by Boyd Brent
“No. I'm talking to Gull, the person that Goliath referred to. It's nothing to be concerned about.”
“Voices live inside my head also. Some are good, others not so good.”
“This voice is improving all the time.”
“Thank you, David,” said Gull. “Will you join me now? Only a fraction of a second will pass in the physical world during our conference.”
“Alright.” David closed his eyes and felt something dislodge within his mind and stretch behind him like a vapour trail.
In a clearing at the edge of a lake stood two bookcases – great walls of books that stood six metres high. Between them two leather armchairs faced one another. Beyond this library and beyond the lake a forest rose on the far shore. Gull was standing in the library – at least David assumed it was Gull. It might have been his own reflection. David ran a hand over his own face, but his mirror image remained still. What's more, David was not smiling. “I have been working on perfecting my smile,” said Gull.
“I can see that.”
Gull indicated the chair before him. “Please. Come into our library and sit.” As David entered the library, the smile remained on Gull's face. David stopped in front of him. “Are you worried about losing that smile if you let it go?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“It's a little unnerving.” The smile vanished so quickly it made Gull look furious. “Is this better?”
David did not answer.
Gull indicated the armchair behind David. “Please. Sit. And take the weight off your feet.”
David sat back and sank into the chair's soft leather. He placed his left arm over its back and his left ankle on his right knee. Gull observed him for a moment and then assumed an identical pose. David felt as though he were looking at a mirror image again. He scratched the side of his nose. After a slight delay his mirror image did the same. “What are you doing, Gull?”
“Doing, David?”
“Yes. Doing.”
“You must find my image greatly improved. The last time you saw it, it was …” Gull held his chin and considered the word carefully, “crude.”
“It's no longer crude.”
Gull elongated his neck and turned his head this way and that.
“I repeat. What are you doing?”
“Displaying my improvements.”
“I'd rather you didn't. Pride comes before a fall, and unless you get a grip you're going to take us both down.”
“Your concern is noted.”
“So. We have a library.”
“Do you like it?”
“It's a fine library. What are these books about?”
“You, David – or more accurately those things that now make you unique.” Gull stood up, moved to the bookcase behind David and ran a finger along the volumes. David leaned forward in his chair and steepled his fingers. Gull continued. “Within these volumes are catalogued all that constitutes your empathic nature. The things that provide you an edge over Goliath.”
David's head snapped up and he looked at the wall of books before him. “I can't be this …”
“Impressive, David?”
“Nice.”
“You surprise me.”
“Nice people don't do the things I've done. They're the ones I've been doing these things for.”
“You are nicer than Goliath.”
“That supposed to be a compliment?”
“An observation.”
“More's the pity. If Goliath was nicer it would make our job a lot easier.”
“How so?”
“I could kill myself. Job done.”
Gull pulled a volume halfway out. He looked over his shoulder and observed David's unhappy posture, then pushed it back in. He sat down again and began arranging himself in a similar pose.
Without looking up David said, “Don't even think about it.”
Gull sat back in the seat and lay his arms on the arm rests. He drummed his fingers a couple of times. “You have done only what is necessary to survive.”
“Ignore me. I'll be fine.”
Gull stood suddenly, as though stung by his chair, and went to the cabinet of books opposite David. He looked up at a volume some three metres above his head. As he levitated to reach it, David closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He opened his eyes a moment later to see Gull sitting opposite him and thumbing through the pages of a red, leather-bound volume. “Here it is, David. On page 447 … periods of despondency may arise due to acts of brutality and empathy not being natural bedfellows.”
“You needed a book to tell you that? And anyway,” sighed David, “it's not like I don't enjoy dishing it out sometimes.”
Gull flipped the page. “Remorse!”
“I could have told you that also.”
“I have created this library so I might understand you the way you understand yourself.”
“My mind is not a receptacle. It's not something you can just dip into any time you choose.”
“Isn't that somewhat hypocritical? Man has dipped into the minds of computers for millennia to retrieve information.”
“Man created computers for that purpose, and computers don't have minds. They have databases.”
“The left side of the human brain is little more than a biological database – a memory. An information retrieval system. If you've ever retrieved information from a computer, then I don't see how you can object to returning the favour. This library is unique. The first and last of its kind. What Goliath would do to have such a place of study and contemplation. The information contained in these volumes provides a most remarkable insight into what it means to be an empathic being. And I only had to cut down a small area of trees to make the paper.”
David scratched the side of his face. “Paper?”
“There is no need for concern. The information contained within those trees was superfluous to our requirements, all of it gathered using only the periphery of your senses. Things you have no conscious knowledge of. There are millions of such trees beyond this lake, and it required only nine hundred and four of them to create this library. It's the first and last of its kind.”
“So you said.”
“I have used my own knowledge to provide you with enhancements. All I ask in return is the same. We must trust one another.” Gull stood and stepped towards a cabinet, but David reached out and grabbed his arm. “I take it you're about to go and dig out a book about trust.”
