Chapter Twenty One

All our knowledge merely helps us to die a more painful death than animals that know nothing. - Maurice Maeterlinck

Chapter 21

Hephaistos had completed work on Ares’s motorcycle the night before. It was a thing of great beauty, at least, to a certain kind of eyes. It was long and low, with blank paint on the parts that weren’t brilliantly chromed. There were a large number of Ben Hur style spikes and ornaments to let other road users know that the pilot of this motorcycle was not to be trifled with. It had a bracket mounted just behind the seat on the right side, in case Ares wanted to carry a shotgun while he rode.

Hep, for one, wouldn’t be caught dead on it. Neither would Scroat. They were in agreement, however, that Ares, God of War, would love it.

Hep had heard from a friend that Ares was feeling a little funky because people weren’t dying. He’d planned to just have Ares come and pick up the bike on his own, but decided that maybe, this once, he’d deliver it. It might perk Ares up a bit.

He’d rented that lowest of transportation options, a moving truck, to haul the motorcycle out to Ares’s home in California.

The truck had a ramp built into it under the loading door, so Hep put that into place. Scroat had the honor of riding the bike up the ramp and into the truck, since Hep’s legs made it hard for him to ride a two-wheeler. A few minutes more and they had the bike strapped down and ready to go. Hep put the ramp back in place, and shut and locked the door with a padlock.

Hep locked up the house while Scroat got the truck started, and in a matter of minutes they were on their way to California.

#

Seven hours later, Scroat pulled the truck in and parked it in front of Ares’s house, just outside L.A. They could see his Ford Falcon station wagon, nicknamed the Battle Wagon, parked in the driveway.

Hep and Scroat got out of the truck and walked up the driveway towards Ares’s sidewalk and front door. Hep noticed a new bumper sticker on Ares’s car. It said “Evolve,” and the O was a peace sign.

“Man, he’s going to be pissed when he notices that on his car,” he said to Scroat. Scroat looked at the bumper sticker and laughed.

“Yeah. Evolve right into a bloody fucking mess.”

They walked up to Ares’s front door, and saw there was a note taped on to it. It read: Hey Guys, I’m already down at the park. Come on down. Love, Ares.

“Did you tell him we were coming?” Hep asked Scroat.

“Nope,” Scroat said.

A pair of tye-die wearing hippies came up the driveway. They saw Hep and Scroat, and looked at them warily. Hep could barely see their eyes. They were bloodshot and maybe half-open.

“Who are you guys?” the taller Hippie asked.

“Friends of Ares. Did you guys stick that bumper sticker on his car? He’s going to flip out when he sees that. You might not want to be around.”

The shorter hippie laughed a very stoned laugh, and said “Naw, man, he’s gonna love it. Loooooove it.”

“Um. OK. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you,“ Hep said. He looked over at Scroat.

Scroat’s expression was halfway between disbelief and utter joy and excitement. “Oh, these guys are fucked,” he said to Hep, under his breath.

“Hey is Ares here?” the taller hippie asked.

“I’d say not, seeing as you’re currently not in many little pieces,” Hep answered. The short hippie started giggling uncontrollably.

“What’s his deal?” Hep asked the taller hippie.

“He’s just happy to be alive, man,” the taller hippie said. “Hey, do you know where Ares is at?”

“Uh, this note says he’s at the park already,” Hep said.

“Far out,” the taller hippie said. The two of them turned to leave.

“Hey, where is this park?” Hep asked before they had walked too far.

“It’s just down the road, man,” the taller hippie said. “Come one down, if you want.”

The two hippies wandered off down the road.

Why would two hippies actively seek out Ares? That’s like snow seeking out a blast furnace. It’s like a bucket of chum calling up a great white shark and inviting it over for dinner. It’s like... well, it’s fucked up is what it is, Hep thought.

“Hep, why would hippies want to hang out with Ares? I mean, I expect there are certain doors that even Jehovah’s Witnesses will just walk past,” Scroat said.

“I don’t know. But I’m kind of interested to see. What do you say we follow those two to the park?”

“Well, I do always like watching Ares do his thing on a bunch of hippies.”

The two of them wandered down the street keeping a fair distance between themselves and the patchouli-stinking hippies. The neighborhood was a little run-down, but not bad. You wouldn’t expect to find a god of war living there.

The park was only a couple of blocks down the road. In the park were hippies... frolicking. Some were playing frisbee, others were playing with a hacky-sack in a circle, and another bunch appeared to be listening to music and twirling. There was a strong smell of burned leaves hanging in the air.

“OK! Any second we’re going to see something fucked up,” Scroat exclaimed.

There was no sign of a god of war clad in black leather anywhere in the park. Strange. Ares didn’t really go for subterfuge, he preferred to simply arrive and start the chaos.

Hep and Scroat walked in to the park, looking around for a clue to tell them that this was all an elaborate ruse of some sort. These weren’t real hippies. They were anti-hippies. The kind that would believe in a peace-keeping military force. The kind that believed in “police actions.”

Unfortunately, it appeared they were not. They were, for no logical reason, peace-loving hippies.

“Fuck,” Scroat said. “I don’t see Ares anywhere, and these hippies keep invading my personal bubble.”

“They’re trying to share the love, Scoat,” Hep said.

“They’re gonna give me the crabs if they get any closer, Hep,” Scroat said.

On they walked through small groups of hippies, keeping their eyes open in case a leather-clad, homicidal deity decided to spring out from behind a tree.

A hippie woman came up and hugged Scroat. “Welcome!” She said to him.

“Uh. Hi,” Scroat said, and walked away in a hurry.

“Don’t mind him. He’s afraid of girls,” Hep said to the woman, in order to explain. He followed Scroat. They passed a drum circle. A woman in a sarong was attempting to belly-dance in the middle of the circle.

