by Eric Black
“Then where…?” Juan began.
“I speak many languages – some men still speak and others died ages ago with their people.”
Juan was not sure what to ask next so he solicited a simple question. “What’s your name?”
“I have many names. Perhaps something in your tongue? Would Abuelo suit you?”
“Abuelo will be fine,” Juan replied. The old man smiled and Juan felt the smile was genuine.
“May I ask how old you are?”
“You may,” Abuelo answered. His gray eyes glinted in the fire as he reflected. “I remember the moon being very young. I have watched the moon from this village for many years. But we have not always been here. We come from a land far from here. Far even from your land of Spain. We come from Nod. Have you heard of this place?”
Juan had heard of Nod. “Nod no longer exists. It was the land outside of the Garden of Eden.”
Abuelo smiled. “The garden, yes. That is from where the fountain comes.”
“What do you mean?” Juan asked breathlessly.
“Perhaps you should ask your friend.”
“My friend?”
“Christopher Columbus.”
Juan had to get out of the hut. He had to find his men and leave the village. He would fight all of the warriors himself if needed. He tried to stand but found he could not.
Abuelo watched intently. “Christopher Columbus is not dead.”
Juan was bewildered. “He is dead! I was at his funeral!” He was on the verge of hysterics and shouted the words into the dark hut. Juan had faced and killed many men in battle; he had fought ships and entire armies. None of those situations had brought Juan to the point of losing his equanimity. But here, sitting with an old man in a small hut, his poise dissolved.
“Yes, you were at the funeral,” Abuelo agreed, “but Christopher was not there.”
“What are you talking about?” Juan screamed at the old man.
“Did you see a body?”
The words struck Juan and he sobered instantly, thinking back to the funeral. After a moment, he answered. “No, there was only a tomb. Are you saying he was not in the tomb?” Juan stared into the fire.
“I am saying that he was not in the tomb. Christopher Columbus was here with me.”
Juan discerned his strength and stood. He was disoriented but located the door and stumbled outside. He retched until his guts ached.
Through tear-blurred vision, he looked up to gather himself. There was the fountain.
Juan felt himself drawn towards the fountain as if lost in a dream. He came face-to-face with the magnificent stone lion and waited, apprehensive of his next move. Motion caught the corner of his eye and he turned. To his astonishment, the statue of the horse lifted one hoof and then another before stepping from its platform.
Juan didn’t know what happened to him inside of the hut but now it seemed he was going mad. He crossed himself as the turtle and elephant joined the mare.
The animals began a tranquil amble, circling the fountain clockwise. Juan discovered he was trapped inside of their circular movement with the lion and true fear took root when he realized that the immense cat was actually gazing at him.
The lion spoke, “You are Juan Ponce de Leon.”
The lion waited patiently for a response and Abuelo’s eyes twinkled as he observed the interaction. “I am Juan Ponce de Leon,” Juan answered, finally mustering the strength to speak.
“You seek the waters of Bimini and so you have found them,” the lion confirmed.
Juan took a deep breath. “How is it that stone moves and talks?”
“Is that truly the question you wish to ask? Perhaps a better question is are we truly as we seem?”
“Are you, then?”
A look came across the lion’s face that Juan interpreted as a smile. “You know the answer to that. But I will tell you of us nonetheless. The elephant, horse and turtle are extensions of me and I am an extension of something much more. We are part of the true nature of the fountain. I am Cherubim.”
Juan knew the name and was astounded at the mention. “You are the Guardian of Eden?”
Cherubim smiled again. “You were expecting a flaming sword?”
He roared stridently and Juan covered his ears in pain. The roar sparked Cherubim’s mane and it became fire. Juan was drawn to Cherubim’s eyes and within the pupil of each was a sword swathed ablaze. “Do you fear me?”
“Should I?” Juan asked.
The flames increased abruptly and Juan felt as though his flesh would be scorched. Then just as suddenly, the flames died out and Cherubim spoke softly. “You are worthy.”
“What?” Juan was uncertain of the words.
“The fountain has been here since the beginning. It was once a source of water for the first people of the garden. Even after the garden was empty, the fountain remained. I was set to guard Eden as well as the fountain.
“The men of this village are the Men of Nod. They were created to guard the people who came from the garden, to ensure humanity continued.”
Juan’s head was spinning. “How have the Men of Nod survived? I have seen no women.”
“The Men of Nod were not created in a manner you would understand. But there were women in the beginning. It was thought that the original woman would need companionship. Also, the sons of the first man and woman needed women. The Women of Nod went with those sons into the world of man.”
Juan considered Cherubim’s comments. His head continued to rotate but he was energized. His rationale did not want to hear more but interest trumped rationale and he craved the information.
Cherubim waited patiently and allowed Juan to gather his thoughts before asking his next question. “Would you like to see your friend Christopher Columbus?”
Juan was unsure how to answer but felt his head nodding.
“Come then,” Cherubim offered. “The true power of the fountain is not the waters. The true power is where the fountain takes you.”
“To Eden.”
