Stormer’s Pass: Aidos Trilogy: Book 1

by Benjamin Laskin

  Max squatted and read the titles and authors of some of the books: Bhagavad Gita, Upanishads, Dhammapada, The Tao Te Ching; Marcus Aurelius, Emerson, Thoreau, Spinoza, Nietzsche; The Republic, The Bible, The Enchiridion, and a number of other books Max had never heard of, and with names or titles he could not pronounce, and that made him feel shamefully ignorant. He stood back up, heaved a sigh, and then out of the corner of his eye he saw Steve through the window doing clumsy cartwheels in the sun. Max looked on and laughed. His big friend reminded him of a circus bear.

  He paused at the doorway on his way out of the room, and then turned and stared at the bed in consideration. He strolled back to the bed and pulled the feather from his hair. He placed it within the depression that the girl’s head had left in the pillow. His hand hovered in hesitation above the feather, and then he scampered out of the room and down the staircase.

  Max slammed the cabin door behind him purposefully hard. As he expected, he saw Steve come strolling from around the side of the house. Leaves and grass and pine needles covered the back of his shirt. Max smiled.

  It was dusk when the boys returned home from their adventure. Max’s twin sisters tackled him at the door, one little girl per leg. His mother looked on from the kitchen, a steaming plate of food in her hand. She sighed. Steve was greeted by his mother who was dressed to go out. A dried streak of mascara on her cheek told him that she had been crying. From a back room he heard his father’s terse and self-explanatory shout, “One month, pal!”

  Both boys knew in a way that bypassed formal words that their day had been sanctified. They offered neither an excuse nor an apology. They put on no airs; said nothing. Max dropped to his knees and tussled on the rug with his sisters. Steve licked his thumb, wiped the mascara from his mother’s cheek, and walked silently and resolvedly to his room.

  Part II

  There are periods when to dare is the highest wisdom.

  —William Ellery Channing

  22

  Fan Mail

  In all her fifteen years, Aidos had received only five letters. So when her father came into the house announcing, “Special delivery for Ms. Aidos,” waving two letters in one hand and a long cardboard tube in the other, she felt nearly famous.

  Aidos was sitting at her desk when her fan mail arrived, reading Candide in the original French, loaned to her by Ms. Winters. She had been in a state of deep concentration for the past two hours, lost in some El Dorado of the mind. She looked up, rubbed her eyes, and stretched her arms. “For me?”

  “How many other Aidoses do you know?”

  “None!”

  Hardy set the mail on the desk in front of her and went into the kitchen to make some tea.

  She recognized one of the letters as that of her aunt and uncle’s, so she opened that one first. It was from Ed:

  Dear Aidos,

  I promised I would write to you, and being a man of my word, here it is—a letter, or at least an attempt at one.

  First of all, I want to tell you how much Nancy and I enjoyed our visit with you, and how much we appreciated your hospitality.

  Nancy and I are fine, though I’ve put on a few pounds. I need to lay off the rich foods at lunch, though it’s hard to turn down a good lobster, especially when your company picks up the check. Nancy just closed a big new account, and because of it she has received another fat raise. I’m quite proud of her.

  I’m not doing badly myself, and so we’re thinking of buying a sailboat. There’s a real beauty that I’ve had my eye on for some time now. You’ve never been to the ocean, have you? I just know you’d love it. It’s no use pretending, so I’ll just spit it out—Nancy and I would be thrilled if you’d come stay with us this summer, even if it were just for a week. Besides, we need a good name for the boat and you’re just the person to christen it. What do you say, Captain?

  I assume you got the parcel I sent along. I saw it the other day and thought of you. Maybe you’d like to put it on your bedroom wall. I know how you are always thinking big thoughts, so I thought a map of the world—the big wide world—might help keep those horizons of yours open.

  I know you’re a busy girl, but if you can find the time we would love to hear from you. And please consider our offer. I promise you a wonderful time.