“Man, I don’t think he’s here,” Scroat said. “And I don’t think we should be. These people give me the creeps.”

“Mellow out, Scroat. They’re just hippies. They can’t hurt you,” Hep said.

He turned to walk in another direction, and was blocked by a large, muscular hippie wearing a t-shirt with dancing bears on it and cargo shorts. He had dark, curly hair.

“Hep!” Ares exclaimed. “I’m so happy to see you!”

He embraced Hep, who nearly stumbled over backwards in surprise.

Scroat took a good look at Ares and said, “What the fuck, Ares?”

“And Scroat!“ Ares said. He moved to embrace Scroat, but Scroat took several giant steps backwards, nearly tripping over a blissed-out hippie laying on the ground and staring at the clouds.

“Look out, man,” the hippie said in a slightly reproachful tone, then went back to smiling up at the sky.

Ares looked at Scroat, disappointed, “I’m just happy to see you, Scroat.”

“Uh huh,” Scroat said. “Well, be happy to see me from over there. I don’t like people in my personal bubble.”

“OK, OK,” Ares said. He turned back to Hep. “What brings you to California, Hep?”

“We’re here to drop off your motorcycle. I’d heard you’d been down, and thought this might cheer you up.”

Ares looked surprised, then laughed. “Heard I was down? I’ve never been better Hep! Finally, everything in my life is love and light. It’s wonderful!”

Hep took a step backwards as discretely as he could. “Um. Yeah. So, would you like to see your new bike?”

“Yeah, but don’t you want me to introduce you to everyone first?”

All around him were dancing, stoned, diabolo-spinning freaks in ponchos and tie-dye.

“Um, no, that’s OK,” Hep said. “Let’s go check out your new bike.”

“Well, OK,” Ares said, doubtfully. He turned and bellowed to the park, “See ya later guys!”

Most of the people in the park turned and waved, or yelled back.

“Man, these guys are the best,” Ares said.

“Uh huh,” Scroat said slowly. “The very best. Let’s go.”

As they walked back, Ares leading the way, Scroat leaned over to Hep and whispered, “Something is very fucking wrong here. I think he might have gone off the deep end.”

“Excellent observation, Scroat,” Hep said.

They reached Ares’s home pretty quickly.

“Hey, is that your truck?” Ares said. “Far out, guys.”

“Uh, yeah. The bike is in there.” Hep said. He went around to the back of the truck and unlocked the padlock. Seconds later they had the back door open and the ramp down. Scroat climbed up into the truck and eased the bike backwards down the ramp, to where Hep and Ares were waiting.

Ares looked at it and said, “Aw, man, this is all wrong. It should be, like, purple or green. And where’s the fringe, man?”

Hep’s jaw nearly hit his chest. “What. Did. You. Say?”

“It’s not right, man. This is so not me anymore,” Ares said.

Hep’s left eye twitched a couple of times. He acted without thinking, and punched Ares just under the left eye. To Scroat’s supreme surprise, Ares staggered backwards, but didn’t not retaliate.

“What the hell did you do that for, you jerk?” Ares said. He sounded close to tears.

“I’m... sorry?” Hep said. He was just as surprised as Scroat that Ares had reacted in this way.

“That’s not me anymore, Hep. OK? So don’t treat me like that anymore,” Ares said. He poked gently at his left cheek, and said “Ow!”

“Uh, OK, Ares. No more of that. I’m, uh, sorry I hit you,” Hep said. If he previously had any doubt that Ares had lost his mind, he was now certain.

Ares looked at the bike again. “I guess it’s pretty cool. I can always spray paint it a better color and take the spikes off.”

Hep fought down an urge to punch Ares again. “That’s the spirit!” he said instead.

“Hey, do you guys want to come inside for some lemonade?” Ares said.

“You got any beer?” Scroat said.

“Nope.”

“Lemonade will do,” Hep said. He and Scroat followed Ares into his house.

There was a huge, tie-dyed tapestry with the OM symbol in the middle of it dominating the back wall in Ares’s living room. There were incense burners on every available horizontal surface. Instead of couches and chairs, there were bean bags and large pillows to sit on.

“I see you’ve done some redecorating,” Hep said.

“Yeah, do you like it? I think it really makes that room feel a lot more open and communal,” Ares called from the kitchen. A few minutes later he came into the living room with three glasses of lemonade.

“Thanks, Ares” Hep said, and took a glass. Scroat also took a glass from Ares.

“Yeah, thanks,” Scroat said.

The three of them sat down, as best as they could. Hep nearly fell over trying to sit on a thick round pillow covered with red velour and gold trim.

“So, Ares, uh, what brought on the change of heart?” Hep asked.

Ares took a drink of his lemonade and wiped his lips, “Well, the war thing just wasn’t working out for me anymore. I realized there had to be more to life that just killing everything and everyone that got in my way.”

“Heavy,” Hep said.

“Yeah, I’d been in a bad place, and these guys took me in and showed me the power of love, man. And it’s been great. We help out the less fortunate, and protest injustices and lately we’ve been raising funds for Tibet.”

“Tibet?” Hep asked.

“Yeah, man, we gotta free Tibet. They know all about peace and love, but the oppressive Chinese government won’t let them be independent. Oh, hey, I’ve got this great book you should read! I’ll be right back.” Ares got up from his bean bag chair and walked out of the room.

“Is this the same Tibet I’m thinking of?” Scroat whispered to Hep.

“I think so,” Hep said.

“Wow. He’s gone bugshit crazy.”

“Yes, yes he has,” Hep said.

“We don’t have to sleep here tonight, do we?” Scroat asked.

“Nope. We’re leaving as soon as I can get off this damn pillow,” Hep said.