Visions

by James C. Glass

  “So you can go to work. You want that, don’t you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “But we’ve talked about it, Peter. You said you wanted to be a real part of the world, and you’re ready for it now. Why wait any longer? Do you want to talk it over again with your kin?”

  “I’ve done that, and they tell me to do as you say. I do this for them, so they can all join me someday. But am I ready to be alone in the Hinchai world?

  As if they care, thought Savas. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but yes, you’re ready. I have the contacts, and I can get you started, but the rest is up to you. Quincy is close, and I can see you regularly, if you want it.”

  “Oh, yes, I would want that.”

  “Start with a simple job, and work your way up. Living in town will be different than here. Work hard, and save your money. You can be whatever you want to be, have whatever you want to have, if you focus on it, and believe in yourself. Some people don’t believe that, but I do.”

  Peter took a deep breath. “It all seems too soon. I still fumble around buttoning this shirt.”

  “The rest of us don’t? Look, you think about it as long as you want, talk it over with your people, the ones I never ask you about. In a day I’ll have arrangements ready for you. You give the word, and we’re out of here for you to make a start. If you can’t do it, nobody can.”

  Peter was silent a moment, nervously fingering his book, then he turned towards the door, and said, “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

  * * * * * * *

  In the morning, they packed some clothes, climbed into the wagon, and drove south.

  It was the first time Peter had been on the big road and near the Hinchai, but as usual his emotions were tightly guarded, and he showed no reactions to new things. In three hours they reached the town called Quincy and drove straight to the bar and grill patronized by Savas for some twelve years, though two owners had come and gone since he’d started drinking there. The latest and perhaps most inept owner was Rudy Mueller, a heavy, agreeable man with a swollen nose and red tracks running horizontally across both cheeks, a man expert in the consumption of that which he sold to his many customers, mostly miners and ranchers, and drifters searching for a new life. Rudy was cook, waiter, and bartender at the time, and although service was less than fast and food more than cooked, the drinks were generous and so business was brisk. Unknown to Rudy, his liver was already nearing retirement, and in only a few years the River Bar and Grill would once more be seeking a new owner.

  It was noon when they entered. The place was dark except for the lamp over a card table at the back, where two miners were playing for gold dust, two others watching, nursing beers. The four men at the bar had begun serious drinking when the place had opened at eleven, and were now well along the path to euphoria and enlightenment, one already snoring peacefully. Those conscious turned to look closely at Savas and Peter as they found two places at the end of the bar, then at Rudy when he yelled from the kitchen.

  “Hey, Savas! You’re early for dinner!”

  “Came in on business, Rudy. Got my cousin with me.”

  Rudy came out of the kitchen, wiping greasy hands on an unwashed apron, then stuck a fat paw across the bar at Peter, who took it immediately and shook it firmly. Rudy grinned at Savas, who introduced them.

  “Kid’s got a grip like a hard-rocker. Relative, eh?”

  “Yup. We came to town to find him a job. Know of anything?”

  Rudy thought for a minute while he poured two shots of whiskey in a glass, and drank it down in a gulp. “Kind of slow in mining, now, and the mill is filled up. What kind of work you looking for?”

  “Anything I can get,” said Peter before Savas could answer. “I can read, and write—and I like people.”

  “Yeah? Regular schoolin’?”

  “Yes.”

  “We brought his papers along,” said Savas quickly.

  “No shit? How ’bout a drink?”

  “Sure. A couple of beers,” said Savas, and Peter nodded. Rudy poured two of them slowly, pushed the big glasses across the bar and watched Pete sip, then poured another drink for himself.

  “Hardware store may need some help clerkin’ or stockin’, but the pay ain’t much. You can get sweepin’ jobs lots of places. I can even—”

  “Hey, Rudy, we’re thirsty down here!” One patron, a red-faced man with a hawk-nose, and a chewed up cigar hanging from a corner of his mouth, banged down a glass at the other end of the bar. The sound registered vaguely with his companion, whose half-opened eyes suddenly showed signs of life as they moved in an attempt to locate the source.

  “Now, Rudy! I ain’t got all day!”

  “Be right there, Mac.”

  But that wasn’t fast enough. “Aw shit,” said the man, sliding off his stool and holding on for support as he turned one corner of the bar and staggered towards them with an angry look on his face.

