Expedition Beyond Page 9

  In a few minutes, Anastasia returned with a tray brimming with fruits and nuts. He was very pleased to see it wasn’t hospital gruel. They ate together.

  Anastasia unwrapped the leaves from his wrist and examined his wound. When she picked up the tray and prepared to leave, Des stood, gently took the tray from her and put it on the bed. He faced her and held both of her hands.

  “Anastasia.”

  Her gaze locked onto his.

  “Yes, Des.”

  He wanted to thank her for the sights he’d seen. But there was more. Not since he’d fallen in love with April Adams had he felt the odd sensation of elation coupled with confusion. He felt frustrated by his inability to communicate.

  “Annie.”

  “Yes, Des,” she said, more emphatically.

  I must make her understand me. She might walk away and never return.

  “Anastasia?”

  “Yes, Des!” This time she sounded defiant and tired.

  He gently brushed back her hair and whispered, “E-yah-ho.”

  Month 2, Day 4; 1430 UTC, 8:30 AM LTD

  Des was awakened by the sound of dripping water, then thunder boomed above the darkened room.

  The reed and rope bed with the wool blanket had been surprisingly comfortable; he’d slept well. He guessed it was near daybreak.

  Rain fell through the ceiling opening into the clay-lined pool, whose wide, fluted brim was level with the stone floor. Des rolled out of bed to inspect it more closely. Three meters in circumference, it was almost half a meter deep; although it was filled with rainwater, the floor around it was dry. Near its edge were a few clay pots with lids. Des opened one. It contained liquid that smelled of flowers. He thought the pool had been designed specifically to collect rainwater, but the slate floor wouldn’t remain dry if it continued to rain. He felt for a drain. The bottom of the pool was smooth and continuous—no way to release the water.

  “Anastasia,” he called, walking out of his room.

  The rain outside was coming down in sheets. Through the outer doorway, Des saw two drenched warriors sitting cross-legged.

  This dwelling was larger than he’d thought the night before, with narrow hallways leading to several small rooms. The kitchen had stone counters and open cupboards, the dining room had a low table like those used by the Japanese, a bathroom had the now-familiar commode, two storage areas were stocked with dry food and animal fodder and there were four other bedrooms. The deeper into the structure he ventured, the darker it became. The ceiling changed from adobe to thatch supported by rough-hewn timbers; Des suspected that these windowless rooms were built inside a cave.

  Returning to the kitchen, he discovered the cupboards were filled with mangos, oranges, papayas, squash and carrots. Clay pots with colorful designs painted on the earthenware contained beans, sugar, maize paste and salt.

  “Anastasia!” His voice seemed muffled by walls that were suffocatingly close.

  Her distant voice replied, “Yes, Des?”

  So she was still here. Why hadn’t she responded when he’d called to her earlier? He tracked her voice down a previously unexplored corridor to a misty room.

  “Anastasia, I have a problem. Could you please help me?” Oh, jeez, he thought, she won’t understand me. “Ana, come!”

  Steam rolled through the opening in the adobe roof as raindrops fell into a pool below.

  “Yes, Des?”

  Anastasia’s face appeared over the pool’s edge, and then more of her. She was wearing only a smile. Suds flowed over the lip of her bath and across the slightly inclined stone floor to disappear through slits carved into the adobe wall’s base. Des averted his eyes to the wall. Well, that answered the drain question.

  “Yes, Des?” she repeated.

  “I thought I had a question, but I guess I really don’t, so…jeez, I think I better go.”

  While it rained for hours, Des began teaching English to Anastasia. She proved to be an avid learner, but he stumbled badly with her language. She picked up eighteen words to his two, and pronounced them with perfection.

  Des pantomimed an action, then said, “Follow me.”

  Anastasia followed him around the room, then laughed and said, “No, Des—follow me.” She pushed him behind her.

  He told her the English word for each object he could find. She had marvelous retention.

  “What’s this?” he prompted.

  “Bed,” she replied without hesitation.