  Give our best to your father, and a scratch on the tummy to Beowulf.

  Love, Ed & Nancy

  PS: Tell your father that Nancy may have found a publisher for his book. She has a friend high up at a major publishing company who said she would be happy to take a look at it. It can’t hurt, so persuade that stubborn father of yours to send us the manuscript and we’ll see what happens.

  Aidos put down the letter and opened one of the ends of the tube. She slid out a Mercator’s map printed on fine leather parchment, which lent it an old world, nautical sensibility. She sniffed at the leather, ran her fingers across its smooth front, and rubbed the suede backing across her cheek. She opened the map wide like a newspaper and showed it to her father who had just sat down at his desk across from her.

  “Look what Ed sent me. Nice, isn’t it?”

  “Beautiful. Must have cost a small fortune.”

  “How much is a small fortune?” Aidos asked.

  “To them—nothing.”

  “Ed says he’s buying a sailboat. They want me to name it.”

  Hardy smirked. “How does the Titanic sound?”

  “He wants me to come sailing with him and Nancy for a week this summer. That would be fun, don’t you think?”

  “Sailing? Certainly. With Ed? I’d be seasick before I even got on the boat. I’d rather be stuck with Ahab himself for a year than Ed for one week.”

  Aidos chuckled, picturing the certain mutiny. “Well,” she said merrily, “he didn’t invite you. He invited me. He said I could be captain.”

  “That salty dog. What else did he say?”

  “He said that he may have found a publisher for your book.”

  He glanced at the manuscript stacked on his desk. “Oh, really?”

  Aidos read her father the postscript. “You’re not pleased?”

  Her father smirked and said, “Aidos, honey, you know I wouldn’t forbid you from visiting Ed and Nancy if that’s what you want, don’t you?”

  “I know.”

  “Well, they don’t. They think I’m an ogre who is keeping you stashed away against your will. And the only way to free you is by luring me away.”

  Aidos frowned. “You make it sound so sinister. Ed and Nancy aren’t bad. They just don’t understand us, that’s all.”

  “No, not bad. Cunning, yes. And you’re right, they don’t understand us, and they never will. Ed and Nancy only see themselves as acting in our own best interests. Getting me published and you to stay with them seems perfectly fair and reasonable to them.”

  Hardy saw the disconcerted look on his daughter’s face and it alarmed him. Until now, distrust was not something she ever needed to learn. He didn’t want it to be this way, but he felt he owed her an explanation.

  “Do you want to know the ugly truth?” he asked.

  “Of course, I do.”

  “They believe that if you come to visit for even a week that they can sell you—persuade you—to stay with them for good. Every salesman knows that the first step is to get his foot in the door. They are also hoping that by having this joker read my novel, I will have a foot in a door of my own, and so be more willing to look the other way.”

  “But that’s crazy. They must know that I would never leave you. And besides, why would they want so badly for me to live with them?”

  “Because they adore you. Because they believe you can be happier than you are. Because they know that you are capable of great things, and feel that only they can help you to achieve them. Because they believe you deserve better than what I can give you.”

  “This is all very strange, Dad.”

  “I know it is, and I’m sorry.”

  Aidos thought back to her conversat
ions with her aunt. What her father said rang true. But why so much fussing about her future happiness? Never concerned with the state of her happiness, she was the happiest of children. Aidos believed that happiness was vitality put to meaningful use. Life was infinitely interesting and she had plenty of energy, so she had never been concerned with happiness.

  For Hardy Thoreson this new development meant that he should not wait much longer, that soon, before the end of the summer, he must put his plan into action. What he did not know, however, was that during their last camping trip Aidos had already discerned his scheme. Her bright mind and gifted soul had become increasingly adept at piercing through the surface of things, illuminating what lay beneath. And more and more she was learning to trust them.

  “Do you want to visit them?” her father asked.

  “Sure, but I’m in no hurry.”

