Mind Over Mind

by Karina L. Fabian

  “’S’matter, mountain man? Nervous about bridges? Are they so different than mountain passes?”

  “Mountain passes have mountain on one side and trees and slope on the other. No long fall into the watery depths.”

  She thought about teasing him, but noticed he was now eyeing the bridge that paralleled the one they were on, which had replaced it. The old and decaying structure of steel, like an erector-set creation, had never been fully torn down. She supposed it would make anyone nervous. The one they were on was really as much a suspended highway as a bridge; to her, it was no different than driving on the mainland—except the traffic was better, as was the view. And speaking of view…“Look ahead.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s something. Really.”

  That “something” was the Newport bridge: a four-lane, two-and-a-half-mile suspension bridge leading onto Aquidneck Island. Sachiko always thought of it as a more graceful version of the Golden Gate—light green cables swooping upward, supported in two arches by structures that made her think of cathedral doors in their shape and grandeur. The highway fanned out from two lanes to five as they came to the toll booth. They slowed to a stop for a moment so that she could toss a token into the basket, and guided the Harley back into traffic as the highway again merged into two lanes. She could feel his arms and his knees tense.

  “So do you think Ydrel’s psychic?” She broached the subject as much to distract him as to satisfy her own curiosity. She knew how she felt—there was no way Ydrel could have known about her desperate suicide attempt or the reason for it if he didn’t have some paranormal abilities. She’d been too adept at hiding things. No one at work had known about her relationship with Randall, and her parents had thought things were at least stable and satisfying for her. They’d been surprised to hear about her break-up, though she suspected that they had been somewhat relieved…

  She realized she’d lost some of what Joshua was saying and struggled to pick it up. “Say again?”

  “I said, it’s kind of like believing in alien life: it’s fun to think about, but I’m not sure we’re ready for the reality. I mean, aliens sound cool until they come at you with vastly superior weapons and totally different ethics. And would you really want telepathic abilities? There’s a funny Tom Smith song about a guy who can read minds and how it wrecks his relationship with his girlfriend. I mean, would you want to know what I’m thinking all the time?”

  There was a loaded question, and she told him so. “I think there are some interesting twists in that mind of yours, but point taken. Ignorance can be bliss.”

  “Exactly. If what Ydrel’s told me is true, being psychic has caused him a world of hurt. And if it’s true, how many other people out there are suffering from the same problems, but without the benefit of the care that his money can buy? So what would be better—if his troubles are the result of a psychosis or if he truly is a fledgling psychic?”

  He paused, and she grunted neutrally. She wasn’t sure which situation she preferred.

  “Frankly, I’d rather operate under the assumption that it doesn’t matter. Whatever the cause, the real key is getting him to deal with it enough to function in society.”

  “You’re sidestepping.” Over the bridge and onto solid land now, she took the highway to its end. It curved past a huge casino with a walled-in parking lot. Flags flapped atop the wall, each decorated with the symbol of a suit of cards. Soon after, they were in narrow streets and older homes.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m not ready for ESP, I guess. I love these old houses. Everything in Pueblo West is so new.”

  “Here we are.” She turned right and drove a block, past old homes-converted-to-businesses. On the corner lot was her family’s restaurant and home, a large deep red three-story house with evergreen trim. The wrap-around porches held tables swathed in red and white checkered tablecloths. Red and white umbrellas poked above the low hedge in the yard. Above the awning was a large sign in red and black letters:

  JAPPERWOPPY

  THE FINEST IN ITALIAN AND JAPANESE CUISINE

  SUSHI * JAPANESE STEAKHOUSE

  “That’s an unusual name,” Joshua commented.

  “Dad loves Lewis Carroll and puns,” Sachiko said, then laughed. “We actually had some people try to boycott the place—said the name was insulting to Italian and Japanese Americans. They had camera crews and everything. Dad trotted out the whole family—sometimes, I think half my family works or has worked here—and calmly explained in three languages that this was a family business, and almost everyone in the family was an immigrant, first or second generation Italian or Japanese, and as such, we could name our restaurant whatever we darn well pleased. Then they set up a buffet for the boycotters and had a party. CNN picked up the story and we had so much business that year! I was in nursing school, but I still had to come help out sometimes.”