  “And this?”

  “Bathtub.”

  “This?”

  “Front-pack.”

  “And this?”

  “Doorway.”

  “What’s making a chirping noise?”

  “Cricket.”

  “Higher chirping?”

  “Bird.”

  “What’s this fuzzy beast?” Des pointed to the creature inching across the floor.

  “Beast?” she asked. “What is ‘beast’?”

  Des said, “Poor choice of word. Beasts are big and ugly, not small and silky. What’s this little animal?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Begins with ‘cat’,” he prompted her.

  “Oh, I know. Caterpillar.”

  After the rainstorm, Anastasia smiled and told him, “Follow me.” She led him outside and down the rain-drenched path.

  Two children approached, laughing and tossing a small pouch back and forth. Des tried to get them to stop by stretching out his arms, but they passed by, ignoring him. Anastasia spoke gruffly to them, and they stopped.

  Des indicated one and said, “Boy,” then the other and said, “Girl.”

  Anastasia repeated, “Boil, gerl.”

  “No, Annie. Boy, girl,” he corrected.

  She pronounced the words as he had, then dismissed the children.

  Pointing at himself, Des said to her, “Man.” Then he touched her shoulders and said, “Woman.”

  “Oh, Des, I know that!” Anastasia said playfully.

  Des wondered what she actually did know when it came to sex.

  They’d walked for half a kilometer when Anastasia turned onto a path that led down the mountain. The foliage was dense, so Des couldn’t see far ahead. He heard a cacophony of voices chanting and calling: Children playing and adult voices talking.

  They pushed through the leafy undergrowth into a clearing. Des stopped short as a camel bayed directly into his face. All he saw was teeth and a quivering lip. The haltered head moved away and eyed him, then, coming closer, the camel bayed again, lips chomping. As Des’ heart thumped erratically, Anastasia jerked him sideways. The camel had a mound of hay strapped to its back, held fast by a woven mesh of reed rope. A middle-aged woman strained as she tugged on the reluctant camel’s hemp leash. She was dressed in karakul, her pleated dark hair hanging in braids from under her white woolen cap. When she clicked her tongue and shouted, her camel followed her submissively.

  Des marveled at the gaiety and bedlam that was revealed once the camel had shifted. People were dressed in bright colors: purples, reds, greens and yellows, and the clothing adorned with Indian animal motifs and nature patterns. Laughing children played a game of tag. Hawkers shouted from in front of adobe shops. Colorfully patterned woolen tarpaulins held up by posts sheltered produce and products piled high on flat stones and wooden planks. A flock of untended sheep moved through the crowded lanes flicking their tails.

  Mesmerized, Des wandered through the open-air bazaar, past vegetable stands, potters, rope-makers and fishmongers. He saw an older man selling war clubs. The sun had darkened the man’s leathery face; his arms were lean and muscular. He seemed so sullen and aloof, Des figured he wouldn’t want a stranger touching his wares. A woman at a produce stand sliced a kiwi fruit and held out a section towards Des, babbling unintelligibly.

  Des took
the piece of fruit and bit into it.

  “It’s good,” he told her, smiling.

  She held out a fruit-filled basket to him.

  Des now realized that something was truly odd. He glanced from group to group. There were at least three hundred people there, but, except for the man selling war equipment and the children, they were all women.

  Was he not supposed to be here? Why had Anastasia brought him to a place where only women shopped? Where had she gone? Suddenly uncomfortable, Des hurried about searching for her. Everywhere he went, women spoke to him in a strange language and shoved food, clay pots, or baskets at him. Des wasn’t afraid but his uneasiness wouldn’t subside.

  “Anastasia!” he shouted as he jogged through the bazaar. “Anastasia!”

  Perhaps he should retrace their route back to her abode and wait for her.

  He stopped to collect himself, leaning on a woolen tarp, but a flap opened and he fell inside, crashing into a squat table. Sandals spilled onto the grass. With one arm draped over the table’s edge, he heaved himself up to a sitting position and looked at the shocked shopkeeper.

