Before Gaia

by Francine Pascal

  CIA File # NIR-P4855J [Incident Report]

  Rating: CLASSIFIED

  Transcript Recorded—10/17/1990 01:48:24

  Administrating: Agent John M. Kent

  Reporting: Agent Thomas Moore

  MOORE: Well, it just kept getting worse. When she turned six, she changed. The way she would save people had started to change. It had started to become a little more… aggressive.

  I remember taking her down to Riverside Park for an evening aikido lesson, and on our way back home, she overheard a woman being mugged in one of the alleys between West End and Riverside. I don’t even know how she heard it, but she did. She ducked into the alley—this is six years old, mind you—and by the time I had caught up with her… [Pause] Well, I watched what she did to this mugger, and I was in shock. She’d undoubtedly broken his leg with one kick, and she’d probably cracked his ribs with another. Gaia finished off the mugger and then, when she walked back toward me, I could tell she was upset. Guilty, even. Almost in tears. As if she knew she had used more force than necessary.

  You have to understand, she and I had constant training sessions, but all my training with her was defensive. Everything in keeping with the laws of the Go Rin No Sho. Only as much force as necessary and just. But what she had done to that mugger… that was something else. Like I said… aggressive. And I just knew something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew then and there. I knew the trouble with my family wasn’t over.

  Psychobabble

  AND SUDDENLY THE TRANSCRIPT ended again. What had her father meant by that last statement? What wasn’t over? And why age six? What the hell had happened at age six?

  Damn it, come on, Nikolai, Gaia moaned to herself. Why was he doing this to her? Why was he suddenly giving her less than half the material he had been giving her before? Was he just trying to see if he could frustrate her to death? Leave her hanging until she had literally hanged herself? Because if that was his goal, it was working. She huffed angrily and flipped the last blank page over, nearly ripping it out of the binding.

  And then she saw that the transcript was not in fact the last thing Nikolai had given her. The last thing he had given her was actually lying inside the back cover of that transcript.

  A postcard. The same postcard he had given her when this whole painfully cathartic history lesson began. And again she cringed, being forced yet again to stare at the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument in rich and disturbing detail. Only this time the few memories she did have of the place were raining down on her in seconds, bombarding her psyche with horrid mental images. Yes, now that she’d been forced to remember that recurring childhood nightmare, she knew she’d never forget it again. It would surely haunt her for another year with all its little psychological dream symbols and self-analytical clues.

  Gaia hated all that crap. Freudian symbols and psychobabble. The only interpretation she had of her dream was that it made her want to puke, and it made her want to cry. And the last thing she wanted to do was think about it for another goddamn year.

  But it was too late. The images were already there, like sharp little spikes piercing various points all over her head: her father set against the orange sky, pointing his gun in his own face. Her mother screaming for him to put it down. Gaia trying to get to him before he pulled the trigger but totally paralyzed. Those cannons firing shot after booming shot. And finally her father killing himself with his own gun—blowing bloodred gaping holes in his own body.

  What the hell did it all mean? What was Gaia’s subconscious trying to tell her?

  She flipped the postcard over. But this time there was no long typed-out note taped to it. This time Nikolai had left her one very simple and succinct message:

  Do you remember? Try to remember now.

  I’m trying, Nikolai, I’m trying. Goddamn it, what do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time? Once more, Gaia racked her unexplainably dysfunctional memory for any images from that monument. She was thinking so hard, she was afraid she might just burst a blood vessel in her head. But that wasn’t going to stop her at this point. Six years old, she told herself. Try to remember six years old…

  But that was a waste of time. Straining her memory until she got an aneurysm wasn’t going to do her any good. She knew she’d been left with no other choice. She knew what Nikolai was trying to tell her. However much she might have despised the place, however much she tried to avoid it like a plague, she knew where she was going now.

  Of course. What would make her think that she’d get a chance to relive some happy memories for a while? Honestly… What could she possibly have been thinking?

  Memo

  From: KS

  To: L

  Subject now approaching 89th Street and Riverside Drive. Entering the grounds of the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument. Please advise.

  Memo

  From: L

  To: KS

  This is extremely disappointing. N has been out of pocket for too long, and nightfall is only going to complicate matters further. He is trying to dredge up her memories now, and that is unacceptable. Dispatch a full team to that monument now. The time for subtlety has passed. Find N and terminate on sight. Repeat—terminate on sight. I will go myself if I have to, but this little trip down memory lane stops now.

  2002

  For a moment she could see that the tower was really no more sinister or imposing than a giant sugar dispenser—the kind you’d find next to the salt and pepper at every truck stop diner in America.

  Cloudy Memories

  AND SO HERE SHE WAS. STANDING smack in the middle of the last place on earth she wanted to be. In the black encroaching shadow of the towering white monument.

  She could feel her teeth clenching incessantly. She could feel her stomach twist and her heart twitch. Every ounce of her being wanted to leave. She didn’t want to be here. She’d never wanted to be here.