  “It’s not on account of me, is it?”

  “Of course, it is.”

  “But, honey, I told you if you want to visit them you can. Really, I don’t care. Okay,” he admitted with a grin, “a little bit. But really, if you would like to go…”

  Aidos got up from her chair and walked over to her father. She gave him a big hug.

  “Come on, Dad. That’s not what I meant. I just like being with you, that’s all. What’s more fun than hanging out with you?”

  Just then there were two loud yaps at the back door. They turned to each other and said at the same time, “Hanging with Beowulf!” They laughed.

  “I’m going to have some more tea,” Hardy said, getting up. “You want some?”

  “No, thanks.” Aidos strolled back to her desk and picked up the unopened letter. “So, I take it you’re not going to have Nancy’s friend read your novel.”

  “You know I’m too proud to do that,” he answered from the kitchen. “The last thing I’d ever want is to owe either of them my gratitude.” He stuck his head back into the den, an expression of mock horror on his face.

  “I figured,” she chuckled. Aidos walked to the coat stand and nabbed what was closest, which happened to be her father’s tan, lightweight jacket, and put it on. It hung loose and long, the sleeves enveloping half of the still unopened letter she held in her hand.

  Beowulf barked again.

  “He knows you’re getting ready to go out, doesn’t he?” Hardy said, forever amazed at their intimacy.

  “Oh sure,” she said. “Me and Beowulf, we’re like this—” She held up crossed fingers. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  “Who’s the other letter from?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t say, but I think it’s from a boy.”

  “A boy?”

  But Aidos was already out the door and loping across the meadow, an excited Beowulf gamboling circles around her.

  23

  Oh Captain, My Captain

  Aidos sat on her mountain top lookout at Delphi Cliff. Above, an armada of billowy, smoke-tinged clouds wafted across the late-afternoon sky, blocking the sun at intervals, and casting huge shadows over the valley below. Her legs tucked up in front of her, she pinned her letter on her knees to keep it from flapping in the wind and flying off. Beowulf, warm and cozy, snoozed beneath her legs.

  Dear Aidos,

  Surprise.

  It’s me, Max. Remember? I’m the guy who helped you carry Ms. Winters to your aunt’s car, the guy who almost shut the door on your fingers.

  Maybe you’re wondering why I’m writing to you. See, I’m sitting in my third hour class, English, with this bozo of a teacher, Mr. Bannister, and as usual, I’m bored. I got to daydreaming and one thing led to another, until it all finally led to you. I’m pretending that I’m taking notes, but Bannister is suspicious because he knows I never take notes. He’s talking about dangling participles.

  I’ve only talked to you a couple of times, but I would never have guessed you didn’t go to school. You seem very intelligent. You must read a lot. I never used to read much, but I am now. I just returned three books to the library and checked out a bunch more this morning. Ms. Winters was very helpful.

  Since you’ve never sat in a classroom I’ll tell you what it’s like. The room is similar to a prison cell, except there are no bars on the windows. Everyone has an assigned seat like on an airplane. This is so the teacher can take roll easier, and so that some of us can’t sit together because we would surely end up talking and horsing around and disturbing the rest of the class.

  I sit by the back window in the last row. I have a nice view of the playing field and mountains. I can see your tree from here. The good students sit in the front row. Randy and Cheeks sit up there. Alex and Jake are in my class too. They are even worse students than I am. Alex sits in the row ahead of me and two seats over. He’s sleeping. Jake sits in my row, but on the other side of the room. No window for him.

