by Davis Bunn
Harold led the kids in song, then prayed, and spoke, and prayed again. Simon listened, but he really didn’t absorb anything. He was too intently focused on the kids, and on Harold. The kids didn’t merely obey him. They loved the old man. They trusted him. They listened with their entire being. They followed his direction. And he led them to God.
Harold had been a successful businessman. He had stamped his mark in the competitive world of international industry. He had been a NASA scientist. He had done so much, but Simon knew this was what the man considered his greatest triumph. This was where his entire life had been leading. To this moment. Standing in front of a group of castoff kids in an orphanage on the brink of closure. Teaching them the right way to live.
The difference between these orphans and Simon’s early years could not be denied. His clearest memory of his own parents was how they had shouted at one another. And the way his mother smelled when she leaned over him at night, the gin and the cigarettes on her breath and her clothes. His dad had been perpetually angry and often drunk. Simon had lived with his grandmother for a while, but she wasn’t well, and he’d become a ward of the state. He’d lived in foster homes, some good, others truly awful.
But school had been a breeze, and he looked old for his age, so at fifteen he used a fake ID to land a job waiting tables. He aced the SATs and got accepted to MIT, earning a scholarship that he almost lost a half-dozen times, going up before the disciplinary board so often he knew all of their names. Getting kicked out had been a foregone conclusion. It was amazing he’d lasted to his senior year.
Only Armando Vasquez had refused to give up on him.
Which was when the shame threatened to choke off his air. The burning in his lungs was matched by the coal-like fire behind his eyes. Simon bent over his knees and fought for control.
He felt a hand come to rest upon his shoulder and knew it was Pedro. Which only made control harder to come by.
When he straightened, he realized that the chapel was empty. It surprised him, how he hadn’t even noticed their departure. The air was clogged with the smell of old wax and smoke rising from a dozen extinguished candles.
Pedro asked, “You are okay?”
Simon swallowed hard. “Sure.”
“Do you wish to pray?”
“I don’t . . . Thanks. But . . .”
Pedro gave a slow nod, as though Simon’s battered words were completely clear. “The power has returned. Come. Breakfast is waiting.”
Chapter 19
After breakfast Simon returned to the classroom and opened the duffel bag. He had been avoiding this because of what he assumed he would find. A sensitive apparatus designed for laboratory conditions was never intended to survive a car wreck, much less a race across desert terrain and being dumped in a drainage ditch. Almost none of the connectors had survived. Three of the motherboards were shattered. The tuning crystals appeared to be cracked.
Expecting to find this did not ease Simon’s disappointment. He dumped the contents on the table and started sorting through the debris. It was unlikely he could get the thing to work until after his return to Cambridge. But he could at least assess the damage and try to figure out how to apply Vasquez’s final research.
“Señor Simon?” Juan stood in the doorway, half in the room and half ready to bolt.
“Come on in. It’s okay.” Simon hated seeing him like that, his enthusiasm dampened, his gaze dull. “Look, Harold was right and I was wrong, okay? And you’re a great kid.”
The boy’s grin was blinding. “Can I help?”
“Not with this. But hey, if you can grab a few others, we can set up an assembly for the lanterns.”
“And make Dr. Harold proud, yes?”
“You betcha.”
Which was how Sofia and Enrique found them, three hours later. Simon heard them long before he saw them. The kids banged open some door and came rushing out in a great torrential flood of noise and laughter and skinny brown limbs. They danced around Enrique as he lifted his hands, the conquering hero, the leader with the perfect smile and the beautiful woman who stood slightly apart.
To his eye, Sofia looked confused. Disturbed. Not by Enrique, maybe. Simon was not certain she saw the mayor at all. Her gaze drifted around and finally settled upon Simon standing in the classroom doorway. She lifted two fingers and gave him a little wave. Simon thought she looked sad.
Enrique was too busy doling out handfuls of candy to notice. Then Harold walked over and solemnly shook the mayor’s hand, Simon assumed for getting the power back on. Enrique played at being modest, waving it away and bowing his head slightly, the practiced humility of a man who lived for such moments. Simon turned and went back inside.
From his place at the assembly table, Juan asked, “Señor Simon, can I go have candy too?”
“Knock yourself out.” Simon returned to dissecting the apparatus. It was not the happiest of jobs, but he did not mind. A lot of lab work involved breaking down equipment, replicating experiments, and rebuilding demolished hopes. Seeing if the results obtained were merely a random event or genuinely the product of good science. He had done such tasks many times before.
Which meant he was totally lost in his work when Enrique stepped in. “Señor Simon, I have some good news, some better news, and some ashes for you.”
Simon stopped what he was doing and gave the mayor an audience. Which was what Enrique wanted, of course. Someone to watch and admire as he paraded in and deposited a pair of sacks on the table beside Simon’s work. “This was recovered from evidence obtained at Professor Vasquez’s home.”
Simon watched him unload the professor’s device, which appeared to be in worse shape than his own. “How did you get your hands on it?”
