Untitled #1
Contributors: Ahchie, The Diesel, Brother Nature, Throcksmorton, Albuquerque Tom
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen (stay tuned...)
About a quarter mile from Hank Greenbottom’s place Herman pulled to the side of the road and stopped the car. Herman decided to walk the remaining distance so as to not alarm Hank and to also give himself time to think about what he wanted or needed to do once he got there.
It was obvious that Hank had held back some information from Herman, but why he didn’t know. Hippies are known for telling the truth even when doing so is not in their best interests. As Herman thought about his brief visit with Hank, the more he came to realize that Hank was an odd fit amongst the hippies. What initially seemed like a natural relationship of an older, wiser hippie serving as a mentor for the younger hippies now felt like the thin veneer of a more calculated plan.
Herman walked off the roadway and down a slight slope towards the Ompompanoosuc River. The foot-high grass, which was still wet from the recent storm, soaked his feet, which further added to his desire to have a long hot shower. The Ompompanoosuc feeds into the larger Connecticut River and the thick woods in this region can be exhausting to hike through if you’re not equipped with a machete. Fortunately, once he got near the river Herman found a distinct trail that was likely worn from the daily trips to the river by Hank Greenbottom.
In Hank’s house Herman had noticed a few items that would normally cause alarm, but due to Hank’s friendly demeanor and “don’t want no trouble” attitude he let the clues slip away without a second thought. The painting in Hank’s kitchen of a hippie with rainbow colored hair caught Herman’s eye almost the instant he walked into the place. Well before Herman began hippie hunting, there was an underground hippie organization known as The Rainbow. It started off as a way to organize the hippies’ collective power to have marijuana, tie-dye clothing, and underage marriage legalized. When the law was passed to allow for hippie hunting, The Rainbow was thought to have just died off. In recent months, as Herman made his way towards this area he had heard some of the hippies refer to The Rainbow, also known as the Freedom Bus. Could Hank be the leader of The Rainbow? Herman also noticed an abnormal number of hippie beanies piled high in a closet. Hank didn’t appear to make the beanies, nor did he wear one while Herman was there. Why would he have so many, in different sizes, and different colors yet not wear them? Whatever Hank was hiding he was trying to hide it from not only Herman but from the hippies that found his place a refuge.
Herman stopped and crouched behind some brush as he spied Hank tending to a large field of well-looking marijuana plants. Herman sat and watched the old man snipping off buds and singly softly to himself for some time. The unique mannerisms of Hank collided with Herman’s memories of his childhood. Memories that he often suppressed, not because they were horrible, but because they were better than what he had today. He knew that when he was old like Hank, all his memories would be from his childhood with nothing from his present life, at least nothing worth remembering. Tears began to stream down Herman’s face and he fell to the ground sobbing. He cried so hard that his body began to ache and he urinated in his pants a little. He muffled the sounds by placing his face in his hands and laying his head into the thick grass close to the ground. Soon he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw that is was Hank Greenbottom, better known to Herman as his father, Gustaf “Gus” Gunderson.
“I thought you’d be back real soon, you were always good at putting things together,” said Gustaf.
Herman continued to cry and look at his father.
“I don’t know what to say, son. The money got the best of me. Once hippie hunting became legal, I realized that it was something I was good at - the only thing. I just got caught up in it.”
“In what, what money, what, what are you saying?” Herman forced through his tears.
“I hunt hippies, son. Somehow I got this reputation as being an old hippie, so these parasites are always visiting me.” Gus paused momentarily but decided to continue as Herman just stared at him with his red eyes and mucous covering the lower half of his face. “They come in, I feed them, and through some easy conversation I assess if they would be missed if they disappeared. As you know most of the time the answer is no.”
“How many?” Herman asked.
“A good week I will bag about 20 hippies, but remember that’s
without going anywhere. Just the cost of the pot,” Gus lifted his basket
of fresh buds and continued, “and a little soup. The hardest part is
talking to these bastards.”
