by Judd Vowell
19.
T he tumor wrapped around Meg’s spine was inoperable. More accurately, there wasn’t a doctor willing to operate on it. Too risky, they all said. Better to let a woman die a slow death than possibly paralyze her, I guess. We were bitter, we were angry, we were sad. But after weeks of tests and biopsies and MRIs, we became determined. There had to be something out there besides surgery. And after a little digging, we found the man who would change our lives. The man who would save Meg’s.
Dr. Raj Khurana was conducting his cancer experiments just a few hours from where we lived. His funding came from private donors, as his work was considered too experimental for federal grants or university studies. But based on the information we could collect from the Internet, he was making progress in cancer treatment. Especially those cancers for which there was no operable solution. Testimonials from former patients were resounding with praise for Dr. Khurana’s healing powers. Hope on a computer screen. Meg and I both wept the night we found him.
He scheduled an appointment for Meg immediately. We would come to find out that he insisted on attacking the cancer cells quickly and aggressively. The first meeting lasted a day. The morning consisted of filling out paperwork. Past surgeries, family medical histories. There was even a psychological questionnaire. When we finally met the great doctor just before lunch, he greeted us with happiness and glee. It seemed as though part of the healing process for him included treating the patient’s spirit. Eastern philosophy meets Western medicine. Brilliant concept. He insisted on us calling him “Dr. Raj.” Sounded more like some Indian sports superstar than a cancer specialist. Meg and I would later relish in the sense of calm and serenity that Dr. Raj brought with him into the room that day.
He wanted to discuss Meg’s previous hospital stay while pregnant with the twins at length. As he detailed to us after we related our story, his patients needed to be strong in mind and spirit. The procedures and medications that he prescribed were not for the weak. Hence, the psychological test. We were learning rather quickly that Dr. Raj was qualifying us for his program rather than the other way around.
Meg was then put through a battery of physical tests throughout the rest of the day. Her running dedication had not slowed, even with the mysterious pain in her back she had felt for a year or more. So, her body was ready, confirmed by the results of these tests. Dr. Raj called us two days later to congratulate Meg on being accepted into his experiment. He even had a positive spin there, too.
Treatments began within the week. Heavy doses of high-grade medications, combined with doctor’s office visits every other day. Meg’s father had helped to alleviate the travel expenses, while the private funding covered what our insurance didn’t. Jessica and Henry promised support and not distraction. All we needed to focus on was getting Mom better. And better she got.
The drugs tore into the tumor in Meg’s body, breaking it into smaller pieces that her own immune system could better fight. Cancer cells were removed from her spine, replicated in Dr. Raj’s lab as healthy versions of themselves, then re-introduced in order to multiply and overtake their deadly cousins. It all sounded like some dark battle of the future, playing itself out inside my wife’s diseased body. And the good guys were winning.
Meg kept on a strong face, but the fight took its toll. Her once toned, muscular limbs became flaccid and soft. And her infectious energy was intermittent at best. But part of Dr. Raj’s treatment included spiritual guidance. That’s one reason he wanted her in the office so often. He believed that constant attention to the mind during a trial like that was essential to victory and complete recovery. Meg loved this aspect of her battle. She dedicated herself to the mission of mind and spirit over body. It was inspirational to watch.
After 472 days, Dr. Raj declared Meg tumor-free. The experiment had worked. Now we were a testimonial on a computer screen, giving the next helpless victim hope. Meg and I declared our transformation that day, to live life differently, to appreciate the little things. I think it may have given us more strength than anything ever could have. And we were going to need strength above all else for the days that lay ahead.
20.
J essica had proven she was an excellent shot with the coyote just two days earlier, but I couldn’t put her through using that skill on another human. Not yet. I had to come up with something quickly. The hunters had sniffed us out. I didn’t know how they had developed that skill in such a short time. Perhaps it was the lack of industrial pollution that had filled our air for so long. Or maybe it was just a primal hunger that reappeared in those who were desperate enough. None of that mattered in that moment. What mattered was protecting my kids.
There was still a great distance between us and the group of savages. If we could make it the fifty or so feet to the woods at the side of the road, we may have a chance to conceal ourselves. But we had to make it. Henry had to make it. I turned to the kids and described what I thought we should do.
“Alright, guys, no games here. We need to hightail it to those woods and separate. I’ll go west, and you guys continue heading east.” I knew this would give us a better chance, while also putting myself in more danger. But I was willing to take the chance that the men would come after me instead.
“No way, Dad,” Henry said. “That means you’ll be heading right back into them. No way.”
“No time to argue on this one, Henry. We act or none of us makes it.” And with that I stood and ran. I knew they would follow, banking on that childlike belief that your Dad can do no wrong. And Jessica did just that. But when I looked back as I neared the edge of the woods, Henry wasn’t there. He hadn’t moved a muscle.
