Expedition Beyond Page 8

  His face was gaunt, and a few sprigs of gray hair sprouted from his otherwise bald and wrinkled head. His skin looked paper-thin, pale white with tiny rectangular patches of dull green. Des thought that if this ancient man were a plant, the green spots would be chlorophyll. He wondered if the man’s round belly was due to fat or fluid accumulation from illness; he was fairly certain it wasn’t because of malnutrition.

  When the old man had sufficient air in his lungs, he plopped a tented woolen hat on his head and fixed his pink eyes on Des.

  “Ba-nik a-satta?”

  It was obviously a question, but concerning what? Des shrugged.

  “Habla Español?” the old man asked.

  Des was startled. It was his second encounter with the familiar in this strange land—the first had been the banana. Des had taken one year of high school Spanish before switching to French, now he regretted not having learned more Spanish.

  “No hablo Español,” Des told the old man. “Do you speak English?”

  “Parlez-vous Français?” the man tried.

  Des was wary. That this man knew two familiar languages was as inexplicable as everything else here.

  “Un petit peu,” Des said.

  “Un petit peu, aussi.”

  Des smiled. Progress. Hopefully they’d be able to communicate enough in French for him to ask pertinent questions. Maybe he was closer to getting home than he’d imagined. Certainly his parents would’ve been notified of his disappearance by now. And his younger sister, Kaitlin, whom he adored…He pushed aside his homesickness.

  The old man said with a slight bow of his head, “Je m’appelle Itar.”

  “Je m’appelle Desmond Alexander Cox, but mes amis call me Des,” Des said, then continued in English, “I consider you to be my friend, so you can call me Des, too.”

  Itar snorted and the warriors exchanged glances. Unaware he’d forgotten to speak French, Des thought he must have said something wrong—maybe his name meant something awful in their language?

  Itar bowed his head. “Des…too,” he mimicked.

  “No. Des, just Des.”

  Itar repeated, “‘No Des, just Des’.”

  Des was frustrated; this was going to be a very short conversation if he couldn’t even convey his own name. He held his hands out flat in front of him and motioned up and down.

  “Des. Je m’appelle Des.”

  The old man nodded with half-closed eyes and said, “Des.” Then he spoke to the guard on his left in his own language.

  She listened to him, walked to the window, flipped the latch and opened the bamboo curtain. Sunlight and birdsong filtered into the room.

  Des could see more clearly. The staff she held didn’t have a rock on the end, but an iron sphere. Itar appeared even paler than in the dimmer light. His sandals were tied onto his gnarled feet with reeds. The skin of the muscular guards twinkled in the light, so they appeared to have a thin layer of glitter.

  Des wondered if Itar was their ruler. But, he reflected, if he were a king, then Des would have been brought to him, even if he’d had to be carried. No, this old man may be important, but he was still a worker bee.

  Des sat on the foot of the bed facing Itar as he tried to remember the words to express what he wanted for dinner. No more mush. He wanted carne and pommes de terre.

  “Con…quista…dor?” Itar asked.

  Des knew the old man was cutting to the chase. The guards visibly tensed.

  “No conquistador, no conquistador!” Des waved his hands vigorously. “Conquistador morte!”

  “Usted dijo que usted no supo cómo hablar Español!”

  “Un petit peu!”

  It had been a rapid-fire exchange. Des was trying to communicate in two languages he barely knew and things were already getting out of hand. He knew only one word in their language, and in frustration, that’s what he said:

  “E-yah-ho.”

  Itar appeared surprised. “E-yah-ho?”

  “Sí, e-yah-ho.”

  “E-yah-ho,” Itar mused, then speaking to his guard, “A-ga nagwa owa e-yah-ho? Pistro managua?”

  She sniggered.

  “E-yah-ho,” Itar insisted, his face determined.

  The guard left and returned with a banana on a wooden tray.

  Des accepted the tray, then retrieved the spive from his lunch bowl. Itar still seemed somewhat unfriendly. This had better be good or they might make mincemeat of me. Des held the banana by its stem and peeled it carefully. He folded out the fruit and put the edible part aside. He laid the peel on the tray with the pulp showing. Two segments splayed out like wings; the stem was still attached to a long, thin sliver of peel.

