Escape from Paradise

by D. Richard Ferguson

  “Sorry,” Adam said. “I didn’t mean to ... Are you okay?”

  The man slowly gathered the oranges within reach and pushed them into his bag—all the time keeping his eyes fixed on Adam. Then he stood and retreated a few more paces.

  His eyes expanded to match his large, round head. He was a short man with a hunched back and a kind face. He scratched his balding head, then maneuvered toward his stray oranges, glancing down at them only for a split-second at a time then returning his gaze to Adam.

  When he had retrieved them all, he spoke. “What are you doing down here, boy? I’m not interested in going to the high country, so why don’t you just go back—”

  “I’m ... lost.” Adam climbed out of his hiding place and stood. “Can you help me?”

  The man’s eyes enlarged even more. He studied Adam for a moment, then pulled an orange from his bag and held it out, keeping his distance, as if offering a morsel to placate a dangerous animal.

  Adam took a tentative step toward the man, then another, and accepted the gift.

  The man watched as Adam peeled it, separated a section, and slipped it into his mouth. The sweetness of the orange sent tingling pleasure down his spine as he devoured the remaining sections.

  The man smiled, relaxed his posture, and extended his hand. “I’m George.”

  The gesture exposed wide gold bands on the man’s wrists. They looked to Adam like golden handcuffs.

  Adam wiped his sticky hand on his pants before shaking George’s. “My name’s Adam.”

  “For a second there I thought you were from the high country. But ... you’re not, are you? Where are you from?”

  Adam opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t even call to mind the name of his hometown.

  “Um, well, you see, I ... there this pond.” He pointed. “I think it’s that way, or ... that way? I’m not ...” He scratched his head.

  “You live in a pond?”

  “No, I ... I was swimming in a ... it was dark and when I—”

  George chuckled. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You’re welcome to walk with me if you like. I’m headed to the city.”

  The two began walking. “I was just on my way back from the southwest orchard.” George held up his bag. “That’s my favorite place for citrus. Peaches are better in the south orchard. Come to think of it, the oranges aren’t too bad there either, I guess, but it’s harder walking with all the hills and such. Probably not for you though. Obviously, you kids are used to that kind of terrain, but it’s tough for us lowlanders. I could handle it better before I hurt my knee. Slipped on a muddy spot a few years back and took a tumble down that hill right over—”

  “So ... there’s a city near here?” Adam interrupted.

  “A city?” George stopped. His round eyes became slits and his bulbous forehead wrinkled. He looked Adam up and down with the same wary eye as when they first met. “You’re being serious, aren’t you? You really don’t know about the city. Amazing.” He shook his head. “Well, you’ll get some funny looks. Just ... don’t talk to anyone. And don’t make eye contact.” Then he resumed his steps.

  Adam stood for a moment, looked back toward the pond, then jogged to catch up.

  The path soon widened into a road. Good, Adam thought, it will be easy to find my way back.

  George set a pace that was as brisk and relentless as his conversation. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t know about the city. Of course, I haven’t met all that many children. The ones I have met are all mountain people. I suppose that’s why you didn’t want to tell me where you’re from. You are from the high country, aren’t you? But you ate the orange. And you don’t really look like one of them. Of course, how would I know since I’ve only met—”

  “Are you saying there’re no children in the city? How could there be a city with no kids?”

  George gave Adam another puzzled look. “You would know that a lot better than I. You’re one of them, aren’t you? Unless you’re really not from ... I think maybe we should get you to a doctor. Did you take a fall or something? Do you really not know where you’re from?”

  “I’m not hurt. It’s just that I ...”

  Adam’s words dissolved in his throat as they topped the rise and the city came into view. He caught his breath. He had to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun reflecting off the buildings, towers, pillars, and the wall surrounding the city—all of which looked to be made of gold.

  “What’s wrong?” George asked.

  “It’s ... the gold—it’s ... amazing!”

  George took Adam’s arms and pushed up his sleeves. Then he pulled Adam’s collar aside and frowned.

  “You don’t have any gold?”

  “No sir.”

  “What happened to it?”

  “I’ve never had any gold.”

  George rubbed the band on his arm. Adam took that as an invitation and reached to touch one of the bands. Fire shot through Adam’s arm. He jerked it away, but the burning continued. Blisters had already formed on his fingers.

  “What are you doing?” George said. “Are you crazy? Why would you do that?”

  “I didn’t know it would ... Why doesn’t it burn you?”

  George laughed. “Burn me? It’s my gold!”

  Adam waited for an explanation but got only a blank stare from George. Whatever.

  Adam looked again at the city. Even the houses were gold. “Is everyone there rich?”

  George frowned. “Some are a lot richer than others. But then again, no one in the city is poor—at least not as poor as the mountain people. I assume they’re poor. Their kids sure look like it—no gold, tattered clothes. Then again, maybe they just look like that to fool us. Wouldn’t surprise me. I suppose anyone who lived up there would have tattered clothes, but you’d think ...”

  George kept talking, but Adam stopped listening as they approached the gate—and the gatekeepers. Two mean-looking men glared at Adam. Both men were younger and a lot bigger than George.