I stopped just inside the tree-line and started to feel panic course through my body. I looked at Jessica, but all she could offer was a shrug. As well as she may have been connected to Henry, she had no idea what he was doing either. I peered through the binoculars to see what the hunters were doing. Seven of them had begun running in our direction. They left the two men with the knapsacks behind to stand guard over the women. They were led by a large man, taller than me and brutish. Their mangy beards couldn’t hide their delighted, snarly smiles as they approached their prey. Some of them whistled and whooped. Only one thing I saw eased my mind: they were all coming after Jessica and me. They didn’t know Henry was still hiding in the grass.
I told Jessica to find a tree nearby that she could climb quickly. Not too high, just enough to give her a good view of the approaching men. And then I said to her what I had been dreading since she killed the coyote.
“Jessica, you’re going to need to use that rifle again. This time, on those men.” No time to let her absorb the gravity of what I had just said. Just had to power through the reality of it all. “I’m going to run deeper into the woods so that they follow me. Just shoot as many of them as you can. Don’t worry about me.”
She didn’t flinch. “We’ll come find you, Dad.” And she was off.
I took one last moment to survey how far they’d come and make sure Henry was still invisible to them. They had closed on us fast. Only a hundred yards away or so, but they were still just focused on Jessica and me. I turned and ran deeper into the woods.
◊◊◊
It wasn’t long before I heard the first shot. Its sound echoed through the limbs and branches above me. Then another. The men’s crazed whooping ceased.
“What the hell?!?!” I heard one of them yell.
“Where’d it come from?” asked another.
Then that rifle sound again. And again. I had stopped running. I needed to get my bearings, see if they were still following me. They weren’t. Instead, I heard one of them say, “They killed Big Nick.” And then, “Let’s get the fuck outta here!”
My heart was racing, and then I was, too. I had to fight through thick brush and low-hanging limbs to get back to Jessica’s hiding place in the trees. I didn’t know exactly what tree she had climbed, but I knew it couldn’t be far from where we left each other.
I saw two of the other hunters nearby, both still. They lay face down in the leaves and dirt, shot through their backs. I didn’t see the result of that fourth shot I had heard.
Jessica jumped down from a tree twenty feet to my left. She looked so much older. She ran to me and shook my shoulder. “Come on, Dad!” she screamed. I woke from the stupor that had overtaken me, realized where I was, remembered Henry.
As I took off toward the highway, my ears were assaulted by an abrupt noise. Loud and metallic. I saw black smoke through the remaining trees in front of me. My lungs and gut started pushing the yell from my mouth instinctually. “Heeeenryyyyy!!!!!”
21.
A NTI-Authority – Leader of the New Unknown (continued)
Part Two: To America
Salvador Sebastian’s father Alejandro was 12 when his sister Isabella died, leaving him an only child to Juan and a solitary heir to the family’s cigar empire. It was a short but deadly bout of smallpox that overtook her before her 10th birthday. As he watched his father’s grief take him deeper and deeper into depression, Alejandro vowed to carry Sebastian and Cole Cigars into the second half of the 20th century on his own. And in the moments of Juan Sebastian’s greatest despair, his son promised to make the company bigger than he could imagine. That seemed to be the only thing that would bring a smile to his father’s face in those dark days.
Six years after his sister’s death, Alejandro walked into his father’s long-empty office and declared his leadership to the Cuban employees of Sebastian and Cole. The morning was filled with phone calls to partners in the U.S. and lawyers in various places. A company memo was written and issued by day’s end:
It is with great regret that we announce the resignation of our respected President, Mr. Juan Sebastian. He led our company through tumultuous times and made the organization what it is today. Let us never forget his importance.
His son, Alejandro Sebastian, will assume his father’s position effective immediately.
For the first few months, Alejandro did all he could to keep the cigar company at a break-even point. The accounting department had slowly fallen apart in his father’s absence. There were outstanding bills to be paid, and debts were owed from as far back as two years. The American partners were kept ignorant of the situation by Juan’s loyal office managers, who felt as if they were protecting the boss they loved. Alejandro was forced to come clean, but he did so with confidence. He assured his partners that the company would return to profitability within the year – it was making money again in eight months.
The opportunity to move certain parts of Sebastian and Cole Cigars to Florida had come up before. In fact, many Cuban cigar companies had transferred distribution to Tampa, known then as “Cigar City,” years before. But because Sebastian and Cole was running such an efficient operation in Cuba, the American partners were resistant to any move at all. Alejandro saw it differently. It may have cost more to warehouse the finished product in Florida, but it would eventually save a tremendous amount on distribution, since over 50% of their cigars were being sold in the United States already. Alejandro’s enthusiasm about the change convinced the partners to support him. He moved his new bride to Tampa in 1951, where he oversaw the transfer and start-up, and where he hoped to raise a new Sebastian family in America.
◊◊◊
Lola Sebastian loved Alejandro enough to follow him to America, even though her instincts told her otherwise. She tried to make a life for herself in Tampa. There was a large Cuban population, and at times it felt like home. And Alejandro had plenty of money to take care of her. On the rare nights when he would be home before 11, he would take her out for elaborate dinners. And if he had enough rum with his meal, they would go dancing. But for most of those first seven years, Lola was lonely.