  His audience was watching him intensely. Itar motioned with the back of his hand for Des to continue.

  Using the spive, Des carved out a rough approximation of North and South America on the inner husk on the larger wing. He turned it around and added outlines of Europe, Asia and Africa. Using the stem for support, he folded both halves around the stem to form a roughly oblong sphere with his drawings on the outside. He moistened the carved areas with spittle, so as he rotated his handmade globe, the continents darkened.

  Itar said, “Ahh!”

  Des pointed the spive at a rough approximation of the location of Ellesmere Island.

  They all seemed fascinated; Itar nodded his head in acknowledgement.

  Des pushed the point of the spive through the banana peel, then dropped both the spive and peel. Spinning around, he thrust his legs out flat onto his bed. The tray clattered to the floor as he began wildly flailing his arms and legs and acting like he was falling. “Ahh…ahh…ahh!” he said loudly.

  Two orderlies and a nurse burst into the room. The surprised guards crossed their war clubs in front of the equally surprised Itar.

  Des stopped ahhing, sat on his bed and crossed his legs.

  Itar’s expression changed to delight. He grinned, revealing that he had three teeth, and clapped his hands. He pushed the war clubs aside and bowed at Des.

  Des bowed back.

  “E-yah-ho,” Itar demanded.

  Des picked up the banana peel and reshaped the Earth. Sitting on the foot of his bed with his bare feet on the stone floor, he handed the makeshift globe to Itar.

  Itar snorted and turned it slowly. He pointed at the spive, so Des handed that over, as well.

  Itar held the spive to the globe and pointed at the southwestern United States. He drew a small x there, then moved the point to Mexico, where he made another small x.

  Itar said with pride, “Anasazi-Aztec.” He bowed his head again, this time much lower. “Ahh…ahh…ahh.” Itar flailed his arms and legs the best he could while everyone else in the room smirked, then he held out his hand to Des palm up and nodded. In his other hand, he still held the banana peel and spive.

  Des’ heart pounded. History was a more familiar subject to him than foreign languages. He’d even been to Mesa Verde, pueblo ruins where the Anasazi Indians had prospered for more than seven centuries. He tried to remember what he’d learned there last summer. The Anasazi had flourished for most of the thirteenth century, but disappeared entirely by 1300 after a 27-year drought. Historians thought they’d moved south.

  The barbaric Mexica had entered the Valley of Mexico about 1200 and the resulting Aztec Empire had lasted until Hernando Cortés. The Spaniard hadn’t come to conquer, but to chronicle. Des remembered that Cortés had rescued a shipwrecked Frenchman in Yucatan who spoke both Spanish and Mayan; he had become his translator.

  But Cortés couldn’t stomach the Aztec high priests’ steadfast refusal to change their religious rituals. Their daily practice of human sacrifice was meant to appease the gods and ward off disease, famine, locust hordes and enemies. Failing to convince them to stop, the Spaniard had marched on Tenochtitlan and laid it to ruin in 1519.


  Itar pointed the spive at the globe and started rotating it slowly, making sure Des could see inside. He put the point of the spive through the split in the banana and, under North America, he held the tip halfway to the center of the orb. Then he bowed his head.

  If Des correctly understood Itar’s meaning, they were deeper inside Earth then he had imagined.

  Itar spoke to one of his guards, who left the room. When she returned, she held Des’ front-pack. She handed it to Itar, who ceremoniously handed it to Des. Itar motioned that he wanted Des to show them what was inside. Itar, his two guards, the two orderlies and the nurse were all attentive.

  Des hoped he wouldn’t disappoint them. He unzipped his pack, grabbed the first object he touched and pulled it out.

  It was a squishy, rancid ham sandwich, covered with green mold. He quickly dropped the rank sandwich on his lunch tray.

  “Yuck,” he said, screwing up his face at Itar, who responded with an equally disgusted expression.

  One of the orderlies quickly removed the tray from the room, then returned.

