by Doug Walker
CHAPTER THIRTY
“You!” Kellerman shouted when he was led from his cell. “How dare you do this to me. Dr. Shaft will not want you back after this. You’ll inhabit a jail cell for your crimes. And you too, Jesus! I suppose the authorities have come to their senses.”
“Yes,” Don Pedro said. “They are turning you over to us. Keep quiet and cooperate, or I’ll have Jesus knock you in the head.”
Kellerman glanced at Jesus, then back at Don Pedro, and calmed down, being content with a hate stare for both of them.
Outside they found a cab that dropped them off a few hundred yards from the Botella estate. The three of them sat on a bench and Don Pedro explained the situation to Kellerman, who at first refused to believe it.
“Come, come now, man. You’ve just spent the night in an early Spanish whorehouse. You’ve been thrown in a decrepit Spanish cell. Have you seen any electric lights, flush toilets, airplanes, cars, anything modern?”
“Maybe it’s a movie set.”
“A real huge one. We’ve just had a very long horse-drawn cab ride. You see, Jesus and I and the others are really members of the Spanish military. We actually sailed with the Armada and almost lost our lives in Ireland where we picked up Courtney and Lord Percy. Percy is in truth an English lord and Courtney a major in the Queen’s service. That’s why our little show was so well received. It is authentic despite your ravings to Dr. Shaft.”
“OK. OK.” Kellerman appeared pale. “I believe everything. You’ve convinced me. I’ll tell Shaft. You’ll be exonerated.”
“Come off it, Kellerman. No one believes in time travel. If you would try, and I think you’re too smart for that, Shaft would think you were nuts. You know that.”
“OK, then I’ll keep quiet. You can have the department chair. I promise.”
“Cross your heart?”
“Yes, yes. Cross my heart.” He made a frantic gesture toward his chest. “And honor bright. Spit in the ocean.”
“You know, I can’t believe you, Kellerman. You’re such a stupid liar. Shaft must be as dumb as you are to be taken in.”
“Well, what’s to become of me? You can’t just leave me here.”
“And we won’t. You’ll be taken care of.”
Kellerman looked from one to the other and repeated the words, “Taken care of? Like what does that mean?”
“I mean we have a job lined up for you in a rustic vineyard. You’ll have a good life with the peasants, healthy outdoor work. And you can teach a few of them English. They trade with the English. Sell wine.”
“You mean you’d strand me in 16th Century Spain? That’s a life sentence.”
“Make the most of it. Make friends. Find a wife. You might even cultivate the English buyers and get to London someday.”
“Also in the 16th Century?”
“Of course. You can’t escape that. We all live in our times.”
“And you and Jesus will live in this time?” He was suspicious.
“No. No. We’ll return to Chapel Hill. Remember, I have a son there. And Frenesi and Doria are waiting our return.”
“My car. What did you say about my car? I was drunk, but you said something.”
“They’ll find it parked at that gay bar near the campus, the keys on the floor. I thought it best not to leave it by my condo.”
“That’s why you wanted the keys, isn’t it? You planned this whole thing. I could kill you.”
“No, you can’t kill me, Kellerman. That’s a no-no. I could kill you, but I won’t. A good, long peasant life is best for you. Remember this: You get me once, I get you twice.”
Kellerman studied his hands. “I don’t believe in time travel. How could people still be alive in the 16th Century? This is insane. This is trickery.”
“We are all shadows, Ed. Life is a dream, ambition is a dream within a dream. There is much we don’t understand. Now it’s time to go up to the villa and deliver you to your handlers who will take you to the vineyard. They will have your interest at heart. But if you are rough with them, they will be rough with you. That you will spend the remainder of your days in the 16th Century is a melancholy truth. Make the best of it.”
Kellerman let out a primal scream and Jesus batted him down. Both men helped him up and the three of them walked to the villa.
Guy remained with Kellerman while Jesus went ahead to tell Doña María they had the villain in hand. Soon a pair of men appeared with Jesus and said they would lock the prisoner up in a shed for the night and he would be taken to the vineyard next day. Kellerman said nothing as he was led away.
When Guy and Jesus started for the villa they were met by Doña María a few steps from the door. “My family is ecstatic to see me. The servants actually shed tears of joy. Here, I am like royalty. In America I am one of a herd of sheep.” She gripped Guy’s arm. “Don Pedro, we must stay here.”
Her words came like a thunderclap or a lightning strike from a clear sky. “But our child, darling. What of him?”
“He will grow up as an American. His has a good bloodline. I have no fears for him. And you, Don Pedro, are a captain of the King, a hero of the Armada, you managed to return your troops in safety while placing yourself in grim peril. You are destined to become a grandee.”
“I’m a professor of Spanish history, my darling. And I will return to America. You are my wife and must accompany me.”
“That marriage, that shadow of the true church. It was nothing. But your future is here. We will marry in style and have more children. Maybe four. Then you will preside over a grand household.” She kissed his cheek and hugged him.
“You know I love you, darling. But you ask too much. How could you respect me if I gave up my life to become a sort of gigolo husband.”
“Nonsense. You have killed men in duels, you have battled the English. You have outsmarted your enemies. You are the grandest man alive.” She plead with her dark, now tear-stained eyes.
“What have you told your family?” He needed time to think.
