Podo had mastered the accelerator, though. And he could hit the brakes. It was the steering and doing it all at the same time that had him worried.
Cars were such odd things. It didn’t make sense to him why one would want one car instead of horses or mules. The car only did what it was told. A horse or any sort of animal was much smarter. There was no training a car, only its rider. And animals were much cheaper.
He and his crew were parked on the side of the road in a beat-up white Toyota truck. They’d stolen it from the other side of town. The Messenger had told them to drive to the most eastern road on the outskirts of the city proper.
It was wartime, so no one spoke unless it had to do with the battle. It was quiet. It gave Todo time to practice spinning the steering wheel left and right. Cars passed occasionally. The odd pedestrian walked by, staring into the truck before turning his or her head when met with the Onge’s unified stares.
Finally, one of Podo’s crew tapped him on the shoulder. “He comes.” Podo jerked his head back. A strangely flat red car had pulled around a bend and was now approaching them rapidly. Podo slammed the gearstick into drive. The truck lurched forward. He heard a couple of his crew fall backwards into the trailer bed as he pulled onto the road.
The red car was coming quickly. It would take a god horse to keep up with it. Podo turned his truck sideways and hit the brakes, effectively blocking the road.
The car jerked to a halt just meters away. A white man was in the car. He wasted no time yelling gibberish and shaking his fist.
Podo nodded to Lew’tec, the Onge seated next to him. Lew’tec had a battle stick in his hand. On one end it was blunt like a baton, but on the other end it was sharp, with metal jutting out from the edge of the wood.
Lew’tec stepped out of the truck and approached the man in the car. The white man stopped shaking his fist and instead held out a hand. He suddenly became peaceful, even obsequious. He politely sounded out the same gibberish over and over again. It sounded like some sort of a question.
Once Lew’tec reached the driver’s side door, he knocked the white man over the head with the blunt end of the stick. The white man didn’t go out, even though the collision had made quite a thudding sound.
The man scampered to the passenger side of his car and tried to climb over the door. He was clawing to get away. He hadn’t panicked.
Lew’tec simply walked over to the other side of the car in a business-like manner and hit him over the head again. This time the white man dropped limp into the leather seats of his vehicle.
28
“Dr. Knowles, there is another matter that I would like to discuss with you.”
“Here is the second examination room.” Callista Knowles showed it to him. “And what is that?”
“What was that?” asked Fields suddenly. His plump red face jerked to the side. He stared wide-eyed down the hall.
Callista followed his gaze. The closet had swung open.
“Someone just came out of the closet. I just saw it in a flash as I looked up. Was someone in the closet?” He was puzzled more than alarmed.
Callista chuckled nervously, filling in the time while her mind caught up to the situation. Edward. The closet.
“Probably Diane getting a pen or something,” she said quickly. “Or perhaps a ghost.” She laughed. “I may be needing your services, Father.” He laughed but still kept looking at the closet. “Still, unlike her to leave the closet open,” she said. “There are very important medications inside, and it’s vital that they don’t get stolen or spoiled. Excuse me for a minute.”
She walked up to the reception area, playing the part of indignant doctor. In a suitable tone, using a dialect she knew Fields would be unable to decipher, she asked, “Did my patient leave?”
“Yes, just a minute ago,” answered Duiyon. “He told me to stay quiet. I’m sorry if you didn’t want him to go.”
“It’s fine he went. He might come back, though. Expect him. But speak to no one about him. He’s a secret.”
Duiyon nodded. There had been other visitors to the clinic who desired discretion on the part of the staff. This was nothing new.
Edward. Edward. Edward. She wanted to end this inspection as soon as possible. She needed time to digest this sudden shift in her life. At least he was gone for a moment. That was some respite.
Eventually he would be back, though, for whatever he had wanted to begin with. At least, I hope.
There was another part of her that hoped he went elsewhere. Please. Maybe he could go to the same place she’d buried all those memories from a decade ago.
When Callista returned, Fields was already poking around in the closet. “Dr. Knowles, you barely have anything in here that you need.”
“I’ve been making do. I haven’t been able to stock disposables since the last time St. Mary’s gave us a grant.” There were more basics in the basement, but who was counting? There was no other clinic on the island and no better use for the funds.
“Hmmm…” mumbled the old priest. He then turned to her suddenly. “Oh yes, the other thing I need to discuss with you. It’s not in your province, actually, but maybe you’ve heard something from one of your patients.”
“Yes?” she asked, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice as best she could.
“Do you know anything about the Onge village that lies some miles south of here?”
What sort of trouble has Edward gotten himself into? “I don’t usually treat Onge. They don’t trust Westerners.”
“Treat any traders that deal with them?”
“A couple years ago I treated someone like that. From what I understand, they don’t have much to trade - live off the land, basically.”
“Basically,” echoed Fields, walking back toward the reception area. “Well, there have been some alarming rumors from a couple of the natives that have dealings with them.”
“What sort of rumors?” she asked.