  Next to the shopkeeper was Anastasia, her hands on her hips. She appeared to be exasperated.

  “Oh, there you are. I, well, I…” Des smiled sheepishly. “Sorry.”

  After they picked up the mess, Anastasia told him to sit on a wooden bench.

  The shopgirl brought over several pair of sandals and sat on a stool facing him. The girl was about sixteen, dressed in a mandarin orange blouse and white shorts with a blue flower stuck in her brown hair tied back with hemp. She dangled one shoe in front of his face. Des felt the same way he had when he was a child, and his mother had forced him to shop for clothes. He didn’t need any sandals. Bare feet hadn’t been a problem for him on the stone and soft soil. He shook his head. She showed him another sandal.

  Des responded with another headshake.

  She held up another and raised an eyebrow.

  “Na, na,” Des said. He straightened his back and jutted out his chin, feeling in control of this situation. Anastasia scowled.

  The shopgirl retrieved more sandals and knelt in front of Des. “Abba?” she inquired.

  Des just stared past her.

  Undaunted, she smiled sweetly and dropped the shoe. “Abba?”

  “Na, na.”

  “Abba?”

  “Na, na.”

  Des knew the girl had tired as she headed back to the table for more; he was about to win.

  “Abba?” She presented this sandal on cupped hands.

  Anastasia interjected angrily, “Des, you are not following me—” Her disapproving expression and tense body spoke volumes.

  “Abba,” Des conceded.

  The young woman sighed as Des tied the thongs.

  “Asa bui á natra,” Anastasia said.

  The shopkeeper produced a parchment that Anastasia marked with a quill while Des tried walking in his new footgear. She must have charged the purchase because there hadn’t been any exchange of money before they left the shop.

  After they strolled the main street together, Anastasia led Des past the grassy clearing and through dense jungle growth. Des was belatedly glad she had gotten sandals for him.

  The jungle grew sparser, and Des saw a beach beyond its fringe with an aquamarine ocean lapping gently at the sand.

  Anastasia trotted into the water fully clothed with Des following her.

  The water was warm, with ripples of waves. Des tasted it; it was salty. He felt a spray of droplets on his back. Anastasia’s blue eyes danced as she kicked water at him again. He flicked some back at her, and she squealed in delight. Then he scooped up a lot of water and drenched her.

  “You!” Anastasia said accusingly as the curls in her hair released. “You…” Brushing off her blouse ineffectively, she scowled, her eyes narrowed. She didn’t look happy.

  Des backed away. “I’m truly sorry, Annie. I didn’t mean to—”

  She plowed through the water to tackle him. Water and Anastasia swirled above him. He surfaced, sputtered for breath, then laughed along with her.

  They lay on the beach to dry in the warm breeze while clouds coasted by. Des looked forward to exploring more of this odd land before he left it. As he gazed around, he saw a large wooden structure in the distance, halfway between the sea and the forest.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  Anastasia sat up and looked in the direction he was pointing.

  “Follow me,” she said and ran down the beach.

  As they got closer, Des could see that what had caught his eye was a huge octagonal log structure, with a thatched roof and two entrances on the side facing him. He guessed it to be nearly fifty meters tall.

  When they entered, he saw that it was some kind of a stadium. There was a sand floor surrounded by wooden plank seats in rows that rose nearly to the top, interspersed with flights of stairs. There was seating for thousands. The roof had the usual opening to admit light and rain. High above the sand, across from each other, two elaborate plank platforms extended out from the seating, toward the center, suspended by ropes and held by trestles.

  “What’s this?” Des asked Anastasia, his voice echoing.

  “E-shandra,” Anastasia replied.

  It was all the explanation he could get from her.

  Des flopped onto his bed, not bothering to remove his new sandals, and closed his eyes in utter exhaustion.

  “Des?”

  Anastasia stood in his doorway, holding a wood tray laden with fruits.

  He waved weakly at her. “No thanks, I’m too tired to eat.”

