The Codex of Lady Lucy Bugg

The Codex of Lady Lucy Bugg

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Image by Michelle Kohari

News of the impending arrival of a word warrior shook the sleepy town of Surrender, New Mexico. For Deputy Sheriff Ingrid Zoe Cole (“Izzy” for short), it didn’t change her routine much, except she took a second glass of bourbon instead of her usual one at lunch. She now stood on the steps of the police station overlooking the town plaza, her thin body straight as an arrow at the ready. From there she could see the stone obelisk erected in the center, a monument to the town’s name and its humiliating surrender in the 19th century to a bunch of desperadoes masquerading as the forward element of an advancing army. No one bothered to ask which army or from what country. The mayor ceded the town like a student bullied into handing over his lunch money.

Izzy laughed at the memory along with the obelisk she drew like a middle finger in art class (for which she received a B+ instead of a reprimand). Still, she bristled at the obelisk, an ever-present reminder of the town’s cowardly past.

“Just a citizen exercising his right of free speech,” Sheriff Bobby Dolby told Izzy, when she asked about the threat posed by this word warrior. “There’s a bunch of them that go around to different towns. They just talk a lot. I suggest staying out of his way,” advised Dolby. Izzy felt uneasy. She heard they raised hell, riling up people with their incendiary words that pushed the limits of civility and upended laws. In one town the word warrior reportedly turned a group of Saturday night pub goers into a mob. They cornered the mayor and forced him to withdraw funding for a homeless shelter slated for construction within the town limits.

“Make the lazy bastards earn their keep,” they demanded, words parroted from a word warrior they had been drinking with that evening.

But Dolby was her boss, the Sheriff of Santa Fe County. She routinely deferred to him ever since he informed her two years ago that he was appointing her Deputy Sheriff of Surrender.

“You earned it,” he said, smiling at her at dinner when he gave her the news, his face ruddy red from his third glass of scotch. She could still feel his sweaty palm as he placed his hand on hers, see his wiry, gray mustache twitch.

“Of course, you could add a little icing on the cake which would be good for both of us.” She didn’t protest the liberty he took with her then, nor later when he brought her back to his office and bent her over his desk. She contented herself with getting her share of that icing—a promotion with a hefty raise and an unmarked car she could have for her personal use. She could afford her own house, a small, one bedroom casita with adobe brown walls and a view of the North Central mountains that looked like an artist showed up every night to paint it on the front window especially for her. That’s all that mattered to Izzy. If it meant tearing up a parking ticket she had given to one of Dolby’s friends, or ignoring evidence involving a bribery charge against one of his favorite town officials, she obliged.

Izzy stepped inside the police station.  The one story, adobe structure sat back from the rest of the buildings surrounding the plaza, like a sentinel watching from afar. She removed her holster and hung it on the rack next to her office door. She saw her reflection in the glass and shook the red curls from her face.

“Is he here yet?” Deputy Juan Hammer stood in her doorway, like a student waiting for permission to go to the bathroom. Izzy shook her head as she waved him in. A young rookie anxious to make his mark, Juan stood tall, shoulders thrown back as he entered the office, followed close behind by Laila Eggstrom, Lizzy’s other deputy. Laila’s long arms and legs made her look like a frog ready to jump on you if you looked at her the wrong way.

“What are these word warriors about, I mean, what’s their problem?” said Laila, unable to hide her East Coast  accent, having moved to New Mexico with her parents when she was a young girl.

“It’s got something to do with words,” said Izzy. “Let’s not make too much of it.”

Izzy spent the next hour tending to her usual business and trying not to think about the approaching word warrior.  She took a break and stood on the steps of the police station in time to hear the low rumble of a vehicle announcing its presence before it arrived on the far side of the plaza.  She crossed the street to get a better look.

A classic car turned left down the side of the plaza, circa 1950s, Izzy guessed, a Mercury like the one her uncle owned when she was a little girl. The face of an eagle adorned the center of the hood, the bird’s jaw twisted in an angry pose, its eyes narrow, white slits. The wings stretched on both sides of the hood, the feathers painted in red, white and blue colors.  A sign fixed to the front grill read: “Word Warriors—Words are our Weapons.”

