The Orion Project: A Novel

by Edward Marin

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me,” he said. “It’s him. Okay, let’s say nothing’s going on between you two, except you should have told me about Martha’s visit. But he’s always here! We now have to whisper to have a personal conversation, we can’t make love in the living room anymore, we’ve lost our privacy, our intimacy. You spend much more time with him than you do with me. We don’t know how his mummification and reawakening happened, and who knows how long it’ll take before we have enough to present to the scientific community. Let’s face it, bringing him to our home was a big mistake.”

  A half-hour later, Linda went to the bottom of the stairs and called for Tonemcadu to come down for dinner. When he didn’t appear, she went to the guest room and found it empty.

  “Dan, have you seen Tonemcadu?” she asked when she came back downstairs.

  Dan started looking for him. He walked into the dining room. There, on the long table, was Tonemcadu’s gold and ivory sculpture. Beside it was a sheet with carefully drawn words, which he started reading aloud.

  My friends, I am writing to say goodbye. I’m leaving because I’m convinced that it’s best that I go on my mission alone. I regret any trouble I may have caused you and thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Please accept, as a gift, my sculpture, which is my only and most treasured possession.

  Wishing you all the best,

  Tonemcadu.

  “Oh, Dan, you know he must have overheard us. We were practically yelling.”

  “Can you believe it? He just picks up and leaves--after everything we did for him. If it hadn’t been for us, he’d never have made it out of the museum. But that’s okay. We’ll get him back and finish our project eventually. He’s got no money; he’ll never be able to make it on his own.”

  CHAPTER 11

  “I’m sorry, but we’re not hiring right now,” said the pimple-faced young man while he inspected Tonemcadu from head to toe.

  After spending several hours walking south on Clark Street and applying for a job at every business along the way, he was beginning to wonder if he’d be able to earn the money to survive, let alone travel to Egypt and complete his mission.

  As he hurried from factory to restaurant to store, he thought with sadness about his time at Dan and Linda’s home. He was grateful to them for having housed and fed him, but pained at the thought of causing trouble between them. What else could he have done but leave?

  Chicago near the border with Evanston looked different from the downtown area where Dan and Linda had taken him shopping. There were no tall buildings or suspended garages. The street was full of simple three-story residential buildings and small businesses.

  Everywhere he’d applied for a job the answer had been the same: not hiring. As the sun set, he was exhausted from having walked for hours. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was starting to feel dizzy. He knew his weakness was in part exacerbated by his not having fully recovered from his mummification.

  Businesses were now closing for the day, and he had nowhere to go. He’d better find a place to spend the night in order to get going early the following morning. In the mild early summer temperature, he could sleep outdoors.

  After walking east on Bryn Mawr Avenue for a couple of blocks, he saw a wooden bench in an enclosed park by the lake. Except for a young couple laid on a blanket about fifty feet away, the area was deserted. He stretched out on the bench and was asleep within minutes.

  When he woke up, the sun was behind dark clouds and the city was just coming to life. His stomach was cramping from hunger. He decided to walk over to the next street parallel to Clark Street and systematically cover the entire area until he succeeded in getting work.

  Before he reached the first business, he heard thunder in the distance. Moments later dark clouds began to release large drops of water. A bolt of lightning hit something nearby, and the storm cut loose. The skies opened up with a fury he’d never seen before, sending buckets of water pouring over the city. Along with a few other pedestrians, he ran to take refuge in a parking garage across the street.

  Tonemcadu waited nearly an hour for the rain to let up, but instead it got even stronger, drowning everything in sight. He learned from an old man who’d taken cover along with him that its fury was caused by the remnants of a hurricane that had hit the southern part of the country a few days earlier, and that it was forecast to last for a while. So he went back outside and, bent at the waist, blinded by the rain, started to walk again.

  When he reached the first business he saw, a small jewelry store, he wiped his forehead, adjusted his soaked clothes, and tried to push the door open. It was locked. The lone employee inside gave him a quick inspection through the window, then turned away without activating the buzz to release the lock. He kept going.

  The rest of the day turned out to be a repeat of the previous one except that his strength was now further depleted and his light-headedness from hunger more pronounced. Except for some water, he had consumed nothing in two days. With much of his energy gone, his walk became mechanical as he propelled himself forward by willpower alone.

  When evening came, he first thought about returning to his park bench, but he knew he should try to conserve his energy and decided to make it to an alley across the street instead.

  It was now drizzling, and the ground was covered by huge puddles. After finding a spot on a slight elevation where the water hadn’t been able to accumulate, he rested his back against a building and fell asleep.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was awakened by a tap on his shoulder. When he opened his eyes, he saw a policeman standing over him.

  “Move it, buddy. You know you can’t sleep here.”

  As Tonemcadu started walking again, he felt as if he might lose consciousness at any moment. Every step was an effort, requiring concentration to keep his balance.

  After about ten minutes, he noticed the first open business he’d seen since nightfall. It was a well-lit establishment, some hundred feet away, where people were coming in and out. He gathered his remaining strength and dragged himself into the building. Before he could identify the person in charge, he collapsed in one of the few chairs available, in a corner of the busy room. Just as he passed out he had a vision of a woman dressed in green who resembled his wife, observing him with an infinitely kind look.

