Orion Rising

PUBLISHED BY:

C.A. Masterson on Smashwords

Orion Rising

Copyright © 2012 by C.A. Masterson

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For my family.

1994

We are all lying in the gutter,

but some of us are looking at the stars.

- Oscar Wilde

Mary

In every face, I looked for his. I knew in my heart it wouldn’t be him. Logic said that after twenty-five years, he’d no longer be a boy. But logic couldn’t stop my heart from breaking, again and again. Yet I never stopped looking.

I couldn’t.

Each day, my rounds through Saint Joseph’s Hospital helped heal my soul, and tear a little more from it. None of these children were Aurie. None would ever be him, and at the same time, they were all him.

Steering my car through the hospital gates, I didn’t know if Saint Joseph’s was my salvation or my curse. If it only had an intensive care for family relationships, mine would occupy an entire suite of rooms.

Twenty-five years. I never thought I’d survive this long.

April always dredged up such thoughts. I hated this damn month.

I hurried through the parking lot, doubling my pace when an ambulance passed me on the way to the emergency entrance. Two EMTs ran to the back, threw open the doors and lowered a gurney onto the ground and toward the doors.

The man’s leather jacket and boots said biker, and his bleeding head said he’d ignored wearing a helmet. I don’t have time for this. I’m fine. The patient – I refused to call him a victim – tore at his restraints.

He swung his leg down and his boot gouged my thigh. I shot him a glare.

Despite being smeared with dirt and blood, his face seemed familiar. He stared at me, dark brows knit.

I wiped the smudge from my scrubs. Why not let these guys do their job? You need medical attention. Be sensible. Another reason I chose pediatrics – jerks like him.

He slumped down. I…

In my best patronizing tone, I urged, That’s right. Relax and let them take you inside before you cause any more damage, to yourself or anyone else. Me, in particular. I aimed for the entrance.

No, I ran into a parked car—

Exactly. So you need a doctor to look at you.

—to avoid some kids on the sidewalk. He hadn’t stopped staring, and the way he watched me, he was gauging my reaction.

All I wanted was to get inside to work. Glad to hear it. We don’t need any more patients in pediatrics.

His gaze sharpened on me. Is that where you work?

The last thing I needed was a biker stalker. Good luck, I told the EMTs.

They pushed the gurney forward and he reached for me. Wait. Mary?

His hand was warm, his skin soft. His touch shocked my senses. I yanked from his grasp. Shaken, I had the sensation of being swept along in the gurney’s wake as they wheeled it away.

How did he know my name? No, he’d been mistaken. Mary was a common name.

I rode the elevator up, but it kept replaying in my head. Vivid as a ghost, it floated through my mind and called me back to another time.

1964

A person cannot step into the same river twice,

because neither the person nor the river are the same.

- Heraclitus, Greek philosopher

Mary

Our Victorian home sat at the very end of Buttonwood Street, perched between civilization and wilderness, at the edge of a field lined with patches of buttonwood and birch trees. Beyond, the Orion River endlessly flowed. I’d always considered our house to be the beginning of the world rather than the end of the street.

From within the attic observatory my father built, space seemed to begin, with the heavens stretching away into infinity. Above our little world, slowly rotating within the heavens, were the figures of heroes and maidens and beasts that seemed like old friends. My father had given life to these celestial stick figures by filling our heads with their fantastic myths.

In the opposite direction from infinity lie Upper Black Eddy, a small town inhabited mainly by people whose parents and grandparents had been born and grew up there. Tourists seemed to think the town existed for their pleasure alone, and the townspeople going through the motions of daily life merely creating performance art. Outsiders could never quite grasp the intricacies of living in Upper Black Eddy, the nuances of the river and the lifestyle it imposed on those who dared live on its banks. It was almost like living in a jungle with a wild, unpredictable beast, though the river’s unpredictability complemented its incomparable beauty.

The town’s main attraction was its surrounding scenery. Upper Black Eddy was simply lovely, in any season. The Orion River anchored the town, which fanned outward and upward into the hills beyond it. It looked magical upon approach, especially during early evening, when the sun reflected off the water, the iron bridge leading into town punctuated the landscape as the lights from restaurants and houses along the river shimmered like stars themselves, reflected in the waters of the Orion.

The world outside Upper Black Eddy seemed unreal, and so very far away. We inhabited our own little universe, ruled by my father Daniel, for whom astronomy had been a lifelong passion, and space travel a fantasy.