 The car parked in front of the Cafe Surrender. A man stepped out of it wearing a black cowboy hat. His round face and body looked like two parts of a snowman assembled on a winter’s day. His nose twitched uncontrollably as though trying to gauge the mood of the town from its scent. Juan caught up to Lizzy as she watched the man enter the cafe.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

“We wait,” said Izzy, “and watch.”

Izzy posted Juan in the center of the plaza, directly across from the cafe.

“Keep a low profile. Just let me know when they come out, where they go. I’ll be in my office.” She turned to Laila.

“Best if you head home for now. I’ll call you if I need you.” Izzy started walking back toward the station.

Laila caught up to her. “I got this call from a guy.”

“What guy?”

“He’s a linguistics professor at UNM. Said it’s about the word warriors.” She looked directly at Izzy. “I think we should call him.”

“I don’t see the need,” said Izzy. “I got the scoop from Dolby. We lay low, stay out of his way, wait till he goes.”

Laila threw up her hands. “Whatever Dolby says, I know.”

Izzy turned to face her. “What is some academic gonna tell us, Laila? We keep the peace until the guy leaves. Simple.”

“Simple.” Laila shook her head. “Like everything else in this town.”

“Go home,” said Izzy. “I think you need some rest.”

The tenor of talk emerging from the bar grew louder and eventually drew Izzy out of the station and in front of the Cafe Surrender. She heard chairs scraping on the floor and glasses clinking as groups boastfully toasted each other with words she couldn’t quite make out. She watched as some of the group left the bar and congregated in the plaza in front of the obelisk.

“Something’s gonna happen,” said Izzy as she approached Juan at his post. “Let’s get closer.”  She sat on a park bench in front of the obelisk and positioned Juan a short distance from her. More people streamed out of the cafe, a sea of red faces and bleary eyes looking agitated like animals riled by the taunts of an unruly child.

The man with the black cowboy hat emerged from the bar surrounded by a group of men she hadn’t seen before. Their muscular frames formed a human shield around him. They all carried weapons, some with pistols in holsters, others with rifles flung over their backs. Izzy stiffened at the sight of the group and stood up, instinctively placing her hand on her holster. She had to remind herself that New Mexico is an open carry state and such open displays of firearms are not illegal. She waited for the man to come closer to the obelisk before walking up to him.

“How are you today, sir?” she said.

He looked her up and down. “So, what do we have here? An officer of the law, I suppose.” He extended his hand. “I’m a fan of law and order. And you are?”

“I.Z. Cole, Izzy for short. I’m the deputy sheriff here in Surrender.” Izzy shook his hand. He held on to hers a bit longer before he withdrew it.

“And I’m Neil Listig.” He looked around smiling at his contingent.

“Please to meet you, Mr. Listig.”

“No need for formality. Listig will do.” The men around him snickered as they drew closer to Izzy.

“Fine. Just wondering what you got planned for all these folks.”

“Oh, we’re gonna do what we been doin’ across the country since we started last Fall. We call it a word revival.” Listig moved his head over the crowd. “Words. Oh, yeah. We got words that cut the crap and get down to the heart of things. We got words that can pierce, cut and wound.”

“Whatever you do, I must insist that it be peaceful,” said Izzy.

“Are you trying to interfere with our constitutional right of free assembly?”

“Not at all. Just doing my job, Sheriff Dolby has assured me— “

“Dolby’s a good man,” said Listig. Izzy cocked her head at hearing him speak Dolby’s name in such a casual way.

“Just want to make sure things stay calm.”

Listig laughed as he brushed passed her and took up a position in front of the obelisk. He raised his arms high in the air, like a conductor calling his orchestra to attention. The crowd formed a semicircle around him and responded with a deafening cheer. Listig waved his hands calling for quiet.

“My friends,” he said when the cheering subsided, “you know the quest we are on.” He cupped his hand to his ear. “Well, do you?” The crowd shouted and started chanting “Word, warriors, word, warriors,” the sound filling every corner of the plaza. Listig again called for quiet. Izzy recognized faces in the crowd she saw every day, people who until now had kept to themselves. The middle-aged teacher’s aide pumped her fist in the air; the man who sold tacos from his truck shouted until he was hoarse; the store clerk who bagged groceries at the local market and offered to carry them to your car, tore his shirt from his body and twirled it in the air like a fan rooting for his favorite team.