  The monument itself was a large Romanesque cylindrical building, with tall white stone columns surrounding it and a huge white stone eagle jutting out from its domed roof. She tried to look at the tower now through the eyes of an adult, doing her best to shake off all the ghostly exaggerations and magnifications that always informed one’s childhood.

  For a moment she could see that the tower was really no more sinister or imposing than a giant sugar dispenser—the kind you’d find next to the salt and pepper at every truck stop diner in America. But it shifted back in her perception just as quickly, melding again with the ominous memories of her past and becoming far more threatening. So much so that she opted to turn away from the hovering talons of the stone eagle above her and face the white marble expanse that stretched out before her.

  Below her were a few wide marble steps, leading down to the huge geometrically designed marble-and-asphalt floor. And just beyond that were the black commemorative cannons, aimed out at the water.

  The sight of the cannons only brought back the few cloudy memories she had. The make-believe sounds of gunfire, and screams, and massive explosions she used to imagine. Sounds of war. She could still feel it on all sides of her, just as if she were a slender six-year-old child again, dwarfed by blocks of stone and the darkening sky.

  She stopped for a moment in the center of the deserted concourse, feeling the wind spinning around her face, hearing it sweep by her like paranoid whispers. For a moment she considered the possibility that this, too, was a dream and that any number of horrors could take place in a dream without the slightest warning. Maybe that was why the place was deserted. Maybe that was why it grew darker and darker by the second, instead of every few minutes. But after a moment of consideration she knew that she was quite conscious and this was no dream. And the place was deserted because the sun was setting in Riverside Park, and New Yorkers would much rather be eating their dinners than getting mugged.

  Six years old. It was echoing in her head now again and again. Her main objective. Remember six years old.

  She swung a
round to the front of the cannon and peeked down the dark barrel. And that was when she saw her next clue. It had been hidden inside the barrel of the cannon. A photograph. Not a particularly old photograph, just slightly yellowed around the edges.

  Gaia pulled it out and brought it into what was left of the cold gray light.

  It was like looking at a photo of a memory. Gaia, probably no older than six, and her father, standing together in the center of the marble concourse, having a training session. God, had her family been under the Organization’s surveillance every hour of every day? What purpose could it possibly have served for them to have a picture of Gaia and her dad on her first-grade lunch break?

  The picture showed one of those days exactly as she remembered it. Another sunny afternoon when her father would stop by her school at lunchtime and pick her up. He’d take her down to the monument, sometimes with a sparring partner he’d bring along, teach her a short combat lesson, and then get her back to school before lunch was over.

  These were the training sessions she had always despised. But why? It made no sense. There was nothing she loved more than training sessions with her dad. She waited eagerly for the weekend sessions. She couldn’t wait to get home from school for an evening session. So what was wrong with the midday sessions? And why was Nikolai giving her a picture of one of them?

  She dropped down on the bench next to one of the cannons and cleared out her mind. She would make herself remember. She could do that. She could do it with sheer will.

  No more screwing around. What was wrong with the midday sessions? Six years old, Gaia. Remember…

  1990

  Holding him down with his wrist and then snapping his neck back with a full extension kick would do “maximum damage to his neck” and “put him out of commission for days.”

  This Whole Stupid Monument

  “HAI!”

  Gaia released the sound from deep inside her gut just like her father taught her to. Even if she was only six, she could still grunt like a karate champ. Straight from way down deep. From her “center,” like he always said. Every move, every thought, every sound—everything from her center. She relaxed her limbs and mind completely, felt for the exact point of contact… and then she flipped her sparring partner straight over her head, letting out the loud guttural sound as she landed him carefully onto a blue practice mat.

  “Good. Now let’s try that kick I taught you,” her father said.

  Oh, no, not that kick. Gaia hated that kick. She hated it. That was another thing he only made her do at the lunchtime lessons. She turned her eyes away from her dad and shook her head slowly.

  “Gaia…” he said, with the beginnings of a threatening tone. “Don’t you get difficult with me today. You know I can’t stand it when you get difficult; you know how angry that makes me.”

  “No,” Gaia insisted, crossing her arms over her chest again and facing the glaring asphalt ground. “I don’t want to do that kick anymore,” she said. “Because… because it goes against all the stuff we usually say about fighting.”

  “Stuff?” he asked. “What stuff?”

  “You know,” Gaia said. She hated it when he acted like he didn’t know what she was talking about. “All the stuff in that book. The Go Rin No Sho. Stuff about honor and being respectful to your enemy.”

  Her dad snapped back his head and blew out a long sigh. “Gaia, listen to me now, okay?” He knelt down to her and looked her deep in the eyes. She could still never believe how blue her father’s eyes were. “I want you to forget about those books I gave you, all right? I don’t know what I was thinking. Books like the Go Rin No Sho… they’re filled with mostly nonsense, okay? Arcane and shortsighted nonsense. See, Gaia, in the modern world, all that honor stuff… that doesn’t really work anymore. In the modern world… sometimes you need to be cruel in order to do what’s right. Does that make sense to you?”