Daniel Byrne was the second generation of Byrnes to be obsessed with the heavens and all contained within. His enchantment with astronomy began as a young boy, when his own father had first brought Daniel and his older brother to the river, pointed to the darkening heavens, and said, Look up – an entire universe is just above you.

One by one, the evening stars surfaced from their daylight slumber, and his father pointed out the constellations while telling the wondrous stories of each: Casseiopeia, the conceited queen; Perseus, the hero who felled Medusa; Taurus, the mighty bull, who forever charged at Orion, the great hunter of both creatures and women, especially the beautiful Merope, one of the seven Pleiades sisters clustered behind Taurus.

My father continued the tradition. The stories never change, he told us, Only the storytellers. The constellations were timeless, he said – frozen in celestial relief on the night dome of the heavens for century after century. When he recounted the tales of their namesakes, I felt as golden as a god – powerful, untouchable. I knew our family was not like any other.

My father seemed not just the narrator, but the orchestrator of all things. He’d told us that, as this decade began, the very skies were cracking open — widening, beckoning. For those with an earthly vantage point, the view from behind the lens of a telescope no longer sufficed. Space travel, once only depicted fantastically in movies, was becoming a reality. America catapulted a team of men into the stars while dispatching its young across the globe as ‘goodwill ambassadors’ to aid the needy in third world countries; and America’s youngest president, John F. Kennedy, had created a new Camelot in Washington.

But tales of the Freedom Riders might just as well have been the lyrics to another Sam Cooke song. The Berlin Wall seemed as remote as the ‘military advisors’ the country sent to Vietnam to fight Communism. It might well have all been just another show on television, though our black and white Philco set sat mostly unused in the den, except during the country’s fledgling endeavors to travel into space.

The United States space program was the only current event that captured the Byrne family’s full attention. On May 5, when Alan Shepard became the first American to man a spacecraft, we sat mesmerized before the television as Shepard rode the Mercury spacecraft christened Freedom 7 one hundred sixteen miles into the air. We all held our breath. The fifteen minutes, twenty-two seconds that Freedom 7 soared through space were the most dramatic we’d ever experienced.

Do you think she’ll hold, Dad? Percy leaned toward the set as if suspended in space.

Sure, it’ll hold fine. Oh, can you just imagine being in that ship… Dad clucked his tongue.

Too bad it’s not going to the moon, Percy persisted.

No, Freedom 7 isn’t designed for that. It’s not even meant for orbit. This is only the first step. Someday, astronauts will go into deep space.

He said it with such sure conviction, I never doubted it was true. When Shepard landed in his vessel in the Atlantic Ocean, I cheered along with my family.

Dad whooped. Now the Americans have those Soviets on the run.

But, Percy said, the Soviets already orbited the Earth. Freedom 7 only went three hundred miles.

It doesn’t matter. The United States will do it better than the Soviets ever could. Our father didn’t normally get so excited about current events, and for once, the family wasn’t alone in its enthusiasm. The entire nation had turned its attention to the space program. Everyone in Upper Black Eddy was talking about Freedom 7 – at school, at the grocery store, even our friends. I had the sense that everyone else was just learning what we’d known all along – that space contained an infinite number of mysteries worth exploring.

*~*~*

We children were not allowed to touch the observatory telescope by ouselves, but none of us ever tried. Without our father to tell the myths behind the constellations, the night skies were a story without a narrator. He would bring us, along with the telescope, down to the river, where he’d make the constellations come alive as he described the scenes glimmering above.

On clear, star-filled nights when the constellations burned clear and bright, Dad exclaimed, Ah, the Pleiades are dancing tonight. A master storyteller, his animated narrations were more powerful and mesmerizing than any actor, even Richard Burton, Mom said.

Each of us grabbed a lawn chair and got in line behind Dad, who led us out the back door, cutting down the slope between the neighbor’s side yards. The nearly lifeless forms of the Andersons were visible through the side window as the light from the TV sets skipped over their faces.

Wagon Train. My father winced. "How can the entire nation be so captivated by television shows? Especially when there’s much more interesting things outside. All they have to do is look up, and the heavens would put on a spectacular show.

The FCC chairman was correct, he told them, when he said that television is a vast wasteland. It creates a vast wasteland of the nation’s people.

Mom linked her arm through his. I’m so glad you think so.

I loved these nights together. During the day, our mother’s warm, sunny energy enveloped us. But my father was the center of the night time universe, when the family revolved around him, and he could transport us to the heavens with his tales.

Through leafy cover, the Orion River sparked and shimmered, beckoning us to its shores. The banks of the Orion provided an unobstructed view, and complemented the night sky with its own beauty, Dad always said.

