Savior

by Caplan, Anthony

  There's something wild in the air here, she said.

  I know.

  Can you feel it? I could feel it in the limo, just going under those underpasses along the highway. So overgrown and lush and wild.

  Yeah. It's different all right. And Alaska's going to be even better.

  I wonder if we shouldn't have just stayed here and explored on our own. Eight days. Will that be too much?

  Oh, no. It'll be perfect. There's music and a jogging track on deck, and karaoke.

  I'm not a jogger.

  It will be nice, Mary. You'll see.

  He pulled her closer to him and kissed her. Her kiss back was strong, passionate, but he felt that he would crush her with the intensity of his feeling.

  Mary. Are you sure you're okay?

  I'm fine, Al, she said, with a hint of exasperation.

  They made love, not for the first time, and it had a hint of savagery in it, of inexplicable forces beyond their control.

  The next morning they boarded the cruise ship, took a cabin on deck with a balcony, and settled in by walking down to the shopping gallery and inspecting the gift shop. The ship was very luxurious and stable, with almost no feel or sound from the water below. There were hundreds of people on board, and Mary felt overwhelmed. They retreated to the cabin and unpacked. Al was very excited and couldn't stay inside the cabin very long.

  You go and have a walk.

  He went to the deck and watched the land slip away. Now he was a married man and it was like his youth lay behind him and the mystery of the future was like this, a boat, a large comfortable boat. It was a good life, and many of the conversations he overheard on the deck reflected the sense that the people onboard felt graced somehow with the good fortune of sharing this very day. Al wished Mary felt better, but part of the mystery of this new life was learning how to match each other's rhythms and habits. He felt sure she would enjoy herself soon. When it became evident that she would spend most of the cruise inside the cabin, the realization dawned on him that there were shades of blessedness and his was perhaps not the most vivid of all possible colorations.

  But she felt better by the sixth day. At Skagway they both hiked with the more intrepid voyagers up the trail taken by the Gold Rush miners. Then they sat in the Gold Rush cemetery on a cold stone bench and Mary, flush in the face after the hike, told Al about a dream she'd had.

  I was traveling in a boat, sailing north. The boat was being rowed. There was a castle the men were trying to get to before the ice froze. There was no way back because the ice was freezing behind us for some odd reason.

  It was a dream, Mary. Just a dream.

  But the strangest thing was the flying fish. They were trying to warn us but I was the only one who could understand. They would fly into the air and spell out a message with their bodies. A secret about the castle.

  Wow. That sounds very vivid. Maybe you should be a writer, Mary.

  No, you're the writer, Al.

  Not very good, apparently.

  Keep trying, honey. That book will get published someday. Flying is something everyone is interested in, after all. Do you believe dreams have some kind of basis in reality, Al?

  I don't know. Probably, yes. I don't ever have strange dreams like that, though. Not since I was a boy.

  I think there's an alternative universe where our dreams take place. Just like in the books by Borges. Have you ever read him?

  No.

  Very strange. The characters meet themselves in dreams. There are parallel universes and multiverses, long before the physicists even knew such things could exist.

  Could they, Mary?

  I think so. There are probably portals and alternative worlds if we can imagine them. What are your dreams, Al? I'd like to know your alternative universes. I told you about one of mine.

  I told you. I don't have any strange dreams. I'm like the gold miners buried here. My dreams are about concrete things, the material world. Your ideas about alternative universes and the like, I think you would have been burnt at the stake in the Middle Ages.

  I know. But isn't that what makes us human? Our belief in progress? We're seeking answers. I just imagine we need to look harder in the places we already know. Like dreams.

  It's beyond my pay scale, Mary.

  That's not true. You just need to expand your notion of reality. You need some new metaphors.

  That's why I married you. For your metaphors. A dream about a castle across frozen water.

  That's beautiful, Al. Truly. I'm so happy with you. And this cruise is just perfect.

  But you've been sick almost every day, Mary.

  I'm getting over it now. Look at all these brave tombstones. All these people seeking their fortunes.

  They were very brave. Maybe desperate.

  No more desperate than we are. Nobody knows why they are here. Might as well strike out for the Klondike as stay put in your comfortable niche.

  They stayed in the cemetery until it got uncomfortably cold, then slowly stood together. Mary stretched and rubbed her arms. Al inspected some of the closest headstones. He believed he had ancestors that had sailed for California in the days of the gold fever. He could have been one of them, although his book about flight, Man's Eternal Hunger, was about as adventurous as he got. It was his life's work, he felt, besides Mary and the family they would have together.

  He felt it was good that they stand together and observe a moment of silence for their souls. Mary agreed. Neither Al nor Mary were churchgoers, but her mother had been when she was growing up, and Mary wanted to start going to church.

  They prayed together in that far northern cemetery, for themselves, for their families, for the children they would soon have, God willing, and for all of mankind.

  Nothing left of the gold rush now, except a tourist trail. Many people thought gold would inevitably replace the dollar. Al thought about the coming crash, and his book languishing on his desk at home in Florida, and the Aviatrix gig and the Iceland Air people at that very moment looking for 757 parts. Adding it all up gave a sum of what? How could you measure a life? How did God do it? He still didn't know.

