I hear.
They will kill you. Very bad today. You must to be careful.
All right. He turned to Ricky and whispered. I hope Evelio is all right.
Freaky.
The minivan pulled over onto a ledge on the side of the road. There was a fork ahead, one way going steeply up past an unused hut and the other way winding down into the valley far below. There was a cross with some freshly laid flowers by the side of the downhill road. The trees were stunted from the trade winds blowing down the back of the mountain range. Al paid the driver. He wouldn't look Al in the face, just took the money through the window of the minivan.
Thank you.
The cabby drove away, doing a quick U turn on the curve and coming back past them in the opposite direction.
Drives like a bat out of hell, doesn't he?
Do we know how to get to Evelio from here? He didn’t even tell us.
You're right. He didn't.
What now, Dad?
Well, let's just think. We'll figure it out. Use our senses and our intuitions. Where would Evelio be?
Dad, there is no way we're finding him.
It was raining harder, a flurry of fine misty rain. They sheltered on the porch, under the eaves of the hut. Ricky sat on his haunches while Al paced back and forth on the wet, broken concrete slab. They waited there for the rain to stop. Grey clouds massed on the horizon and swept overhead. Occasionally, a truck or an old SUV came up from the distant valley in a noisy rumble.
What are you thinking, Dad?
I really don't know. I'd say we look for horse tracks, but the rain will have washed them away.
Well, as soon as it stops a little we'll look. Do you want some water?
I'm fine. Don't worry about me, Ricky. I'm fine.
I'm guessing he's down there. That's where all the cars are coming from.
I'm guessing he's up there somewhere.
Why would anyone be up that mountain? It looks really ugly up there.
That's why. He’s hiding.
Hiding from who? Everyone here knows where he is. He's just a crazy old guy. You and Mom probably enjoyed talking to him, but. . . By the way, why did that guy's sister's husband bite her?
No, I think he meant beat her.
They were sitting under the eaves when an old woman came by. She just appeared around the corner of the hut from the road that came up past the cross and the flowers. On her back she carried a load of freshly cut sticks, and her feet were bare except for the flip-flops that made little smacking noises in the water running down between the rocks. She stopped and stared at Ricky and Al, her brows beetling and her furrowed, skinny face contracting even further as she sucked on her gums. She made a noise, some sort of reprimand, Al guessed.
Buscamos a Evelio, he said, trying to see if there was any information they could get from her.
Ah, Evelio. She made a jiggy move with her hips, shifting the weight of the load of sticks and continued on her way, turning onto the uphill road. They watched her as she disappeared into the clouds.
Well, that was good, said Ricky.
Well, it was. He's around somewhere, it means.
Dad, why don't we head back to town? It's only a few miles. If we start now we could make it back before dark. We might even get a ride.
Don't lose faith, Ricky. Give it a little while longer.
That's why Mom used to get upset with you sometimes.
She never used to get upset with me.
What do you mean? You've forgotten how you used to fight. Especially whenever she mentioned Layla.
Don't mention her. I’m sorry. . . That wasn't the way it was with us, okay?
Okay.
I made a mistake once. I paid for it, Ricky. Mary had long forgiven me for that.
I've forgiven you, Dad. I mean I never even knew her.
Broke your mother's heart. She was never really the same after that.
What happened?
I never told you, did I?
I heard it from Aunt Ginny.
Al ran his hand through his thinning hair.
Six—North Hero
The tabby cat belonged to the house. There was always a mouse or a chipmunk head left by the front door with red, raw flesh around the neck, the tuft of tail always not too far from the porch. In the morning, beyond the road, whitecaps skimmed on the water of Lake Champlain. Mary picked the cat up and stroked its head with one hand while holding it against her chest with the other.
You're seven months pregnant Mary. You shouldn't even be getting near that killer cat, said Ginny.
She had cut her curly hair in a severe sort of bob that spring. She and Tony had no children and didn't seem pressed to join the ranks. She opened the front door of the house even further and took the entrance rug and beat it against the rails of the porch to get rid of the cat hairs. Clouds of dust rose into the air and swept away in the wind. Behind her, inside the house, Tony and Al were sitting at the dining room table arguing over who got to read which section of the Burlington Free Press. The front-page story that morning was about a dispute between the unions that ran the shop at the IBM factory and IBM’s head office over automation of some of the factory's warehouse facilities.