When we all settled into their lawn chairs, I made the first request. Tell us how we got our names.

Allie, for once, agreed. Yes, how’d we get our names?

He nodded. All right, then. Your names. You children are the first in the Byrne family – maybe in all the world – to be named after constellations and stars.

We sat taller in the webbed folding chairs.

Percy, of course, is only a nickname for Perseus. Allie and Mary were named after two of the seven Pleiades sisters – Alcyon and Merope. And Aurie is short for Auriga, the gentle shepherd.

I want to hear about Alcyon, said Allie.

No, Merope, I implored.

Perseus – tell more about Perseus, Dad, Percy said loudly.

Dad held up a hand. All right, children, one at a time. We’ll start with Perseus.

Percy smiled smugly as Allie and me groaned.

Next time, the Pleiades, Dad promised. His voice filled with drama as he began his tale. Perseus was a great hero and warrior. His father was the great god Zeus and his mother was Danae, who was very beautiful. Almost as beautiful as your mother.

Oh, Daniel, she said. I could hear her pleased smile as she spoke.

But a soothsayer had told her father, Acrisius, that Danae would bear a son who would someday destroy him. Of course, this upset Acrisius a great deal. He locked Danae in a tower to prevent her from falling in love. But the great god Zeus knew that Danae was there alone, so he went to visit her. When Danae gave birth to Perseus, that frightened Acrisius terribly. Instead of killing his new grandson, he left it to the god of the sea, Poseidon, to decide their fate. He had them both put into a box, and it was cast into the sea.

I gasped. He threw his daughter into the sea?

And his grandson? added Percy.

That’s right, Dad said. But – instead of sinking, the box glided along the top of the waves, and landed on an island called Seriphus. There, Perseus grew up to be a fine, strong boy, who loved wrestling and discus throwing. There was no baseball in those days, he said as an aside to Percy, who smiled.

Eventually the king of the island, Polydectes, fell in love with Danae. Because Danae spent so much time with Perseus, the king decided to get rid of him. So Polydectes tricked young Perseus into believing that he was going to marry another woman. Everyone else gave the king lavish wedding gifts. Perseus, having no possessions, told Polydectes that his gift would be to perform any task the king asked of him. Polydectes told Perseus to bring back the head of Medusa, the Gorgon.

Medusa. I gasped. Medusa sometimes haunted my dreams.

Medusa the Gorgon was a horrible monster, continued my father. She had the wings and feet of a bird of prey, with bronze nails. Her teeth were long, sharp and yellow, and on her head, instead of hair, writhed a tangle of snakes.

Aurie huddled closer to me. I glanced uncertainly at the shadows beyond the trees. Occasionally on their trips to the river bank, we’d come across a snake, and Percy would tease us that it was an escapee from Medusa’s head.

Dad’s voice shook with drama. Anyone who looked upon the Gorgon would immediately turn into stone.

So how could Percy – I mean Perseus – kill her, if he couldn’t look at her? Allie asked.

Perseus was very clever. He went to the three Graeae sisters, who had just one magical eye and one tooth that they shared by turn. Perseus seized the eye and tooth, and demanded the Graeae give him a few items that would help him overcome Medusa.

What items? Were they magic? I asked.

My father nodded. Indeed they were magic. The sisters gave him a pair of winged sandals that would allow to fly, the Helmet of Hades, which made its wearer invisible, and a large, shiny shield. Perseus also asked the Graeae sisters for a sickle and a magical bag to carry Medusa’s head in.

So Perseus used the sandals to fly to Medusa? And he was invisible? Allie asked.

Exactly, Allie. Now, as Perseus traveled closer to Medusa’s lair, he began to see statues of people who had looked upon Medusa’s awful face. All their faces were frozen with terrified expressions. Perseus knew he had to be very careful – even though he was invisible, he would still turn to stone if he looked at Medusa.

What did he do? I asked.

I’d have run in the other direction, said Allie.

But then his mother wouldn’t be safe from the king, I said. Tell us what happened then, Dad.

He took a deep breath. Perseus waited until Medusa was sleeping. Then, guided by the reflection in his shield, he walked backwards towards the Gorgon while she slept. Medusa must have heard Perseus, though, because she woke up suddenly.

We children gasped. Aurie whispered, Then what?

She saw her own reflection in Perseus’s shield, and was stunned for a moment.

I bet. I couldn’t imagine a head full of snakes.