  She put the tray down, removed his sandals and said softly, “Good night.”

  “Good night.” he replied.

  It had been quite a day. He had seen camels, some with howdahs on their backs. Sheep. The bazaar was bizarre. He chuckled. And the beautiful ocean…Anastasia…E-shandra. He drifted.

  “Des?” Anastasia’s voice entered his dream.

  He opened his eyes to see if she were actually there. She was standing in his doorway—her blouse and skirt were marquisette.

  “Des?”

  “Yes, Anastasia?”

  “I give you…” She held a large bunch of bananas, which she hung near his bed.

  The next morning the sun peeked out from under a layer of clouds to shine brightly on the glistening, moist jungle of flowers and foliage.

  But the smell of death wafted on the wind.

  Chapter 13

  WEST OF COLORADO SPRINGS, COLORADO

  NORAD HEADQUARTERS;

  LOCATION UNDISCLOSED

  Month 2, Day 11; 1600 UTC, 10:00 AM LTD

  Mitch flipped the tip of his tie up and down, feeling ill at ease and goofy in a suit. It wasn’t in his nature to sit quietly, either.

  “He’s a full-bird colonel,” Stephen whispered from his chair across the room.

  Mitch surveyed the ceiling. “Yes, I know.”

  “This could be our last chance.”

  “I know. I know.”

  Stephen raised his voice. “Then watch your mouth!”

  Mitch began pacing. His suit was one size too small for him, and it pulled as he moved.

  “I know, Stephen, and I will. I’ll do it for Des. ‘Yes sir, no sir, and I need help, sir.’ That’s all I’m going to say. You do the rest.” He stopped pacing and looked at Stephen. “I will be good, I promise you.”

  The doctor looked skeptical. “Do you even know when you’re cursing?” As Mitch frowned at him, two MPs entered the room, introduced themselves and announced that they would escort them to Colonel Wingert’s office.

  The corridor was teeming with people, some in plainclothes, others in uniforms, representing every branch of the services.

  “What do all of th
ese people do here?” Mitch asked their escorts.

  “Keep the peace,” one replied with a smile.

  They walked along the corridor for a full twenty minutes. Mitch had the feeling that it was curving into the mountain, and then out.

  Finally, their escorts left them in a small room with two doors—the one through which they had entered and another with an opaque window bearing the inscription: Colonel Stacy Wingert, U.S. Army

  Again, they waited.

  “Mitch,” Stephen whispered.

  “I will be good. I will be good,” Mitch chanted quietly.

  A small, middle-aged woman with her light brown hair pinned-back came through Wingert’s door.

  “Hello, my name is Margaret Spillman. I am Colonel Wingert’s administrative assistant. The colonel will see you now.”

  When Mitch and Stephen entered, Wingert was standing behind his desk, backlit by the window behind him. Mitch realized that he had been right about the corridor—it did curve out of the mountain. Wingert’s thick, grey hair had been cut very short and was combed upward. His suntanned face was deeply furrowed with wrinkles—Mitch guessed he was close to retirement. His starched, olive uniform was impressively decorated with achievement bars.

  “Dr. Stephen Summers? I’m Colonel Wingert.” His hand was outstretched. “And Mitchell Jones? A pleasure to meet you both.”

  “Please call me Mitch, sir. Thank you so much for seeing us today. Stephen and I sincerely appreciate it.”

  Mitch felt Stephen lightly kick the back of his shoe, but he ignored him.

  “Gentlemen, sit down, sit down.” Wingert motioned to chairs in front of his desk.

  Margaret sat next to the colonel, taking notes or perhaps even transcribing their entire meeting.

  “My good friend, Thomas Backhouse—who, I believe, is your boss,” he motioned towards Mitch, “—has told me you need my help. How may I serve you?”

  Stephen opened his mouth to speak, but Mitch beat him to it.

  “Well, sir, we have a situation that needs immediate attention.” Servicemen liked “situations,” so Mitch was sure he had piqued the colonel’s interest.