  “Watch out for this one,” said Rudy softly. “Bad fight two weeks ago in here; bloodied a guy up.”

  Savas stiffened, right hand going by reflex into his pocket and out again, a thumb moving, and with a sharp snick four inches of shining steel became a new finger. But then a big hand touched his gently; when he looked around, Peter’s face was close, eyes fixed on his. By the time the drunk reached them, Savas had somehow closed the knife and put it back in his pocket.

  As the drunk lurched around the final corner, Rudy said nervously, “This is John Macavee, men. Mac, meet Savas and Pete.” And then he stepped backwards to get out of the way.

  John careened into Peter, who was nearest the corner of the bar, bounced off surprised at the mass he’d encountered, then bored in on Savas, whose hand was moving again towards his pocket.

  “Ain’t nice takin’ the man’s time so’s he can’t even serve a thirsty customer who drops a lot of dough in this Goddamned place. Don’t nobody hear so good anymore? I want a fucking drink!”

  “Comin’ right up, Mac, so relax.” Rudy grabbed bottle and glass, and started pouring.

  John watched for a second, and turned rheumy eyes towards Savas. “What’re you looking at?”

  “A man who wants to die,” said Savas quietly, eyes like those of a shark, black and fathomless. He turned towards the drunk, hand coming out of his pocket, but then the man was being pulled back by another big hand over one shoulder, twirled and hugged against Pete’s side so he couldn’t move, and at first didn’t even think of struggling.

  “Good drink you’ve got coming there,” said Peter affably. “You’ll have to forgive my friend, ’cause he don’t like it when people get so close up to him like that. Makes him feel closed in, you know, like bein’ in a jail cell. I don’t mind, though. I’m buyin’ this one for you.” He threw a half eagle—a five dollar gold piece—on the bar.

  “Yeah?” said Mac, looking up at the wide, square jaw near his face. Peter’s big arm had totally immobilized him, but he showed no fear. “Thanks,” he said finally.

  “You know,” lied Pete, “I had a lady once who dumped me for a guy she thought had more’n me. She ended up nearly starving to death. Sometimes women have no sense, just don’t know what they’re losin’. You get over it, and find someone better. Here’s to all the better ones out there.” Pete raised his glass, Mac picked his up, too, and they drank together.

  “Well,” said Mac, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “nice talkin’ to ya. Better get back to my friend, now. See you around again.” He lurched away, made one turn, and cocked a thumb back at Pete as he spoke to Rudy. “Big one’s okay, but the other one’s a little nervous.”

  Rudy’s breath whistled between his teeth. “Jeezus, how you handled that. One of my best customers, but he can be real trouble. You used to dealing with drunks?”

  “No,” said Peter.

  “You want a job here, you’ve got it,” said Rudy. “Be my bouncer, and tend some bar, I’ll pay you better than anywhere else in town. I’ve been tryin’ to run this
place by myself, and it would sure go better with help. Ten bucks a week to start, and your meals here. Extra from customers when you tend bar at nights. I’d rather cook. What do you think?” Rudy looked at Savas for support.

  “Sounds good to me,” said Savas. “It’s a start, Peter.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know anything about bars.”

  “Hell, I can teach you all that in a month. I been in this business twenty years one place or ’nother.”

  “He learns fast,” said Savas.

  Peter looked at Savas, and both of them smiled. “When should I start?” said Peter.

  “How about tonight? And here’s an address, a lady friend of mine who rents out two rooms, nice and clean, no other expenses. Just down the street. Hell, your living expenses will be nothin’.”

  “Thanks, Mister Mueller,” said Peter.

  “It’s Rudy. Come back at six, I’ll fry you both up some veal and my own special kraut, then Pete can get started.”

  “Good enough,” said Savas, draining his glass. “See you then.”

  As Peter and Savas left the bar, John Macavee gave them a friendly wave. “See ya later.”

  Outside, Savas turned to Peter with a frown. “How did you calm that guy down? His eyes were slits. Very dangerous.”

  “I was just friendly,” said Peter.

  “Right. And what was all that bullshit about women?”

  “Man lost his lady.”

  “How the hell did you know that?”

  “He was telling his friend about it.”