Perseus swung the sickle, and caught the terrible head of Medusa in his magic bag, and closed it up tight. Then he flew away on his sandals, over the desert. The severed head was still dripping blood, and as these drops of blood fell from the bag to the desert sands, they became snakes and reptiles and scorpions. And that’s why the desert, to this day, is full of serpents. Their father’s voice ebbed and flowed like the river, weaving itself into the riversong. No tale seemed complete without that lulling accompaniment.

Is that the end? Allie sounded slighted.

Not just yet, Dad told us. Perseus tried to make his way back home, but he couldn’t seem to find the way. He stopped to rest at the ends of the earth, where the giant Atlas lived. But Atlas didn’t want Perseus there, and tried to drive him away. Angry, Perseus pulled out the head of Medusa, and Atlas transformed into a gigantic mountain. His beard and hair became trees and shrubs, and his hands and shoulders turned into mountain ridges. His bones became rock. Atlas had been a very large giant, so the mountain was impressively huge. The sky with all its stars and planets then formed above him, resting on the mountaintop.

So Atlas is holding up the sky? Percy gazed up.

That’s what the legend says. Now Perseus continued on his journey. As he passed over the ocean, he saw a beautiful girl chained to a rock on the shore. This was the princess Andromeda, daughter of Queen Casseiopeia and King Cepheus. Princess Andromeda had been left as a sacrifice to a sea monster to appease the gods, who were angered by her mother’s claim that she was more beautiful than the Nereids, the fifty daughters who were the sirens of the sea. That’s why the constellation Casseiopeia is upside down in the sky – as punishment for being so conceited.

Just like Allie, I murmured.

Allie jerked her elbow into my ribs. Our mother put a hand on Allie’s shoulder, and that was enough to stop the argument.

Dad went on. Perseus couldn’t let such a beautiful princess be sacrified, so he killed the sea monster, and married Andromeda. Finally, he returned to the island of Seriphus. But Perseus realized, after all he’d been through, that he’d been tricked by the king. So he used Medusa’s head to free his mother.

He made the king turn to stone, Allie added.

Right. And that, he said, pretty much concludes the story of Perseus. At least, for this evening.

The good guy won again. Aurie yawned.

Yes, they always do. And love always triumphs, in the end. Isn’t that right, Celeste? Just causes were always rewarded, according to my father.

Yes, it is. Mom lifted sleepy Aurie into her arms. But I think it’s time we headed home now.

Sated by the evening’s storytelling, my head brimmed with monsters, princesses and heroes. As we made our way home, I asked, Where is Perseus, the constellation?

You can’t see him right now, Dad said. He’s best seen in Autumn.

Around my birthday, Percy added.

But his constellation is one of the widest in the sky – it spans twenty-eight degrees. My father’s voice was filled with awe, but I had only a vague idea of what he meant.

The ancients used to call him the Stirrer of Heavenly Dust because Perseus is partly in the Milky Way. According to legend, Perseus’s constant fighting stirred up the stardust in the heavens, which then became the Milky Way.

Isn’t his wife right next to him in the sky? Allie asked, but her triumphant expression said she only wanted to show off.

Yes, Allie, very good. The constellation Andromeda is just beneath Perseus, which gave the ancient astronomers the impression that he was pulling Andromeda up into the sky with him, away from the sea monster.

They sure had lots of adventures back then, Aurie said.

They certainly did. But we’re having our own adventures now. Once this space program gets going, who knows? Maybe one of you will travel among the stars someday. If the Russians can send a woman into space…

Percy groaned. He’d been indignant when the Russians sent the female cosmonaut Valentina Tereshkova into orbit. Allie argued he was just envious; it was Percy’s nature to be first. Being the oldest, he was always ahead of the rest of us. But Allie said the space program seemed the perfect way for anyone smart enough to literally reach the stars. I could even picture Aurie piloting some spacecraft across the sky, where it didn’t matter how fast you could run, or how strong you were, just that you plotted the right course.

Nothing, I thought, could stand in our way.

1965

Mary

The footfalls of Persephone, our father had always called it: the slow, steady patter of rain across the roof; the spring rains that, like Persephone, awoke the sleeping bulbs in the earth, the buds on the trees, unfurling, petal by petal, a world of color and life. Persephone’s glad return to Earth from the dark depths of the shadowy, lifeless underworld of Hades signaled the beginning of a season of rebirth. I listened to the soft footfalls across the roof, wide-eyed, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fair maiden. She was more real to me than Santa Claus, whose gifts were only for one night; Persephone’s gifts changed the dreary winter world to spring.

