by Edward Es
“It’s Brown and Clifton. Holmes’ people. And that Indian from the rock house. Take a look.”
Noelle creeps around the boulder, surveys, and returns. “That’s Tall Tree. Scott was telling me about him. He’s a Navajo, not like most of the Native Americans around here. Scott ran into him taping some footage of that rock house. Tall Tree stopped him, something about stealing the spirit of the house with pictures.”
“I heard they don’t like cameras.”
“He got talking to him and found out he was adopted by Paiutes because they killed his father by accident. I think Tall Tree said when you kill somebody, other than war, you owe their family an honor. You have to take some honor from your own family and give it to the son. So they made him some kind of priest, or medicine man. Whatever it is they are.”
Sid takes her hand and leads them toward the fire, approaching slowly. Billy sees them and rises, at first suspicious, then realizing who they are. He taps Sam, pointing, and Sam spots them and stands also. Matt notices and turns to look, but doesn’t bother, turning back. When they’re within a few yards, Billy gestures. “Welcome. Come, join us.”
Throughout all this, Tall Tree hasn’t moved, still staring up. The fourth figure, Robert Linden, stands and walks toward them, extending his hand. “Good evening. My name is Robert Linden.” He shakes Noelle’s, then Sid’s hand.
“Noelle Crane.”
“Sid Knowles.”
“I am very honored to make your acquaintance.” He points to his spot. “Please. The two of you share my blanket. I have another for myself. Please.”
Sid and Noelle sit down with the others, wrapping themselves in the blanket. Linden gets another, sits a few feet away, and silence resumes as all stare at the buffeting flames. Sid and Noelle look up at Tall Tree, then rest their heads together, feeling the warmth from the fire, and the warmth from each other.
Zion floats serenely, looking through the passage to the pressure lock. An arm appears, an arm enclosed in a spacesuit, then a leg, and finally Tom, missing only the helmet. Zion arches his back, not an easy maneuver in weightlessness. Once he realizes it’s Tom, he looks curiously at this strange sight. Tom moves himself over to the console, enters commands, checks parameters on the screen, then looks at the cat, reaching out a gloved hand which Zion paws at. Tom floats back into the pressure lock and out of sight. A vault-like door slides across the opening, clunks shut, and on the face of the door, symmetric stainless steel arms connected to a wheel turn and snap overcenter, sealing off the control deck.
All sit quietly looking at the fire, listening to the crackling of burning brush until, without warning, Tall Tree raises his arms straight up, then arcs them down to his sides. Tall Tree turns his back to the fire and Billy stands and walks up behind him, facing the rest. He touches his back to that of Tall Tree, who raises his arms waist-high, palms upward. Tall Tree speaks in Navajo as Billy translates.
“Narrogwenap, the storyteller, died, and his spirit blew into the rocks. Ioogoone, the Canyon, speaks.”
Noelle and Sid look sideways at each other.
“In the long time ago, the people before our people, who were the Anasasi people, lived in Tavi Maus Wintook, the Land of the Setting Sun. There was no food, or animals to hunt, or skins to wear. After many times, they left the caves to search for a new land, the land of Tavi Maus, where the Sun rises.
“Four hundred plus twice forty moons they traveled, and Tobats, the Ancient of Days, appeared many times, once as a rabbit, sometimes as a bullfrog, in many living things. He told the people of our people that in Tavi Maus all things would be theirs, the food, the animals, and skins. But the people did not believe and they complained.
“Then Shinob, the son of Tobats, also spoke to the people saying that Tobats was tired of their complaining, and that he had given them everything. All once was rock, but he had put in the fire and the water so that things would live, and things would die, and there would be food to eat and water to drink.
“But the people would not stop, and they traded with Unnupit, the fallen warrior, and Unnupit Ruan, his demon warriors, and many died and fell to the ground. The land turned dark with blood and sorrows made Tavi, the Sun, hide. So Shinob told the Great Warrior, Tureris, to shoot from his magic bow an arrow of fire into the sky. Through the canyons and mountains and rivers of the sky they would follow the arrow to the Land of the Rising Sun.