They tried to start a family, as they both wanted a houseful of children. But whether it was the stress of Alejandro’s job, or Lola’s growing hatred of her new life, pregnancy eluded them. Finally, in the spring of 1958, Lola knew. And the baby growing inside her brought her the happiness she had sought for years. It filled her days with planning and preparing and purpose.
On January 1, 1959, Salvador Juan Sebastian was born, the same day that Che Guevara’s rebels won at Santa Clara and Castro took over Cuba. It was the greatest day of Alejandro and Lola’s life together, as they would not receive news of the revolution until the next morning. The news that would fracture the Sebastian family tree forever.
22.
T here was nothing routine about life after Meg’s victory over cancer. The sun shone brighter, the wine tasted sweeter, and we loved each other deeper. Near-death will put everything in perspective. Meg and I were more passionate than we had ever been. And happier.
The twins were accepted into their respective magnet schools. The time we had delayed on enrollment to deal with Meg’s disease helped. They were ready to become independent of each other.
Jessica attended the School for Language and History. She had become obsessed with her own family history the year before. Then, the history of it all. There’s a part of that in everyone, but Jessica went much further down the rabbit-hole. She studied wars and battles and coups. She researched generals and presidents and czars. Meg and I thought it was odd that our little girl was so enthralled by military history, but we never slowed her down. And she was such a good writer. She could produce a paper on Patton or write a review on Robinson Crusoe without breaking a sweat. When she was 11.
Her new school reinforced her spirit for athletics, too. She played basketball in the fall and ran track in the spring. She was a natural runner, like her mother. The mile was her favorite, but she could leap hurdles with the best in the city.
Henry could’ve been enrolled in any of the schools that were available. English, art, math. He was a true academic. He chose the School for Science and Exploration. His compulsive reading had become more focused leading up to attending the magnet school. Chemistry, physics, even anatomy. We didn’t have a clue where his interest in science came from. Certainly not from Meg or myself. Hell, I couldn’t even give blood without lying down.
He embraced the school’s rigorous study schedule. There were days when Meg had to canvas the school’s science labs to find him when she went to pick him up. And our garage was soon transformed into his at-home experimental research center. Frog dissections, chemical reactions, animated robotics. I couldn’t believe he didn’t burn the house down.
The four of us were in such a good place. That’s the way life would get you back then. Flip you upside-down when you were least expecting it. If anybody should’ve known that, it was us.
23.
T he smell of a homemade bomb is strange, acrid. The smell of four is overwhelming. When I broke through the edge of the woods, I thought, “This must be what a battlefield smells like.” I squinted through the smoke. “And looks like.”
The retreating hunters all lay on the ground, two of them silent, the other two writhing and screaming in pain. There were stumps and blood. And death.
As I regained my senses and began to understand the carnage around me, I noticed the movement down the highway. The two men who had stayed back to guard the hunters’ women were running toward us, their guns drawn. I aimed my pistol without thought and shot twice in succession. They fell at the same time and lay motionless on the road. I breathed again.
Henry eased out of the trees. He came to me, grabbed me with both arms. Then Jessica did the same. Family hugs had been rare on our journey. It was just what I needed in that moment, watching my children transform into warriors. There are conversations and experiences and feelings in our lives that stay with us no matter h
ow much time passes. I never forgot the love I felt from my kids right then.
◊◊◊
Henry had told me he was bringing some improvised explosive devices with him the day before we were planning to leave. I had no idea what to say. My initial thoughts went to the danger of carrying these “devices” with us. But Henry assured me they were safe. He would insulate them in a separate container, then keep them at the bottom of his hiking backpack. I was hesitant.
But it was hard not to trust him. He had become a wizard with wiring and electronics. He took our old cell phones, broke them apart, studied their inner workings for hours. Then he’d put them back together, and they’d be as good as new. One winter, he spent a month tearing apart our lawnmower’s engine. I swore I’d take away his garage privileges if he didn’t have it running again by spring. “No problem, Dad.” Apparently so. The grass got cut just fine that year.
It was also hard not to stock up on protective gear. Weapons. Guns and knives. But I hadn’t been so sure about bombs. I had a little experience with pistols and shotguns, but none with explosives. And what would we need a bomb for anyway? After all, we weren’t preparing for a war. Just a mission. A journey there and back.
But Henry had been relentless about taking them. “What if we need to take down a tree for shelter?” “What if we get trapped in a cave one night?” He was always good at thinking up every scenario for any situation. I gave in, and the bombs came with us.
◊◊◊
While Jessica and I had been making our dash for the woods when the hunters spotted us, Henry had been coming up with his own plan. So much for following the infallible father, I guess. He told us that he knew he might not make it to the woods with his undisciplined left leg. So he thought, and it didn’t take long for the lightbulb to go off. It never did with Henry.