Mary came inside and picked up a figurine from the mantle over the unused fireplace. It was a Peruvian sun god that the owner of the house had picked up somewhere. It had been four years since Al and she had sailed up the Inner Passage and spent nights drifting among the glaciers and orcas, and her dreams since then had taken her even further afield. The girl inside her would be an emanation of all such dreams. Mary had an almost impossible sense of anticipation about the birth.
Mary. How about a little adventure on a boat?
What kind of boat are you talking, Al? Tony asked.
I don't know. A kayak. Ever been on one, Mary?
No. Why would I ever have been on a kayak, Al?
I don't know. Girl Scouts?
I was never a Girl Scout. I was too busy reading. You are silly sometimes.
I'm sure you've dreamt about one. You dream such amazing stuff.
It's supposed to get nice this afternoon, Ginny interrupted.
Al stood up. I'll call and see if the boat place is open.
He hugged his wife with one hand as he held the cell phone to his ear. Mary pulled away and went and sat at his spot at the table. Tony looked over the top of the sports page.
How you feeling today?
Super, Mary said, smiling.
That's great. The fresh air is doing us all good.
You and Ginny coming out with us?
Why not? Work up an appetite for lunch.
I've been thinking about your suggestion for a name, Tony. I really do like Layla.
Layla Lyons. Trips off the tongue.
It means dark night in Arabic. I looked it up.
There you go. Perfect. You love the night. You're always walking around in the dark.
But your mother's name Giselle is also nice. Maybe as a middle name.
Run it past Al.
Layla Giselle Lyons.
She's going to be the perfect little girl, Ginny said, leaning over the edge of the table and holding her hand over Mary's belly. May I?
Yes.
Oh, yes. There she goes, a little kick.
She wants to get out and about.
The place has kayaks, singles and doubles, said Al, triumphantly snapping the cell phone closed. Not bad rates either.
He poured some more coffee from the pot on the side table.
How's your back? Ginny addressed her husband.
It's fine right now. Ask me later when we've paddled to New York State and back.
I think we'll be less ambitious, won't we?
Not with these two, said Mary.
The cat followed the four of them out to the two cars parked in the short driveway. It disappeared into the hedges between the side yard and the next house. A bird flew down from a branch of the birch tree and hopped in
the wet grass. Mary had put a sweatshirt of Al's over her turtleneck and pulled it down over her belly, stretching it tight over the baby. They piled into the cars. Al and Mary pulled out first. Al had the directions written on a scrap of paper. Mary was the navigator. They drove for fifteen minutes along the road between North Hero and Hibbard Bay. The boat shop was just north of Hibbard Bay before the bridge. There were all sorts of possible paddle routes, but the man in the shop, with close set eyes behind wire rimmed glasses and tough calloused hands handing over the paddles and life vests, suggested sticking to the shore on the northward side to avoid the wind coming from the west. The rain would not totally stop until later, but the sun at times was struggling hard to break through the massed cloud cover.
They set out together from the concrete slip, Mary and Al in one kayak and Ginny and Tony in the other. The paddling seemed easy, dipping the blades in consecutively and pulling through the shoulders with a quick, easy motion. The boats slid through the water like knives, and the experience reminded Mary of a Neruda poem she'd read in a college Spanish class. Your silence is a constellation, the poet had written. Mary remained silent. She thought the rhythm to herself and felt Al pulling it with the paddle, one side and then the other. It was easy to imagine themselves as indigenous people transporting their goods along the lakeshore. The little girl inside her would never know they'd been out in the morning with her on the water, but the memory of the silence would provide a solid foundation for her later life. Mary hated the busyness of many people and the way they deluded themselves with the importance of their routines and accomplishments. She would never voice such a sentiment, however, as she found it hateful to be negative. The best thing was to live like the Lauzi, the great teacher of the Tao. Go with the flow always.
They came alongside Ginny and Tony. Ahead was an island covered in massive spruce trees that looked ancient and unmovable. Mary let her hand glide in the water.
