Belmopan

by B French

  “We’ve spent a lot of time together these last weeks. It will be hard to get out of bed in the morning; even harder to get in without you there enticing me,” he returned jokingly. She slapped him hard on the arm and looked at him longingly. “Oh, I’ll be alright. There is a lot to do in Vancouver, closing down my apartment in Kits. I hate to do it, but with those guys after me, it is best I disappear from there for a while.” He looked to the shafts of sunlight that were streaking down between the clouds over the Strait.

  “When do you think you’ll make it back to Neah Bay?”

  “Not too long. Perhaps a couple of weeks,” he

  returned, leaning close to give her a kiss. He could feel

  the emotion welling up inside him and fought it. “That’s OK,” she replied. “Julie has asked me to

  spend some time with her over the next few weeks,

  taking samples of mussel shells in some of the isolated

  bays in the region. It will keep me busy until you’re

  finished with what you need to do.”

  Brian could tell she was as uncomfortable as he.

  “I still have to make it back to Victoria and check in on

  June, to see how she is doing.”

  “Give her my regards,” Shawna encouraged,

  giving him a firm hug and letting go.

  The announcement for foot passengers to embark

  came over the loud-speaker. Exiting the car together,

  they walked hand-in-hand across to the gate where

  Brian could go no further. Taking her in his arms, he

  gave her a long, passionate kiss. He could feel her melt

  in his arms and knew he could not live without her. With the sound of its setting-sail horn, the ferry’s alert echoed throughout the bay. Within moments, it slowly eased from its moorings. Watching the silhouetted face behind the glass, nearly obscured by the reflection of the clouds above, Brian teared as a lone hand was pressed against the window’s interior. He waited till the ferry was almost at the far side of the channel before he returned to his car and headed back up the highway to Oak Bay, and beyond. He was remorseful, yet optimistic that all would work out the way it should, and Shawna would be safe from that monster in Belmopan.

  Emptying the apartment in Vancouver, and boxing most of his prized artwork and possessions, was very difficult. Kitsilano had been his home for the last five years and Brian had come to love the interaction with his neighbors and the weekly forays to the local pub for long drinks and tall tales. Rose and Steve were more than welcome to store his furniture and belongings for a time until more permanent accommodations were found.

  Back in Victoria, as always, June and Lilly, her Lhasa Apsua, had welcomed him back to study in the confines of Vincent’s office. Afternoon tea and endless homemade cookies, of the canine assortment as well, were brought daily for refreshment and comfort. The study had brought back some closure to Vincent’s intent on art reclamation to the surrounding nations, but also opened up the chasm, left unsutured by the circumstances still torrid in Belize. The custodian of the catacombs - Dr. Magnus, and his accusations toward him, were still troubling to Brian. The proof of the doctor’s relationship with the creature in regard to his deceased wife, confirmed by Henry, and now with the near abduction and thwarted murder of Shawna, were all foremost in his mind. It boggled Brian as to the ramifications this genetically altered creature’s actions had had on the innocent, unknowing populations on which he had preyed. If Magnus was indeed right in his accusations of the entities migrations from various parts of the world throughout the centuries, it would only fuel the contempt he felt for this being. Brian began to feel furry at the ongoing autonomy the custodian was apparently entitled, and now with the percolating resolve to team with Dr. Magnus, Brian was determined to be rid of this plight on mankind. The incident in Seattle was evidence enough that the issue would not go away by itself. He resigned himself to the task of exposing this fiend at whatever the cost. He now had the resources, with Vincent’s bursary and library, to pursue the endeavor, but not just yet. He had a career in photography and film-making to nurture with a fledgling star-bound archaeologist. One thing had become certain over the last few months, where-ever ‘Pillars of the Moon’ was to be shown or received; the custodian would not be far distant. That was his weakness; that would be his demise - a little jade bowl in the likeness of the Maya.

