This story is an excerpt from Long Division book III: Hamilton & John, a book project that I've been working on since 2016. This volume follows the story of Hamilton Winograd, who was introduced as a secondary character in book I.

It is 1938 and a 12-year-old Hamilton is taking a trip with his Uncle Mory. It is a trip that will set the course of the young elephant’s life when it ignites his love of Geology.

Co-created by Ruxx and with cover art by S00T, Long Division book III: Hamilton & John is available for purchase at LD-Books.com in both paperback and electronic form.

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The Canyon
July 1938


Hamilton was fighting hard to keep his tortured stomach under control. The bouncing of his uncle’s pickup truck over the rough gravel road had brought upon him a bout of carsickness the likes of which he’d never felt before in his life. Uncle Mory was sympathetic. He’d already pulled over to the side of the road twice while his 12-year-old nephew stood, hands-on-knees, ready to puke. Each time, the younger elephant was able to compose himself and, after a quick swallow of water, the pair resumed their journey.

Hamilton loved his mother’s adventurous younger brother and Mory Shoemaker was equally attached to his sister’s only child. Uncle Mory took the young pachyderm camping and fishing, and taught him how to fire a .22 caliber rifle. Mory was the outdoorsman that his brother-in-law, Hamilton’s father, would never be.

This summer, Mory had something special in mind. He didn’t share their destination, wanting to keep it a surprise. Yesterday morning, the two pachyderms loaded their camping gear into the back of the truck and departed.

“Hang on, Ham. We’re nearly there,” Mory said.

Hamilton didn’t dare open his mouth, which was rapidly filling with saliva that he didn’t want to swallow. The youngster just nodded his head and closed his eyes, praying that the bouncing would soon end.

At last the truck stopped. Hamilton immediately threw open the door and spit. He gasped in relief. The air here was cool and, except for a trace of dust kicked up by their tires, clean. He inhaled deeply, thankful for the solid ground under his feet.

It was already dark out. Uncle Mory wasted no time retrieving their gear from the bed of the truck and the two of them set up their tent by the light of the vehicle’s headlights and a slender crescent moon.

❖

Inside the tent, uncle and nephew unfolded their cots by the light of a small oil lantern.

“You’re looking a lot better. How do you feel?” asked Mory.

“I’m doing okay,” said Hamilton. He sat on his cot, rummaging through his duffel bag for his pajamas. He stuffed the bag under the cot, then stood to face away from his uncle as he undressed. “Can you tell me where we are now?”

“Arizona.”

“Aww, c’mon Uncle Mory! Where in Arizona?”

“You’ll see in the morning. I promise,” Mory replied.

Hamilton finished buttoning his pajama top and settled onto his cot with a sigh. “I guess,” he mumbled.

“Good night, then.” Mory reached over to extinguish the lamp.

“Good night.”

❖ ❖ ❖

The younger elephant woke to the unmistakable sound of the older male urinating on the ground some distance away from the tent. Hamilton felt an urgent need to go as well, but he waited until Uncle Mory came back inside.

“Good morning, Ham. Did you sleep okay?” asked Mory.

“Yeah. How about you?” Hamilton yawned.

“Like a log,” Mory said. He advised his nephew, “Put shoes on before you go out. Some of the stones are sharp.”

Hamilton slipped on his hiking boots without bothering to tie the laces. He opened the tent flap, stepped out into the morning light, and gasped in awe.

Before him lay a vista of red, brown, and orange rocks forming the walls of an enormous chasm. Bladder forgotten for the moment, Hamilton walked toward the lip of the canyon, less than 100 feet away, as if under a spell.

He felt as much as he heard the presence of his uncle stepping up behind him.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” asked Mory.

Hamilton stood speechless, transfixed on the sight in front of him.

“Welcome to the Grand Canyon!” said Mory.

❖

Last night, Mory had parked his truck facing away from the canyon. The blinding headlights obscured their location while the two of them set up camp. Now, the two elephants sat on the tailgate to admire the view while they ate their breakfast.

After cleaning and packing away their dishes, the pachyderms hiked along the edge of the canyon, heading upriver. Uncle Mory explained that the canyon was carved into the rock by the river running below. He said that the layers of rock made visible represented different eras in the formation of the land. A geologist, he said, could ‘read’ the rock layers and tell how this place came to be.

They reached an outcropping and the two stood on it together. With the rocks falling away in front of him and on both sides, Hamilton felt as if he was flying. He flung his arms wide and shouted his name at the rocks on the far side. A moment later, the rocks shouted his name back at him.

The young elephant looked down between his feet. A rock about the size of his palm lay there. The top of it was the color of rust. Hamilton picked it up and was about to toss it over the edge when he noticed that the opposite side was gray, almost black.

“Is it okay to take a rock home with me?” he said, looking up at his uncle.

Mory rubbed the top of his nephew’s head. “Sure,” he said gesturing at the ground around them. “I think they can spare one.”

“I’m going to be a geologist,” Hamilton declared, “and learn how to ‘read’ this.”

❖ ❖ ❖

Two days later, uncle and nephew struck their tent and packed their supplies into the bed of the pickup. Hamilton sat on his knees, looking out the rear window as they drove away from their camp site.

At the junction of the gravel road and the main highway, Mory pulled into a gas station to fill the old truck’s gas tank. There was a ramshackle souvenir shop here as well and the two males went in for a look around. In the far corner of the shop stood a low table. A wooden bucket filled with rocks of various colors sat in the center of the table. A sign affixed to the bucket read, “Rocks, Minerals and Precious Stones: 50 cents a bag.” Tiny canvas bags with leather drawstrings lay in small groups on the table.

“Can I have a bag?” Hamilton asked.

“Sure, why not?” replied his uncle.

Mory paid for the gas, the rocks, and two ice-cold bottles of Pepsi-Cola. They headed back out to the truck, Hamilton gripping his treasure tightly. The two males hopped back into the cab and Mory turned the ignition key. Before putting the truck in gear, he jerked a thumb toward the bag of rocks sitting on the seat between his nephew’s legs.

“It looks like you’re going to have a lot of ‘reading’ to do,” he smiled.