by G. P. Ching
Chapter 24
The Small Print
“There’s something you should know about Oswald,” Dr. Silva said as she approached the wrought-iron gate that led from the back garden to the maple orchard. She and Jacob had just returned from their visit to the Achuar medicine woman.
“What do you mean?” Jacob snapped.
“There are some rules, some cautions, I feel I must share with you,” she said, holding open the gate for him to walk through.
“Like what?”
“Well, you must always keep this gate locked. This is very important. And, you must never, ever, travel through the tree without me.”
Dr. Silva locked the gate behind them and sat down on the little hill at the base of the orchard. “There’s something I haven’t told you about the tree, Jacob. You know that Oswald’s blood is a portal. That means we can travel places using it, but it also means that others can travel here. See, we put down tracks, more like vibrations. How do I explain this? It’s like we unravel string. We are in the string, wrapping around time and space, and when we travel, others can slide down our string. Things can follow us back. We must be very certain that doesn’t happen.”
Jacob’s vision went red. “Rules! Cautions! Don’t you think you should have told me these things before I went through the tree?” He paced in front of her. He was sick of her releasing information little by little on her own terms. “Is there anything else I should know? Will I come down with the bends in an hour? Oh wait,” he said, throwing up his hands. “If I do get the bends, it will be for my own good, right? You won’t know or care what it feels like because whatever you are, you don’t feel!”
Dr. Silva didn’t acknowledge Jacob’s tirade. She continued as if he’d said nothing. “The gate is a failsafe. It’s enchanted. It keeps people here from finding out about Oswald and keeps them,” she said, nodding toward the tree, “if there should be any, from gaining access to our world. I cannot stress enough how important this is.”
He stared at her, waiting for more, waiting for her to show him some shred of understanding and decency. He needed answers. The silence was deafening, so he nodded, not so much because he agreed with her but because he was sick of standing there in the expectant stillness. She stood up and brushed off her seat. But Jacob decided he wasn’t finished. Nothing made sense anymore and it was her fault. It all started with her.
“What are you?” He dug in his heels, determined to get an answer this time. “You said the gate was enchanted but before you said you weren’t a witch?”
“I’m not a witch, but I can perform sorcery,” she said toward the house.
“Show me.”
She turned around to face him. All of the casual energy she usually displayed was gone and her face took on the icy hard look of sculpted marble, the same as the night before when she’d grabbed his wrist. Looking taller and straighter than ever, her presence knocked into him as if her aura were a living, physical thing. It was so unsettling Jacob took a step backward.
Exposing her right palm, she circled her left over it and a ball of blue fire appeared. It crackled as it burned, more than a flame. She threw the ball into the air and caught it in her left. Again she tossed it above her head, but while it sailed through the air she circled her palm and another fireball appeared. She repeated the trick until she was juggling three balls of glowing-hot energy.
This was no illusion. Jacob could feel the heat against his face as the fireballs sailed by, several feet away. He could only imagine how hot they must be in her bare palms. Then, as he watched, awestruck, she tossed them all in the air, tilted her head back and caught them one after another in her mouth. Jacob heard a sizzling sound as they hit her tongue. She swallowed them down in one gulp and then blew a ring of smoke over his right shoulder.
The whole scene reminded him of the fire-eater at the circus, only oddly disturbing, like watching her cut herself. His mouth was hanging open. He closed it. It fell open again. He closed it again.
Jacob swallowed hard. “So, you’re a sorcerer?”
“Not really.” She shook her head.
“Then, what are you? Tell me.”
She whispered something under her breath and looked toward the horizon. “Why does everyone need a label?”
Jacob didn’t know what to say. He just waited for an answer. None came. But he watched the humanity infuse into Dr. Silva’s body, a tangible, warm thing that seemed to wash away the cold stiffness her magic had brought with it from the inside out. The hard, marble quality of her features softened and the unapproachable aura seemed to pull back within her. The next time she spoke, her voice and appearance were as normal as anyone Jacob had ever met before.
“Listen, Jacob, I have to go away in a few weeks—the first week of July. I’m visiting a group of ethnobotanists in St. Louis about these plants.” Dr. Silva held up her leather bag. “We think there may be a cure for some types of cancer in these leaves. The government of Peru won’t allow us to remove these by conventional travel but my colleagues will be very excited I got my hands on some samples. Now I just need to find a way to avoid the question of how.”
She smiled at him but Jacob was barely paying attention. His mind was in another world, processing what he’d just seen.
“Would you mind caring for the garden and feeding Gideon while I’m gone? There will be extra wages for it.”
He ignored her. “If you can do sorcery, why can’t you help me reach my mom? What aren’t you telling me? Where is she?”
“I told you. She’s nowhere. She’s in a place between places. Nobody can reach her. Not even I,” Dr. Silva said, an empty sadness in her voice.
“I don’t believe you.” Jacob’s hands balled into fists.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t the answer you were looking for. I understand more than you know. I had a terrible time dealing with Oswald’s death but I did deal with it and moved on. If you want to talk about your mother and moving on, I am here for you.”
“But she’s not dead!” he snapped. “Why are you talking about moving on? If she’s alive, then she’s someplace, and I am going to search until I find her.”
Jacob stormed through the yard and threw open the heavy gate. Before he crossed the street, he turned back toward Dr. Silva, who was standing with her hands on her bag, looking disappointed.
“She’s nowhere. You won’t find her. She’s no longer of this Earth,” Dr. Silva said.