  Gaia thought it about for a moment. “Not really,” she said.

  He smacked his hand on his leg with frustration and stood back up. “Do the kick, Gaia,” he ordered. “Do it now.” He signaled for the sparring partner to get in attack position.

  “No,” Gaia said. “I don’t want to.”

  “Don’t talk back to me, Gaia,” he snapped. “You know I hate that. Now, you get in position and you do that kick.”

  “Why?” Gaia spat back.

  “Because I say so!” he shouted. “And I am your father! Now get in position… now!”

  Gaia could see some of the other parents at the monument staring. She hated that. She hated when they saw her father yell at her like that. It was so embarrassing, and it made her stomach hurt. And he only did it at the monument. Gaia always figured that was because he was interrupting his busy day at work to come see her. Maybe that made him a little more tired and cranky or something. But still, she hated it when he did it in front of everybody. What she really hated… was this whole stupid monument.

  “Fine,” she mumbled to herself, feeling more angry at her dad than ever.

  “That’s my girl.” He smiled. “Now, just give me half force, Gaia. We don’t want to break our sparring partner’s neck.”

  “Whatever you say,” she mumbled. She took her position and waited for the attack.

  The sparring partner came at her, and then she did just as her father had taught her. It was really a two-part kick. First she jabbed her elbow straight into the stomach of her opponent, grabbing his wrist as she did it and pulling him downward. And then as fast as she possibly could, she kicked straight up at his chin with a full extension kick. Her father always said that when this kick was done at full force, the combination of holding him down with his wrist while he was doubled over and then snapping his neck back with a full extension kick would do the “maximum damage to his neck” and “put him totally out of commission for days.”

  Gaia completed the kick at half force, snapping her sparring partner’s head back with her extended leg before she pulled his wrist the rest of the way down and threw him on the mat.

  And the second she’d completed the kick, she leapt down to the mat and checked on her partner.

  “I’m really sorry,” she said, holding on to his arm. “I hate that kick. Are you okay? I only went at half force. Are you okay?”

  “Gaia!” her father suddenly hollered from behind, grabbing Gaia’s arm and lifting her back upright. “Gaia. You don’t apologize to your enemy, for God’s sake!”

  “But he’s not my enemy—”

  “For our purposes, he is your enemy,” he insisted. “And that kick was perfect. Don’t ever apologize to your enemy.”

  Gaia’s father looked down at his watch and saw they were running out of time.

  Thank God, Gaia thought. I want to go back to school.

  “All right,” her father said, motioning to the sparring partner to fold up the mat and head back to the car. He leaned a little closer so they could speak quietly. “Good job today, Gaia. And also… I wanted to tell you that you’ve been doing a great job with not talking about our little lunch meetings at home. Your mother is going to be so surprised when we finally show her everything you’ve learned! And you know what?” he said in a near whisper.

  “What?” Gaia asked, whispering back with a smile.

  “You’ve been doing so well lately… that you get a prize.”

  Gaia smiled excitedly. “What?” she asked. “What’s the prize?”

  He looked around them quickly and then leaned in even closer, practically whispering it in her ear. “We’re going on a trip!” he whispered.

  She loved prizes. And she loved trips. “When?” she pressed. “When are we going?”

  “Next week.” He smiled, squeezing her little shoulders and looking her in the eye. “So you might even want to pack a bag, okay?”

  “Okay,” she agreed happily, already imagining what she would pack. “Can I bring a field mouse?”

  “Gaia,” her dad said.

  “Yeah?”

 
“I love you, sweetheart.” He gave her a hug, and she hugged him back.

  “I love you, too, Dad,” she said. And she meant it. With all her heart.

  2002

  Gaia was apparently no different at six than she was now. Brilliant, yes. But still somehow so incredibly foolish.

  Supreme Rage

  GAIA SAT THERE ON THE BENCH WITH a horribly painful feeling at the very core of her stomach that was actually a physical manifestation of the new black thought that was forming in her brain. Well, less of thought than a realization, really. That realization: Gaia was apparently no different at six than she was now. Brilliant, yes. But still somehow so incredibly foolish.

  She looked at the picture one more time, feeling her entire head begin to burn with the most embarrassing and shameful kind of rage. The kind of supreme rage that came when someone you despised with all of your heart had successfully made a fool out of you. The kind of rage that her mother must have felt that morning in the Plaza Hotel. The rage that came when you realized… you’d been face-to-face with the enemy… and you’d told them you loved them.

  She began to rip the photo. She ripped and ripped until that humiliating, infuriating image had been turned into confetti to be taken up by the wind. She jumped up from the bench and stuck her head back down the barrel of the first cannon. No, not to try and blow her brains out, but to see if anything else was in there. Any more photos to confirm her overpowering suspicion. Any more transcripts to put the nail in the coffin of her realization.

  And yes, not in that cannon but in the next, another manila envelope.

  He knew what he was doing, that Nikolai. He’d put all her remaining clues inside the cannons. Because he knew that all the remaining facts she needed to hear would blow her away. Blow her to bits.