A Plot of God

A Plot of God by J.B. Pravda

"It's the dinkum, telling ya that" Teddy Cardelane announced to his
therapist; the session had been scheduled hastily due to a
cancellation. Dr. Teldon had been treating this solid citizen type for
a few weeks now but today he didn't recognize his patient's stream of
discourse, even his accent----it was in a dialect not usual in
metropolitan Australia.

"Ted, let's be specific, shall we; tell me what has brought on this
impression, about what exactly, that sort of thing, you know the
process" counseled the psychiatrist in his staid office. Ted simply
stared through him.

"I know, I know, you see Wanjeenha set it all in motion ages ago" was
the added confusing detail. Then, rising from his chaise Ted assumed a
crouching posture, sitting on his haunches like some fellow from the
Outback, rubbing his cheeks with a nonexistent substance gleaned from
the carpet.

Dr. Sam Teldon, a man of his own in clinical situations, instinctively,
joined his patient, crouching down. "What do you think will happen,
Ted?" he urged Ted to play out the impression which had obviously taken
hold of the full concentration powers of Ted.

"A rolling up, you see, a furling of the scroll??" Ted mumbled, this
time motioning with his hands around an delicately held sheet of some
kind. "It is foretold, by the elder Taajo, my friend, that the
Universe, the sky, out there, will disappear, leaving only a cold empty
nothingness to cool the Earth. We have caused it" this time Ted made
eye contact, his unblinking expression conveying stark fear and
dread.

"How do you know this Taajo, Ted?" Sam probed for some explanation of
this aboriginal knowledge, if that was what it was.

"The storyteller of the native people; they have suffered much and all
the time have waited for something to make us listen, something that
would make the whites' 'gatekeepers', that's what he called them,
listen to prevent the final part of the plot from happening" and then
Ted slumped to the floor, as if spent.
Sam called out to his assistant who rushed into the room. As she
entered she was taken back at what she saw: Sam was crouched down as he
had when joining Ted, only his face was smeared with blood and there
was no 'Ted'. "Dr., are you alright, may I help?" she pleaded, seeing
the blood now drip from his left eye.

"No, no, I??where is Mr. Cardelane, I must have hit my head" he
muttered, confused.

"Who?" she replied, growing now frantic.

"Ted Cardelane?.he was just here, a worked in appointment, you made it,
didn't you?" he cajoled anxiously.

"No, Dr., I have been away on holiday and I can assure you no one
booked such an appointment" she assured.

"He used a word I haven't heard in years, 'dinkum', do you know it?" he
searched for clues, anything.

"Oh, my, that's an old cowboy term, derived from the natives language,
I believe, it means 'truth from the scrolls' to indicate ancient
origin."

Laying in his hospital bed, Sam was awakened from a drowsy tranquilized
state to hear a radio from the nurse station: 'It has been announced by
continental weather service that an unusually dense fog will envelope
most of the island for the next few days at least, blotting out the sun
and stars; expect especially cool weather until further notice?..in
other news, the Ministry?." Sam, now fully awake, heard his heart
monitor go into continuous flatline beeping???..

Some scribbled notes were found bedside, almost unintelligible; they
read: 'Must contact Taajo??highest importance??.make things right??..
It was thrown into the trash when his body was taken to the morgue that
afternoon, a very cold summer afternoon, the orderly remarked as he
emptied the trash bin.