  Sachiko drove through the customer parking lot—which was small and nearly full despite the mid-afternoon hour—and parked near the side of an old garage. They stowed their helmets in the saddlebags and she pointed her fob at the bike. The lights flashed and it chirped.

  Joshua laughed. “You’re kidding! They have alarms for motorcycles?”

  “You have any idea how much this thing cost? Look.” She pointed to an engraving on the top of the gas tank: Equipped with GPS tracking. I will find you. S. Luchese. Joshua laughed again.

  “Believe me, mister, on this coast, that’s almost as good as the alarm. C’mon. We have to go in by the front for you to have the full effect of the place.” Feeling like a teenager, she took him by the hand and led him around to the main gate.

  *

  Ydrel stepped out of the bathroom in just his shorts, toweling dry his hair. For a moment, he enjoyed feeling chilled in the air-conditioned room, but he knew soon enough he’d feel too warm again. He’d been sweating all morning, too hot and queasy to eat, and had finally retreated to a cold shower. It had helped, but only temporarily. Already, he was starting to feel the heat. He draped the towel over the chair with a sigh.

  Maybe I should go to the nurses’ station, he thought, then just as quickly discarded the idea. What would he do, whine that it was hot and his stomach hurt? Besides, walking seemed like too much effort.

  Then he felt the familiar scritching inside his head. Relieved, he lay down and allowed the Miscria to call him away from the heat and pain.

  “Thank you!” Ydrel stretched out on the spongy moss, luxuriating in its coolness. He didn’t care if it was an illusion; at least he was comfortable.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Tasmae began without preamble.

  Ydrel laughed. “Funny. I’ve been trying not to think.” He’d spent the morning burning through some of the novels Joshua had lent him in an attempt to drive Malachai’s comments from his mind. That was probably half the reason his stomach hurt. For the moment, though, he made himself forget the psychiatrist. It was wonderfully cool here.

  He relaxed, responding automatically to her questions without giving much conscious attention to them, or to his answers. Sometimes, he didn’t think he was replying so much as letting the information flow out of him, as it used to before he knew what—who—the Miscria was.

  That was fine by him. It just felt so good to be away from his body.

  “But how do I build a bomb?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure,” he murmured drowsily. Maybe he could nap here a while? “Since standard gunpowder doesn’t work on your world, we’d have to find something else that’ll explode. I’d have to do some research…” He sat up. “Wait a minute! NO!”

  “No, what?”

  “Look. Up until now, the stuff I’ve researched has been relatively harmless: swordsmithing is more art than weaponscraft to us, and military history is, well, history. If I start trying to figure out how to make a bomb, they’ll tag me as dangerous and really lock me up for life! Forget it!”

  “We need to know,” she replied.

  He folded his arms over his chest. “For
-get it.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in intensity as she spoke. “I am the Miscria, the Seeker of Change. I call the Ydrel, the Oracle of Change. Ydrel Mentor, Ydrel Guide. You must answer my call. Ydrel brings the tools we need—“

  The pull of her words made him dizzy, and he felt his resolve weakening. After all, they really needed him, depended on him. Who else took him so seriously? Maybe he could figure out something…

  “No!” Ydrel shouted and mentally shoved against Tasmae’s rhythmic litany. “You don’t have any idea what I go through on Earth. I am a prisoner! I am locked up in a pretty little cage with a pretty little courtyard to run circles in and a library to tell me about a world I’m not allowed to be a part of! Then they watch me and test me and monitor me and if I do anything outside their idea of normal, they question me or drug me! And they tell me you’re just an illusion, then Joshua comes along and says it doesn’t matter if I just act ‘normal’ but Malachai says how can I ever be normal if I believe you’re real and I—”

  As suddenly as his anger had come, it fled, leaving him empty with despair. He pulled his knees up to his chin and laid his head on them. Even here, his stomach was hurting again. He wrapped his arms around his legs, a tight ball of misery. He grabbed at his hair and pulled, as if expecting one pain to erase the other.