  “At the other end of the bar? And you heard it? Come on, Peter, was it a lucky guess or something?”

  “Or something,” said Peter, grinning. “I guess I pay better attention than my teacher thinks I do.”

  Four weeks later, at the age of twenty, Peter Pelegeropoulis was the new bartender at the River Bar and Grill.

  In two years he was bookkeeper, and partner.

  In five years he was sole-owner of a thriving business, financed by gold once kept hidden beneath the floor of a Greek’s cabin in the hills.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  LOSS

  “I feel your pain as I have never felt it before. It hurts deeply, yet I never knew him.” Anka put a hand on Pegre’s shoulder, leaving it there to warm him in his grief.

  “I hadn’t admitted it, but he was another father to me, responsible for much of what has happened in my life.” Pegre looked at Anka with moist eyes, and saw understanding there, the understanding of someone old who had seen much death and become resigned to its inevitability.

  “It isn’t right, but I feel jealousy. There are things you shared with the Hinchai I could not be a part of, and somehow I feel negligent in not giving all I could.”

  They were sitting in the little grotto a few yards down-canyon from the main cavern entrance where they always went for private talks. Outside, the sun had risen only an hour before, and the cold made their breath a sparkling fog in the new light. They sat facing each other on a flat rock, Anka draped in a thin robe of deerskin, Pegre dressed in jeans and a heavy wool shirt. Both were shivering.

  “There was nothing you could teach me about the Hinchai world, but all else comes from you.”

  “You are as your real father, my brother, with the feelings of your mother.”

  “Savas was my friend, but he never pressured me to tell where I came from, volunteered little about himself, even near the end when he realized how ill he was. I always felt his past was dark with happenings that caused him anger and fear. If he was threatened, he could be extremely dangerous, but with me he was patient and kind and openly pleased with my successes.”

  “I’m sure you were a son to him, Pegre, as you have been to me. You have much to give to others, and I am learning to share you. Was his death a painful one?”

  “I don’t think so. He had medicine for the pain; it made him drowsy. Sometimes he didn’t remember to eat properly, and near the end he wasn’t eating at all. I rode up every day or so to see him, and when I found him yesterday he was in bed, quite dead and already stiff. What bothers me is he died alone. I should have been there.”

  “One cannot predict the time a spirit chooses to leave, whether Tenanken or Hinchai. You did what you could.”

  “The body is being prepared in town by someone who is paid for such things. We will bury him tomorrow in a graveyard near the property he owned.”

  “We? You do this with Hinchai?”

  “A few who knew him: a banker, those who sometimes drank with him, and two others who do the burial. I got to know the banker because Savas had considerable wealth, and left it all to me. I share it with all Tenanken, Anka, by buying land for our homes and businesses that will make our place in the Hinchai world. Wealth is important to them, and Savas has provided it for us because I told him I wanted to bring my family to live in the valley, and he thought it was a good plan.”

  “Ah yes, The Plan. Can such an ambition be realized?” Anka said this with some fear, for the idea of mixing Tenanken and Hinchai in one community was yet abhorrent to him. They were one species, and yet they were not. The cultures, spirituality, life ethics, all had diverged in a far distant past. How safe the Tenanken had been, isolated in wilderness for tens of thousands of years, since before the time of severe cold and great ice mountains only vaguely recallable from The Memories, and then the settlers had suddenly come, driving them fearfully to the caves.

  “I will teach Tenanken the Hinchai ways, and it will not be difficult because we are one with them and should never have been separated. It is my intention that the newest generations of Tenanken will feel the heat of the sun as they work, and in this there cannot be opposition,” said Pegre.

  “I will use all my influence,” said Anka, nodding sagely.

  “Even with your own son?”

  “Particularly with him. He will hear me, Pegre, and his motives are honorable. He cares only for the future of the Tenanken.”

  “So he says,” said Pegre sharply. “I feel otherwise. Why does he dislike me so? In the years you raised us both, never did I strive to capture your affections only for myself, yet I sense a terrible and dangerous jealousy within Maki. If this is behind his opposition to The Plan I will gladly withdraw, and leave the leadership to someone else. Perhaps Moog. He has great intelligence.”

