Gone Feral: Tracking My Dad Through the Wild by Novella Carpenter

Author:Novella Carpenter [Carpenter, Novella]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-06-12T00:00:00+00:00

My parents at the infamous A-frame in Crescent, Oregon. Mom five months pregnant, 1971.

Eight

We were on the road, headed East from Orofino, to visit friends and go to Bill’s family reunion. As we drove, my ovary erupted, releasing an egg, increasing my mucous levels, spiking my internal body temperature. After a year of trying, I had started observing and charting such data. I alerted Bill. We were somewhere in eastern Montana. We turned off the main road, sped across a dirt track, past newly cut alfalfa fields, past a sign that read WATCH OUT FOR BUGGIES. The hills were sprinkled with trees and pink-striped outcroppings.

After seeing my dad, I wasn’t so sure I should be reproducing. He seemed to have some mental issues that could be inheritable. As Bill and I drove, ominous warning signs—literal signs—started to crop up. First, an official, brown governmental-looking road sign that read CHIEF DULL KNIFE COLLEGE. That had to be a joke. Then we passed another sign: CRAZY HEAD LAKE, with an arrow. My dad was certainly crazy, I thought. Why am I rolling the dice?

Before long we found a private, slow-moving river. It was called, oddly, The Tongue. After a picnic bankside, we settled into the soft sand at the water’s edge. Compared to the Clearwater, this river just didn’t seem right. It was murky and slow moving. We stripped off our clothes and tried to make a baby. A frog hopped by us. As we were wrapping up, a storm started brewing. Rain drops pelted our naked bodies. The sky got dark and mosquitoes closed in on us. We threw on our clothes and made a dash for the car.

Then the storm really unleashed. Lightning struck the fields right near our car, and we heard the thunder follow immediately. Huge raindrops hit our windshield. The sky turned a strange blue color.

“Do you think we made the gods angry?” I asked Bill as he started the car and pulled away from the river.

He laughed his little cough-laugh. Up ahead on the dirt road, we saw a black horse pulling a black carriage. It looked demonic. A black tarp whipped fiercely over the roof of the buggy. Another bolt of lightning struck a nearby field, lighting up the dark sky.

“Should I honk?” Bill asked, always the smart ass, while we passed the horse-drawn buggy. The horse was a deep chestnut color and wore blinders. Its mane was damp with rain.

“It’s kind of evil looking,” I said, and turned to see what was inside the tarp-enshrouded buggy. Seated behind the horse was a deathly thin, pale-faced woman clutching the reins with skeletal hands. She looked like the female version of the grim reaper. Her eyes met mine and she scowled. I gasped and looked back at the road, filled with dread: we were going to have a demon baby.

• • •

Bill and I arrived back to Oakland in September, dirty and exhausted. We had been on the road for over three weeks. I opened the front door and schlepped the valuables upstairs to our apartment.

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