“We are here to free our country from the Commie liberal, the Un-American element infesting it. In your own town, like we talked about in the bar, you’ve got a governing council that doesn’t care about you.” Listig hocked up a gob and hurled it toward the obelisk. “Well, they’re gonna start carin’ about you. And we’re gonna do that by taking back the godless rhetoric from these godless individuals they learned from some godless university. No more politically correct pronouncements.” The crowd stirred. “No more rhetoric that cons you into spending money on stupid windmills and phony solar panels.” A shout led to a wave of shouts spreading from one side of the crowd to the other. “And no more interfering with our schools teaching woke crap that confuses and misleads our kids.” Listig extended his arms and raised his eyes to the sky.

“It’s time you step up and take your town back.” As he spoke, Izzy watched in horror as trucks, pickups and SUVs moved into the plaza and blocked all access roads. “Right now, my associates are shutting down this plaza. All commerce will cease. In a few minutes they will begin setting up tents in this very space. You, my friends, will occupy these tents. You will make sure no one enters this plaza. And you will keep this up until the council meets every one of your demands.”

Listig raised his arms and the crowd grew quiet. He let out a bestial cry, the crowd magnifying the outburst until it sounded like a pack of wolves. He turned and looked up at the sky. Izzy and the crowd did likewise: there, above the obelisk, a mass of energy rotated clockwise, a red glow swirling like a tornado about to touch down. Izzy raised her hands over her head and fell to her knees. She couldn’t hear words but sensed the meaning of what she now witnessed.

Hatred pulsating within the red glow. Brutal, terrifying and unforgiving.

#

The next morning, Izzy sat in her office, her hands wrapped around her coffee mug. Her eyes were red and swollen from too little sleep and too many bourbons. The images of what she witnessed the night before haunted her. Laila and Juan appeared in her doorway. Izzy waved them in.

“Juan filled me in on what happened last night,” said Laila, taking a chair in front of Izzy’s desk and inching it forward.

“We couldn’t believe it, right, Izzy?” Juan folded his arms and stood on the side of the desk waiting for Izzy’s response. She had been staring above their heads, sipping her coffee mechanically.

“Yeah, bizarre,” she said. “Something should be done, I mean—”

“I’ll say.” Laila pointed out the front window. “You saw the tents out there, right?” Izzy nodded. “Since when do we allow people to camp in the plaza?”

“Since never,” said Juan. “Their vehicles are illegally parked, and they’ve stopped all vehicle and people traffic from coming into the plaza. We should get more uniforms from county and move them out.”

Izzy held up her hand. “No. I spoke to Sheriff Dolby. He said we should hold off, not do anything rash.”

“Enforcing the law isn’t doing anything rash.” Laila planted her forearms on Izzy’s desk. “For God sakes, Izzy, wake up. This isn’t a bunch of campers whooping it up on a weekend trip. There’s something deeper going on here.”

“We follow protocol here, Laila.”

“You mean, we do as we’re told,” said Laila.

 “That’s right. Sheriff Dolby wants to see this Listig guy gone as much as us. In fact, he thinks he knows how to get rid of him.”

“We’re all ears,” said Juan.

Izzy folded her hands on her desk. “Seems our friend Listig wants to meet with Lucy Bugg. If he can get a face to face with her, he says he and his crew will take off right after.”

“The one and only Lady Lucy Bugg?” Laila stifled a laugh. “What does he want with her?”

“Probably wants to know who makes her outfits?” laughed Juan. “Bet she still wears that red cape thing, with black polka dots.”

“Yeah, and tight black spandex pants and top. She’s a cross between Lady Gaga and Kiss,” said Laila. “And she belongs to the group that meets in the barn at her place.” Laila snapped her fingers. “What’s it called?”

“Word searchers,” said Izzy. “Some kind of meditation spiritual thing.”

“I heard it was a cult,” said Laila.

“Whatever. I’m going to see her. See if I can talk her into to meeting this Listig character.”

“That’s a tough one,” said Juan. “I heard she never leaves her place.  But wait,” pointing his finger at Izzy, “you two know each other.”

“We grew up together. Went to high school and all.”

“Well, that should at least get you in the barn door,” chuckled Juan.

“I suppose.” She drained her cup and stood up. “I’m gonna head out to her place now. You two make your rounds at the plaza. Keep a low profile, but let me know if anything changes.” Izzy retrieved her holster and hat from the rack.

Laila walked over to her. “Izzy, let me contact that professor. His name is Lex Condon. See what he has to say. It couldn’t hurt.”