  “Ydrel.”

  Although he didn’t look up to see her, he could hear the forcefulness of her voice, feel the strength of her thoughts. He felt her hands firm on his shoulders. He could even smell her: the scent of earth and sweat and fresh air and some flower he couldn’t name.

  “Ydrel. I. Am. Real.”

  He didn’t know if the thought comforted or frightened him. He shivered.

  *

  Once they entered the restaurant, Joshua found himself besieged by handshakes, kisses to his cheeks, and respectful bows. Sachiko’s father, a compact man with swarthy skin and a nose that matched Sachiko’s, led them to a side room with a long table set for ten. He indicated a seat near the door to Joshua, then sat down across from him. Sachiko sat beside Joshua, with her mother across from her. One of the waiters followed them in and took their drink orders and waited.

  “You got any food allergies?” Vincenzo Luchese made it sound like a challenge.

  Bemused, Joshua shook his head.

  Vincenzo glanced at his employee. “Bring us what’s good.”

  Sachiko rolled her eyes once the waiter left. “It’s all good, and you know it,” she scolded. “You drive Peter nuts when you do that!”

  Her father shrugged. “Keeps him on his toes.”

  Sachiko turned to her mother in exasperation. Chiyo shrugged, though her Mona Lisa smile and the glint in her eyes told Joshua she found it amusing. A family joke, then, or a habit the family had made into a joke. He bumped Sachiko’s leg with his and grinned at her. Her annoyance melted and she grinned back.

  Before anyone could say anything more, people—relatives, Joshua guessed by their similar looks and restaurant attire—came in to meet him. And to assess him, he thought. After about the fifth cousin, Joshua decided he’d have to ask Sachiko for a cheat sheet on the Luchese/Oshiro family tree. Several brought drinks with them and settled themselves at the table.

  With the drinks and the appetizers came questions. Joshua admitted to considering psychology a plausible career, but that he wanted to pursue his dream of becoming a rock star first. “I know it’s a longshot—”

  “Yeah, but you have major talent,” Sachiko interrupted.

  Her words made him feel the same way he had when she admitted she’d found him good-looking. He cleared his throat and said to the table at large, “I have drive, too. And our band is awesome. We’ve got to give it a try. Besides, this is the time in my life to take chances like that. I’m not sure it’s the kind of career I’d want once I’m a husband and father.”

  His eyes strayed to Sachiko, and he caught her looking at him. She turned her attention to her drink, but he could see the slight blush on her cheeks. For a moment, he forgot everyone else in the room.

  Then her father hummed agreement. “That’s good thinking. I’m going to check on the food. Come on, Joshua. I’ll show you the kitchen.”

  “Sure,” Joshua rose and excused himself, earning some snickers from her cousins, but an approving look from Sachiko’s mother.

  Her father led him along the wall of the main dining room and into the kitchen. Joshua barely noticed the linen-draped tables with candles; his gaze landed on the black-lacquered grand piano in the corner.

  “That’s a beautiful piano!” He wondered if his voice reflected the longing and envy he felt.

  Vincenzo tossed up one hand dismissively. “Meh. Sachiko’s uncle bought it for her, but she hated piano. We have a pianist, comes in on Sundays and special occasions. You like? You play for us later. So what do you know about restaurants?”

  I don’t want to join the family business, Joshua thought, then chided himself. For pity’s sake! They’d just met. He probably just wants to show off the kitchen—or let me meet more relatives.

  “Not much, sir.”

  Vincenzo waved his hands dismissively. Joshua wondered if he talked with his hands so much when he was in the Navy. He opened the swinging doors and waved for Joshua to enter the kitchen. “It’s like music—or psychology. You need talent, drive…and presentation doesn’t hurt, either.”

