The Seventh Mountain (3 page)

“While we’re on the topic, there is
something else you don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had come around for a few minutes. Tim,
the big one, told me that our son would have to leave home and go
to an unusual school.”

“Unusual school? What unusual school?”

“He didn’t say. He did say that it would
happen when Mark was twelve.”

“Well, I’ll tell you this; Mark isn’t going
to any school that we don’t approve first.”

“We might not have any say in the
matter.”

“How can we not have any say? We’re his
parents.”

“I don’t know, but he told me that I would
know what to do, when I needed to do it.”

“And you believed him? You don’t even know
who these guys are!”

“He said they were Magi.”

“Magi? What do you mean, Magi?”

“You saw what they could do.”

“Yeah, but… Magi?”

“Yep, that’s what he said. He also said that
I could trust anyone that says ‘The best people are born in
stables.’”

“We have heard that a lot.”

“Yep. It’s not your common everyday
saying.”

“Coincidence. That’s all it is.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

 * * * 

After school, the dream had faded from his
memory, for the most part. Friday afternoons brought a chore that
he didn’t mind so much. His father had assigned this chore in the
third grade. “Mrs. Jenkins is an elderly lady. It’s hard for her to
get around. I want you to stop by her house every Friday, on the
way home from school. You check to see if there is anything that
you can do for her. If she offers to give you money, you refuse.
Rain or shine, you do this.”

Mark had no idea how old Mrs. Jenkins was.
He knew that she lived alone on a small income. He also knew that
his dad had been right when he had told him not to charge her for
anything. Mrs. Jenkins was a nice lady. He enjoyed helping her.
There weren’t too many things that she could do for herself. Today,
she was out of bread and milk.

Mark was on the way back from the store when
he saw Keith Green and his cohorts standing in the street up ahead.
Keith Green always meant trouble for Mark. Keith Green always meant
trouble for anyone smaller than he was.

Keith was a year older than Mark and twice
Mark’s size. Mark thought that he might stand a chance at winning a
fair fight against Keith, but with Keith, it was never fair, and it
was always a fight. Keith had been in many fights. Everyone he had
started. Everyone he and his
buddies
had won. Never was
Keith anywhere to be found without his
buddies
.

“Mark, Mark.” Keith was letting him know
that he was the next target.

Mark heard one of the cronies say, “Hah!
Sounds like a harelip dog. Mark, Mark… Mark, Mark, Mark.”

Mark walked to the other side of the street.
Beaufort, a ferocious German Shepherd ran to the fence that kept
him in his yard. He always tried to bite anyone who got too close
to his chain link fence. Vicious, he would bite at the fence,
snarling, barking; twisting his head in fits, trying to rip a hole
through the chain links.

Keith and his gang crossed to block Mark’s
path. “Hi, Mark. I just want you to meet one of my new friends.”
The group surrounded Mark and Keith pointed to the new guy. He
turned to see who Keith was pointing out.

Mark only felt the blow that hit his mouth.
White flashed in the back of his eyes. He felt his head wrench
around from the force of the impact. The bag he was carrying hit
the pavement. Anger swelled in him. He thought to return the
punch.

“This is Rick. He don’t like tattletales.
Neither do I.”

Someone kicked the bag that he had dropped.
Milk splattered everywhere. Mark felt a hand push him back. He
tripped over someone kneeling behind him and fell over backwards.
Hands grabbed him. He felt himself flying through the air. They
were throwing him over the fence.

The ground came up and hit him hard. He
scrambled to right himself only to find himself looking square into
Beaufort’s foamy grin. He didn’t dare move.

Keith’s voice came from behind him. “You
said that if you ever saw anyone stealing, that you would tell. You
better think that over.”

Keith made sure that Mark understood what
this was about. Mark had never told on anyone for anything. That
particular situation had never come up. Mark thought to himself,
I just said when the teacher asked, “What would you do if you
saw someone stealing?” that I would tell. What was I supposed to
say? My teacher asked that question in class and Keith isn’t even
in my class. How did he find out?