Izzy took a deep breath. “Fine, Laila. Just remember, academics are good at stirring up a shitstorm.” She placed her hat on her head. “And we don’t need another one like the one Juan and I saw last night.”

Izzy hesitated before leaving. It had been years since she visited Lucy Bugg at her place on the outskirts of town. She remembered the school bus stop where they would meet when she was a kid. Lucy sat in her usual spot in the back of the bus, smiling and waving at Izzy as she hurried to take the seat next to her.

Izzy drove to that street and followed it south out of town toward the small farm Lucy inherited from her parents. She passed piñon trees where she remembered playing hide-and-seek with Lucy among the green branches, careful not to stumble on a rattler or coyote. They’d sit together in an arroyo under an outcrop of rock to shield them from the sun, their bodies touching as they gave names to the antelope and jackrabbits that came into view.

“I’m gonna call that one ‘Dizzy Izzy,’” teased Lucy pointing to a rabbit.

“Oh, yeah? I’m gonna call that antelope ‘Lucy Goosey,’ cause your such a goose,” said Izzy.

“What do you fear the most?” asked Lucy one day.

“Not being able to get ahead, because I’m a girl and all. I can do anything the stupid boys can do.” She looked at Lucy. “What about you? What are you afraid of?”

“That I wind up being like everyone else.” They’d let the lazy afternoon roll over them often falling asleep in each other’s arms.

When she reached the farm, Izzy pulled into a gate with a sign that read, “Word Searchers—Where the Journey to Enlightened Language Begins” and parked in front of the old farmhouse. It looked better than Izzy remembered, its wooden siding painted a bright white. The ornate balustrade on the front porch had been repaired, and Izzy recognized the same two rocking chairs that were there when she was a kid.

She got out of the car and shielded her eyes. The old barn, still slightly leaning to the left, had been recently painted red, the afternoon rays of the sun making it more vivid and alive than Izzy remembered. Several people emerged from the barn, some carrying backpacks and dressed in jeans and loose-fitting shorts, others in business attire as though they were heading back to work after a working lunch.

Lucy Bugg stood in front of the barn, hands on hips, as she wished everyone a good day. Izzy drew in a quick breath when she saw her. She wore a black, bell-shaped hat, her brown curls extending down either side of the hat framing her face like a painting worthy of hanging on a museum wall. The sun left splotches of light across her face, still smooth and delicate, her eyes the same blue pools Izzy caught herself staring into many times when they were younger.

She wore the same outlandish ensemble consisting of a red cape with black dots like oversized periods shouting “stop,” black top and leggings and assorted rings and bracelets. Izzy noticed the same necklace Lucy had been wearing since high school, an alpha and omega symbol, the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet. It hung from a chain with a red “stop” symbol overlaid on it. It seemed to ruin the effect of the necklace, but as Lucy once told Izzy, “Language should have no beginning and no end.”

Izzy remembered the first time Lucy came to school dressed like this. A boy called her a ladybug. Lucy didn’t get mad. “Ladybugs are symbols of positivity and spirituality,” she told the red-faced boy, “an omen that good things lie ahead.” She poked him with her finger. “But if you’re gonna call me that, make sure you get it right.” She placed her hands on her hips and stood tall. “From now on I am Lady Lucy Bugg to you.” The name stuck.

“Ha! Look who it is,” said Lucy when she saw Izzy. “Come on in. The tea’s just on.”

#

“Cota tea. Calms the nerves, remember?” Lucy set out two white porcelain tea cups decorated with pinkish-white cherry blossoms. “I used to give it to you before exams and whenever you bit your fingernails.” She poured the tea into Izzy’s cup. “Like now.” Izzy quickly withdrew her finger and laughed.

“It didn’t help much with my exams.”

“But I can tell you could use a good dose of it now.” Lucy brought the cup to her lips and paused before taking a sip. “Remember when we were camp counselors, our senior year? That last night at camp. One of the boys had a bottle of whiskey.”

“And we celebrated,” said Izzy, “by getting naked and heading to the lake for a midnight swim.”

“Not us. We found a deserted cabin.”

“I don’t remember a—”

Lucy put her cup down. “The bunk in front of the window. The moonlight. I remember the moonlight on your face.” She cupped Izzy’s face with her hands. “I reached up and held you just like this. How sweet you looked working so hard to please me.”

