Authors: Craig Gehring
Another person knocked at the door
. “Excuse me,” she said. “Please follow me back to the reception area. Duiyon will be back from her errands in a few minutes.”
She checked the front door. It was James.
“Dr. Seacrest,” she shouted through the door. “We’re closed. If it’s treatment you seek you’ll have to come another time.”
“Just need to borrow some sugar, neighbor,” he shou
ted back. She opened the door
let him inside. James was about fifteen years older than her, in his early forties. He was wiry yet handsome and walked with quiet aloofness. She knew the majority of his sex appeal was due to the fact that he obviously didn’t give a shit about anything. Not her sort of guy - but he certainly caught her eye, today. He’d just had a haircut, and something about the way he’d done it reminded her…
Oh, stop it.
The two doctors had the distinction of being the only two whites of their profession on the island. “How can I help you?” she asked. “I’m out of sugar, as well as everything else in the dispensary. I have some water, but it will evaporate soon. And they just got my last antibiotic.” She filed charts, making sure he saw that she wasn’t wasting any time in getting out of there.
“Actually I just wanted to borrow some of your time. I have reason to celebrate, and wanted to take you out to dinner,” said Seacrest boldly.
“Well, I appreciate your offer, James, I really do…”
“Why don’t you take
me up on it
just once, Dr. Knowles? It’s my birthday.”
“It was your birthday seven months ago.”
“This is my real birthday
. I’ve grown older,” he said.
“James, will you ever give up?” she asked.
“Hmmm…” he said. She walked
down the hall to
the exam rooms. She changed the paper towels running across the beds and sanitized. As she sprayed she thought about Seacrest. She got a feeling about him that made her want to keep her distance. A lot of had to do with the mystery as to how he ended up in
Lisbaad
. It was something he wouldn’t talk about.
Of course, it’s still a mystery to me how I ended up in
Lisbaad
…
She had to admit there was a feeling she got about every guy that made her want to keep her distance.
Dinner sounded nice, though. It was something she rarely was able to treat herself to. Seacrest, in his Corvette and infinitely deep pockets, was more than capable of
delivering
a fine dining experience.
When she walked back into the reception room, James was crouched near the
natives, muttering with them. He stood up
when she walked in
.
“What are you up to?” she asked with cocked eyebrow.
“Apparently, Mr. Guin here had to carry his son eight miles to reach this clinic. It will be another eight miles before they get to sleep.” He paused.
“Mmhmm?” she prodded.
“I have made them an offer,” said Seacrest.
“An
d what is that?” asked Callista.
“I will drive them in my glorious candy apple red quad cab ‘95 Corvette with all leather interior all the way to their farm, if you will agree to accompany me and then let me take you out to dinner.”
He smiled gamely. He knew he had won. She sighed and looked at the little boy. She envisioned his eyes lighting up as he too
k what was most
likely the first car ride of his life
.
Probably he wouldn’t even need the pills after that.
I do it for the children…he does look handsome today…and ten, fifteen years is not all that much difference on this island…it’s just a date…
The pain had changed. Edward sensed that his body had made definite progress on the head injury, but the torture along his nerve channels had grown much worse. It felt as though every neuron in hi
s body were
generating charge, ripping up and down his body like electric fire and ice.
The feeling of disconnection was gone. Instead, he felt much
too
connected to his body.
He heard a din of voices nearby, hundreds of voices. Some sort of crowd. They were muttering, shouting, displeased.
He felt trapped, and for an instant he fought the impulse to jump up and
flee
. He checked himself. Sudden motion would undo every bit of healing he’d done.
According to
the reasoning he’d conducted
before he’d fallen asleep, ru
nning would serve no purpose and could actually estrange Mahanta, the only reason Edward was still living.
That logic, however, seemed hazy
at best
. He didn’t feel like he could process again everything he’d gone through before the sleep.
Just the thought overwhelmed him
. He couldn’t bring back into recall the concatenation of evaluations that had led him to that conclusion.
I guess I could…very slowly…
He picked it all over in his mind as best he could. The pain dispersed his concentration.
The salient points stood out.
Manassa is Mahanta. Mahanta, for now, is a friend.
His mind drifted to the drug that Bri’ley’na had injected into his veins.
And I had worried it was mud.
A dream he had buried a decade ago resurfaced.
Edward
stands
in Father’s study. Father
is
kneeling, praying on his rosary. Thomas ha
s just
left the night before. “Are you sad, Edward?” ask
s
F
ather.
“No, sir.” But his voice
i
s cracking.
“It’
s fine to miss your brother.”
“I do miss him.”
“Let’s prayer together.”
“I don’t
want
to pray tonight, father.”
“That’s whe
n we need to the most - when we
don’t wish to.”
“I don’t want to go off like Thomas, father.”
Father chuckles
. “Then what do you want to do?
“I want to learn about science, father. I want to learn about electricity, biology, chemistry. I can’t stop reading about all of it. I want to make a difference.”