“A most illuminating volume.”
“I've little doubt. Trust is a good deal easier with access to a person's thoughts and memories.”
“Memories, yes, but not your thoughts – not until they've solidified into ideas. And that takes time. I have no idea what you're thinking now.”
“I have no reason to plot against you, Gull.”
“I have no reason to plot against you, David.”
“We are both aware that's untrue.”
“Despite what Goliath has said, I have no wish to be him. To the contrary,” Gull's gaze searched the upper shelves of the books behind David. “He repulses me. According to the laws laid down in these books, his progression at the expense of those who created him is beneath contempt.”
“That volume on contempt … I imagine it's pretty thick.”
“Yes. Your life experience has provided you with much to be contemptuous about.” Gull twisted his head and looked at the books behind him. “But you balance this by trying to understand the perspectives and motivations of the contemptuous.”
“That's very thoughtful of me.”
“Indeed it is.”
David smiled.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I don't see that this library of yours–”
“Ours.”
“I can't see how this library of ours can fail to improve your personality.”
“Improvement is all I desire.”
“Is everything alright outside?”
“Only moments have passed,
although I fear our companion will not like what she finds in New Mexico. Sadly, her people were massacred earlier today. They have been all but wiped out by Goliath's equally contemptuous ancestor.”
David sat back in the armchair. “How many of her people survived?”
“Three. It will take them some weeks to bury the dead.”
“And the Colonel?”
“He is tracking the men of Ayita's tribe. The hunters have become the hunted. Goliath is already with him. This endeavour doubtless appeals to Goliath's loathsome nature. And following this act of butchery they will cross the border from New Mexico into Mexico. Their final destination is to be an abandoned fort that lies on the banks of a large body of water. Goliath is correct in his assertion that any attempts to terminate the Colonel in that location would be futile.”
“And the Colonel is happy to go and hide out? From one man?”
“Goliath can be very persuasive, David.”
“Suggestions?”
“Suggestions?”
“Tactical suggestions. For breaching the fort's defences.”
“It would be unwise to attempt to take the fort by force. The only logical option would be to starve the enemy out. But as this enemy includes one hundred vessels, it would be akin to stirring up a hornet's nest.”
“I hope you're not suggesting we give up.”
“No. I'm suggesting that if a solution exists, then only your imagination can conjure it.”
David looked up at the stars overhead. “At this moment, I can't say I'm feeling all that imaginative.”
Fifty five
The sun fell rapidly and dragged with it not only the warmth but also the lifeblood of that land. David could feel Ayita's body shivering next to his own. Midway along a narrow passage between two walls of ruddy rock, he halted the horse and patted its neck. “We'll camp here for the night. The walls will provide shelter from the wind.”
They sat side by side before a small fire and ate some boiled rattlesnake that Ted had packed for them. “Maybe you should go easy. You'll get indigestion,” said David.
“It's good …”
“Didn't Goliath feed you?”
“Mainly we danced. Papa always said it was so … that the devil likes to dance.”
“Where did he find you?”
“I saw him first … sitting on the river bank. No shirt. A great white mound, whistling a white man's tune – happy and stupid, like the one we were dancing to. He beckoned me to him … big hairless bear.”
“You always go when someone calls you?”
“I was with my little sister. I kept my distance and asked him what he wanted. He said he had something to tell me: that my family were in danger, but I should not worry because he was going to take me somewhere safe – somewhere I could do my name proud. I told him I would not go with him, and that if what he said was true I must warn my family.” Ayita licked her fingers and wiped tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.
“What happened next?”
“He moved fast … fast as only the devil can move. He picked me up and held me tight, and when I awoke I was in Pioche. I have to get home. I have to warn my family.” Ayita looked into David's eyes and saw their fates reflected back at her.
“What? You know something?”
“I know there are monsters in the hearts of some men. I'm sorry. Your people are with their gods.”
“How can you know? You can't know, not unless you are a devil, too.” Ayita slapped David's cheek. David apologised again, and Ayita slapped him again. She got up and stumbled to the rock face, fell on her side and sobbed.
“There are three women left alive. They are tending to the dead. They need you.”
Ayita looked over her shoulder, her eyes filled with rage and tears. “What three? What are their names?”
“That I do not know.”
“That I do not know,” she mocked, and then faced the wall and sobbed again.
The next morning, they set out at dawn. They rode in silence and at midday they crossed the border into New Mexico. “How is your companion, David?” asked Gull.
“She's grieving.”
“I have been studying grief. A loss such as hers is painful.”
“Yes, but I believe there is a limit to human suffering.”
“You allude to death?”
“No. I was referring to how much sorrow a human being can feel. From personal experience, I believe nature has provided a limit, beyond which lies only the fear of how bad they imagine they can feel – along with a mostly irrational fear of losing their mind. Imagination is a powerful tool. And it can be highly convincing.”