Mark stayed as still as he could while he
and Beaufort eyeballed each other and the bullies strolled off,
laughing. He didn’t risk even a swallow.
You don’t want to
attack me, boy.

Something in Mark’s mind told him that
Beaufort wasn’t going to harm him. In fact, somehow he knew that
Beaufort wanted to go after the other guys. He was waiting for
permission from Mark to do just that. It was a thought and a
feeling that had just popped into his head, nowhere near logical,
but he knew it, none-the-less.

Mark knew that if Beaufort jumped the fence
and bit someone that Beaufort would be in a lot of trouble.
Instinctively, tentatively, he reached out and scratched the dog
behind the ear. He looked over his shoulder. “That’s okay, boy.
They’re gone now.”

That night, before bed, Mark went to James’s
room.

“What do you think it all means? I mean my
dream.” Mark sat on James’s bed.

“I don’t know. It sure is strange. Dad’s
probably right.”

Mark shrugged. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.
What’s junior high like?”

“Well… it’s different than grade school.
Like instead of being in one class all the time, you get different
classes and different teachers and all. There isn’t any recess but
there’s gym class. It’s not the same, but it’s pretty cool. The
best thing is lunch. If you don’t like what they serve in the main
line, you can get into the hamburger and fries line!”

“You’re kidding!” He gave James a friendly
push.

“No, for real. They usually have really good
stuff in the main line, too.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Yesterday we had pizza. The day before
there was chicken-fried rice. Their meatloaf isn’t that good. Mom’s
is better.”

“What’s it like having different
classes?”

“At first it was kind of… scary. You know,
like in your dream. See, they give you this piece of paper with all
of your classes on it with the times and room numbers and
everything. I used to dream, sometimes, that I had lost the piece
of paper and couldn’t find my way to class, but it was only a
dream. It doesn’t take long to remember where all of the classes
are. It’s automatic, like waking up and going down stairs. After a
while it’s like
…” James searched for another
word, then shrugged and repeated, “
Just automatic.”

Mark pondered for a moment before asking,
“What are your classes like?”

“Well, first there’s homeroom. That’s where
they take the roll and give announcements. Then I have history with
Mr. Taylor. It’s kind of boring. Then there’s Mrs. Hampton in
language class. She’s really nice. Then gym class with Coach
Trimble.”

James deepened his voice to imitate Coach
Trimble. “You’re going to do calisthenics and more
calisthenics.”

“Next is lunch. Then comes music with Mrs.
Byrd. Her class is okay but I’m not any good at music. Then there’s
science with Mr. Gardner. He makes you take a lot of notes. Last is
math with Mrs. Peabody. Math is kind of easy with her. She explains
everything.”

“It sounds okay.”

“Yeah, it’s okay. You get five minutes
between class bells. That’s enough time so that you don’t have to
carry all of your books around all of the time. You don’t get a
desk to put all of your books in, like in grade school. You get a
locker in the hall. You go to your locker between classes and
change books and stuff. It’s neat because you get to talk to your
friends. It’s not like having to wait until recess. Everybody gets
out of class at the same time and goes into the halls to their
locker
s
. It’s different than grade school,
but it’s better.”

“It sounds like they don’t treat you like a
little kid anymore.”

“Well, they still treat you like a kid but
not as much. You get to do more stuff, but they definitely don’t
treat you like a grown up.”

“It doesn’t sound scary.”

“It isn’t scary, just different.”

There was a knock on the bedroom door
and their mom’s voice sounded muffled
.
“Young man, you’re supposed to be in your own bed.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Mark got up and started toward the door. He
turned toward James. “Thanks.”

James smiled. “You’re welcome, Dweeb.”

Fate, Destiny, Happenstance, Luck. What’s
the difference?