  As Brian sat back in the leather-bound chair, he scanned the books shelves laden with paraphernalia and photographs of Vincent’s life’s work. Black and white photographs of colleagues and associates, posing meritoriously at various universities and archaeological sites, were numerous. Paintings and scenic photographs in Technicolor splashed the walls in an otherwise austere but stately raised-panel study. A few portraits of notable, Victorian high society individuals dotted its perimeter, some famous, some infamous, but all respected in their due. Papers and manila folders, stacked high in corners and the flat surfaces of side tables and shelves, some of which Brian had gleaned, most still untouched, lay beckoning him.

  All the while a slight, clicking nose, barely audible, was constant in the ambient noise, as if a cockroach was skittering across the ceramic, tiled floor. An innocuous, little snickering, amid the audition of birds outside amongst the orchestrations to maternal instinct. A gentle breeze laden with the scent of early, blossoming roses blew in through the culprit, open window. Barely visible, in the reflection of one of the glass-encased pictures adorning the huge desk was the image of the small shaggy, halfnaked doll in a loincloth. Qweti (Kuwatsi) had come to visit once again.

  “Well, little fella,” Brian asked, as he swung in his chair to stare up at the little doll perched atop the bookshelf, “is it time for me to pack and come back to visit you?” He waited for several moments as if to absorb what the apparition had done for him in the past. “I guess so!”

  the window, was barely noticeable

  buzz of insects in their late, spring Ossette

  The inside of the cabin was warm and humid when Brian slowly lifted his lids from tired, bloodshot eyes. Particles of smoke exposed the shafts of light that pierced the room like the number of hunting spears that hung laterally along the walls by the door. The cot was empty on the other side of the hearth. Shawna had risen early and left to help with the morning duties and necessities that kept a life by the sea prosperous.

  Placing his feet firmly on the ground, Brian contemplated the trip of the night before and the help of the braves from the local band. When he had got to shore in Port Angeles at that late hour, he had to be certain there would be no-one unsuspecting in the shadows. The cousins were familiar enough with the locals, and the feel of their surroundings to know they were not being followed. Brian had learned to trust their instincts, besides they were not going to let anything happen to their cousin’s favorite person - now would they? There had been no sign of the pursuers from Seattle and further from the south, but he knew they would appear one day. He had not become paranoid, but thought it prudent to be cautionary.

  Slowly getting up and stretching the tightness from the muscles in his shoulders, he opened the door to the freshness of sweet, yet unique scent of the sea. The gentle shushing of the pebbles along the beach, rolling to-and-fro in the surf, was borne up on the wind from the shore. Shawna’s laughter, as she prepared and unloaded the morning’s catch of fish from the skiff, close to the dock, blew up as easily and more whimsical. Watching her gave him great pleasure, and welled within him the desire for permanence and stability. Closing the door, he retreated to the cot by the fire and once again buried himself in the cotton sheets and blankets of skins to sleep.

  Shawna had packed a picnic lunch and water for their hike to Cape Flattery. They had considered a visit to Ossette, but the walk alone, with an overnight stay, would be more than either of them wanted to endure. Plus, Brian had only visited the cape in his dreams and had an interest to see the beauty and ferocity of the cliffs and its tidal surges
, first hand.

  “Come on, Mister Alexander,” she joked as she threw a light, lumber jack’s jacket at him. The glass and wood beads, her grandma had weaved into her hair, swung loosely in an arch about her shoulders as she turned back to lift the tote bag that housed their lunch. Her face shone in anticipation of their excursion, she looked half her age.

  Brian could not help but wonder what he had ever done to deserve such happiness that he felt at this moment. The day was warm and animated with the sounds of the sea and the forest that abounded with life of every kind. The west-coast rainforest, although unforgiving at times, was a cornucopia for the senses. He felt more alive and refreshed than he had for months. His little friend, the waif in the woods, Qweti, had not returned to date, and he supposed that was a good sign.

  Gathering some light, rain gear, camera and a rifle, they headed west along the trail that would lead them to the higher ground and shores of the north-western most point of Washington State. The trails were long and slippery with moss and humus that deteriorated beneath the packed earth that made up the illusive trail. Birds chattered and flew to higher roosts in the upper canopy, while small, earthbound creatures took to motion to allude or confront; the larger ones were not to be seen.

