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CHAPTER FIVE: THE SERPENT IN THE RAINBOW.

On the other side of Cadmium Avenue--the side opposite the Fleming house--you will find the last row of houses on the north end of town. Beyond that point lies a forest not inhabited by human beings but inhabited only by the wild, primeval creatures of the southernmost temperate rain forest. It is a wilderland literally encompassing hundreds of square miles.

The lane behind and to the north of that last row of houses continues for miles in both the easterly and westerly directions, and it serves to provide two points of entry into that primeval world. A five-minute walk is all it takes to escape all evidence of human habitation and shroud oneself in the tranquil beauty of that primeval forest.

It is exactly this call of the wild, which exerts an attractive force upon Josh, an attractive force of considerable power. It is inevitable, a predictably short period of time, barely a few days, before he is drawn into that forest to satisfy his curiosity and go exploring on his own. He heads west along the north lane, on a slight downhill gradient, and continues on that path for nearly a mile before he comes to a creek.

It is a creek of a size substantial enough to rival a river. On both sides of it the ground is dead flat for a grassy stretch of maybe a hundred yards or so. On the other side, flat grassland gives way to an expanse of thinly timbered terrain, which slopes gently at first but then more steeply until reaching an almost vertical cliff face, which cannot be climbed without ropes and specialized equipment.

Each contrasting aspect of this panoramic setting is beautiful indeed, but taken all together, there is a power here to arrest the senses, to inspire awe, to make one contemplate the beauty and meaningfulness of life.

There are water lilies too, who's flowers grace this place with color, and who's leaves tease and belie the eye as to what mysteries might lie or even lurk beneath. Josh is suddenly struck with the idea that goggles would allow him to see under those lilies.

Goggles would constitute the perfect tool for such a task and the perfect solution to such a problem. But his excitement quickly turns to pangs of regret when he remembers his goggles have been left behind and are now lost and gone forever. They had become just another casualty of the many, hurried relocations (dislocations) he was required to take part in.

That was an especially poignant pity, because goggles were the very things that might enable him to see platypus, which are said to be still common in this creek. He might lie motionless on an air mattress, keeping his be-goggled head under water while breathing through a snorkel.

Thus equipped, his gaze might easily penetrate the depths of cool water and allow him to observe the antics of--not only platypus, but turtles, fish and any other freshwater denizens inhabiting that mountainous region.

Caught in the midst of his tranquil imaginings, Josh is taken totally by surprise by a group of about six or more boys, who seem to just materialize out of nowhere all around him. The boys are mostly about twelve years of age and considerably bigger than himself.

"Who are you?" asked the biggest one, a fat and ugly looking boy.

"I'm Josh Fleming. I'm new in town."

"How old are you?" asked the same boy.

"I'm nine," said Josh, smiling pleasantly.

The ugly boy is carrying a box of matches. He lights one and inserts it, still burning, into one of the front pockets of Josh's jeans. Josh wonders whether he should slap the match with the palm of his hand to put it out. Such an act of defiance might anger the ugly boy, so Josh waits to see what effect the lighted match has. It goes out. It cannot burn when smothered in denim.

Josh makes no attempt to thwart the ugly boy's malicious intentions, and, on seeing his matches wasted, the latter soon loses interest in the game.

"He's nine!" said the ugly boy. "He's your age, Jeff. Go 'n' pick 'im!"

Jeff takes a swing at Josh but misses. He then takes another swinging punch at Josh but only lands a glancing blow. Josh is at a serious disadvantage when it comes to boxing--no, worse than that, he can't really box at all, because he can't bear to hit someone in the face with a closed fist.

Instead, and as is his wont, he resorts to wrestling. He quickly wrestles Jeff to the ground and pins his shoulders. Josh is actually slightly bigger and also has better physical coordination, which makes him a much better wrestler than Jeff. But he lacks the killer instinct that might allow him to really hurt someone, and this renders him effectively defenseless against someone who is not handicapped by scruples of that sort.

Having pinned Jeff's shoulders to the ground for more than a three count, a fearful Josh gets up and nervously walks away in a gesture to signal an end to the proceedings. But Jeff runs after Josh and, from behind, hits Josh hard on the side of his face with the knuckles of his closed fist. This causes the entire group of urchins to spontaneously roar and cheer with pleasure and excitement.

"HE KING-HIT HIM!" shouted one at the top of his voice.

"HE KING-HIT HIM!" cried another. The boys seemed thrilled to bits and jubilantly happy. A king-hit, it seemed, was like the very coolest thing in the whole wide world, and for that reason Jeff, by performing that one simple act, had achieved a kind of instant celebrity status.

But what was regal about it exactly? That was something Josh couldn't understand. What was it that made it royal? It seemed like a mystery to him. A mystery so impenetrable it might only be understood by Merlin or perhaps King Arthur or the initiated members of the inner circle, those schooled in, and party to, the logic of arcane alchemy.

Why is it regal to punch someone in the face while they are looking the other way? Perhaps this type of punching was once the sport of kings, just as horse racing is said to be the sport of kings today. The king, presumably, would run along behind someone and then punch them in the side of the face without issuing any kind of warning, regal or otherwise.

But why would a king bother to do something like that if he could pay soldiers to do it for him instead? Josh's mind boggled in the futile effort to penetrate the abstruse complexity of an esoteric form of thinking that was altogether foreign to him.

To guard against further blows, Josh wrestles Jeff to the ground once more and pins his shoulders.

"That's not fair! Give him a fair chance," said two more of the urchins, who then grab Josh by the shoulders and lift him up and off of Jeff. "Right, start over again," they said.

The next bout sees Josh pin Jeff again, and this continues for six more bouts. After each of his victories, the urchins lift Josh off Jeff and demand a restart.

At this point, Josh feels the urchins will not stop until they achieve the outcome they want, which is a win for Jeff. But a win for Jeff can't happen without Josh being hurt by the knuckles of Jeff's flailing fists. When the fearful realization of this penetrates deeply though his thin-skinned sensitivity, Josh begins to cry.

"He's cryin' like a fucken sheila!" said one of the urchins. "He’s cryin’ like a fucken sheila!" shouted the entire group in a noisy uproar of ridicule and contempt.

But all of a sudden that noise dissipates into total silence. The group of urchins begins to look around them with a strained and focussed view, some turning their heads almost like owls and then, in unison, they quickly and quietly melt away.

Josh looks in the direction opposite to that in which the urchins depart. He can see two figures approaching in the distance. In light of the level of avoidance behavior just demonstrated to him, Josh thinks it prudent to hide in some nearby bushes. As the pair approach more closely, Josh can see they are big boys, almost men, about fifteen years of age.

They have two tattoos apiece on each arm, are carrying air rifles and a small birdcage, and both are smoking cigarettes. Josh observes them from a distance close enough to make a positive identification of them. One is dark and one is blond, and the latter is also the bigger of the two. The dark one is carrying the birdcage.

Josh watches motionless and without making a sound until after they have passed. He then heads for home. He walks quickly, but keeps his eyes peeled all the time so as to avoid another encounter with the urchins.