his fists on his waist and puffed out his chest, announcing, “I will
make it my mission as a hero then, to help the human race mature
and then help them knock down that god damn dam!”
The prophets all giggled a bit and clapped at Muchoman’s
bravado. Many times each day he had announced a new mission of
some sort, and they always found it rather humorous. Only two hours
ago, his mission had been “to provide the gods with a meal fit for a
king!” and had fulfilled that mission with flying colors, so who was to
say he couldn’t save the human race as well?
“Hey, before you go breaking anything, Mooch,” called Gautama
from the sofa, “could you get me another plate of those
yummy
tamales?”
“I shall make it my mission—to serve the Buddha some more
tamales!” he boomed and bounded for the kitchen.
The prophets couldn’t help but applaud. Perhaps there was hope
for the humans after all. Plus, they knew something that he didn’t:
Thanks to Bob, it was his mission whether he wanted it or not.
“I’ve got to be honest with you, though,” Muchoman said, “That
Dreamtime is a weird place. It looked exactly like the real world, but
it was different. Only, you couldn’t say how. Like the way things are
in dreams. You don’t notice they’re weird until you wake up.”
“Exactly. Man is asleep,” Mohammed explained, “In the
Dreamtime, he wakes.”
“One rides on an ox, looking for the ox,” Gautama said, “It is
there all the time. Only he doesn’t see.”
“There is one reality. But man sees only parts of it at a time,”
Krishna said.
Muchoman thought for a moment and said, “That’s kind of what
Deaf Lemon said when I pulled him in there. He said it felt like when
you’re playing music and you get in the groove, and you can’t play a
wrong note. Only usually the groove only lasts for a short time, but he
said it lasted the whole time he was there.”
Moses choked on the cornmeal. “Wh-what? When you pulled
him into the Dreamtime?”
“Yeah,” Muchoman said, returning from the kitchen, “I saw him
get hit by a car. By pulling him in, I saved his life. How could I not? I
am Muchoman. It is my mission…”
“Is he still there?” Zarathustra interrupted him.
“I guess. One minute we’re at the shore looking at all the crazy
fish, next minute…BAM. I’m here with you.”
H O L Y S H I T !
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