Very nice, said Tony, smiling at them from behind his sunglasses.
Much better than canoes, said Al.
Well. There's no need for that steering with the paddle.
J strokes. Using the resistance forces.
Yes, such a waste of effort. Beautiful swirls in the wake, though. Dependent on the entropic dance of energy in the water.
Have you seen the photos put out by the Fermi lab of the tracks made by the particles from the accelerator?
Yes. My favorite is the spiral aloe from the high Maluti Mountains off Lesotho. It can go clockwise or anti-clockwise.
Must be a negative Fibonacci sequence forming the anti-clockwise.
Well, its five ranks of leaves are obviously mirror reflections of each other in the gene sequence.
What are you two boys talking about? asked Ginny.
The template, said Tony.
Al laughed. There is no template. Just the word of God, he countered.
Always a matter of debate, explained Tony.
Looking for a way back to the origins of things. Tony is a process guy. I'm a big picture thinker. He likes Pete Rose. I prefer Carlton Fisk.
Oh, I get it, said Ginny. Mary, who do you like?
What? Mary, not listening, still trailing her hand in the water. The rest of them laughed.
They paddled hard around the island. Tony and Al vied to see who could make it around faster. Al had been running a little in the last year, taking it up to help with his nerves, coming home in the evenings and going for slow jaunts to the beach and along the sand. But he was red-faced now, not giving in, while Tony, younger but even less fit, fought back with all his strength. They made it halfway around the lee side before Tony gasped and threw down his arms in front of him.
Does that make you feel better? asked Mary.
Friendly competition. Nothing wrong with it.
Hey, Al, cried Tony.
What?
Let's check out the island.
There was a loon diving ahead in the water.
Oh, I wish we had a camera, said Mary.
I've got one.
Ginny had a little digital camera on a loop in the pocket of her vest. She had to take the life vest off to get it. Tony and Al, still breathing hard, splashed each other with the paddles, soaking them all.
Hey, cut it out, said Ginny.
Idiots, said Mary. You'll scare the baby.
Yeah, but you love us, said Al.
You are pathetic, Ginny said.
She took pictures of the loon, surfacing out in the deeper water about thirty yards away, trying to distract them from the island with calls of distress. It must have had a nest and some young in among the reeds.
They paddled back and returned the kayaks to the same man in the boat shop. Ginny and Mary had had enough forethought to pack a change from their wet clothes, and they changed in the bathroom one after the other. Al studied the poster on the wall with seasonal highlights of the Essex County Chamber of Commerce and the flyer on a table from the American Kayaking Association on boater safety. Tony tapped on his shoulder.
I want to show you something, he said.
Al followed him outside.
Doesn't that look like Dad's old truck?
Their father had been in business for himself repairing driveways and doing odd jobs in the mansions and developments around Poughkeepsie. They'd grown up in Larchmont on a street of old railroad employee housing overlooking Stephenson Park. There was a Starbucks and a Home Depot there now. Their father had died when they'd both been in college.
Yeah. Wow.
The truck was an old Chevy pickup truck, green, about the same year and model as the truck their father had owned when they were boys.
The sighting of their father's truck put them in a nostalgic funk. At the Marina Bar and Grill, about a ten-minute drive on the other side of the island, Al ordered a shot of Jack Daniels with a chaser of Dos Equis with a twist of lime. There was a baseball game on the television. The Orioles versus the Bluejays. He and Tony watched in silence while Mary and Ginny chatted against the rail on the deck outside with two bottles of fruit drinks. The sun behind them had cleared the sky of clouds.
It's so nice now, said Mary.
Yes, it is.
And great to spend some time getting to know you and Tony at last.
Well, Tony's been so wound up with the promotion and all. I'm afraid he hasn't been the most, shall we say, amenable company.
He and Al are working things out.
Yes. That they are. Well, and you. Finally the baby. Three years later. That's better than Tony and me. You have me there.
It's a conscious choice, isn't it?
Well, yes and no. Mostly conscious.
I can't wait. She's such a happy creature.
I'm sure. How could she not with you as the mother?
