All Gods Battle Amazing George

Further down the trail, George started to make out gradual puffs of smoke floating from the tops of great white triangular structures. They looked like something he’d once seen in a movie: 2001, A Space Odyssey. Monoliths, he thought to himself. These monoliths, though, were white rather than black and seemed somewhat less otherworldly to George. Then, George heard flutes and drums, and a few hundred feet ahead, came to a grassy clearing with lawnmower marks running parallel beside a gurgling stream. In the center of the clearing, three large tepees had been erected. George saw a group of men and women dressed in traditional Native American regalia and a few were dancing while others stood around smiling broadly, talking and even singing in what George took to be their traditional language. As soon as George came upon them the festivities stopped. One of the Indians came over with what George could only interpret as a grimace. 
“Welcome, friend,” he said in a surprising tone of geniality. “I am Chief Benjamin Mountain. I must say that you seem a little ill-at-ease.” 
Benjamin Mountain was old enough to have deep wrinkles in his dark skin and his black hair streaked with gray. His clothing gave him a regal, wise appearance. His deep voice, with an unmistakable accent, put George in mind of someone from the movie Little Big Man, although George had once read that the Indians in that movie were actually all Italian or Jewish. “How is it that you happen by this way?” 
“I'm on a trip to visit my son in Texas,” he replied. “Want to see the land this time of year.” 
“You have chosen well,” Chief Mountain said. “We have a similar goal and, like everyone, use nature as a window into our place in the universe. It is time that we do that in our final days.” 
“Final days?” George asked, scratching his head. “Those tepees...they authentic?” 
Benjamin Mountain smiled. “As real and authentic as anything else these days.” 
Most of the other folks had come and gathered nearby to join the conversation. 
“Make ‘em yourselves?” 
“Rented from a party store in Green Bay,” he said. The others laughed. “The store brings them in and sets them up. Pretty cheap, actually, and we’re all so busy that we don’t have time to hassle with building them ourselves. We come out here most years in good weather for a week of honoring our ancestral past and traditions…and to party.” He smiled at someone behind George. 
“You said something about final days.” 
“Does that interest you?” 
“I like to know what others think.” 
Benjamin Mountain smiled widely. “Sit and we will talk awhile.” 
George scanned the camp, and caught himself licking his lips. “I see you’ve got some barbeque going.” 
“Sure. You hungry?” 
“Sure enough,” he smiled and walked his bike off the trail and into the campsite. “I'm tuckered after less than five miles at my age. So, you Indians grow your own maze and make those roll-ups from scratch and harvest meat from a deer herd like the old days?” 
Chief Mountain laughed. “You’ve watched too many movies, my friend.” 
“This is not our reservation ground,” one of the other Indians replied. “Many beliefs have been compromised by progress. You still piss in a hole and carry a musket?” 
A woman chimed in, “We get the organic maze from Whole Foods in Milwaukee. Same goes for the meat...” 
A single drum was beating a rhythm to which a beautifully dressed male dancer was moving. George felt his feet tapping cautiously to the beat of the drum. 
“That’s Stuart,” Chief Mountain said. “He’s what you probably call a medicine man. Some members of our tribe who have become physicians in Western medicine object to the name, though. They think the term is demeaning.” 
The dancer stopped, but the drum did not. The dancer jerked his head in terror at George, who became uneasy. 
“You have a black and hazy cloud,” the Medicine Man announced. 
Benjamin put his hand on George’s shoulder and patted reassuringly. “Come join our noon meal.” He motioned toward two well-laden folding tables set up underneath an enormous tent with insect netting covering the eating area, none of which George had noticed at first, and he was beginning to wonder if he was imagining this entire scene, the combined effect of bicycle exhaustion and his increasingly sedentary nomadic lifestyle, walking less and riding the bus more in his advancing age. 
George enjoyed the meal and comradeship of his hosts, especially the chilled mug of draft beer which tasted familiar to him somehow and evoked strange feelings. 
“I envisioned you during the night, George.” A deep, solemn voice caught George by surprise when the Medicine Man sat next to him. 
“What? The explains it. Didn’t sleep so well myself. Must have been dream-walking.” 
“Our ancestors send us visions to guide us. You were meant to be here.” 
Everyone looked very interested in what this elder was saying. 
“I’m just plain old me,” George said, shrugging. “Simple as they come.” 
“Aren’t we all,” was the matter-of-fact reply. “But you are connected to powerful forces and speak to the stars.” 
“You talking about my cell?” George pulled the new phone from his hip and held it up for all to see. 
“That the new iPhone 4?” Benjamin Mountain said. 
The medicine man continued, his eyes rolling back momentarily the way some people had said George would do from time to time. “In the old days we got and gave messages by fire and smoke. That was normal. Electronic messages today are the new smoke signals. Some get these messages and some do not.” 
“Bad coverage,” someone said and everyone laughed. 
“A budget carrier,” someone else said. 
“The messages are still part of the existence of all peoples. You know this?” 
“I think I get what you’re saying,” George said. 
“You do not!” the medicine man shouted. “Some receive good messages. Advice. Some get bad messages. All messages come and help or not. Some tell evil and harm. How do you respond?” 
“Not sure,” George said, looking around, feeling a bit more nervous and wishing he could at least claim to have some Indian blood in him, although he didn’t really know one way or another if that was the case. 
“How do you see me thinking?” 
“In a pretty dang deep way,” George said. 
“You are a dreamer! I have seen it. I have seen and read your face in the stars and I know you to be a communicator with the co