“That I was with the Armada as a cadet. That a brave captain was my leader and that he would be along shortly to meet them all.” She glanced at the villa behind her to see if anyone was watching. Thinking they might be, she straightened and loosened her grip on Guy. She was not to be taken for a spineless clinging vine.
“All right. Let us not discuss this further at this moment. I hold to my position and you may hold to yours. But introduce me as your captain and Jesus as your sergeant. We will celebrate this occasion with your family and servants as good friends.”
She cocked her head and took a good look at him. Doña María was used to getting her own way, even with Guy. “That will do for now. If I could hold you here by force, I would do so.”
“I know that, Doña María. We have been through much together and you have measured up with the best of my troops.”
“I am not a man, Don Pedro. My heart is a woman’s and I have a woman’s pride. But come, we will enter the villa. But remember this, everyone in Spain knows who they are and knows their place. We do not have ozone depletion, killer bees, nuclear war, mind altering chemicals, other than alcohol, elevators, cell phones, computers, stress.”
Guy smiled. “No electricity, plus the joys of the Inquisition. It’s a give-and-take world.”
“I could make a list,” Doña María said. “I could write a book. But parting would not be sweet sorrow. It would tear my heart.”
Guy and Jesus were each given a room where they rested until late night. Then the feasting and toasting began in earnest. Such elegance, such display of disposable wealth, such abundance of servants, Guy had never seen. To think he had been given an open invitation to this lifestyle. And Doña María, both the intellectual and physical attraction was almost overwhelming. Yet his duty was also to Roberto, Doria and Frenesi back in Chapel Hill. And what of Jesus? He must recover the gold and return to Chapel Hill.
When he and Doña María were wed, he had promised the priest that any offspring would be
brought up in the faith, and he had agreed to attend mass as much as any Catholic father would. It had been a halfhearted agreement, but on this night he slipped away from the party and sought out the Botella’s private chapel and prayed for guidance.
Then he lit candles for himself, Doña María, Jesus, Doria, Frenesi, Mary McKay, the two Brits and finally Ed Kellerman. He wondered if he had done right by Kellerman, now locked in a rude shed at the back of the villa.
Finally, he returned to the party and was immediately confronted by his bride who demanded to know where he had been.
“Praying. Praying for guidance in the chapel.”
“I am touched, Don Pedro.”
“You mean a lot to me, Doña María. More than you know, more than I thought, now that I might lose you.”
“Then stay, Don Pedro.”
“It’s the money, the great wealth. It’s embarrassing. A Spanish captain is not much. It would seem that I was marrying you for the vast estate. That’s what some would think.”
“I’ve seen America. We’ve traveled with our little show. I understand English. I’ve watched hours of television, some of it quite stupid, some not. I see how people care for one another, how the rich help the poor.”
“I’m certain that is true to an extent in Spain at this time.”
“In the countryside, perhaps. But not always. In the city it’s dog-eat-dog and denounce your neighbor to the Inquisition if you are angry. But, consider this. Think of the good you could do, that we could do using only a fraction of our money to help the poor. We could finance schools, grant scholarships, lobby the government for types of welfare. You and I, Don Pedro, we could be agents for change.”
“You’ve given me much to think about, Doña María. I shall drink my last measure and retire to my solitary, silent room for the night.”
She smiled slyly. “You won’t be alone for long, my darling. Or should I say lamb chop?”
“Heavenly flan. The night wears thin. Time for dessert.”
After a final drink and dance, he retrieved Poncho, who had been in the arms of Jesus, and went to his room. He explained what had happened to the pooch and asked him whether he would like to spend the remainder of his dog years in the 16th Century. The dog blinked once.
Guy wondered if he had been swayed by the opulence, great food and the multitudes fawning over him. “If I were a hermit on a mountaintop, what would you say, you little savage?” Poncho growled. “I’ll take that for what it’s worth.”
“If we did stay, you might have spent time in some of your past lives before they happened. It’s curious. Would you have to do them again? And is everyone reincarnated, or just an unlucky few?”
Poncho growled again and Guy dropped the topic.
By candlelight, Guy examined the room. He became aware that he was in a grand bedchamber, doubtless reserved for honored guests. A large oil painting near the door startled him. He expected depictions of the crucifixion, the Last Supper, or at least Madonna and Child in 16th Century Spain. But here was something one might equate with modern art, a ruined coach. The wheels lay flat on rough soil, deteriorating parts flung here and there. It was the case of a useful worldly item reborn as art. He held Poncho so the small dog could take in the painting. “What do you think of that reincarnation?” he asked the pooch.
Poncho wagged his tail and his body. He was not without a taste for art. In a previous life in ancient China, not so very long ago considering the present situation, he had been known as Qiu Ying and had grown wealthy (before his tragic demise) specializing in garden art. One of his most famous was a large scroll depicting young immortals picking peaches in the gardens of Xi Wang Mu. These peaches were said to ripen only once every three thousand years.
How he would like to tell Guy about that era, and the blue-and-green fantasy style he originated. But Guy simply put the little fellow on the floor, disrobed and blew the candle out.
It wasn’t long until Doña María slipped through the door, quiet as a shadow. Poncho took his normal position under the bed and would stay there until he heard steady breathing and maybe a slight snore. Then he would bundle under the covers between the pair.