  Once they arrived within the confines of the National Park, the trails were much more worn and easier to navigate. A board-walk meandering through the marshy lowlands along with a wooden bridge over the severe crevasse, made for a delightful hike. Stopping briefly for a drink, atop a bridge along the lush, hard-packed, earthen trail, they cuddled and breathed deep the fresh scent of the trees and flora that scattered itself ubiquitously about them.

  By late afternoon they could hear the faint crashing of the waves and felt the wind-borne mist that blew in from the shore. Heavy with salt, it dampened their hair that trailed in wisps beyond the confines of their hoodies. Excited at the prospects of finally seeing the cliffs, Brian raced off ahead of Shawna who trailed behind. Taking in the majesty and tranquility of the surroundings, he became oblivious to the damp and slick conditions. His feet beat the hard packed earth resounding in a hollow, thumping sound; his camera swung loosely over his shoulder. Mesmerized by the beat, he looked down at his feet as they scissored back and forth. Brian was reminded of the small feet, and naked legs of the boy and those of his companion from his dream. He raced incautiously to the cliff’s edge to experience the pounding, crashing waves. Unaware of the closeness of the cliffs and the slipperiness of the soil, Brian continued running, feeling the wind in his face and the beating of his heart.

  A scream echoed in his ears, “Brii-aan!”

  Hearing the scream, he turned his head to see a young girl barely twelve years old. She held her head between her hands; her young face distorted in terror, her mouth in gaping rictus. Trying to stop in mid stride with unsure footing, he slipped down onto his side and sailed to the edge of the steep precipice. His camera now loose, careened over the edge and shattered into pieces as it dropped to the rocks and surf below. Just able to save himself, he grabbed the branches of a shrub and held tight. He hung there trying to catch his thoughts and breathe.

  A small pair of hands came to grab his arm. The dark flesh was young and near perfect except for the dark band of earth rimmed beneath the nails. Pulling with great strength, the hands heaved at his sleeve trying to lift him from the vision that had become too familiar. Below, in the depths of water, he watched, once again, as a young boy screamed for his mother and slowly succumbed to the warmth and numbness that was enshrouding him. The smiling face of the waif came back and watched the tragedy in wonderment and dismay.

  Feeling the tug once more, Brian awoke to the hands of Shawna holding him tight. He looked up to her shocked and frightened face, “Are you OK?”

  “Wow! That was close.”

  He steadied himself and looked once again to the depths below. The undulating, turquoise water crashed and upheaved in great plumes, sending spray half way back up the grey and craggy cliffs. The sound was deafening and yet exhilarating as the ground seamed to shake with every assault on its rugged buttress’. The great pools below swirled and eddied with such force and torrent that they would twist a man in two.

  “I’ll need a new camera.”

  Shawna smiled, gave him a kiss on his forehead and helped him to his feet.

  Arm in arm, they continued on and came to rest on the platform that extended itself out over the cliff face. Gnarled and stunted Arbutus trees reached out with weathered branches, from their perches about them on rocky cliffs. The view was enormous and almost too magnificent to describe. They held each other close and looked out to the great expanse of endless ocean.

  As the sun began to set, the wind began to die down and the clouds disperse. They sat and watched for hours as the puffins fluttered and eddied with the air currents that rose with the gentle breeze off the ocean. Seagulls squawked and pranced in the tidal zone, scrounging the abundance and bounty the sea would grant. Cuddled close on the wooden rails of the lookout, they talked about their dreams and aspirations of the coming months and years. The warmth their bodies shared was a small token of the intimacy that they would share throughout their time together.

  As the sun began to set, its reflection ignited the ocean on fire with one great, golden pillar that laid itself before them. And as before, in the Mayan tale of several thousand years ago, a million little fishes tried to collect the pieces of Ixchel, reflected in the waves, and lift her to her lover the sun. And as the pillar slowly shrank into the waiting arms of the sun, they both disappeared behind a ribbon of crimson and vermillion to continue in the never ending story of love and renewal. Ixchel was finally with her lover.