“Yes, to Eden.”
“Was Eden not closed to men?”
“The first man and woman were removed from garden because they were no longer worthy. I am the guardian of the fountain’s power. Some are worthy of receiving that power. Christopher Columbus was worthy. And you are worthy.”
Juan was nervous but excited. “Are you ready?” Cherubim asked.
Juan nodded his head. Then, he disappeared.
CHAPTER SIX
Reality set in that the priest was among rare people. He knew Juan and Diego’s story but hearing it firsthand changed his understanding.
He nodded to Juan to continue but was interrupted by the sound of a car alarm. Then, without warning or explanation, the windows of every vehicle in the parking lot shattered.
The windows of the park’s glass carousel house erupted and the projectiles from the detonation acted as shrapnel, striking everyone in the vicinity. In the distance, more breaking glass could be heard and they knew the windows of storefronts and homes had departed.
People began to run, scurrying through the adjacent streets, uncertain and visibly shaken at what they had just seen. Bloodied people struggled through the park, the glass shrapnel thorough in its damage.
Juan called for Diego and the priest to follow him. They made their way slowly through the carnage, their experience in centuries of warfare enhancing their actions. People they passed spoke of a bomb. “Do you think its terrorism?” they heard one person ask.
The police arrived and people on the street were frantic. The tires of their cruisers crunched the glass-laced streets.
Through the mayhem, Juan led the way to his home. He expected the worst but found that his home was untouched. Whatever the blast area was, his home was apparently out of that particular vicinity.
They entered, ready to be apart from the destruction outside and were surprised to find someone sitting Juan’s table.
“Enoch,” Juan said, recognizin
g the man at once. “It’s been decades.” Juan was wary of Enoch’s presence as he knew with the events outside, he had not come for a social call.
Enoch offered a strained smile and confirmed Juan’s thoughts. “I wish I was just here to visit but I have more pressing matters. I need the three of you to listen. You see what’s occurring outside?”
“How could we miss it?” asked Diego.
Enoch’s smile became more genuine. Diego’s sarcasm was never lost on a moment.
“Pardon me but who are you?” the priest interrupted.
Juan interceded. “Father, this is Enoch – the Voice of God.”
“The Voice of God…?” The priest was confused. “How can this be?”
Enoch regarded the older man. “Priest, I understand your disbelief. But now is not the time. Right now I just need you to listen.”
The priest relented and Enoch spoke quickly and to the point. When he finished, his eyes passed across all three men. “Do you understand all that I have said?”
“Go back to Ethiopia. Read the Book of Jubilees. Got it,” replied Diego.
Enoch sighed. “If only it was as simple as that. And now, you must leave. The Watchers will know I visited you.”
The priest blinked. Before the blink, Enoch was there and after he was not. A moment later, the angel Shamsiel filled his vacated spot in Juan’s home.
Angels could not be killed but they could be damaged physically in the mortal world. Juan obliged this anomaly by putting his ancient sword (stored in a panel within his coffee table) through Shamsiel’s face.
Although Shamsiel was not actually inflicted, his body reacted as if he were human and the blade split his face. There was no pain and his wounds healed almost instantly but the force of the blow drove him backwards onto the floor. He landed on the carpeted floor just as the other Watchers arrived. Their arrival shattered everything glass within the house.
Juan used the distraction to leave. He looked over at Diego and they put their hands on the shoulders of the priest; instantly, they departed Juan’s home.
“Do we follow them?” one of the angels asked.
Shamsiel was angry but he let the fury pass as he rose from the floor. “We don’t need them. Enoch is the target. He has been here and we will follow him.”
“What was that?” the priest demanded.
“They are the Watchers,” Juan said warily. “But we cannot discuss them here.”
“Where do we go?” Diego asked.
The priest looked around. “Are we in Axum?”
Juan nodded. “Yes, we are back in Ethiopia.”
“I would suggest we go back to the chapel but the police are there,” the priest offered. “I’m sure they will have noticed my absence and will have many questions for me. There is a place on this side of town that people sometimes go to be discrete. The clientele is somewhat sorted.”
“That will have to do,” Juan replied.
The priest led them through soiled alleyways. Prostitutes worked the dark passages and more than one body sprawled the pavement.
They arrived at a dingy building and Juan and Diego waited outside while the priest took care of the arrangements. He reappeared a few minutes later with a key. “I’m not sure the man behind the desk believed I was actually here on church business.”
“I doubt the man behind the desk wants you here on church business,” Diego replied.
“Point taken. Anyways, we have a room.” Juan and Diego followed him inside to a room with one small bed and a scarred desk. “This is the best I could do.”
“It’ll work,” said Juan.
After they were settled, the priest implored of Juan to continue with his story, hoping it would somehow explain all he had seen.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A familiar voice crested the background and the feeling of nostalgia enveloped him. “Hello, old friend.”
Juan had not yet opened his eyes but discerned the voice as he would a precious memory. “Hello, Christopher,” he replied. He still couldn’t believe it but he had found his old friend Christopher Columbus; the man with whom he had toured the New World, loved as a brother and buried.