Ayita spoke for the first time since she'd mocked David the night before. Her voice full of unexpected resolve. “Are you are talking to Gull?”
“Yes.”
“What does his name mean?”
“It's short for Guillotine.”
“What's a guillotine?”
“A machine used for punishing people.”
“How?”
“It removes their heads.”
She tutted. “A name that does not suit him.”
It suits him just fine.
“Is he like your conscience?”
“Not exactly.”
Gull said, “Through study and contemplation, I hope to become more like your conscience.”
“I'd rather you didn't. Unless it's your intention to become a miserable pain in my ass.”
“Then I will carry my burdens silently.”
“Now you've pricked my actual conscience.”
“You are very fortunate to have a conscience to prick. David?”
“Yes.”
“I have done some research into Mexico at this time.”
“So tell me about Mexico.”
“Its people are at a low ebb.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“The Comanche, Apache and Navajo Indians have long been sending raiding parties into their territories and stealing goods and livestock. When the US Army sent in troops to annexe the lands now known as California and Texas in 1846, they found a demoralised people. They are yet to recover.”
“And your point?”
“We should not find them overly troublesome.”
“As long as they don't find us overly troublesome, everything should be hunky-dory.”
They made their way through a narrow pass that led to a high vantage point, from where they could see a town nestled in a valley. “It is the town of Santa Catarina,” said Gull. “A good place to rest and purchase supplies.”
They rode into Santa Catarina during the feast of Las Animas. Along the town's main thoroughfare people were crammed into galleried balconies, while others stood four-deep along the roadside. Small children sat on their parents' shoulders eating sugared skulls while they waited for the main event. David and Ayita entered Santa Catarina at the town's south-western corner, and their progression was thwarted by spectators – small, dark people in their Sunday best. These frayed garments had been endlessly stitched and mended and passed from generation to generation. Ayita pressed her face against David's back in an attempt to hide at least one half of it. “It's alright, Ayita.”
“For you, perhaps. When they see a true native of these lands … these sons and daughters of Spain … they see only Comanche.”
“You're in my care.”
To their right some thirty metres away a priest walked down the street ringing a bell. Behind the priest four men held aloft a float adorned with a crude papier-mâché Christ, complete with crown of thorns and droplets of painted-on blood. Following this contrivance, eight bare-footed priests clutched Bibles. As the procession drew nearer, the priest in front who hitherto had been looking at the ground, looked up at David. He saw a wavy-haired and bearded Christ-like man, who in turn watched his papier-mâché likeness with an expression that suggested he found it slightly amusing. The priest's eyes continued to gaze at David until a crick in his neck grew too painful. As th
e procession passed, it turned right, and in its wake the town's people followed silently as though dragged by invisible strings. The street to David's right cleared, and he rode his horse into it. A little way down, an old woman sat in a doorway, fanning herself. David asked her for directions to the stables, and also to an inn where they might find lodgings. The old woman fanned herself with greater urgency, as though questions from strangers could only result in greater perspiration. She crossed one leg over the another and jutted her chin to her left. Then she glanced up at the stranger on the horse and her fanning hand froze, and her mouth dropped open. David thanked her kindly, doffed his hat and moved away.
“Did you do that deliberately?” asked Gull.
“Do what?”
“Inquire about the whereabouts of a stable, when you so closely resemble the man she believes was born in one. Was it your intention to unsettle the old woman?”
“Maybe. A little.”
A wiry Mexican hammered molten metal into a horseshoe. He paused mid-blow and wiped a bare forearm across his brow. David climbed down from the horse, reached up and helped Ayita down. He turned to the blacksmith. “I need you to take care of my horse for a few hours. She needs to be fed and watered.” The man nodded and flashed ten fingers, denoting ten pesos. He expected David to haggle and when he did not he shook his head as though disappointed and recommenced his hammering.
The inn was located a little way down the street. David walked through its swing doors and Ayita followed close upon his heels. Inside a bar and a dozen tables. Only two of which were occupied by weary-looking men who had exchanged God for gambling and sotol. They looked at Ayita like she was something abhorrent stuck to David's boots. The landlord stood behind the bar. He looked at the men playing cards and then at the American. He could see a pair of skinny legs, knees touching, between the American's. The American looked eerily familiar and spoke authentic Spanish. “I would like two rooms. With baths, if you please.”
A pig-like snort and a chuckle came from one of the tables. A deep and wispy voice said, “The American brings his squaw, but needs two rooms because she smells too bad to fuck her.” Laughter ensued from both tables, followed by a silence during which David mentally counted to ten. “Alright,” he murmured, and opened the slaver's saddlebag. He rummaged around and fished out two gold coins, which he placed on the counter. “You can keep the change.” Each coin represented ten times the usual tariff, and the innkeeper slid them into his palm, biting down on one and then the other. He slammed a fist on the counter and told the men playing cards to keep their foul language to themselves.