  Des looked into his pack before exhibiting the next item. He pulled out the soundsticks.

  “Tah-dah!” he announced, waving them around.

  There were “oohs” and “ahhs” and a smattering of applause, but Des finally realized his appreciative audience had no idea what the soundsticks were, so he placed them on the bed, along with the CD, the CD player and small microphone. Although the equipment was all there and should be in working order, he didn’t think these people were ready yet.

  Des next showed around his Timex pocket watch, and they seemed impressed. With gift-giving motions, Des handed the watch to Itar. Itar shook his head and tried to return it, but Des firmly folded the old man’s fingers around the watch. Itar listened to the watch tick, then dangled it by its chain in front of his face, appearing happy and grateful.

  “Gracias, muy gracias,” he said several times.

  Once he had everyone’s attention again, Des pulled out a bright red can with Coca-Cola emblazoned on each side. He flipped the pop-top and the can hissed, generating some applause and apprehension. Des sipped the Coke, then passed it to Itar, the perfect peace pipe.

  Itar sipped, then hummed with appreciation. He handed it to one of his guards and so it went around the room.

  Des’ pack was empty; he turned the bag upside down and shook it.

  “That’s all. Show’s over.”

  The nurse and orderlies left the room, leaving Des, Itar and his two statuesque warrior-guards.

  Itar studied his new watch, then spoke to one of his guards, who replied. They seemed to be arguing. Finally, Itar boomed a command; the guard bowed, then left the room.

  During the half-hour before she returned, Itar sipped the last of the Coke and played with his new gift. Des tried to remember enough Spanish to ask some of his many questions: Where was he? What did they expect of him? Was he a prisoner? How could he get home? But he managed to ask none of them before the guard returned. She bowed her head, then stood next to Itar.

  Des could hear a woman giggle outside the room. Itar motioned to her to come in; she was apparently reluctant. Itar stomped his foot.

  She entered gracefully, wearing a white blouse and long gossamer skirt with variegated pinks, blues, lavender, and peach colors. Instantly smitten, Des felt that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her radiance filled the room; her golden-green complexion sparkled brilliantly.

  Itar turned her around to face Des.

  “Anastasia, Des,” Itar introduced them.

  Anastasia smiled with perfect white teeth framed by full lips and held out her hand to Des.

  Des took her warm, soft hand and didn’t want to let go. He wondered what Anastasia must think of his nearly colorless skin and taped nose; he must look hideous to her. He let go of her hand.

  Itar was talking, but Des couldn’t understand a word. Finally, the old man shrugged and motioned Anastasia to the doorway.

  “Boose, boost!” He repeated to Des, “Boose, boost!”

  Des pointed at himself. “Me? Go with her?”

  Itar nodded his head.

  Anastasia held out her hand to him and giggled from the doorway.

  Des nearly tripped over his own feet to get there, then remembered his pack. After collecting and stowing his sound gear, he slung the pack over one shoulder and returned to Anastasia.

  As Des followed her out, Itar said, “Des.”

  Des turned. The guards were holding up shirt and shorts. Itar pointed at Des’ naked butt protruding from his backless tunic.

  Des turned his nude rear away from the guards, only to show it to Anastasia.

  “Excuse me.”

  Pivoting back and forth as he crossed the room, Des grabbed the clothes and dashed into the bathroom.

  “Anastasia, I’ll be with you in a minute,” he called out before thinking what an idiotic statement that was.

  Chapter 12

  LATITUDE 82° 10’ NORTH

  LONGITUDE 73° 42’ WEST

  LAPTITUDE 68%

  Month 2, Day 4; 0120 UTC;

  Month 2, Day 3; 7:20 PM LTD

  Anastasia took Des’ hand and led him outside.

  Des felt fortunate to have escaped the potentially volatile interrogation with Itar. Wispy clouds covered an amber glow above; he felt an occasional raindrop. He recognized most of the flora: wild roses and lilacs, mums, a Tree of Heaven, eucalyptus and a tree loaded with oranges. He could see now that the hospital had been built into the side of a mountain covered with rich green foliage and flowers. He heard birdcalls and a child’s high-pitched voice. He released Anastasia’s hand to part the greenery. The hospital wall was mud stucco.