  Five—The Mountains

  The road took ten hours to wind its way into the deepest part of the highlands from the old mining town of Juntas de Suchitan in the foothills of the Sierra Occidental Range. The road ran along the remains of the original cloud forest on the steep faces of the mountains and past cows grazing in the cutover clearings down to the river valleys. Ricky played with the car dial but could get no radio reception. Al honked the horn going around the hairpin curves and hoped there would be no traffic coming down the opposite direction.

  The last time you were here Evelio gave you his horse to ride, Tejas. Do you remember?

  Not much. I remember Mom and you talking about it. Most of the time what you talked about happened long before I was even conscious of being alive.

  Yeah. That’s the problem with being a kid. I hope you remember this trip.

  Yeah, I guess I do, too.

  We'll be home before you know it. I can't wait to see Evelio. He'll be sad to hear about Mary, though.

  I wish it wasn't so sad for people. It just brings it all back.

  I know.

  Al shifted his hands around on the steering wheel and renewed his focus on the climbing road ahead.

  Your Mom would be proud if she could hear and see you.

  I don't know why.

  Are you kidding? You're a great kid. Honor student. Help out at the old folks' home.

  You mean Sassafras Drive.

  Okay. That’s where your girlfriend's grandmother lives?

  Lianne’s grandmother. Yeah.

  Don't ever let me end up there.

  Why not?

  Just don't want to ever be old.

  Don't worry Dad. They’re working on the immortality pill. Hang in there for another fifteen years or so.

  If the Santos Muertos don't get us first.

  What do you
mean?

  Come on, Ricky. Wake up. That souvenir of yours is getting people killed.

  You don't know that.

  It's pretty clear. Coconut Juan foresaw his death. The Santos Muertos want whatever information is on there in that code.

  Ricky was quiet after that. He sat up straighter in the seat and looked out the window at the scenery. Al was aware of him struggling with some thought.

  If they need what's on here, we need to figure out what it says. How are we going to do that, Dad?

  I have no idea. Your Mom was the expert on all things Mayan.

  What about Uncle Tony?

  He wouldn't be any use. He’s a science guy. He knows a whole lot about all kinds of stuff. But not so much about hieroglyphs.

  What kind of stuff?

  Well, he was a researcher with IBM, into integrated circuits. Trying to bring down the costs of production for silicone chips. Then he got bored. I don't know what he's into nowadays. Could be anything. The Higgs Boson. I don't know. He was always a lot flightier than I was. Never could stick with any one thing for long. That's why he and Ginny have got no kids. Never felt ready for them.

  But he could probably figure it out.

  What are you talking about?

  He's a pretty smart guy.

  Ricky. Let me tell you something. Just because somebody has worked for a long time in a field doesn't make them any smarter than you and me. He just knows his way around the office. Just like any other working stiff.

  Okay, Dad. Whatever you say.

  He liked the fact that Ricky was thinking of solutions to their problem. But he didn't like that Ricky's solutions involved keeping the tablet.

  Ricky. You know the best thing to do with that tablet is drop it off at the police station in Quetzaltenango, right?

  Dad. Coconut Juan was pretty convinced that we couldn't trust anybody not to be working for those Santos guys. That included the police. Why do you think you know more than anybody else?

  I don't.

  San Juan Grande was a cluster of tin roofed bungalows along the road with the mountains of the central cordillera behind them and a pack of skinny dogs hanging around the open doorways of the houses. Boys played on bicycles doing wheelies on their midday school break. On the concrete curb outside the bodega an old man rocked in an iron chair with the old plastic-weave upholstery sagging under his meager weight. Ricky and Al parked the car and walked up to the old man on the curb. The sun was high in the sky, but the breeze gave the air a chill bite.

  Al asked after Evelio, who had based his horse packing operations out of here, on the edge of the government's Cloud Forest Reserve.

  ¿Evelio? Ese anda por alli lejos, said the old man, pointing down the road with his chin.

  ¿Por que?

  Ya no es de nosotros.

  ¿De quien es?

  De los otros.

  Papá, ¿que dices? A woman came out of the bodega to silence the old man whose rocking now was the only sound besides the wind. Ricky shifted his weight anxiously on his feet.

  Al explained they were old friends looking for a horse tour, but the woman said Evelio no longer ran the horses. Her uneasy manner suggested that they should take their pursuits elsewhere, so Al excused himself from the two of them and walked back to the car. Ricky got in the front seat and flipped on the GPS.

  Where to now, Dad? I guess Evelio was just a figment of our imaginations. Did I get that right? He never was with us, right?

  No, he existed all right. He's just not around here any more.

  Oh, right.

  Very strange.

  What do we do?

  Let's go on up to town and check into a hotel and ask around a little.

  The Hotel Gran Reserva was a new place along the road. It sat above a valley that overlooked the ocean far below the clouds. Their room had a large window and posters on the wall for various international benefit concerts held in the San Juan Aula Magna. They had lunch in the hotel's restaurant, overpriced ham and cheese sandwiches with fruit-salad bowls. On the wall were prints of newspapers with vintage headlines.