But this spring was different. After a particularly long winter, a foot of snow remained on the ground for what seemed forever. In mid-March, Aurie and I watched from our front window as the snow piled above the bushes outside, until the snowmen in the front yard seemed to be swimming up to their necks in a frothy white sea. Sick of all that snow, we had tired of the usual sledding and skating; and the constant barrier of snow made either activity nearly impossible for long spurts of time. The snow lost its fluffy, shimmering quality and formed hard edges; dirty brown spots seeped further inward from the streets each day. Our mother tried to busy us with activities week after week, but we longed for sunshine, bike riding and roller skating – freedom from this white entrapment.

Even our father, who never hurried us, grew restless. A yearning edged his voice when he talked of wanting to use the new Unitron refractor telescope that Mom had given him for their fifteenth wedding anniversary the autumn before. The snows had kept thick, heavy clouds low over their heads, so the shelter of his attic observatory was of no use; we would all have to wait until the weather improved, he said.

Then, on the first of April, the temperature rose sharply to sixty degrees. Aurie and I watched from the window, and laughed at the steam rising from the snow, thinking it a wonderful April Fool’s Day joke. Swiftly the Orion River transformed from a white wasteland to a brown raging torrent, ripping away trees and anything else in its path. For days, the river crept further out of its banks and into nearby streets, invading homes and downtown businesses.

I thought it strange my parents spoke so often with neighbors. Worried, they listened intently to each news account, and kept a close watch on the flooding. On Willow Street, some families abandoned their homes in anticipation of disaster. We began moving some things to the upper floors, but the flood waters crested before Buttonwood Street residents had to evacuate.

Our parents resisted, but curiosity drew us all to the edge of the river to watch its destructive current.

It's as if Mother Nature wants to wipe some of us off the face of the earth, Dad said.

Mom hugged Aurie close to her, warning, Don't any of you come near this river until we say so. Do you hear?

I couldn’t look away from the churning waters. This new river, so unfriendly, couldn’t be the same one to which Mom and Dad brought us on picnics. Nothing could live in this river. The current swept along large, ugly debris: ice chunks, tree branches, even small sheds from neighbors’ back yards.

Mom tugged us away. Let's go home.

Hypnotized by its deft, frothy swirls, I didn’t move until her voice cracked with fear.

Mary, let’s go.

I glanced back. Percy and Allie already were walking toward home. Mom clutched Aurie against her. The fear in her eyes made her as unrecognizable as the river.

I should have known then. Everything was about to change.

That night, I dreamed I wandered to the river. It rushed up to greet me, and then swallowed me in its frothy brown mouth, where I spun in a whirlpool that became the wheel we spun in the board game of Life. It pulled me down and down into the dark, with not even a star to navigate by.

Percy

Percy waited with Allie down the street from his family’s Victorian home, just beyond their mother’s sight . He shivered, though he wasn’t cold. Overhead, the sky was as grey as the painted boards of their front porch, but the clouds rushed along fast as the river’s current. The rolling sky urged him forward while they waited for Mary and Aurie. His feet felt rooted to the concrete; he wanted to stay as much as go.

From beyond the next street, the river roared, so unlike the hushed murmur he loved to listen to at night, lying in his bed. It filled him with restlessness, and an excitement that fell just short of fear.

Allie waved at Mary to hurry. She jerked her head toward the house in answer. Beyond the lace curtain on their front door, he pictured his mom tugging Aurie’s hat on.

In that instant, Percy wanted to run back down the street, up the porch and inside, tell her he’d stay in the house after all, maybe read his little brother a book, Treasure Island or Gulliver’s Travels – one of the adventure stories Aurie loved. Then they wouldn’t need their own adventure, wouldn’t face down the angry river that called to them like the sirens called to the sailors, luring them with its loud river song.

The front door creaked open and Aurie stepped onto the porch, and then it was too late.

Their mom leaned her head out the door. Percy ducked behind a tree, pulling Allie out of sight.

You two be careful, their mother said. And remember, stay away from that river.

We will, Mom. The words rolled out of Mary’s mouth silky as truth, though Percy knew she was unaccustomed to lying. He could feel their mother’s watchful gaze as Mary walked with Aurie down the street, in the opposite direction of the river. When they reached the corner, they turned it, walked away from the river, toward Percy and Allie.

Allie walked ahead. Let’s go.

Normally Percy would lead, but he hung back. Mary and Aurie followed Allie. No one spoke. It didn’t feel right; it didn’t feel like an adventure.

When Aurie’s pace quickened, Percy slowed