Izzy grabbed her wrists and slowly lowered Lucy’s hands from her face.

“That was a long time ago,” said Izzy. “We were kids, just fooling around.”

“But we felt something, didn’t we?”

Izzy stared at her cup. “I had other priorities.”

“Right. After that you disappeared. Next thing I hear, you’re a cop then a big-time sheriff.” Lucy toasted Izzy as she took a sip of tea. “No room for me in that equation.”

“I did what I had to do.”

Lucy patted her hand. “I remember that about you. Never wanted to color outside the lines when you were a kid.” Lucy took a deep breath. “But you didn’t come all this way to reminisce.”

Izzy told Lucy about the word warriors and what Listig wanted before they would leave town.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” said Lucy. “He’s been wanting to go one on one with us for a long time.”

“So, you know about this guy?”

“Sure. I stay close to home, but some of my students have established Word Searcher chapters in other places. I hear how he harasses them every chance he gets.” She grabbed Izzy’s hands. “But my word searchers, Izzy, bless them, they are reconnecting with the positivity of the words, even finding new words to express feelings, thoughts, ideas.”

“But I still don’t understand, why does Listig care so much about that?”

“Because we are a threat to his brand of inflammatory language. You’ve seen his word revivals. That cloud.” Lucy slowly twirled her finger in the air.

“Don’t remind me,” said Izzy.

“That’s the physical manifestation of his constant debasing of our language, using words to convey lies, weaponizing them for personal and political gain.” Lucy reached behind her and took a large, leather-bound book from the top shelf of her bookcase. She placed it reverently in front of Izzy. Izzy ran her fingers over the gold embossed letters that formed the words of the title.

“The Codex of Lady Lucy Bugg,” she read. “What exactly is a codex?”

Lucy placed her hand on it as though swearing on a bible. “Codex. From the Latin meaning tree trunk. Where life begins. This is how ancient manuscripts were put together before printing came along.” She traced the image of a woman dressed like her on the cover with her fingers. “Words have been broken, but as you can see here, I am mending them, restoring them to their previous glory. My word searchers and I intend to undo what the word warriors have done to our beautiful language.”

Izzy began turning the pages. She marveled at the bold colors used to illustrate ordinary words.

“Pictographs. That’s what the ancients used to tell their stories,” explained Lucy. “But those pictures needed a narrator, someone to add the words to the story. That’s how language developed. Soon, you didn’t need illustrations any more. Language became the arbiter of truth. Until now.”

“This is amazing,” she said. “Beautiful work. But, if you want this to truly make a difference, why don’t you publish it, get it out there on social media?”

Lucy waved a hand in the air. “No way. Once I do that, the word warrior hacks will tear it to shreds, distort our work. I won’t let that happen. That’s why this is the only copy in existence.” Lucy took the codex from Izzy and clutched it to her chest. “It may take generations before my codex is discovered. But once it is, it will change the way humanity communicates for the better. No more misinformation, no more twisting facts to bend people to an ideological will.” Lucy closed her codex and returned it to the shelf.

Izzy stared at the cherry blossom design on her tea cup. “So, about Listig. Will you meet him?”

“On one condition,” said Lucy smiling as she poured herself another cup of tea.  “If you come with me.”

#

 Izzy phoned Sheriff Dolby when she returned to the station and delivered the news about Lucy agreeing to meet Listig.

“Fine,” said Dolby. “Let’s make it for six tomorrow night. Meet at the plaza, in front of the obelisk, okay?” Izzy didn’t answer.

“Is there a problem, Sheriff Cole?”

“No. Just want to make sure Listig lives up to the agreement.”

“He will.”

“And…”

“And, what?”

Izzy absentmindedly tapped her desk. “I just want to make sure nothing happens to Lucy Bugg.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen. She meets with Listig, then he and his gang clear out. Get her here.” Izzy held the phone in her hand after Dolby hung up, fighting an impulse to throw it across the room. She noticed Laila waving at her from the interview room across the hall.

“This is Professor Lex Condon,” said Laila, as Izzy entered the room. She pointed to a man slouched in a chair behind a rectangular metal table. He wore a leather jacket, scratched and worn like he’d been crawling on the ground or sneaking under fences. His curly blond hair lay unkempt on his head and his green eyes filled the lenses of his granny glasses.

“This is Sheriff Izzy Cole.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Condon shaking Izzy’s hand.