  CHAPTER 12

  Tonemcadu was still in the chair when he reopened his eyes. It was now daytime. The place was just as busy as when he’d arrived, and no one was paying attention to him. His first instinct was to look around for the woman he thought he’d seen earlier. Of course, she wasn’t there--he’d been hallucinating.

  He looked at the menu propped up between the salt and pepper shakers on the little table next to him. He was in Luigi’s Pizzeria, a bustling restaurant full of noisy customers of all ages and backgrounds. Looking around, he saw two people engaged in a loud, animated conversation as they sometimes sucked on little white rolled up paper cylinders and blew out smoke. Other people read the paper or just ate their triangle-shaped slices of food in silence. The waitresses were young women in green uniforms who smiled at all the customers and seemed oblivious to the chaos around them.

  When he finally got up, he went to the back of the restaurant as he had done elsewhere so many times in the past two days. A short, gum-chewing man who seemed to be overseeing the area walked up to him and looked him over.

  “Do you need help?” Tonemcadu said.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. My cleaner just quit on me. Need somebody to clean the restaurant, starting now. Pays seven dollars an hour. You interested?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Tonemcadu.”

  “Tome... never mind, Tony Cadu’ll do. I’m Louis DiVoco. I pay on Fridays, cash, off the books. Employees can eat the food as long as it’s during their breaks and they don’t take any home. There’s a fifteen-minute break every three hours. You can start right away. Take
one of the uniforms in the closet next to the kitchen. On the lower level, you’ll see all the supplies you’ll need.”

  “Could I have something to eat before I start?”

  “Sure, no problem. But make it quick.”

  Tonemcadu started ten minutes later.

  He found that he liked the food, which was called pizza, but liked little about his job. Once he got the hang of it, there was no challenge, just monotony. But, at $7.00 an hour, he was earning the money he needed to take his trip.

  Most days he worked two shifts, then went to sleep in the basement of an old dilapidated building he found one day while taking a different route to work. It had running water and, little by little, in his spare time, he transformed it into quite a livable space.

  Although the work environment was often frantic, it could be friendly when employees talked to each other during breaks. He was fascinated by how different his co-workers were from the people he’d known in his culture. He paid careful attention to the way they acted and to what they said to improve his understanding of the modern mind. To his surprise, people were eager to talk about themselves and shared all kinds of personal details. Of the dozen or so who worked at Luigi’s, a few soon stood out.

  Teresa was an immigrant from Mexico. She was a single mother with premature wrinkles on her forehead and troubled eyes. She wore nail polish that was always at various stages of peeling off, which struck Tonemcadu as a metaphor for her turbulent life. She went from crisis to crisis, unburdening herself to any employees willing to listen. She shared with them the angst of every failed relationship along with her fantasy that she’d meet a nice, rich guy who’d fall in love with her and rescue her from her fate. She treated every male customer she waited on as a prospect, making herself vulnerable to a series of men who saw her as easy prey.

  As chaotic as Teresa’s world was, her sister Yvette’s was planned, orderly, neat, predictable. Impeccably groomed, she looked almost prosperous, even in her waitress uniform. From her flawless manners to her careful elocution, she worked hard at being perfect, or at least looking perfect. It seemed to Tonemcadu that if she laughed or cried, it was more because she felt it was the right thing to do than because she was happy or sad. She helped him keep the restaurant tidy by picking up anything out of place and spraying disinfectant every morning. Few employees seemed to like her; he suspected either because her flawless facade reminded them of their own shortcomings or because her restraint made her seem untrustworthy.

  The cook, William, was a middle-aged, heavy-set man who usually looked pleased with himself. He said he’d scored at the genius level on an IQ test when he was in the eleventh grade, but instead of applying for scholarships to good universities, he’d dropped out of high school. He told Tonemcadu that his family members, who were high achievers, suspected him of being lazy for not taking advantage of his tremendous intellectual potential. In fact, he wasn’t lazy. He spent as much time and energy focusing on his interests as they did on theirs. It just so happened that his, which included ruminating on whether it was all worth it, weren’t as respected or lucrative. His lack of ambition surprised Tonemcadu, who had observed that most modern people wanted to get ahead one way or the other. William seemed perfectly content living as he saw fit.

  At the center of gravity of the restaurant was Dona Rosa, a short, elderly woman with a severe bronchial cough and bleached blonde hair. She’d been the main cashier since the late 1950’s when she’d been the first person hired by DiVoco’s late father, Louis Sr. Since that time, she’d been well liked for her enthusiastic nature by the successive generations of employees. Louis Jr., who had complete trust in her, often went to her for advice, which she was more than happy to dispense. Having never married or had children, she seemed to transfer some of her maternal instinct to him and sometimes scolded him if she didn’t agree with his management style. Tonemcadu overheard her on several occasions forecasting trouble for the restaurant if he didn‘t start becoming as serious and business-minded as his late father had been.

