September 11, 1975: Thursday

Again, curled up in my bag, I dream. A five part saga that runs like a play through my mind. In logical sequence the scenes are connected to form some sense to my slumbering mind. David Wininger is dead. The Newspaper is full of his photos and stories of his exploits. There is mass hysteria and people are wandering, grief stricken, over an Oriental bridge to mourn his death. I sit beside Joy (who looks like Lori, Cathy’s roommate) and I cry on her shoulder.

Then it is Peru, springtime, and the Peruvians are out walking around (Brian, Martha, etc., etc.). They’re having some sort of contest over there and people are swimming in pools behind chain link fences. There is some sort of controversy about where the sidewalk is pushed up by a tree root. It’s by the steps to the library and the trash can doesn’t agree with the candy wrapper.

I have the most desperate urge to leave the party at eight (there’s some sort of profound logic here), because I have to pick up Cathy in the City when the movie is over. But Kay and Rich are up there.

We’re at a farm, but this is a country estate, where there’s a holiday camp, with honeysuckle and lilac and climbing trees and a little house out in the woods where everyone plays. It has a bar. I try to get Berzel to share water with me, but the scheme just won’t work. The timing is bad. He’s with Karen B. (I think) on a bearskin rug before a roaring fire. Again, I feel the urge to depart, but never do.

The scene turns into a school building, where Kay’s class (Brettmann, etc.) is being taught advanced methods of causing paranoia. I think I am their target. They use Halloween tactics, chasing me through all sorts of imagined horrors. The school slowly blends into my house, where all the kids go next door to the Eckerts and ring the doorbell for Trick or Treat.

Me and Berzel have to walk to Nine-Oh-Five Ninth Street, but we get as far as the Radiator Repair Shop, where a pavilion has been built. Inside is an exhibit in which a turtle is metamorphosed into a horse, with documenting evidence. No admission charge. As we walk around the square of little booths, we see a turtle become an alligator, lay eggs and hatch caterpillars that turn into butterflies, which lay more eggs, which sprout wild flowers (tall things), which pollinate into rabbits, which grow up to be horses, one of which is in the front hall, tied to a doorknob and pawing a bare spot in the grass.

Two sheets of paper, under a plastic cover, are mounted on the far side of the exhibits. I glance up and see a screen. I know that this is the script for a slide show.

The lady standing at the exit asks me if I believe her theory. I reply, not wishing to offend her, that all things are possible but the probability of this series of events to occur is astronomical. She reminds me of Mayor Blankenship, but smells (and talks and acts) like the Lady from Holiday Hippodrome.

We leave, but have to go back for our tennis shoes, which we left by the other corner, down from where the slide show script is. We go back outside and sit on the steps to put our shoes on.

The steps are the west steps of the Methodist Church. The kids that went to Eckerts show up with Auburn Police Department patches. Jeff Wilson tells me it’s the Scouts, but there are girls with them, and more and more people keep showing up.

Berzel is gone and Kay is sitting next to me. Mom and Dad are standing up, asking the newcomers if they have patches. Every time I get my hands on one, Kay takes it away from me and passes it out.

More and more people arrive, shaking their Auburn Police Department patches (ol’ man Eckert gave ‘em to them to commemorate their overnight campout in his living room), over their heads, like a scene in Tommy, but no music. I stand up as they stream passed me. I walk down and ask Mrs. Ghandi, who is standing there on the sidewalk by the tree stump, looking gaunt and wearing her robe, if she is happy that she has contributed so many participants.

She smiles and the whole throng goes inside and downstairs for cookies and kool-aid.

Back to reality (I think). After I get up, we have to go outside to call Scott Base on Jim’s FM radio. I have to hold one end of the antenna.

The wind blows fiercely and the sky is gray. Ross Island is clouded. The weather report is bad. We decide to stay another day. I look glum and go back to sleep.

It worked. As soon as I was comfortable, the sun came out and they changed their mind. We pack up and leave Marble Point.

Jim Matthews rides home with me and Jack. The snowtrack goes off to survey two other sites. We spend the afternoon following Tuesday’s tracks and wondering where the snowtrack could be. Their walkie-talkie batteries are weak and we loose contact. Jack leaves his door open all the way across the ice. Because I lack sleep, I think foul thoughts about it and our progress.

At six o’clock, Jim (the Kiwi) has to call Scott Base. When that happens, Mac Center orders us to stop and wait for them. They come bouncing across the ice. We refuel and go home. Something to drink, eat, and go to the bathroom. Then sweet sleep.