Karen Bluejeans

The afternoon neared sunset when Wolf ran along the edge of the cliffs above the river. He stopped, turned up his nose and howled to the sky, challenging her to follow him. She did and laughing threw her arms around him and hugged him and petted him. The two of them sat down to rest. She sat upon a small log with her arm around Wolf. The setting sun, mellow-golden, passed behind clouds emitting rays of silver radiance and intimating glory. A loud thunderclap warned of rain.

‘Great Thunderbird has flapped his wings’, she said, thinking of the Mic-Mak myth, which featured an enormous bird, a common denominator among all Native Americans, especially the Southwestern Indians just above the Rio Grande River, as well as Great Raven’s totem-pole tribes of the Pacific Northwest Coast. They headed home. Night came through gaps in the clouds, as constellations twinkled stars in the sky. Points of their reflection sparkled in the river. A black cat crossed her path. Wolf roared a warning but refused to reduce his dignity by giving chase to the jinx.

“I hope mother won’t be angry about the pies,” she said to herself, as she wearily returned to White Owl’s Nest. Jacques-Pierre, sitting on the front steps, was playing a Jew’s Harp. He walked up to her and they kissed each other’s cheeks. He was two years older, but she was a few inches taller. A student at the seminary school, every evening he visited her. Saturday he labored at Josef’s work-yard, and on Sunday he usually spent the afternoon with the boss’s daughter and her pet Wolf, who tolerated the boyfriend. Jacques-Pierre held both of her hands together in front of her and looked into her dark-eyed beauty.

“Karen Bluejeans,” he said solemnly, “You’re mother is dead. Josef has taken her body to Hotel-Dieu, the General Hospital morgue. You’re supposed to come back with me to my house.”

Rain began to sprinkle. He put his arms around her, and whispered into her ear, “I'm sorry.”

* * *

CHAPTER III.

“All is illusion! Upon the ‘Ocean Of Life’ only nothingness is real,” said Jack Wales, to his friend James Wolfe. “For true Buddhist Enlightenment you must overcome all human desires. Then through transcendental meditation you will experience the blissful peace of the farther shore, -- Nirvana. It’s synonymous with immortality.” Jack’s thick, black hair looked heroic.

“Immortality?” questioned Wolfe. They were having a drink and playing chess at an outdoor café in the Latin Quarter on the other side of the Seine River, across from France’s Norte Dame Cathedral of Paris. “All I wish for myself is that I may at all times be ready and firm to meet that fate we cannot shun, and to die gracefully and properly when the hour comes,” said James.

Wolfe had been presented at Versailles in an audience before France’s King Louis XV and his politically-powerful mistress Madame Pompadour, Jeanne-Antoinette Poisson, the finishing touch to his sojourn abroad where he had cultivated his social grooming with Equestrianship, Fencing, French, Drawing and Dancing. He had served in the military since he was thirteen years old, and he should go back home soon as a Lieutenant Colonel. His father, a Marine General had purchased the promotion for the only living son; Edward the youngest boy had died fighting in combat alongside James in Germany years ago.

“Dharma, belief in Reincarnation! Transmigration of the soul. You’re born again in another body, depending on your Karma, on how you lived your life,” Jack continued. “Death is part of a cosmic cycle of regeneration and rebirth, -- re-intergradation within the Great Mandala!”

Jack had just arrived from London where he had enjoyed a hero’s welcome for displaying extreme valor. Clive of India defended Arcot against the French; Mahomet Ali was put on the throne restoring British power in the Carnatic. Jack had served Clive and Company as military advisor. Robert Clive, a Shropshire lad, went to India at age of eighteen, as a clerk for the East India Company. He took command of the company’s military force and earned a reputation for courage. After driving off a final desperate assault by elephants wearing battle-armor, Clive won the name, Sabut Jung (the daring in war). Jack, a natural athlete, worked then after, wherever the Company sent him in the Far East.

Years later, the treasure ship Golden Fawn departed from the waters of South China’s junk trade in opium. Sailing for home her officers and most of the crew had been struck dead by the Bubonic Plague. Devout Hindus had surmised that the disease’s pox carried on the wind from Sri Lanka in exchange for human souls. Margaret, the King’s niece had been aboard, as had large chests of gold bullion and several barrels of jewels, -- emeralds, rubies, sapphires and Oriental pearl. The surviving crew entertained her with song, fiddles, pipes & tambourines, -- dance music for Hornpipe, Jig & Reel, every evening that the weather permitted. The royal relative did not perish; nor were the Company’s riches lost.

Jack had assumed command of the vessel and sailed it within sight of the White Cliffs of Dover. ‘Twas a great accomplishment for any naval officer with knowledge of charts, sailing directions, log book, rose-card compass, sextant, the new chronometer and other eighteenth-century navigational devices; but it was a semi-miraculous trump for Jack, a Royal Marine and not an experienced sailor at all, except for a little sail-boating during his youth off the blithe and clouds studded, wave-crashed, slag-like rock-crags strewn along the coasts of Cornwall .

With the help of Billy ‘Boy’ Jones, a sailor lad from Bristol, he taught himself to sail the ship in the Indonesian Archipelago where they fortunately did not encounter pirates who preyed upon Spanish galleons and East India Company ships heavy with cargoes of peppers, cloves, ginger, cinnamon and other units of wealth. Neither mermaid nor giant, pea-green, dragon-like sea-serpent obstructed the ship’s passage, though both characters had been outlined in Indigo ink and water-colored upon, ‘the Master of Oceans’ map. In the English Channel, a coast guard cutter took the ship to safety. The London Gazette coined the nickname: “Union Jack,” Wales. Twenty-seven years old, he was promoted to the rank of major. King George II shook his hand in gratitude for rescuing his niece.

Jack placed his forefinger upon the Red Queen. He knew that Wolfe’s parents had dis-couraged marriage to Miss Elizabeth Lawson, daughter of Sir Wilfred Lawson (Member of Parliament), and niece of General Mordaunt, an influential officer with the Horse Guards. She had been Maid of Honor to the Princess of Wales, also; but she had had not enough money to appease the expectations of Wolfe’s mother.

“How are the Parisian women?” Jack asked, asked, moving the Queen upon the board.