“The professor’s been on a sabbatical from UNM,” continued Laila. “He’s been following the word warriors since last fall.” Laila sat opposite Condon and opened her notepad.

“What’s the attraction?” asked Izzy.

“I teach English and am especially interested in the roots of language. I find this guy and his word warriors fascinating.”

“That’s one word to describe it. Horrifying might be another.”

Condon smiled as he nodded. “So, you’ve seen one of his word revivals. Scary, isn’t it?”

“Yes, when you first see it. But now I think we’re all making too much of it,” said Izzy. “It’s just words.”

“Atoms are like words. Can’t see them or touch them. But when you split a bunch of them. Boom.” Condon threw his hands in the air. His smile quickly faded. “I think that’s what our word warriors are up to something just as frightening, only with words.”

“It’s all smoke and mirrors. The whole cloud thing that appears, it’s some gimmick.”

“But that gimmick seems to be working. Every city they come to they draw bigger crowds than the last. New Orleans, Houston, El Paso. By the looks of things out there,” Condon gestured toward the plaza, “it seems they’ve already started recruiting right here in Surrender. They’re not going away any time soon.”

“They will after tomorrow.”

“Why, what’s tomorrow?”

Laila looked up from her note taking. “This Listig guy is meeting with someone from the word searchers. After that he says he’ll leave.”

“Laila.” Izzy frowned. “Don’t pay her no mind,” she said turning to Condon. “It’s nothing you need to trouble yourself with.”

“Are you kidding? That’s news. Lady Lucy Bugg’s word searchers. And that book of hers.”

“Her codex. How do you know her?” asked Izzy.

 “You kidding? Word’s out that book might very well save the entire English language from the word warriors. Fascinating.”

“Whatever. After their meeting, Listig and his bunch are gone. So, if you’ll excuse me, professor, I’m sure we’ve both got work to do.” Izzy turned to go.

Condon stood up. “Wait. I wanted you to know. I’m meeting tomorrow afternoon with a former word warrior. He left the group, fed up with Listig and his antics. Says he’s got something important to tell me. Figured I’d see him and fill you in on what I find out.”

“I’m sure he’s just looking for someone to bitch to,” said Izzy. “If I were you, Condon, I’d find a more productive way of using my sabbatical.”

#

Lucy sat in the passenger seat of Izzy’s car the next day and clutched her codex to her chest.

“You always take that with you?” asked Izzy.

“It never leaves my sight.” Lucy tightened her grip on the sides of her book.

Izzy rolled down her window and listened to sounds she usually took for granted. The rumbling of the tires on the uneven dirt road; the chirping of birds as she slowed to make a turn; the whoosh of air as a small panel truck passed her traveling in the opposite direction. Disjointed sounds, each unlike the other, like those made by letters and syllables, not making any sense until they are put together. She wondered what words those sounds might produce one day and if they would make it into Lucy’s codex.

 “It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” said Lucy, as she emerged from the car in front of the police station. She looked around like a tourist searching for a landmark.

“Same old place,” said Izzy. She pointed to the pair standing on the steps. “These are my deputies, Juan and Laila. They’ll be going with us to meet Listig.” She shielded her eyes as she looked toward the plaza. “What’s going on down there?”

“Listig and his people are milling around the obelisk,” said Juan.

“Sheriff  Dolby’s with them,” added Laila. “It’s early, but he said you could come down as soon as you arrive.”

“Okay. I’ll walk with Lucy. You two follow close behind.” Izzy and Lucy crossed the street and stopped at the path leading into the plaza.  Standing there, clutching her codex, Izzy saw the young girl she once knew, looking fearless, wearing a red, polka-dotted print dress and a black, hand-knit poncho over it. Yet there was a hint of vulnerability that made Izzy want to protect her.

“You don’t have to do this, Lucy. Say the word and I’ll take you back.”

“It’s okay, Izzy. I want my word searchers to know they’ve got nothing to fear from this guy.”

Rows of people lined the path, straining to get a better look at Lady Lucy Bugg. They reached the obelisk where Sheriff Dolby and Listig stood directly in front of it. Dolby smiled at Izzy, then whispered something in Listig’s ear. Listig smirked as he eyed Izzy.

Izzy positioned Lucy about twenty feet in front of Listig. It reminded her of the gunfights she read about as a kid, as two participants prepared to duel one another to the death.