“The people followed the arrow and they came to Ioogoone, this canyon. But they complained again, and after they had the annual cry for the dead, Unnupit told them Tobats had lied and closed the canyon so they could not find Tavi Maus. Then Unnupit became a coyote and howled, laughing at them for believing Tobats.
“When Shinob heard all of this, he came to Ioogoone as a wolf and chased Unnupit away. But Shinob was angry with the people. So he took the son of Tureris, whose name was Tu weap-Toatsen, son of the Earth, and cast all the stars into his eyes, and called him the Child of Skyeyes. Without the old stars, the people could not find the Land of the Rising Sun.
“So Shinob the Wolf told our people that from that time on, he would keep the Child of Skyeyes with him. And that Tureris would paint this story on the skin of a white deer, and when he was an old one, he would give the skin to a new child, the flesh of his flesh. That child would look for a sign in the sky, and if he found a sign, he would take the skin of a white deer, and all his life think of how to show the Wolf his people were sorry. He would put on the skin the story of what his people had done to show Shinob they found the Truth of Life, and bring the skin to the burning trees at the end of his days, and the Wolf would see the story.
“If it was the Truth, the Wolf would give the Child of Skyeyes to the people, the old stars would return to the sky, and they would find their way to the Land of the Rising Sun. If it was not, then the next child would take the skins and do the same, until the Truth was told.
“So it has been for many people of our people. The stories have been told, but the Child of Skyeyes has never been seen. Chief Sunman Whitewater gave the Book to the flesh of his flesh, Little Spirit Set Free. But Little Spirit was taken away before his time.
“Our people are scattered with the wind. Like the wind, no one knows where they have gone.” Tall Tree’s arms raise up again, then come straight down to his chest, across his heart, and he bows his head.
“It is finished.”
Tall Tree walks away into the darkness, firelight painting his back until he disappears, as if flickering out. Billy does the same in the opposite direction, leaving the others to stare into the fire. Their minds wonder what has been said, and their spirits wonder what has been felt. And what is it, that is finished? Matt and Sam stand and walk away. Noelle and Sid remain huddled under the blanket.
Noelle stares into the fire, transported by the legend into constellations of her memory, the firmament of her life. Patterns formed by events, choices made and not made in the vacuum of self, that place where all ultimately confront their decisions. Her heart draws cold as she’s struck by a falling star from her past.
Sid doesn’t notice, trying to make sense of magic arrows through the sky and a talking wolf. Robert Linden stands, walks over to Noelle, and bends to one knee. She turns to him, her eyes glassed over with regret too deep to allow tears to pass. She looks into his eyes and everything stops; her heart, her breath, the universe. Sid looks at him, still not knowing where Noelle has gone.
Robert Linden speaks softly as he touches her hand. “You are forgiven. She sends you love, and sends you peace.” He stands and walks away.
Sid remains lost, confused by Linden’s words as he watches him disappear into the cavernous night. He turns to Noelle, about to ask what Linden meant, when he sees she’s collapsing inward. Fear strikes at him, somewhere new, that place she has taken in his heart. A place he just found.
Sid reaches toward her, feeling himself pulled into the b
lack hole of torment that has enveloped her, but she stands and runs over to the edge of the plateau, and there bends over and leans with her hand on a boulder ten times her size. Sid runs after her and stops a few feet away.
“Noelle?”
She shakes, nearly convulses. “Oh my God. Oh...”
Sid pales. “What? What is it?”
“My God. Sid.” She struggles for breath. “He knew. He knew what I was thinking. He knew I was thinking about her.”
Sid walks a step closer. “What? What did he know? I’m getting scared.”
Noelle turns and Sid nearly folds at the sight of her, a fusion of terror and revelation looking out at him. The three feet between them is the span of creation, and the silent moment, eternity. Noelle glazes over. “I knew all along, it was a girl,” she says, every other word a gasp for air. “She was a girl.” The tears finally find their way. “And she sends me peace. She forgives me.” She runs to him, falling into his arms, crying so hard she brings him to the verge of his own tears.