Christopher first met Juan in a tavern in Madrid. Christopher had just finished his dinner when a fight broke out. He was not sure what had started the fight but as the brawl developed, he saw that one man stood against five.
The five had the one man pressed against a wall: two held the one man while the other three took turns striking. The one man’s face was a mess – both lips were split and his eye was nearly swollen shut. It appeared to Christopher that the episode would quickly come to a conclusion.
Then, one of the five screamed. The one man had been knocked to his knees and Christopher saw his teeth clinched into the screaming man’s thigh. Christopher could see blood starting to show through the screaming man’s thin cotton pants.
The other four grabbed the one man by the shoulders, yanking him backwards but he would not go easy. Finally, he was pulled free and the screaming man clutched his wounded thigh.
Taking advantage, the one man twisted and grabbed a chair and slammed it hard into the head of an adjacent man. The adjacent man fell to the floor unconscious.
The one man turned his attention back to the screaming man by striking him in the stomach. He grabbed his hair as he was bowed forward and drove his knee into the man’s face, breaking bone.
One of the three remaining charged, leading with his fist but the one man ducked and the charging man’s clenched hand slammed into the wooden pillar that supported the roof. The pillar was two foot-by-two foot of solid oak and the charging man screamed as his hand broke.
The one man was grappled into a headlock and in return, he stomped on the headlock man’s foot with the heel of his boot. Christopher heard the bones crunch.
Released from the grip, the one man squared up to face the remaining man. With lightning speed, the one man drove his fist into his throat and the remaining man stumbled backwards gasping for breath.
The Madrid La Policia had arrived during the fight and they watched with amusement. They moved next to Christopher for a better view and waited until the end before breaking up the melee and arresting those involved.
Christopher interceded with the highest ranking officer, who recognized Christopher. “He’s with me,” he said, nodding towards the one man. The one man nodded his appreciation at the gesture and the five were arrested.
Christopher motioned him over and offered a seat. “Glass of Spain’s finest?”
“Aye,” the man accepted and Christopher poured. Drinking through busted lips was difficult but he managed.
“I am Christopher Columbus.”
“Aye, I know who you are. I am Juan Ponce de Leon.”
“I have heard of you as well. You fought against the Moors in Grenada?”
“Aye.”
“Well Juan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You fight well.”
“The Moors were good practice,” Juan agreed.
“So it seems. May I inquire as to the altercation?”
“An old sailor’s squabble. We get into it every so often. There are not always five.” Juan smiled as he rubbed his jaw.
“So you sail as well?”
As they spoke, Christopher found himself impressed by what he saw in Juan. He was especially interested in Juan’s time as an ambassador in service of the King and realized then how impractical he had been: Juan had not needed his assistance in not being arrested.
Juan told Christopher of his time in Ethiopia and with the Northmen. “In fact, the Northmen are the reason the King is sending your voyage. He wants to confirm their stories of a New World.”
They spoke several times over the next week and Juan expressed interest in joining Christopher’s expedition. The King consented not to the first jaunt but the second if the first voyage was successful.
“How is Leonore?” Christopher asked, flouting Juan’s memories.
“She is well,” Juan
replied about his wife, sitting up from his supine position.
“And your son?”
“Very well. He grows like a weed in a courtyard. And he’s almost as frustrating.”
“I hear he’s just as stubborn as his old man.”
“As is yours. Good to see you, old friend.” He stood fully and they embraced. “You missed a beautiful funeral. The mass was long and much too boring to honor one who had lived a life such as you. The food and drink were exceptional. Your son spared no expense in that regard.”
Christopher laughed but turned serious. “Ah, my son. How I long to see him. I hear the two of you have a bit of a disagreement.”
“Aye, a bit.”
“Well, let’s not talk further on an empty stomach. Let me show you around and I’ll introduce you to the best fruit you’ll ever taste. Then, we’ll recapitulate our lost years.”
Juan agreed and followed. Christopher led them down a path filled with wonders and Juan realized they were creating the landscape. Whatever was imagined, the next moment became reality.
They walked for nearly thirty minutes before entering a grove of trees. The trees stretched upward so high that Juan could not see their tops and trunks were such that six men could surround the tree with outstretched arms and not be able to touch.
The back of the grove opened into a wide space, lit by the sun. The light came in a broad beam that refracted on a thin brook next to a small shelter – Christopher’s home in Eden.
Christopher offered fruit from one of the trees and Juan had never tasted anything so juicy or sweet. It appeared conceived of honey and sunshine.
Juan looked up at the sky and witnessed a deep azure hue. No clouds scarred the firmament and the temperature reached a comfortable irrelevance. “Is the weather always this perfect?” Juan asked.
“Always.”
“It’s incredible. What have you learned of this place?”
“I’ve learned that since the garden was left behind by men, the garden now decays, if you can call this decaying.”
“From whom do you learn?”
“Abuelo teaches me.”
“Abuelo?”
“Aye. He comes here sometimes and we talk.”