Listig drew first, his weapon consisting of words he now fired at Lucy. “What you’re doing with the words is unnatural,” he said pointing his finger at her. “You’re a witch.”

The crowd chanted. “With, bitch, witch, bitch.”

Listig raised his arms calling for silence. “All we ever had are the twenty-six letters of our alphabet and that’s all we need.”

“Not so,” said Lucy, her voice gaining confidence with each word. “There was cuneiform used by the ancients to write different languages. Coptic script used by the Egyptians, the Greek alphabet, the Gothic alphabet, all these contributed—”

“We don’t need to poison our language with any of that foreign crap,” said Listig.

“Not poison it, improve it, so it more accurately reflects who we truly are as human beings.”

“Nonsense. Language needs to be managed, controlled. It needs to serve the strong who can use it to lead this country and rid it of weirdos like you.”

“Language has to evolve, not be hampered by the whims of individuals with hidden agendas.”

“Commie liberal crap.” Listig punched his fist in the air after each word.  “This country is for our people, not Commie creeps like you and your bunch.”

Commie creeps. Commie Creeps. Commie creeps,” chanted the crowd.  Listig extended his arms encouraging the crowd.

Lucy repeated a single word. “Fear.” It came softly at first, then louder with each repetition until it silenced the crowd.

“Fear,” she repeated. “All of you.” She waved her arm over the crowd. “You are terrified.” The crowd protested. “It starts with fear of change. Different ideas, points of view, people. Fear turns to anger, then hatred. But hatred needs a target, someone you can blame for that fear.” She pointed her finger at Listig. “That’s when he short circuits the words, uses them to urge violence, convincing you that anger and hatred isn’t enough. You have to vanquish what you fear like a child afraid of an imaginary monster in a closet.”

The crowd shouted at Lucy as it pressed toward her. Izzy strained to understand what they were saying. The words fractured into garbled syllables as though the letters comprising them no longer matched the sounds each was supposed to represent. The cloud appeared above the crowd, its red, angry glow more foreboding than Izzy had witnessed the previous night.

A commotion distracted Izzy. She looked up in time to see Lex Condon running toward her, gesturing and shouting.

“Sheriff Cole, I have news, important news.” Listig’s men stopped Condon before he could reach Izzy.

“Who are you?” asked Sheriff Dolby.

“I’m someone who knows what Mr. Listig over there really wants.”

Dolby pointed to Juan and Laila. “Arrest this man,” he ordered.

“On what charge?” asked Laila.

“Causing a disturbance, threatening public safety, I don’t care. Just get him out of here.” Laila and Juan started walking toward Condon.

“Stop right there,” ordered Izzy.

“Stand down, Sheriff,” said Dolby.

Condon freed himself from the grip of Listig’s men. “Sure, he wants me out of here,    ‘cause he knows I know.” As he spoke, Listig started slowly walking toward Lucy. “It isn’t Lucy he wants.” Two men rolled a garbage can in front of the obelisk. They dropped a lit match into it. A fire followed a whooshing sound.

“It’s her codex.” Condon pointed to the flames now rising high in the air. “He wants to destroy it.” Listig reached out his hands as he came closer to Lucy.

Izzy stepped in front of Lucy and shoved Listig hard, causing him to stumble and fall. She placed her hand on her holster as Listig scrambled to his feet. He took a step toward her, but stopped, his mouth wide open as he looked up at the sky. Izzy followed his gaze.

A blue cloud appeared opposite the swirling, red glow. The two slowly merged producing a single cloud, the angry red glow changing to a soft purple. The crowd stood in awe, silent and frozen.

Izzy reached behind her and squeezed Lucy’s hand, smiling through tears at the peaceful, hopeful symbol before it dissipated and returned the sky to the domain of the setting sun.

About the Author

Joe Cappello

Joe Cappello lives and writes in the picturesque desert country of Galisteo, New Mexico. His short story, “Running Errands,” was named a finalist in the 2024 Earnest Hemingway Short Story Competition. “They Only Showed Elvis from the Waist Up,” took first place, Short Story, General Category, in the Southwest Writers 2023 writing contest. “A Cat in a Box for Mom” was published in the Spring 2023 issue of “The Writing Disorder.” “The Secret of the Smiling Rock Man,” won first place in the National Federation of Press Women’s 2022 Communication contest, short story category.