“That they have a living god in their midst, a sort of Onge messiah that is leading them to liberation. There is a new structure in their camp, and all of their motions have changed. It is all quite peculiar,” he said.
“Are these sources reliable?” she asked.
“Hardly. There are only two, they give conflicting stories, and they were both taken through a splotchy translator. But those fundamentals I just stated were in common.”
“Tribal superstition. Maybe a new war chief amongst them. I hear it is commonplace for them to duel and kill each other off.”
“Yes,” acknowledged Fields. They had stopped walking. His eyes were on the clean floor of the clinic, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. “Dr. Knowles,” he finally said. “I tell you this in strictest confidence, but it may help you to help me in case you run across any information that could be of assistance. One of our very own priests is on mission in that Onge camp. He’s the only Westerner there. I haven’t heard from him in over a month, which is not uncommon, but not common either. I fear for his safety.”
“Of course, you‘ll be the first person to know if I hear anything,” said Callista. In other words, I guess I won’t tell anyone
Odd looking at Edward as a priest now, she thought as she saw Fields out. It was bizarre having Edward in the same category as Fields. Edward certainly didn’t act priestly when he was dating me back in our teenage years. And he certainly didn’t act priestly hiding in my closet…
After the priest left, she couldn’t help but check the streets for Edward. She saw no signs of him. He’ll be back. She hoped so, and she didn’t.
What has Edward gotten himself into?
She didn’t know. She was not one prone to worry. She knew she didn’t have any way to determine an answer, so that was that. She wasn’t going to think about it again until she had more data.
She would probably need to do a lot of thinking in the coming months; no use wasting all that brainpower.
She walked back to the exam room where she’d first seen Edward
after a decade, only half an hour ago. She could almost see him again, sitting in that chair. It had been so long since she’d seen him. She hadn’t expected to react like that.
She’d done everything she could think of to leave the door open for something like this. In one way it was a triumph for her. It was a painful triumph.
The seven years had been kind to him. He was more handsome now than before. He’d shed his boyish features for a more chiseled look.
Stop thinking. Think about it later. Stop thinking. There’s nothing to think about now. So think of nothing.
Edward. Edward.
She closed the door so Duiyon couldn’t hear her cry. She could blot out everything from her mind but his name. The name was all it took to make her bonkers.
29
Sala grew weary. She looked up from her work to her mother, who scowled and pushed Sala’s hands back to the plants. There were hundreds of them.
Funny plants, the girl thought. They were thin, like brush, with hard trunks like pine. The trunks were covered in sap. She couldn’t touch the sap. It was poisonous. One of the workers had gotten ill from touching the sap and still wasn’t able to work. She lay under a tree vomiting all day and night. Sala wanted to sit under a tree all day and night, but didn’t want to vomit. She just wanted to rest.
First, they’d transplanted all the plants to the secret garden. Now, they had to put them in special pots of clay. She’d never seen such pots before. They’d come from machines with wheels that sounded like monsters. They said the machines came from the city. She didn’t understand any of it.
Well, she did understand something. She understood that her hands hurt from digging. The work was slow and tedious. Ten women were working, and they would be working late into the night, every night for many moons.
Once they put the plants into the pots, they took them to another secret garden. Every day they would move them, until the last day, when they carried them to their final destination, by the sea.
“Mother, why must we work into the night?” asked the young Onge girl.
“Because we are faithful,” answered her mother.
“But why must we not see the village for so long? Why must we stay from the village?”
“These are sacred plants, Sala, these that we care for and nurture. We are part of Manassa’s vision. We are part of something greater than ourselves.” The mother glanced down at her daughter. Sala’s eyes had glossed over. She hadn’t heard a word of it. “It is as your father wishes,” said mother.
Sala grabbed her mother’s hands. “Even though I’m tired,” said Sala, “I am happy to be with you.” She loved her mother’s hands. Her father’s hands were often cruel. She did not miss him or his beatings. “It would be fine for us to always tend the secret garden,” she said.
“And so we may. Your father will send word when it’s time to come back. Now work, child. You must set a good example for the other children. We must get these plants into the pots. And don’t touch the sap!”
Sala got back to work. She didn’t feel tired anymore.
30
Edward took the opportunity to tend to the other errands he had in town - the I.V. apparatus, the electrodes. All was finished in an hour. If his tablet idea worked, he didn’t need any of it, but he held true to the first recorded maxim of the nirvana effect - Never lie to a seer.
To which he might add as a corollary - Never tell all the truth to a seer.
If he said he was getting the materiel for these other ideas to reduce the after-pain, he had better make sure he did so. Mahanta could all too quickly find him out.
As Edward left a pawn shop in the center of town, he caught a motion out of place in his periphery.
He would never have noticed such a thing before, but not only did it catch his attention, but he had such presence of mind that he correctly refused to react to it.
He didn’t turn his head, instead walking haphazardly in the opposite direction. Someone had reacted strongly to his coming out of the shop, ducking from sight.