Hank continued to talk about his hippie hunting techniques, sometimes forcing
a smile from Herman when he told of a multiple kill or an impossible to believe
stupid hippie. At times he interjected about leaving the family behind and
how his best intentions to send them money never materialized. They spoke
for an hour not moving far from the spot where Gustaf Gunderson laid his hand
on Herman’s shoulder.
Finally, Herman asked, “Dad, let’s go find momma.”
Gustaf’s face lit up. “Let me go pull the SUV out front.”
As Gus was running towards his home he stopped and pointed at water streaming out of the cabin. He yelled at Herman laughing so hard that it was hard to understand him, “I left the damn bathtub on, I probably ruined the floor.”
Herman roared with laughter as his father turned back around to fetch the SUV.
Just moments ago Herman was sobbing uncontrollably, but now was gleefully happy. He could have never guessed that his own father was also a hippie hunter. Herman ran into the house to turn off the water, but Gus drove the SUV around the corner and yelled, “Never mind, son, we’ll deal with that when we get back.”
This was music to Herman’s ears. How he had longed to hear his father call him son and say something that made him feel like part of a family. Herman always wondered why he had so much rage and directed it toward hippies, but now he knew it was fate. Maybe something in what Gustaf did when Herman was just a baby set up this path that he followed. Legalization to hunt hippies came in much later years, but something Gus did must have prepared him for this life.
Herman jumped in the SUV and shouted out, "Let’s find momma!” And Gus slammed the pedal to the floor and down the road they flew laughing and hollering all the way.
Gus and Herman raced along the road back toward where Herman had left Doobie about two hours before. Soon the laughing and hollering subsided and Herman asked, “Ready for some music?”
Gus nodded as he smiled and replied, “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“Me first,” said Herman. As he did when he took Doobie’s car and cranked up the “Miami Vice Theme,” Herman reached into his imaginary vest pocket, pulled out an imaginary tape, and pretended to put it in the radio. Herman challenged, “Let’s see if you can get this one.”
Gustaf’s grin grew wider as they rode on in silence, each listening to the imaginary music in their heads. This was a game the two had played when Herman was a child, and playing it now took him back in time. Gus began to bob his head in time to the music, made a whipping motion with his arm, and sang out, “Crack that whip.”
Herman, not missing a beat, took over, “Give the past a slip.” Continuing, Herman sang, “Step on a crack.”
Turning his head to Herman and with a huge smile, Gus finished the opening verse, “Break your momma’s back.”
That line prompted a fresh round of laughing and hollering.
As the sounds of Devo’s “Whip It” continued and the imagery of breaking momma’s back faded away, Herman began to think of their destination. Heading toward Wendy Greenbottom’s riverside tent, Herman wondered if the girl known as Sunshine was really his father’s daughter and if he had a sister that he never knew about. When all was quiet in the car and in their heads, Herman asked, “Is Wend--, uh, I mean Sunshine, your, uh…”
“Doobie told you her real name, did he?” interrupted Gus.
“He’s weak. It wasn’t hard to get it out of him.”
Gus nodded knowingly of Doobie’s weakness. “No, she’s a runaway. She came to me a few years ago,” explained Gus. “She was desperate – had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. I took pity on her, let her use the fake last name I gave myself the day I left your momma. I tried to get her to leave, but I was the only person who ever did anything for her. Eventually she set herself up where she is now. She’s straightened herself out, and now she helps me bring in the hippies.”
“Why Greenbottom?” asked Herman.
“That’s an easy one,” said Gus. “Florence and Edward Greenbottom were my first two hippies. They went by the names Feather and Sebastian. After my machete did its work, I sent what was left of them both down the Ompompanoosuc.”
Herman was silent as he took it all in.
Reaching into his pocket, Gus pulled out an imaginary tape, put it in the radio, and said, “My turn.”
Tilting his head to listen to his father’s selection, Herman immediately recognized Wall of Voodoo’s “Mexican Radio” and began to sing, “I feel a hot wind…on my shoulder…”