  He led Joshua down the aisles, talking a little about how restaurant kitchens differed from ones in the home, describing a little about their cuisine, introducing or re-introducing him to the staff/family. Joshua relaxed.

  “So what do you know about knives?” he asked as they came to a magnetic strip on the wall holding a dozen blades of different sizes.

  “Uh, don’t use the same knife for vegetables as for meat?”

  He nodded approval, then pulled down a large butcher’s knife and thumbed the blade idly. “Every knife in the kitchen as a specific purpose. This one has two. I call her ‘Veritas.’”

  Oooo-kay. “Why—?”

  Suddenly, Sahicko’s father closed the distance and brought the blade up to Joahua’s throat. Joshua yelped and leapt back, hitting the metal counter and causing the pans and bowls on it to clatter.

  “What are your intentions for my daughter?” he demanded.

  “I love her!” Joshua squawked. His voice cracked at the end.

  Around him, someone snickered, and another said, “Geez! Ease up, Vinny.”

  He glanced from his face to the knife and saw that it wasn’t as near his throat as he’d thought. Not that he was moving.

  “Vinny” spoke with deliberate slowness. “You hurt her, and…”

  “I don’t ever want to hurt her. She’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

  Her father looked hard into Joshua’s eyes a few more moments, then pulled away.

  Joshua released the breath he was holding and slumped, bracing himself on the counter. “Veritas, huh?” he asked as he took some slow breaths to regain his composure.

  “You don’t swear much, do you?” was all Vicenzo said as he returned the knife its place. “I like that. You going to be OK?”

  “I don’t know. Am I going to get threatened with an iron skillet next?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. What had he gotten into?

  Then he heard the approving laughter. Someone said, “I think he’ll fit right in,” and he realized he’d just passed some kind of test. He hoped it was the last.

  Vincenzo smacked his face twice, lightly, like Joshua had only seen done in the movies. “Come on. Bet you’ve never seen the inside of a restaurant freezer. So, does she know yet?”

  “No. Not yet. It’s only been a couple of weeks.”

  “You hear that?” he called to the room at large. “He’s a smart boy. Nobody do anything stupid and mess this up.”

  Joshua imagined him adding “for my son.” Yes, he’d passed with her father.

  Now he just
had to win her.

  *

  Ydrel’s encounter with Tasmae had left him so upset, he’d staggered to the bathroom and thrown up. He’d half-hoped that someone was listening and would come to his aid, but no one came. He made his way back the bed with difficulty and lay down to stare at the ceiling and brood.

  Malachai must review the video himself or have some kind of program that flags certain words or voices or something. Do they have stuff like that? Wonder if Joshua would know? Still, ironic that the one time I’d like someone to check on me, no one bothers to show.

  I should sleep, he concluded, but the pain his stomach and the command of the Miscria had robbed him of slumber.

  Teach her to build a bomb! That would get me locked up in Maximum “Care” for sure! Though maybe tonight, that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Maybe the air conditioning works there.

  First, he’d been too hot; now, he shivered under the covers. Maybe he should call the nurse. Maybe he was sick…

  Of course, I’m sick! Sick of being monitored like a felon, sick of being too afraid to even tell someone my stomach hurts!

  Sick of being made to fight someone else’s war…

  A tear slid down his cheek, and he lay there, shivering and crying, until at last sleep overcame him.

  *

  “Mmmm, that sends the most delightful shivers down my spine.” Sachiko sighed.

  “Why don’t you come inside and I’ll see what else I can do to make you tingle,” Joshua murmured in her ear.

  “I wish I could.” She leaned against his chest. They’d stayed with her parents through dinner, then wandered through the touristy part of Newport before driving to the gazebo on Ocean Drive to watch the sun set. Now they were standing on his doorstep, wrapped in each other’s arms. “But I really have to do some studying on my own. I hadn’t planned on doing this today.” She gave him a little squeeze. “It was fun, though.”

  He returned the hug. “I had a great time, too.”

  She snorted. “So much for paybacks.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied lightly, but before she could ask, he turned to the door. He stopped, his hand on the knob.