  She liked “Tony,” as did the other employees.

  CHAPTER 13

  One morning, on his way out of the kitchen, Tonemcadu noticed a new waitress talking with Louis. He recognized her immediately as the same woman he’d seen on the morning he passed out in the chair. The resemblance to his wife Nefisi was amazing. They had the same soft features, shapely figure. Even her aura was similar. They could have been twins, though this woman was slightly taller than Nefisi. Like her, she was beautiful and exuded a glow, an unique blend of sophistication and sensuality.

  Tonemcadu walked over to them.

  “Barbara, have you met Tony?” Louis said.

  “I saw him a week ago. Before I took my vacation.” The woman smiled at Tonemcadu. “Hi, Tony. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”

  Even her soothing voice was similar to Nefisi’s.

  A few hours later while on his way to lunch in the small area of the kitchen where employees ate and watched TV during breaks, he saw her finishing a pizza along with Teresa and Yvette. When he sat near the end of the table, he caught Teresa in the middle of an outburst.

  “We wouldn‘t have to work so hard if everything wasn‘t so disorganized around here,” she said. “When Louis’s father ran the place, at least things worked. I think he messes up on purpose, just to be different. He’s like a teenager who’s trying to assert himself. I asked him for a day off to go to my brother’s wedding next month and all he could say was he’s short of staff. I mean, it’s one month from now; can’t he try to plan for something?”

  The more she talked, the angrier Teresa seemed. Other than a few words from Yvette, she entirely dominated the conversation. Tonemcadu focused on Barbara’s reactions. Although she wasn’t saying anything, he concluded from her body language that she agreed with Teresa.

  The apparent support from the two women seemed to energize Teresa, who continued to talk while glancing several times in Tonemcadu’s direction, as if challenging him to take a stand. After a few minutes she took a more direct approach.

  “Why are you guys so inconsiderate, Tony?”

  “What do you mean?” Tonemcadu said.

  “You know what I mean. Don’t you think Louis is wrong? Why do men only think of themselves?”

  “I try not to do that,” Tonemcadu said.

  Apparently not getting the reaction she’d wanted, Teresa continued to talk, now ignoring Tonemcadu and addressing herself only to Barbara and Yvette.

  After they’d returned to work, Tonemcadu caught a glance from Barbara while she was taking an order from a couple sitting by the entrance. When she finished, she came over to him.

  “I hope we didn’t make a bad impression on you and you’ll have lunch with us again,” she said.

  “I will, thank you.”

  “Teresa dramatizes everything, but she doesn’t mean any harm.”

  “She had some points to make,” he said.

  “Then you don’t think we’re weird?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Just testing you,” she said, then left to take another order. Tonemcadu kept watching her as she walked away.

  In the following days they talked often, usually alone at the kitchen table. He learned that she’d been born in the Caribbean nation of Trinidad and Tobago, but had moved to Chicago with her family when she was fourteen. She’d spent the rest of her adolescent and young adult life in a neighborhood on the south side of town. A few months ago, she’d rented a small efficiency apartment a couple of miles from the restaurant and was still excited about having her own place. It afforded her the peace and quiet to study for her evening classes in elementary school education at Chicago State University.

  As they talked, she vented her frustrations, shared her hopes, and sometimes asked for advice. He was always ready to answer with words of encouragement, drawing from his culture and trying to adapt its wisdom to a modern context. Although he tended to look at situations from a mor
e philosophical point of view than she did, he sensed that she could relate to what he said. On the rare occasions when she disagreed with him, she’d get excited, and he noticed a trace of an island accent, the only indication that she hadn’t been born in the U.S. He appreciated her candor and knew her arguments were always deeply felt. As a person who above all else valued the search for truth, he was charmed by her integrity. And then he began to realize that he felt more for her than respect. He was falling in love.

  Despite her openness with him, Tonemcadu was careful never to allow their conversations to touch on anything relating to his past, his mission, and especially his feelings for her. He didn’t want his emotions to become reciprocal, because he knew he’d have to leave soon. He didn’t mind discussing ideas or events, but any talk of feelings could only take them down an emotional road which was bound to end up in a painful place. As a result, whenever she asked him personal questions, he answered with generalizations and redirected the conversation to safer ground.

  All he told her about his plans was that he’d be leaving the country sometime in the near future. He could tell that his mysterious ways troubled her and guessed that she tolerated them in silent resignation, hoping he would someday change.

  CHAPTER 14

  Barbara kept wishing Tony would soon come and join her at the kitchen table to take his daily morning break. The clock on the wall showed ten o’clock, fifteen minutes after the time when he usually showed up.

  What an extraordinary man he was, so different and so full of mystery. There was so much she still wanted to know about him and learn from him. The sense of self-awareness he radiated and his way of commanding respect at the restaurant despite his lowly position were very appealing.

  She could sense from the way he sometimes looked at her that he found her attractive, yet he made no effort to pursue her. He was so unlike other men who tried to impress her in one way or another. Tony volunteered no information about himself and was modest to the point of being secretive, yet, the more she knew him the less interesting other men seemed to her.