Lost in the Cornfields

Part 1

The sun didn’t look like the sun, but rather like an eyeball. It was somewhere between yellow and red; and fat. It had the eerie shades of potassium cyanide. If you stared at it for too long, it seemed to expand, emitting phantoms of fire and flickering, neurasthenic light, like something sprung from a psychopath’s mind. Its oblique rays dotted and sparkled across the cornfields, and the residual daylight gave rise to fetid pools of darkness between the rows, teeming with blowflies and mosquitoes.
All together, the cornfields whispered like a black ocean groaning at night.

The mud on the side of the road had almost turned to stone. There wasn’t a trace of water in sight, not even the outline of a puddle. The landscape stretched on endlessly. Cornfields ran for miles to the left and right. Dozens and dozens of them stood like mute witnesses. John had no doubt he was lost. He was faking it, relying on a trick used by seasoned drivers, but he had no real sense of direction. He and his wife, Milly, had been driving for hours, trying to find a shortcut to the charming little town they’d seen in a TV commercial. Some foreign retail group had built a brand-new shopping mall there with unbeatable discounts. Milly hadn’t heard any other reason besides “Let’s go shopping.” When John asked what she needed, she said she didn’t know yet. She’d be inspired by the mall’s atmosphere and offerings.

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To John, it was like a cargo cult. Like when indigenous people in the South Pacific saw ships and airplanes. Because they didn’t understand the technology or way of life, they started to worship those things like gods. Ordinary stuff became religion. When nothing came, the cultists invented things to worship, like giant airplanes and fake runways. The mega-mall cult was the same: a shopping frenzy born from the need to believe in something. It was a waste of time, but John agreed to it without protest. How could he say no to his wife? No way. After all, this was a new country road heading toward a city he’d never heard of, let alone seen. It was strange, really, that he hadn’t heard the name of a town just a few miles from his own. Still, the mall’s deals were impressive, about as much as his sense of adventure. John had never been one to give up easily.

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After driving a while, time seemed to warp. Something was happening in a quiet, off-kilter way John couldn’t quite grasp. He figured they were just about lost, which wouldn’t have bothered him if he were alone. But Milly was there, and that meant trouble.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
There she was. Already worried, her mind clouded by the thought of a problem that couldn’t be solved. John didn’t even look at her. As usual, he had to handle things on his own.
“No matter at all,” he replied.
“You’re sure about that?”
“Natch, I am.”
He stopped the car and looked out the window. The road behind and ahead looked the same. Practically mirrored. The radio hummed in the background, annoying as a fly buzzing on dry manure.
“Turn the radio off, Milly,” he said.
“Why’d you stop the car?”
“Turn that radio off!”
If he could’ve turned his wife off too, John would’ve. What the hell was he doing on a tour of this backroad area he’d never seen before? Looking for what? An adventure and a good discount.
“Go to hell, all that bullshit,” he muttered.
Why did they have to keep moving around like locusts, grabbing crap here and there? Stuff they didn’t even need. Things for the haves.
“John, I don’t like this place. It makes me uncomfortable.”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at her. The sunset lit up her green eyes and bounced off her wet, white sclerae like glass beads. Suddenly, he wondered if he’d ever really loved her. Maybe for a day or two. Maybe. He felt guilty about that and about the road and about all of it. He sighed, opened the car door, and stepped out. His long shadow stretched ahead of him on the ground. Dust like ashes covered everything. Red ashes. He quickly realized all that dust would trash the car’s interior.
“Damn it.”
But that didn’t matter now. What mattered were the situation and the facts. Thanks to his military training, he’d figure it out. Damn right, he would. Still, he sighed again. Milly was just a bundle of nerves, twitching in her seat.
And dusk was setting.

To be continued…

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About Cargo Cults

John uses the term “cargo cult” in the story. It came about in 1945, at the end of the Pacific War, to describe Melanesian social and religious movements. The people of Melanesia had some interesting ideas about getting “cargo.” They’d come up with new or old rituals that they thought would call on the spirits of their ancestors or other strong forces to hook them up. A prophet, inspired by messages from these spirits, would typically convince a community that social harmony and participation in improvised rituals, such as dances, marches, and flag-raisings, or the revival of cultural traditions, would bring the “cargo” to the believers. Studies have shown that the “cargo” was usually Western goods and money. But it could also be about moral salvation, respect for life, or a desire for political autonomy that’s kind of like a proto-nationalist and anti-colonialist stance. This practice fell out of favor after most Melanesian colonies gained independence in the 1970s.
But stories about “cargo cults” are still being passed around a lot; they’re like metaphors for all the things we want that we know we’ll never get. Like Milly and John, who are looking for happiness in the wrong way.
But maybe something’s about to change for them…

Thanks for reading, guys.

* Photo credit Frank Tunder.