  Adam halted. His body tensed, ready to run.

  George didn’t seem to notice that Adam stopped walking, and his rambling warnings about the high country continued until the men stepped in front of him and blocked his way.

  George eyed the men, then looked back at Adam.

  Adam searched George’s face. He doesn’t seem worried. Or does he? Would George help me if .... Maybe I should go back to the pond.

  Adam scanned the area. If they came after him, he’d run to his right, downhill. I’m fast. I think I could get to those trees before they caught up to me.

  The men at the gate sized George up, then moved around him with menacing eyes on Adam.

  Adam prepared to bolt, but George stepped in front of the men, blocking their way.

  “He’s with me,” George said with a firmness that surprised Adam.

  The taller and grumpier-looking of the two men kept his gaze on Adam. “This city doesn’t need any—”

  “He’s harmless,” George said. “He’s not from the high country. Like I said, he’s with me. Now move aside.”

  Grumpy finally took his eyes off Adam and focused again on George. Adam waited. If they attacked George, should he try to help? How could he?

  For a tense moment, no one moved. Then George pushed past the men and Adam hurried to his side, putting George between him and the men. They continued on the road into the city. Only after several backward glances was Adam satisfied the men weren’t coming after them.

  “Don’t mind them,” George said. “Those two are in charge of closing the gates for the night. They’re just nervous about locking down the city with a child—or someone who looks like a child—inside the walls.”

  “Why?” Adam asked. “Why would they be afraid of children?”

  “Whenever children come to the city, they always try to convince people to go to the high country. They don’t get many takers, but those who do go are usually never seen or heard from again. Thei
r homes lay abandoned and eventually the looters clear ‘em out. Most folks believe the mountain people send their kids into the city to lure people up to the high country where they are easy pickin’s.” Then he added quietly, “Most of us have lost loved ones to the mountain people.”

  “So everyone will think I’m one of the mountain people?”

  “Some will, I suppose. Or, maybe not. I guess it depends. As long as you don’t pressure people into going to the high country or to their magical little cabin. I think that’s what lures people the most. Everyone loves a story of magic. Myself, I’m a man of facts and hard evidence. I live in the real world. That’s why I love the writings so much, because ...”

  Again, Adam tuned out as George rambled. The remark about the magical cabin caught his attention. Is he talking about the cottage? Is it a bad place? Do only kids see it? Adam had tried to go there. Would the mountain people have captured him?

  Then he remembered the birds. It was almost like they were trying to protect him from going toward the high country. Could someone have sent the flock to save him?

  Adam decided not to say anything about what he had seen—not to George or anyone else. The cabin didn’t matter now anyway. If anyone knew the way back to his own world, they would most likely be in the city.

  Adam started at the crash of metal-on-metal as the gates slammed shut, the sound reverberating down the street.

  George looked back at the gates and then at Adam. “Why so jumpy? You don’t have to worry about those guys. If they were going to hurt you, they would have done it at the gate. That they let you in means you are safe now.”

  “It’s not the men. It’s ...” Adam looked again at the gates. “I don’t want to stay here overnight. I only came with you to see if someone could help me find out how to get home. I can’t stay here. My parents will be looking for me.” Adam’s voice cracked at the mention of his parents.

  “Trust me,” George said, “you don’t want to be outside the city at night. You wouldn’t last two hours. They’ll open the gates again in the morning and you can come and go as you please.”

  Adam had no reason to doubt the man who had just risked his own safety to protect him. Still, the feeling of being trapped ...

  The same terror that had gripped him when he first came out of the pond returned with a vengeance.

  Adam set his jaw. I will not get stuck here. Tomorrow I’ll go back to the pond and figure out how to get home.

  The road from the gate led directly into the center of town. It ended at the most magnificent of the structures Adam had seen in the city.

  George drew a deep breath, palms on his lower back, taking in the view. “This is the library,” he stated, as though he’d built it himself. “It’s where the writings are kept.”

  After a pause, Adam realized George was expecting a reaction to this revelation, so he raised his eyebrows. At least he thought he did. But George saw through it.

  “Are you serious? You haven’t heard of the writings of the prophets either? Maybe you did grow up in a pond,” he said with a wink.

  Adam didn’t smile.

  “You’ll want to spend a lot of time here. The prophets are known as ‘the Great Ones.’ They are the king’s council, and they built this city. Their writings are the definitive revelation of history, the nature of the world, and the way to life and good days.”

  “The city has a king?”

  “He’s not just the king of the city. He’s the king of the whole world. He has awesome power. He can bring rain or storms. The grass of the field and the birds of the air do his bidding. And he uses all of it to protect our freedom.”

  Adam turned and faced the building. “Are there maps in the library? I need to find out about the pond I ... fell into.”

  “I don’t know. Could be. I haven’t read all the writings. No one has. But they would be the place to check. If it’s not in the writings, it’s unknowable.”

  “Is that all they have in the library—just the writings of the prophets? Nothing else?”

  “Nothing else is needed. I think there might be some other volumes in there, but no one ever reads them. Why would they? If a prophet didn’t write it, it’s not verified. Just superstition. People in this city don’t have much patience for that sort of thing. Superstition is what makes the mountain people so dangerous. They use it to brainwash people—and to justify all their crimes. It’s why I’m thankful for the writings.”