“Noelle… Noelle, tell me. Who forgives you?”
She breathes in long, gulping breaths, lifts her head, and looks into his trembling eyes.
“My daughter.”
“Your daughter? You have... you had a daughter?”
Noelle looks up at the patches of stars, only blurred streaks through the tears. “Yes, I did.” She grabs her hair, grimacing. “I aborted her at three months.”
Sid closes his eyes, and for the first time in his life, feels the true pain of another person. He rests his chin on her head. “Oh, Noelle. I’m so sorry.” She backs up, wiping her face, and puts her hands in the pockets of her jeans.
“Do you know what it’s like to secretly hate yourself, every day of your life? To spend every day of your life in regret? Fighting off the urge to justify something so terrible that the thought of it blacks out the Sun?”
Sid turns away, then turns back. “But... you must have had a reason, Noelle.”
She marches up to him. “It doesn’t matter if I had a reason!” Noelle shouts, beating her fist on his chest. “It doesn’t matter what reason!” Another fist to the chest. “I did it! That’s what matters! I killed my daughter!” She turns away. “My sweet angel. My ballerina... My best friend. The most precious gift God ever gave me.”
Noelle drops to her knees, then all fours, crushed down. “Oh. Oh, Jesus, it hurts so bad.” She falls to her side, then rolls onto her back. Sid kneels beside her, taking her hand as a tear falls from him. “Noelle—”
“This world I didn’t want to bring her into is a paradise, because love lives here. And I took that from her. I deprived her of my love, a love God gave me, to give to her.” She covers her eyes with her arm, afraid to look at the stars, each one an eye of the Almighty. “All these years one thing has tortured me more than anything else. I didn’t even give her a name. I didn’t even do that. The ultimate betrayal. I took her life, and didn’t even give her the dignity of a name. God help me,” she cries.
Sid is swept over by an anger he can’t explain, a searing white-hot dagger through his heart. He grabs her by the arms and sits her up. “Right now. You name her right now.”
Noelle, lost in her agony, tries to focus on him. “What? I,—”
“Now. Do it. Just like those Indians you admire so much. Look around at this world, and give her the name she’s always had.”
Noelle shifts her startled gaze upward, and blurred stars sharpen as she blinks tears from her eyes. “Celeste. Her name is Celeste.”
“Celeste. That’s wonderful. It means Heavenly. It was my grandmother’s name.”
Sid looks around at the plateau, a barren landscape on a planet of grief. The trees, the rocks, all wait for his response, demanding he listen, and understand, and rescue her. In their stillness, he does. In their silence he hears her message. He rises and lifts Noelle to her feet.
“Noelle, listen to me. I can’t say I understand what happened here, but you have to listen. He said she sends you peace. That means she’s alive. Celeste lives. Somewhere, she sees you, she loves you. Just because you can’t see her dance, doesn’t mean she doesn’t dance for you, in your heart. She’s still your best friend, because she knows how much you love her, how much you’ve always loved her.” He lays his hand on her tear soaked cheek. “She did what friends do. She forgave you. Now, honor her. Forgive yourself, and take the peace she sent you.”
Noelle looks up at him, embraces him, and they cry it out together.
In the Starbridge, Melody has made a small altar on top of a wooden crate and placed there a candle, a vase with the flowers Noelle brought her, and her Bible, which lays open on the music stand. She lights the candle with a weathered book of matches, stops a moment to stare into the flame, then glances over to the clock on the wall, seeing it’s a few minutes before 8:00 P.M. She wheels herself over toward the light switch by the door, but stops halfway and covers her mouth, coughing so hard her eyes water. Melody regains her breath, continues over to the light switch, and turns out the lights, leaving only the glow of her sanctuary across the room. Melody is shaken by the violence of that coughing spell, and on her way back erupts into another, this more frightening than the first.