“I’m going to find her. I will find her, with or without you. You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain, Dr. Silva. Don’t think I’m going to forget that any time soon.”
Jacob turned his back on her and trudged across Rural Route One.
He entered the Laudners’ house and slammed the door behind him. He was relieved that no one was home. It was late morning on Sunday and he assumed they were still at church. The one highlight of this weekend was he wouldn’t have to sit through another hour of Mass.
Up the stairs, down the hall, and to the pink room, he bolted. The shock of what he saw left him standing in the doorway. The pink room wasn’t pink. The walls were the dark gray blue that Malini had picked out. The bedspread had been replaced with a light brown comforter and the floral wingback was now an orange chair. The antique furniture was gone, replaced with walnut, brushed nickel, and glass. On the desk was a laptop computer.
Leaning against the doorframe, he tried to shift gears from anger and disappointment to the emotion that overwhelmed him now, gratitude. Jacob could not process the generosity or the time and effort the room represented. He stared into the space, trying to sort it out, long enough for his shoulder to ache from the leaning.
“Do you like it?” Uncle John asked from the hall behind him.
Jacob hadn’t even heard him come in.
“It’s fantastic. How did you…?”
“Malini helped. She picked out most of this stuff. I just did the painting. She should be here any minute. Said she was coming by with a late birthday gift for yo
u.”
“It’s amazing. It’s really … more than you should have.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He felt like there was something else he should say but Jacob couldn’t find the words. The most he could manage was a nod in John’s direction.
“Well,” John said, “you must be tired. Abigail said she would have you up all night running tests and by those bags under your eyes she wasn’t kidding. Why don’t you try out that new bed of yours? I’ll wake you up when Malini gets here.” He smiled before wandering toward the stairs.
Jacob crawled under the comforter, hoping for dreamless sleep. But the gratitude he felt about the room was not strong enough to hold back his worry for his mother. He closed his eyes. Why hadn’t Dr. Silva told him the whole truth about what the medicine woman had said? He was positive she was holding something back. What was it she had said? It is best that you consider your mother dead. She’s in a spiritual destination, not a physical one. Well, if that wasn’t a load of crap, he didn’t know what was. Just the thought that his mother might be some maniac’s prisoner, suffering somewhere that was so bad she might as well be dead, was enough to make every muscle in his body tighten to the point of nausea.
As he rolled over to try to avoid getting sick, the stone that hung around his neck caught under his body and the cord dug into his skin. He adjusted himself, pulling the red stone off over his head. Turning it between his fingers, the light from the window exposed facets deep beneath the smooth exterior. There was something in there: something black, something shifting. Warm in his hand, the disc seemed to grow larger. He could feel himself being pulled forward into the redness.
“How’d it go last night?” Malini’s head poked through the door. Jacob snapped out of it.
“Fine.” Reluctantly, he set the stone on the nightstand.
“That’s beautiful. Where did you get it?” she asked, moving toward the table.
“Don’t touch it!” he snapped and snatched it back up. Immediately, he felt embarrassed about yelling at her. “I’m sorry, Malini. I’m really tired. That came out wrong. The edges are sharp. See I cut my hand.” He held up his cut palm. “I made it from a stone I found in Dr. Silva’s garden.”
He hated lying to Malini.
“Oh,” Malini said, a note of concern in her voice.
Jacob slid the stone under his pillow.
“I brought you something,” she said, handing him a package.
“You didn’t have to do that. This place is amazing. John told me you helped him do this.”
“You’re welcome, but I wanted you to have this, too.”
When he yanked the wrapping paper off, a heavy book fell into his lap.
“I know for a fact you don’t already have one,” she added.
It was a Bible. He ran his hand over the black leather cover and frowned.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t believe in God,” he said plainly. “God is something people made up to control other people.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Malini, no offense, I know this is what you believe, but I just feel that more wars are fought over religion than anything else. If it wasn’t for religion, we would have a more peaceful world.” He looked away from her, out the window. “For one, my dad would be alive.”
“What?”
“He died in Afghanistan. It started as a religious thing you know … Muslim Jihad.”
“I’m so sorry, Jacob.” She crawled onto the bed behind him and circled his shoulders with her arms. Her cheek rested against his ear. “It still hurts.” It was a statement not a question.
“No. Not really. It’s been years. I miss him but it’s not as raw as it used to be.”
“And your mom? Any word on what happened to her?”
“No one knows for sure, still.”
“That’s horrible. It must be so difficult for you.”
“It is,” Jacob whispered.
“I can’t disagree with you on the war thing, but I will tell you that what people have done with religion hasn’t always been what they should have done. People are corrupt; they make bad choices. They bend the truth for their own gain. But before you reject God, the entire concept of God, I think you should know what you are rejecting for yourself.”
“No thanks.”
“Well, for Dr. Silva’s research then.” She edged the book onto his nightstand.
“Okay,” he mumbled.
Jacob stared blankly out the window. The last thing he needed right now was to have religion shoved down his throat. It was all voodoo, no better than the dancing of the Achuar tribe. There were different words, different objects, but it was all a false comfort. People needed a story to tell themselves and religion made a nice one.
“I won’t bother you anymore about this.” It was as if Malini could tell she was pushing him too far. “You don’t need talk, you need hope.”
She ran her hand over the black cover, as if to say that hope was right under her fingertips, just inches away.
Jacob turned his head to look at her. She had good intentions, but he knew better. He’d make his own hope. Jacob had a plan and, although Malini didn’t know it yet, she was already a part of it.
