?"
"I will have the answer when I leave here in the morning. So I will be seeing you."
"Goodbye, Oran."
"Goodbye, Henry."
Henry got to his feet and stretched. For the last three days he had been expecting this phone call. Now that it had come he was glad. Finally he was free to get out of the small room. He would take a trip down Whiskey Row and pay Julie a visit. He had been neglecting her lately.
Besides he could use a drink!
-- End Of Chapter Thirteen --
Copyright © 2008 by J.J. Dewey, All Rights Reserved