The two brothers walked up to them, Al, older and heftier, led the way through the crowd of summer sun lovers.
Hey, girls. What you drinking?
Oh, nothing special, said Ginny.
He's had his third shot of Jack.
Oh, Al, said Mary.
It's fine, Mary. It's fine. We're relaxing in the summer. These are the salad days. The days of wine and roses. Who said that?
Confucius, said Tony.
Al laughed. That's a joke. Our father used to attribute everything to Confucius.
He who laughs last laughs best, said Tony.
I have a dream, said Al. Confucius.
Ask not what you can do for your country, said Tony.
Confucius, said Al.
Ginny smiled benevolently. Mary strained around the mouth, unsure whether to reward Al for his boyish humor.
The deck was getting crowded. Al looked around and didn't see a spare table anywhere. A woman with a Montgomery Gentry tee shirt and bright magenta lipstick jostled his elbow as she went by, and he spilled some beer on his chin.
Well, well. Shall we think about moving on, people?
Let's, said Ginny.
Are you okay with driving,
Al? Mary whispered in his ear.
Of course.
They walked across the parking lot, hand in hand. Out on the road a flotilla of antique cars went by. Mary remembered that it was August 10th, the birthday of her college friend Ann Gricenti. The car next to theirs was a Subaru Impreza, a model that Al had thought about buying. He looked in the driver’s window at the steering wheel and dashboard. Tony was already circling the lot and out on the road. Al spurted out of the spot, the clutch jumping on him. He settled both hands on the wheel. Mary's hands fluttered on the dashboard as she searched for the air conditioning knob. She settled back in the seat and closed her eyes.
How do you feel?
She's jumping around.
Al took his hand and placed it on her belly.
Out on the road the traffic had picked up with the new lease on summer that the sun had granted the North Country. Many plates were Quebecois white with the Je me souviens reminder of lineage and history, heading back home after time spent in the fleshpots of New York and Florida. Al and Mary knew many snowbirds. Their tanned, leathery skins would have seemed odd against the polar backdrops of Canada in the winter.
They were due to head back down in ten days, and Mary wanted to stop in Philadelphia and visit some cousins. Al did not look forward to this visit, but for Mary it was a chance to reconnect with people she had once been close to in childhood. She had lost touch in her teenage years, but it had never felt right to her not to reach out and reconnect with her family. Being an only child had made her hypersensitive to the importance of family and kin. She wanted Layla to be born into a rich and nurturing environment that included an extended family and possible future support networks spreading all across the land.
As they crossed the intersection of the shore road and Moccasin Avenue, a car running the red light, a blue convertible Pontiac, shot out at them. Mary saw it and gasped, but Al was oblivious. It ploughed into the passenger side, and Al too late cursed and hit the brake, but by then they were skidding into the oncoming lane and across the road. Mary didn't remember anything after that. She blacked out, but the car went careening over the shoulder, down an embankment and into the water. Al managed to get out of his side, wade around the car and pull Mary over some rocks to the shore.
The emergency workers hobbled down the bank with the stretcher. In the hospital Mary was lightheaded and at the same time felt like her head had been severed from her body. She fell back asleep just as she tried to ask questions, like how was Al. She feared the worst, and dreamt that Al had been buried alive in a concrete casket, his book placed in the coffin along with a photograph of their wedding and of the hotel in Seattle they had stayed before the Inland Passage cruise. Al, with a bandaged foot he had twisted getting over the rocks, sat in the waiting room. A nurse approached and asked him to come with her. In a small room, she sat him down with some papers they needed him to sign. The doctor on duty, a tall, presentable fellow, said Mary had miscarried due to the trauma of the event. His eyes were a light blue, like robin's eggs under straight blond brows and, above them, a weighty prow of a forehead with barely a wrinkle. He paused and then said Mary was under sedation at the moment. Al felt the grip of panic tighten in his chest and wondered if there wasn't a mistake. He signed the papers, and later he paced in the hall on crutches, banging his bandaged foot against a metal rail near the elevators. The girl, Layla, would never breathe such air of disappointment as settled around Al in the hospital hall. He entered the hospital chapel and touched the book on the lectern, gilded and open.
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