  He smiled at Anastasia, nodding his approval. As she led him down a rock path, Des suspected they were being followed, but whenever he glanced back, he saw no one there. He picked up a pebble—chalcopyrite; he pocketed the commonplace mineral.

  He began to see that they were in a village with individual abodes that stair-stepped along ledges on a mountainside; sheer cliffs plunged into the forest below. There were paths laid out with steppingstones and chiseled rock with dense foliage at their edges. The stone and stucco walls of abodes were draped with leafy vines and had ovoid doorways. Two children came running down the path, passed Des and Anastasia on the cliff side, then continued running. Des marveled at their surefootedness. As he walked, he collected samples of chalcocite, graphite, granite, and molybdenite—he saw nothing rare or unidentifiable.

  He heard a constant roaring that grew louder as Anastasia led him across the face of the mountain. The path tunneled through a jungle of trees with limbs cross-hatched overhead. Des was delighted to observe monkeys chattering and leaping through the branches.

  They emerged onto a gentler slope. Anastasia climbed a short distance ahead onto a flat rock and called, “Des.”

  He ran up the path onto the flat rock and nearly hurtled off the cliff on the far side, but Anastasia grabbed his arm and steadied him. The rock surface was only one meter square, so they stood close. Anastasia took his hand again; Des thought it was mostly to keep him from falling. He feasted his eyes on her, then on the view, the magic and beauty of both overwhelming his senses.

  There was a canyon far below; in its depths he saw a tumultuous river of deep blue water with white, foamy spray. A large tree rose from beneath where they stood to branch out overhead with small green leaves that glistened in the filtering sunlight. Des saw two waterfalls cascading down the far side of the canyon behind the tree; two large boulders punctuated one waterfall, scattering water droplets in a dazzling display. It was the waterfalls that filled the air with sound.

  Anastasia tugged on Des’ hand to direct his attention across the gorge, where he saw as many as twenty waterfalls cascading to small pools befo
re continuing in another drop of sublime blue and white to destinations unseen; the valley’s floor was hidden in white mist. Among the falls he saw a velvety green carpet of trees and foliage. Downriver, Des spied a cluster of adobe buildings on the forest’s edge, then a white sand beach and a sea.

  “Beautiful!” Des shouted over the roar. “Simply beautiful!”

  “Bu-tiff-all, abba,” Anastasia shouted back.

  Des replied, “Abba, yes!”

  Anastasia continued to hold his hand; Des thought he was in heaven.

  “Sight rock!” Des exclaimed, pointing downward, feeling the excitement of discovery.

  “Sia-ruk!” Anastasia hollered back, smiling.

  Des said, more to himself than to her, “I’ve got it now. You’re supposed to figure out my language and how to communicate with me.”

  Anastasia talked continuously as they walked back down the path and up some stone stairs. Des guessed she was speaking Anasazi only because he recognized none of it. He noticed that she repeated the same guttural intonations and clicks. When she would stop to identify an object, Des would mimic her, and she seemed pleased with his attempts.

  They arrived at a foliage-covered oval doorway in the mountainside. Anastasia pulled Des inside.

  He saw a cramped hallway devoid of furnishings; the stucco walls were curved and contiguous with the high ceiling. He could see a large room ahead with an opening in the center of the ceiling that admitted sunlight; beneath it was a large clay pool filled with water. On the wall were two macramé hangings framed with branches. If there were any meaning to their design, Des couldn’t decipher it.

  Anastasia tugged Des into a smaller room ten meters past the entrance archway and to its right. This room also had an opening in the ceiling with a smaller pool underneath. It was furnished with a hand-woven reed bed with a woolen blanket supported by cut saplings.

  She giggled and told Des, “Yes.”

  This was apparently to be his room, so Des dropped his pack on the bed. Anastasia left him to inspect his surroundings. He sat on the bed, which was comfortable with fluffed feather pillows.