LastCast: Conversations with Dead People

The Aqueduct – Audio The Aqueduct In the morning, as two of them and I hack through the bush with machetes, the other seven come behind with picks and shovels digging the aqueduct. The chaparral here is a common mix of Wild Lilac, Big Pod and Green Bark Ceanothus. It is slow going. First, the diggers hit an oak root which we have to cut through with an axe. Then we come into a patch of Snow Berry. The matted root structure of this colony is unusually dense. We go at it with fou r t alachos. I can sense they’re all thinking the same thing: we’d be moving a lot faster with Mateqai. By lunchtime, we’re all sweating, exhausted and hungry. We sit down in the shade of a grove of California Bay and red berry Toyon and drink water from Mission Creek—I from a tin cup, they from baskets ingeniously waterproofed with some mixture of pitch and asphalt. I stand just above the creek bed, near a leafless Sycamore and say: “Let us pray.” Reluctantly, they bow and I stumble through the Lord’s Prayer, using the only words of their language I know. I never understand why, though every one of them had been baptised and has it in their own language, half of them only pretend to mouth the words. “ Dios cascoco upalequen Alaipai quia-enicho opte; paquinini juch quique etchuet cataug itimi tiup caneche Alaipai. Ulamugo ila ulalisagua piquiyup guinsceaniup uqui amog canequi que quisagiu sucutanajun utiagmayiup oyup quie uti leg uleypo stequiyup i auteyup. Amen.” I sit down and we all begin to eat. They are unusually quiet today. None of the usual jokin g. No one calls Juan “ leqte,” meaning “woman.” But neither do they call him Juan. Ins tead, they call him M upi’ish. They aren’t using the baptismal names, not even to insult each other. Today, they use only the traditional names and they are spoken with quiet pride, tinged with hostility. It’s a small act of rebellion, I know. But I let it pass. It’s almost sile nt as we sit eating our p ozole of beef and corn and beans, which they flavor with fallen Bay leaves. Someone with less experience might have been frightened. The nine of them could easily overpower me. Two of them are armed with machetes. And the others have shovels and talachos. It crosses my mind that today, of all days, they would like to dispatch me right here in the place they called U tapiquitse and take off for Syuxtun. But they know—and I know they know—they’ll never make it. No matter whether they pass the Presidio or run the other way, someone will warn the garrison and they’ll have real soldiers after them. Then their punishment will be much worse Mateqai’s. They won’t be put in stocks and beaten. No. They’ll be put up against a wall and shot. Besides, Syuxtun is no longer S yuxtun. There’s no going back. They cannot find their people. Not in Saspili, Gelo?, Geliec or A lcajch. Ten years ago, just before I arrived, a typhoid epidemic was tearing through the villages. Many i ndios who did not succumb to that disease died of pneumonia. Five years ago, there was a diphtheria epidemic. God willing, I’ll go home when this aqueduct is completed later this year. In a few years, when I’m safe in Salamanca, I doubt there will be any Indian villages left. There will only be the Mission. Surely they know their malcontent today is futile? Their Chief Yanonali is now named Pedro. He was baptised before I arrived. Who do they think they are? On whose authority do they shun their baptismal names? True, they work more than they did before. And they sleep shut in behind an eight-and-a-half foot high wall surrounding the Mission. The wall Mateqai scaled—not once, but twice. Clearly, he had forgotten the light of the Holy Gospel. Had he also lost his mind? To climb the wall and escape to freedom—to cut and run… But to where? He must have asked himself. Maybe he is still asking himself. To where? To where? After a short rest, I stand up. “Let’s get to work,” I say. One-by-one, with slow resignation, they stand, pick up their tools and follow me back to the end of the aqueduct.

Summary: I discover some areas where Chatelain is very touchy. Key points: Dead people are just as sensitive and schizy as the living when it comes to sex. Links: Artwork:

Summary: Caddington isn’t available, so I talk to another dead servant named Chatelain. He lacks Caddington’s good manners and it’s all I can do to keep from shouting at him. But it turns out he does in fact have something to teach me. Key points: Sex vs the Business of Life Pleasure Principle vs Reality Principle Links: Artwork:

Summary: Caddington forces himself to use the word “sex” but can’t use the secrets he’s learning for three reasons: because he’s a manservant, because he’s a Victorian and because he’s dead. Key points: You can’t have sex when you’re dead. Links: Artwork:

Summary: Caddington begins the conversation by refusing to say the word “sex” but gains knowledge unknown to practically every other Victorian manservant: the Tiresian Secret. Key Points: Artwork: Links:

Summary: Caddington, our helpful (dead) manservant believes I’m mis-serving the audience and that I don’t care what the audience gets from my book, Sex 2.0; I rebut the poor dear fellow.

Summary: In this episode, you meet Caddington, a Victorian-era butler about a topic that makes him blush: the upcoming book launch for Sex 2.0.

Summary: This episode breaks the taboo of talking to myself after I’m dead–which had been strictly forbidden prior to this.

Summary: In this episode, we discuss erotica, particularly why it fails as an art form.  

Summary: In this episode, we compare and contrast and upcoming book I’m writing with thoughts from “the most dangerous man since Jesus Christ.”