  With that, George stopped talking—a rarity for George—and turned again to look at the library. It took Adam a moment to realize what that meant. George expected Adam to go in.

  After a few slow steps toward the main entrance, Adam realized George wasn’t coming. He took a few more strides, then turned again to George who nodded toward the door. With a sigh, Adam ascended the steps to the front door and pulled it open.

  One final glance over his shoulder. His only friend in this world was now walking away. Will I ever see him again? What am I supposed to do now? Where will I stay? Once again he felt lost, alone, and desperate.

  Adam gripped the door handle harder, steeling his resolve. If I have to stay in this library all night, I will figure out where that pond is and find my way back home. I will not get stuck in this city.

  Adam stepped into the cavernous central room which opened into ten other rooms around the perimeter. The central space formed a giant sphere, a hundred feet from floor to ceiling. Adam stood on a glass floor that spanned the bottom third of the sphere.

  Thousands of books filled carousels throughout the rooms. The books all looked the same—dark brown hardcovers with the title in gold print on the spine.

  People sat at tables and desks immersed in study. One man wore gold rings on nine of his fingers. A tenth ring sat on the desk, and the man stroked it as if petting an animal. Others caressed their gold watches. The only patron that took notice of Adam was a tall, elderly man with a long face and a stern jaw. A large gold amulet dangled from his neck. He looked up from his book and scowled at Adam.

  Adam turned his attention to the woman sitting at the front desk and was met with another frown. He wondered if children were even allowed in this place. Why was she glaring at him? I don’t belong here. These people don’t like me. I want to go home!

  Adam thumbed a tear from his eye and was turning to leave when the woman said coldly, “May I help you find something?”

  “I ... what ... does that mean?” He pointed to a mural hanging from the ceiling that spanned three stories. It depicted a human face, but with eyes that were much too large—as if greedy to observe every object in the library. The pupils reflected each book, each person—everything. And the reflections somehow seemed sharper in the pupils than in real life.

  “That’s a portrait of one of the Great Ones,” the woman said. “He built this library.”

  Adam stood enthralled. The spell was broken only when the tall man rose abruptly from his table.

  Two others stood and approached Adam. He stepped back and lifted his hands in defense. But they passed Adam and continued toward the exit. Dozens of others now streamed to the doors.

  Adam heard muffled shouts. He joined the throng to see what was happening outside.

  A crowd filled the street, their attention fixed on someone standing on a stone wall, addressing them. A small number seemed to be listening. Others were angry. A few shouted over the one speaking.

  Adam moved to where he could see. The speaker was a girl! She looked about Adam’s age—maybe younger. Her clothes were torn, her face scratched and dirty. She shouted, “Don’t touch the gold! It has been cursed—”

  The rest of her words were drowned out by the jeering crowd.

  “Go home!”

  “Get out of here!”

  “Tell your people to leave us alone!”

  Adam overheard the couple next to him. “Poor girl,” the man said.

  “She’s not well,” the woman answered. “Her mind is gone.”

  Adam puzzle
d over the girl’s words. Don’t touch the gold? Why not? What did she mean, it was cursed?

  Adam stepped closer. The girl caught sight of him and stopped in mid-sentence. With pleading eyes she began again. “You are in danger here. You must escape while you still can.” Her gaze never left Adam.

  Is she talking to me? Adam looked around to see if people were taking notice of him.

  The tall man from the library and another man took hold of the girl, one on each arm, and escorted her toward the city gate.

  The girl didn’t resist, and the crowd disbursed.

  Then she jerked, surprising the men, and wrested an arm free. She turned and tossed a small object she’d been holding.

  It bounced on the pavement near Adam. A piece of wood, smooth as if worn from use, rolled to a stop. But before Adam could move toward it, one of the men snatched it up, secured the girl’s arm again, and resumed the escort.

  Twisting in their grasp, her eyes locked on Adam and she pleaded again, “Don’t touch the gold!”

  Chapter 3

  The Northridge neighborhood was one of the safest, quietest, and most beautiful parts of the city. Spacious, golden homes with meticulously groomed lawns sat in silent darkness as the neighborhood slept. The only sound was the gentle whisper of the creek that meandered through the community.

  The creek was one of the primary reasons Adam had chosen this neighborhood ten years ago. Many times he had followed it out of the city, tracking it for miles in hopes it would take him to the pond that brought him into this world when he was a child. His many excursions south of the orchard in search of the pond always had the same result. He returned to the city empty, frustrated, and lonely.

  Over the years, the stream had become his companion. He often came to it when he was troubled. He would sit, sometimes for hours, watching the ever-changing currents, or a standing wave that would slowly build then collapse on itself. The crosscurrents, hydraulics, eddies, wave trains, pour-overs—the rich complexities combining to make a simple stream captivated his mind.

  Sitting at the creek was the next best thing to getting out of the city altogether. It seemed his thoughts were clearer when he was away from the city. But even then, memories of his home and family were out of reach. Like a piece of ice in his hand, the tighter he attempted to grip them, the more they slipped away.