  BLOQUEO TOTAL DE CUBA

  SAQUEOS EN CARACAS

  REUNION DE OEA EN SAN PEDRO

  Al picked at the fruit, pushing it up on the spoon with the crust of the sandwich, and studied his napkin. He seemed to have lost his enthusiasm.

  What's wrong, Dad?

  This just doesn't seem right. Mary always wanted the simple things in life. This hotel is way too fancy.

  Oh well. We'll go for a hike in the reserve tomorrow. That's what she would want, Dad.

  Yeah, you're right. I'm just thinking about Evelio. He was a great guy.

  He probably just moved the horses to a bigger place. We'll ask at the tourist information booth. Those people know everything, right?

  That's true.

  Ricky was taking over the driving function, picking up the slack when Al felt unsure of the direction or the purpose of their travels.

  After lunch, for some exercise they walked up along the main road to the center of San Juan Grande. The walk did a lot to pick up Al's sagging spirits again. Some straggler children in school uniforms hiked up the hill ahead of them with their book bags on their backs. Swallows dove and flitted over the cemetery at the top of the road that featured a wrought iron gate and weeds and tall grass overgrowing the headstones and family mausoleums. Even if they never found Evelio, this was a nice change from the coast and a good way to end up the vacation, Al thought. He liked to walk beside Ricky, on the cusp of his adult life, and think that maybe one day the memory of the moment could sustain his son with positive feelings.

  Hey Ricky, where should we go next?

  What do you mean? Like on vacation again?

  Yeah.

  I don't know.

  Think about it and let me know.

  So this is going to be a regular thing, Dad?

  Why not? We'll travel the world, hiking and stuff.

  How about on motorcycles? We could do Europe on motorcycles, Dad.

  People do some crazy stuff. Did you hear they're working on warp drive?

  Yeah?

  Space travel. Faster than light travel.

  Yeah, I know, Dad. I read about that.

  Wormholes. Did you read about that?

  I saw a YouTube video about it. That and the ten dimensions. Did you know there are ten dimensions, Dad?

  No. You got me there. Ten dimensions, huh? Someone worked that out?

  Yeah. There are.

  That must have been some calculation. Did you check the math, Ricky?

  So, Dad. Do you still think God and Jesus are sitting on a cloud somewhere above us? That's evidently not so.

  Having angled off the road onto a trail, they found they were on a shortcut to the back of a supermarket loading dock. Ricky shifted his daypack off his shoulder to get out the water bottle. He offered Al some water. Just then, an abrupt burst of engine noise startled them. Around the corner, on the main street, came six or seven motorcycles. From where they were, Ricky and Al saw them pass by in a blur, an instant vision of the motorcycle gangs they'd seen on the coast, scarves wrapped around heads, a reckless, simmering violence despite the tight choreography of their riding.

  Wow, those guys get around, said Al.

  It's amazing they don't get into more accidents they go so fast.

  They're good. Well-trained.

  That put an edge into the afternoon. The tourists crowding the town seemed robotic, unaware, in a world without reference, with their maps and their shortsighted, blank faces, their mosquito-proof Abercrombie and Fitch outfits. At a taxi stand there were four men gathered against a wall in the sun waiting for fares.

  Come on, Ricky.

  They crossed the street.

  Do we want a taxi?

  No. Not exactly. Well, maybe.

  Al walked up to the men. They blinked in the light and stood straighter.

  I'm looking for Evelio Duarte. He used to be a horse gu
ide in San Juan Grande, said Al.

  The faces on the men hardly flickered. One of them straightened, cleared his throat.

  Si lo conozco.

  ¿Puede llevarnos a Evelio?

  The men mumbled one to the other.

  He ees crazy man, said the man.

  Crazy. That's all right.

  But I take you. More close. Not complete.

  All right.

  There was more rumbling among them in unintelligeble words, and then the man walked them to his minivan parked by the tourist office. He slid the side door open and Al and Ricky climbed in. The door slid shut and the man walked around the van, avoiding the traffic whizzing by on the busy street.

  How is he crazy? asked Al, after the driver had started the car and was preparing to enter traffic.

  No. It is impossible to say about it. But he is eh, how you say. He no listens.

  The taxi driver gesticulated with his hand to indicate how far out Evelio's indiscretions extended. He seemed to want to say more.

  That's not crazy. That's just stubborn. Two very different things. Where is he? Where are you taking us? Is it far?

  Where he live. But not complete. You must walk for more of the way.

  He drove down the main street and out onto the mountain highway, not making any effort to avoid or slow down for potholes. It looked like it might rain, and before long it did, spattering large drops on the windshield and the road.

  We're going to have to walk in this, said Al.

  That's okay, said Ricky.

  You are from United States?

  Yes.

  From where?

  Florida.

  My sister live in Brahdenton.

  Oh, nice.

  She like United States. But she want to come back to San Juan Grande. Her husband, he bit her. I tell her to stay in United States. San Juan Grande very bad.

  How so?

  Oh, it is impossible to say about. But the people are more scared. He gestured with his hand again for the extent of the fear.

  Is it because of the Santos Muertos?

  The man turned around and examined Al with a quick glance.

  How you know about?