Roberta is watching television when she’s struck still by the sound of the coughing, something she’s not heard from Melody for a long while, something that brings a choking fear to her. She runs toward the sound.
Roberta arrives outside the Starbridge, but before pushing the door open, looks through the glass and sees Melody arriving at her altar. She looks at the wall clock, realizing the time for Melody’s prayer has come. Not wanting to disturb the moment for her, Roberta retreats back down the hall, takes a chair, and places it outside the door, sitting secret watch over her frail charge. She pulls a string of worn pearls from her sweater pocket and closes her eyes.
Outside, a deluge drops from a microburst, plummeting torrents of rain that strike the patio so hard, they bounce up a layer of splattering water a foot high. Lightening flashes the Starbridge every few seconds, one clap of thunder on the heels of the next.
Melody touches the pages of her Bible, then presses her hands together, putting the tips of her fingers to her lips, and also closes her eyes.
Tom is in the pressure lock, closed off from the control cabin by the bulkhead door. He has the helmet on, his face barely visible through the gold shield, and has locked his umbilical into the receptacle. Tom turns toward a switchbay shielded by a plexiglas panel and slides the panel clear, revealing a guarded button. He lifts the guard and pushes it, causing a red light to flash. In the pulsating glow, the words “Pressure Release” appear on a placard, and “Armed” flashes in the button next to it. He presses that button and a muffled hiss accompanies bits of debris dancing around him.
When the hissing stops, he shuffles sideways and looks directly above, where he reaches up and slides open a panel labeled “Hatch Release”. A T-handle appears which he turns until a green light illuminates next to the hatch. Tom reaches up to the round hatch with both hands and grabs the wheel. He hesitates, but finally turns it, and along with the turning a series of levered arms move inward, releasing the door latching pins. At the end of the wheel’s travel, the hatch springs downward. He pushes another button in the overhead panel and the hatch drops down a few more inches, moving along its track and unfolding a sweeping blanket of stars. Tom hovers motionless as the hatch reaches its limit and stops. He is struck both by the vision, and the fact he survived depressurization. He shuffles down the narrow passageway back to a locker, removes the canister, placing it in a mesh bag attached to his suit, then moves back to the hatch and looks up again.
Children on the ship have gathered, including those from the Noah House, and formed a circle, holding hands around the ship’s minister. Heads bow, and shortly after, Isabel enters from a side door. When she sees the circle in prayer, sh
e stands behind Walter and places her hand on his back. He turns partly around and half opens his eyes, smiling when he sees her.
The first light of day arrives in a children’s bedroom in Africa where several sleep together. Mother enters the room, waking them gently, pointing at the clock. They sit up in bed and clasp hands, the youngest unable to stay awake, flopping back down on his pillow, though his hands stay clasped.
A one-room schoolhouse in India bustles with activity, children of all ages working projects or playing. The teacher reminds them of the time and they return to their seats and also pray as silence falls over the room.
Most of the Maui Village Elementary School students have gathered in the auditorium after school. Melody’s drawing is projected onto a large screen.
The capsule appears larger than Earth, about to set behind the lunar surface that now passes ever swiftly by. The hatch is open and Tom’s helmet appears as he pulls his way up the ladder. He continues until he’s halfway out, then stops. At the position he came through the hatch he was facing Earth. He feels, however, an intimidating presence behind him, and turns around to see the Moon, so close he feels he could touch it, even reaching his hand toward it.
Tom and the capsule are dwarfed by a lunar sea directly above. At fifty-thousand feet, rilles and mountains and craters are daunting geological formations. Stark, knifing shadows cut across landscapes of devastation, the gray, gritty world of extremes, no compromise between light and dark; where the Sun strikes and where it doesn’t, the difference between melting heat and shattering cold. Only the matter of rock and dust survive. Yet, it is elegant chaos. There is majesty in the boulder-strewn battlefields of time, symphony in ejecta fanning out downstream of ancient impacts, momentary catastrophes with no one there to marvel in the silence of eternity. Such thoughts, without words, pass through Tom, the language of awe.