That night, Mark knew that he was dreaming.
The dream seemed real again. It was like he was awake, only he knew
he wasn’t. This time, the desert looked bleak but felt warm and
somehow inviting. A goliath of a man stood beside him, silhouetted
against the sky’s piercing sun. Before him, a terraced,
wedding-cake like mountain was a stark contrast to the flat, sandy,
rock strewn, desert floor. The wall was behind him encircling the
land for as far as he could see. It didn’t seem hot this time.

The huge man gestured toward the mountain
with his hand. “This is The Seventh Mountain.” He looked back at
Mark. “You have been chosen to go to school here. Most students are
just called to go here. They have a choice. You can leave if you
want, but no one has ever wanted to.”

“Why me?”

“It is a part of who you are and who you
will become.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Tim.”

Mark turned to look at the man again. Tim
stepped out from in front of the sun. Royal blue eyes glowed in his
boulder face. His ebony hair was pulled back into a ponytail and
his well-groomed beard hedged his beaming smile.

Mark felt that he should know this man. It
was more of a feeling than a knowledge. There was something
familiar about him, something familiar, yet distant, eroded by
time, hidden in the shadows of his mind. Was this man friend or
foe?

“There is something else that you need to
see.” Tim waved his hand and the scene changed. “This is what
happened the day that you were born.”

He watched his parents walk in the park,
hand in hand, to the horse stable. The events that followed held
him, mesmerized, waiting, hoping that it would be all right in the
end.

“When you tell your parents about this
dream, I want you to say something to them. Say, ‘Only the best
people are born in stables.’ You tell them that, you hear.”

Mark sat bolt upright in bed. The second
part of the dream had been surreal. He had watched the events
unfold as a spectator. It hadn’t been a normal dream. He wasn’t
part of the action. Mark tried to remember if his parents had ever
told him the story of his birth. He had never heard the tale.

Steak and eggs, the aroma beckoned Mark to
join his family downstairs. That was his favorite breakfast, after
all. Today was not just any old day, either. This very day he
became twelve years old. Today he embarked on the journey from
childhood to manhood. His family would be waiting for him to emerge
so that they could commence the celebration.

His dad was right where he expected him to
be, reading the paper at the table, acting like today was just any
other old day. His mom was cooking breakfast. James was nowhere to
be seen which meant that he could tell about this new dream without
being taunted by his older brother.
Mark sat in
the chair across from his father.

“I had a scary dream last night. I mean, it
wasn’t scary for me; it was scary for you guys.” He pointed at his
parents. “I dreamed about a storm. This horse tried to kill you.
Only the horse wasn’t trying to kill you. It wanted to kill
me.”

James had tiptoed down the stairs behind
Mark. No one had noticed him. He sat down on the stairs to listen
to Mark tell about his dream. James had an unusual dream, too. That
was what had kept him upstairs this morning. He had to check on
some things. Things that seemed too far-fetched to be true,
yet…

Steve laid the paper on the table. “That was
the day that you were born.”

“I know. That was in the dream, too.”

“Come over here and sit down. I’ll tell you
the story.”

Mark got up and sat on the same side of the
table as his dad. “Okay. The guy in my dream said I should tell you
something. He said that the best people are born in stables.”

Crash! — Shirley dropped the plate that she
was carrying. Ceramic fragments scattered over the hardwood floor.
“What did you say?”

“The guy in my dream, Tim, said for me to
tell you that the best people are born in stables. What does it
mean? Did he mean me?”

“I don’t believe it. This is not happening.
It can’t be.”

“It was just a dream, Mom. Get a grip.”

“That’s no way to talk to your mother,
son.”

“Yes sir. Sorry… but it was just a dream,
Dad.”

“Let me tell you the story. Then you tell me
what you think.”

“Okay.”

“Twelve years ago, today, your mother and I
were walking hand and hand through that park up on the east side.
We were just there yesterday. That’s funny; I can’t remember what
it’s called.”

“White Oak.” Shirley was busy cleaning up
the shards from the plate she had dropped.

“White Oak Park. That was one of my last
days at home before I had to ship out.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Middle-East, so, you see, I wanted to spend
as much time with your mother as I could.”