“You will be a Jesuit, then, the most learned of the priests. You won’t be a
Franciscan like your brother Thomas. You’ll be a Jesuit like Allen.”
I don’t want to be a priest, father. I don’t want to be like either of them.
That part was never said.
Edward had
held hope.
After Edward had won a scholarship to Oxford, his father
had let him attend
for his bachelors
“to prepare him for the priesthood
.
”
All while he was in school, he’d held hope, though
, that his course would change
.
As he’d neared graduation, the pressure had mounted.
Father. Then brothers. And then Cali
-
a different sort of pressure, and a final one.
It left him with a terrible question: had
those dreams
ever been real?
Though he held them so hard, had they fled?
They had.
Now, after his experience with this mysterious substance, the dreams rushed back to him in full.
He knew that under its influence, with the inhuman mind that it gave him, he could solve mysteries that had plagued humankind for centuries.
That substance is not of God.
The voice of his father. Edward ignored it.
It’s a drug, Edward,
his cautious side protested. He quickly quelled it.
I don’t know what it is.
Whatever it is, I
need to learn mor
e.
“Edward.” Edward opened his eyes. Mahanta sat with his legs crossed on his velvet pad.
“Manassa,” answered Edward with what might have passed for a smile. He noticed his throat didn’t croak so much this time.
“We shall name me something Western in time,” Mahanta said thoughtfully in English. Clearly Mahanta felt comfortable in Edward’s company.
Edward said nothing but took note of this. Mahanta was hinting at something that Edward wasn’t awake enough to decipher.
“How is your head?” Mahanta asked.
“Better and worse. My nerves…”
“It is the
lleychta
, the nectar - the unfortunate side effect of its trance.”
Edward could hear a growing din of Onge voices outside the hut. They were getting loud enough to contribute to the aching in his head.
“It hurt before I was given it,” said Edward.
“I tried to give it to you twice, while you were out, when it looked like you w
ouldn’t make it. But it doesn’
t work while you are knocked out. I
didn’t know,” he said
. “I’ve never been knocked out and given it to myself before.”
Edward couldn’t help but chuckle at this. He was awarded immediately by a fresh throbbing radiating from his spine
out
to h
is toes and fingers
“I will get some eucalyptus paste to help with the pain. It sooth
es the nerves after the liquid,” said Mahanta.
“
I could definitely use some soothing.
What was that stuff? What did you put in me? And in you?”
Edward
stuttered trying to get out all his questions at once.
Mahanta smiled warmly. “I have many questions for you, too. All that in time.” The young man sighed
as he stood up
. “First, there is a challenge we must face. Can you sit?”
“I don’t know.” Edward hated the idea, but there was urgency in Mahanta’s voice.
“Let’s try,
”
said Mahanta.
He helped Edward up into a sitting position.
The motion was all Edward could bear.
“Quiet!” whispered Mahanta.
Edward
realized he had screamed
. “Hurts?”
Mahanta
asked.
“Yes.
I can’t take it. I need to lie
down.”
“Can you stand?”
asked Mahanta
“Oh, God, no,” said Edward.
The crowd outside kept shouting. They were getting loud enough for Edward to make out some of the words.
Manassa. White man.
“Your ‘no’ is not a sufficient answer today,” said Mahanta.
“What is this crowd?”
“They
want
to kill you.”
Oh, God.
“You do not recognize their living god. This is a holy house, this hut, consecrated to me and
those I command. It should be safe for you so long as I deem it,
but unholy men m
ight creep in the dark of night and kill you despite my commandments. Such is the force of our traditions.
” This he said quickly, in the rolling poetry of traditional Onge. The older tongue was easier for Edward to follow, being closer to its Indo-European roots.
“What must we do?” asked Edward.
“I have a question for you, Jesuit.”
A question that you obviously don’t want to ask
. There was pain in Mahanta’s eyes.
“Yes?”
“Would your lord Jesus desire you to spit on his face if it eased your suffering?”
Edward thought it over. There was an awful hole in his stomach as he started to see where this was going. “Yes.”
“Today you must spit and ease your suffering.” Mahanta waited for Edward to prompt him further, but the priest said nothing.
“If you desire to live today, you must renounce your God and bow to me, proclaiming me the only living god on Earth, with the power to change the destiny of nations. It must be said this way.” Again he said this in traditional Onge, flatly. The prospect didn’t excite Mahanta one bit - in fact, it seemed to disgust him. Edward was feeling nauseated, himself.
Mahanta continued matter-of-factly. “I will announce that I have healed you with my powers, that you have come to see the light and that you are now my servant, higher
than all Onge for you are the only mortal who may sleep in my house. I have calculated this in trance. This is the only path I see in which you may survive. Nockwe has grown ill
and can no longer help protect you
. Dook gains power by the day
. It will only be a matter of time before tradition kills you
.
Perhaps today.
” This was no argument. Just the facts.