  Jake is a hard one to figure out, though I’ve known him forever. He’s one of those tough, stringy kind of guys who would never cry out uncle in a fight no matter what. He’d rather his arm break first or go unconscious. I’ve seen both happen. A lot of people think he’s totally crazy, but he isn’t. He has a little trouble getting along with people sometimes, but he loves animals. He goes around at night at leaves food out for the stray dogs and cats. I remember once we were walking through town and he saw a shopkeeper—a big, burly guy about three times Jake’s size—kick this half-starved mongrel dog in the ribs because he was sniffing around the man’s trash cans. Well, the dog let out this terrible whimper, and before I knew it, Jake was on the man like a wolverine. He tackled the shopkeeper to the ground and began choking him with all his might yelling, “Defenseless, defenseless!” He might have killed him if I hadn’t peeled him away. It’s hard to make excuses for a guy who goes berserk like that.

  Steve sits directly two seats ahead of me. He has to sit at the end of the row because he’s so big. He’s been grounded for the past three weeks. It was my fault because I talked him into ditching school for a day. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. Steve fancies himself a poet these days, and so after school he goes straight home and locks himself in his room and does nothing but read and write poetry.

  Uh-oh. Principal Kohl just walked in. Mr. Bannister was sitting on his desk telling another stupid story and bolted to his feet. Kohl is standing by the door with his arms crossed, watching. He hates me. If I weren’t the captain of the football team he’d have gotten rid of me a long time ago. Sometimes I think he’s studying me.

  The whole class is laughing now because Kohl just walked over to Alex’s desk and tapped him on the shoulder with his finger. Alex brushed away his hand and mumbled, “Cut it out, Mom.” Everyone cracked up. When he lifted his head there was a big string of spit from his arm to his mouth and some of the girls screamed, “Oh, gross!” Everyone else just laughed harder. Poor Alex, he’s really embarrassed.

  Well, class is over. Got to go. It was nice talking to you.

  Your Friend, Max

  Aidos reread the letter and chuckled again. It was easy for her to picture the classroom because she felt she already knew all of the kids from years of watching them.

  Perched high upon her cliff, among the free blowing wind and the soaring clouds, Aidos contemplated all the people she knew. She lay back on the ground and gazed up at the sky…

  The mountain beneath her became a huge boat, and the cliff which jetted out over the sea of waving vegetation below was the bow of the boat, and she was her captain. All her friends climbed aboard. She felt the mountain unmoor and pull away. Her vessel had a million living sails; giant, leafy green sails that caught the wind that swept across her earthen deck. The ship picked up speed. It swept across prairies and deserts, sliced through rain forests and glaciers, and plowed furrows into countries and continents. In its wake it left freshly tilled earth and the sweet scents of pine and juniper. At last, it was time to return to port. With expert seamanship, Aidos slid her mountain ark back into its rocky-walled harbor, anchored, and disembarked.
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br />   Aidos rose and beheld the stretching hills and valleys below. Standing tall and queenly, she surveyed her kingdom with all her senses. The late afternoon sun cast her shadow so gigantic, that with the tips of her fingers she could stroke and caress the little town nestled below. She picked it up in the palm of her hand and held it until the sun dipped behind the treetops at her back. Then she went home because she was hungry and it was her turn to make dinner.

  24

  Barbarians at the Gate

  Not far from Camelot, the rest of the world flipped over its calendars and braced itself for another very busy month, as its agenda was always enormous.

  Virginia Winters continued to drop by the Thoreson’s on a regular basis, often bringing books and groceries, which saved them the inconvenience of driving into town. Over the years she came to prefer the Thoreson’s company to that of her fellow townspeople. Her absence at town meetings and various club gatherings, however, made her conspicuous among her acquaintances.

  And just like the childhood bully who would kick your dog to show what he thought of you, the town took out its indignation on the old woman by cutting its funding for her already starving library by a significant amount. It did not matter to enough townsfolk that it was the only decent library for a hundred miles, and the only intellectual refuge in town. What was a library to a growing town that needed not books, but tourists, and rooms for tourists, and better roads for tourists, and more shops where tourists could spend their money? Her small stipend, donations from a few staunch supporters, and an almost weekly bake sale or car wash or lemonade stand was all that stood between her precious library and a fire sale.