Edward gripped his backpack, casually readjusting it and checking for the reassuring weight of the first aid kit within it. He was relieved to feel its hard metal edges sticking through the canvas.
The noon sun left no shadows on the dirt streets, and Edward walked a couple blocks down the road. He had no way to see who was following him without being obvious. There were very few reflective surfaces in Lisbaad.
Edward walked into a fabric store with a large window. He liked it because the glass was dirty, and with the noonday glare he couldn’t see into the store.
The shopkeeper stood from his stool. He looked surprised to have a customer. “Just browsing,” said Edward hurriedly in Tamil, then stepped down into the small display area. He went directly to the window; he could see out well enough through the grime. A few islanders walked the streets with totes on their shoulders with the day’s produce.
“Is there a particular fabric you are looking for, sir?” asked the shopkeeper, who had joined him in the display area.
“Red,” said Edward distractedly. No men. Nothing that fit what he’d seen out the corner of his eye.
“We have many excellent red products here, sir,” said the shopkeeper. Tamil obviously was not this man’s native dialect. Half the fabric here is red. “Is there any particular design you wanted?”
Edward craned his neck to try to identify his tracker. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe I’m just getting paranoid – maybe a side effect of the drug.
“No, thank you, just looking out your window,” said Edward. Far down the road, a little boy begged at the curbside. He had no luck; the woman passing him was probably just as destitute as he was. The boy followed the woman for a little while with hand extended, then went back to his spot.
My imagination. I’m just jittery after the clinic.
The shopkeeper walked back to his counter and seated himself loudly. Edward felt the Indian’s eyes burning holes in the back of his head.
Edward turned around. “Thank you, sir,” he said, most respectfully. “I will be sure to return here if I need something red.”
“You are welcome,” said the scowling shopkeeper.
“Your window is excellent.”
Edward walked out. He gave the street another long glance in each direction. An old woman walked toward him. Edward craned his neck to see the beggar boy behind her, but the young man seemed to have gone elsewhere to try his luck.
The missionary carefully made his way back to Callista’s clinic. He turned a fifteen minute walk into several hours as he wound his trail through long alleys and shadowy corners trying to scare up a tail he wasn’t even sure existed.
It would kill him if Callista came to any harm because he wasn’t careful.
31
“Hello, Diane. I have returned,” Edward told the receptionist. She was watering a plant in the waiting area.
“My name is actually Duiyon,” she replied, setting down the watering pitcher.
“Well, hello Duiyon.” He pronounced it correctly, much to her delight. “Is the doctor in?”
Duiyon covered her mouth, troubled. “Oh, she just left.”
“When?”
“Less than a minute ago. I haven’t even had time to lock up.”
“Is there a back door she leaves out of?” he asked hurriedly.
“In the second exam room.” Of course. That’s where Callista was pointing. “If you hurry you might catch her.”
Edward started to leave but Duiyon kept talking. “She seemed to be wondering why it took you so long to come back. She was troubled.”
We have a lot of catching up to do. “Thank you,” he said as he rushed past her to the back door. She grabbed his wrist and jerked him back.
“Priest,” she said, shoving her face in front of his. She was surprisingly strong. “…or whatever you are…do not break her heart. She’s already had her heart broken. There is nothing left to break.” Edward’s mouth opened but th
ere was nothing to say.
“Hurry!” she said. She pushed him onward.
32
Nockwe stormed into Manassa’s temple. The two guards posted at the door tensed at their weapons. They would never raise a finger against their chieftain, and yet in that instant he’d seemed more an enemy than an ally. Nockwe’s eyes gaped wide, his every muscle taut. He was stifling a roar that caught in his throat and manifested as a persisting grumble.
“Manassa!” he shouted. Manassa was not in the main temple area. Nockwe ran to his quarters behind the throne. “Manassa!”
Where is he? “Here, Nockwe.” Nockwe found him, sitting at the edge of his bed in his quarters. He actually had a real mattress, elevated from the floor.
“You had him killed!” shouted Nockwe. He was furious.
Quietly, Manassa said, “Remember the protocol, Nockwe.”
“To hell with the protocol!” The guards were sure to hear him.
Manassa stood up and walked past him to the entrance of his quarters. He waved someone off - presumably a guard who was coming to check on the commotion.
Manassa pulled aside a rug to reveal the trap door he’d installed. It was an underground tunnel into the woods. He opened the trap and beckoned Nockwe to follow him.
They hunched to make it through the short tunnel. It took them to the jungle. Manassa walked briskly in silence, but Nockwe had no trouble keeping up.
“You have started a bloodbath, Manassa. Have you no respect for the tribe?”
Manassa was quiet. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your priests, your inner circle, they’re killing dissenters.”
“They’re your inner circle, Nockwe,” said Manassa.
“They do not act on my orders,” said Nockwe.
“Nor mine.” Though Nockwe spoke modern Onge, Manassa kept to the more ancient dialect. It made the whole conversation feel surreal to the chieftain. The adrenaline was already starting to flush out of his body, to be replaced by an empty dread.
Nirvana Effect Page 14