  Anka shook his head. “No, you will not abandon your role in The Plan. I forbid it. Maki’s jealousy is a problem he must deal with, along with his ambition. I fear he expects too much as the only true surviving son of a Keeper, and I share the blame for that. But as you both grew up, I had no favorites, and I have no apologies to offer for that. Do what you must for the Tenanken, and Maki is sure to support you.”

  “I want to believe that,” said Pegre. “I really do.” He picked up a small stone from the floor, and studied it. “I remember how I used to come here as a small boy, sit by the entrance and look down into the valley, wanting to climb a tree or run in the long grass, or throw myself into that icy stream, and always there was the strict law forbidding any of us to leave the canyon wall, and I’d wonder why we had such a law. What were we afraid of? Why were we hiding in dark and cold like common animals? I was afraid to go near a Hinchai until that first day with Savas, and later I discovered the stories they had made up about the dark skins who were here after us. Their children shivered with fear of strange savages who killed Hinchai without reason. They still tell such stories about a people whose lives they have forever altered. Fear is stupid, and we are all guilty of it.”

  “Then prepare the way for us to be together. You have my support, and Tel’s.”

  “I’m glad of that. We’ve never really become close.”

  Anka offered a faint smile. “The bond between mother and the last son of her body is strong. Grief for Maki’s brothers nearly killed her.”

  “I remember. Before that were happier times.”

  “They will come again. You will see to it, Pegre. Get on with your destiny. Can you
stay with us this night?”

  “No, I have to return to town for more business with a man who sells land, and I left my animal some distance from here. If I don’t return soon, someone will search for me. Fear again, you see.”

  “Then go, but with a promise. Promise you will never forget you are first a Tenanken, the Keepers of The Memories and The Mind Touch. We are special, Pegre. Not superior, but special. Preserve us.”

  “The best I can,” said Pegre solemnly, “and I will never forget who or what I am.”

  “One more thing,” said Anka quickly. “This thing you have learned from your Hinchai father, this use of symbols to record thoughts and events for others to see and understand without spoken words, I wish you to use this also for the Tenanken.”

  “Writing,” said Pegre.

  “Yes. I have concern for The Memories, Pegre. Their keeping is central to our identity, and a fragile thing. Keepers appear with increasing rarity among us, though now there are three: myself, Tel and Maki. I wish you to record The Memories for us, Pegre, with your writing. From this day on, when we meet, I will have something for you to record. Our identity is in The Memories; they must not be lost.”

  “I will do this,” said Pegre solemnly, “but Keepers will arrive as they have before.”

  “Perhaps,” said Anka, “but when we join with the Hinchai our blood line is certain to be diluted. We are too much alike to prevent inter-breeding with them, and The Memories could be lost forever. That is my fear.”

  “I will record them for you,” said Pegre, “when we meet again. But now I must leave.”

  They stood up, embraced stiffly, then Pegre turned and went out of the grotto, leaving Anka behind for quiet minutes to recall and put in vision-form a day in his robust adulthood when he felt the long grass beneath his feet, home was an earthen work dugout in a forest filled with running animals and birds, and day was divided between darkness and light.

  Before the Hinchai came.

  * * * * * * *

  The day they buried Savas Parkos all clouds had disappeared from the sky, and an eagle soared above them, lifting their spirits for the ceremonies, a task made easier by the fact that the dead man had lived a long if somewhat isolated life, and his few friends had all arrived to send him on his way. Peter had made the arrangements with the aid of Reverend Nate Burgundy, pastor of Faith Baptist Church, at which a closed-casket service was held at ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning. Of the fifteen people attending the service, Peter knew only three: Burgundy, whose short eulogy he found contrived, banker Ned Bester, whose interest he had sparked with a single deposit, and finally one John Macavee, up from Quincy, having become a good friend of Savas after nearly being killed by him. It pained Peter to speak of the dead man, but speak he did, and gave birth to the story of his journey from Greece and then Reno to live with his uncle, the kindness he had received, the wisdom, et cetera, et cetera, until he was nearly sick from the lies. He marveled that the Hinchai God did not strike him dead on the spot, wondering if it was passive like the World Spirit of the Tenanken, preferring subjects to solve their problems and suffer their consequences. He spoke simple words with affection and sadness, moving some of his audience to tears, for without knowing it he had touched them all with naked grief directly from his mind.