“I have my sources. Both here and in Juárez, which is where I obtained your passport application.” He unfolded the document and set it on the table as well. “Fill that in and we will get the process started this afternoon.”
Sofia leaned on the doorway opposite Juan’s perch. “Harold keeps a camera in his office for the children’s official documents.”
“This is great, thanks.”
“And we have managed to locate your passport. Unfortunately it will not do us any good.” Enrique set the charred remnants of Simon’s passport on the table. “The police found this in the remains of your burning car.”
“No sign of the guy who attacked me?”
“Not yet. But the police, they have been notified that he is still on the prowl. Since yesterday the police have stationed officers outside the orphanage. We must be vigilant in protecting these children.”
Enrique was a finely balanced man of perhaps five foot ten, with broad shoulders that tapered down to a slender waist. His dark eyes were liquid and expressive. He wore fawn-colored slacks, pale brown loafers, alligator belt, striped dress shirt with gold cuff links, and a slender watch with a band of woven gold.
Despite the power and the looks and the woman and the station, the man appeared nervous to Simon. He took a small step back, another to the side, then returned to his station by the front table. He tapped the table with one finger, combed the hair from his forehead, touched the knot of his tie, flashed a smile at Sofia, then winked at Juan.
Simon said, “Thank you for your help.”
Enrique took in the two devices with a sweep of one arm. “Can you make it work?”
Simon took his time inspecting the professor’s machine. To an outsider it was only so much junk. But Simon had worked on worse. In truth his attention was mostly on Enrique. The mayor gave Simon the same tight inspection, and his voice carried the same hidden edge, just like the last time he had asked about Vasquez and the device.
Simon shook his head, wondering what he was missing. “Doubtful.”
The lines of tension around his eyes multiplied. “Explain.”
“There are a number
of highly sensitive components. If any of them are damaged, nothing will work.”
“Can you replace them?”
“Sure. In time. First I have to test each separately and isolate the flaw. If there is one. Which I’m pretty sure there will be.”
“There is an electronics shop in Ojinaga. A good one. They supply the high-tech companies in the maquiladora with spare parts.”
“Great. I’ll check them out.” Simon pretended to focus on disassembling the professor’s machine and made his question as casual as possible. “So why is this so important to you?”
“A device that may deliver free energy? Is that a joke?”
“No. No joke. Just wondering.”
“Power in Mexico is controlled by CFE. They have a monopoly in Chihuahua state. You have heard of CFE?”
“Vasquez mentioned it, sure.”
“The only company more corrupt in all Mexico is the oil company. CFE is the means by which corruption flows through much of our national government. They are one of the reasons why I intend to enter national politics. I want to wipe them from the map. I want to erase them.”
Simon almost believed him. Enrique certainly did show a proper amount of outrage. And it explained the tension that emanated from him. Almost. But there was a rehearsed quality to his words and gestures. As though he had practiced them endlessly for just such a moment. Here with Simon, or in a nationally televised interview, or a speech before thousands. It was all the same.
Simon was certain that more was at work.
“I’ll give it my best shot.”
“Splendid!” Enrique flashed his number-one smile. “You are a great help to everyone, Señor Simon.”
Juan piped up, “He made the solar lanterns work.”
“Did you indeed? Fantastic! Harold is desperately in need of something he can make and sell and build a source of revenue for this place.” Enrique clapped Simon on the back. “I will leave you to get on with this work, Señor Simon. It is vital, do you hear me? Vital! Juan, you must show me one of these excellent lanterns.”
Sofia remained inside the classroom as they departed. For once, she did not reveal the predatory gleam, the desire to argue or condemn. She simply stood there, watching him work, looking pensive.
Looking like a woman waiting for him to ask a question.
If only he had the first hint of an idea what to say.
Sofia tried to tell herself she needed to go join Enrique. There was really no logical reason for her to be here with Simon. And yet she remained in the doorway, until Simon said quietly, “Penny for your thoughts.”
“I was thinking about Vasquez.”
His hands continued to sort through the components. “So was I.”
She could tell he feared she would ask why he had betrayed his friend. His hands slowed, and his face pinched tightly, and his shoulders bowed. He became the portrait of a man waiting for a strike he could not avoid. It was a powerful moment for her. Sofia realized Simon was changing. The cynical edge had vanished. His armor was down. Her brother was right. God was working in this man’s life.
She recalled how Vasquez had described the other Simon. The person kept hidden away from a world that had wounded him when he had been young and most vulnerable. The brilliant orphan, cast off to foster care after his grandmother died, hurt and angry and scared and alone.
Sofia felt her heart go out to him. There was a great deal of herself in him. He was the face of who she herself might have become, had she not been brought here. To the orphanage in Ojinaga, where Harold could heal and nurture and introduce her to faith.
So she said, “When the professor returned last year from America, we became very close. Armando was educated. He knew the world beyond the mountains and the desert. He had been to Europe and he had lived in America. And yet he came back here because he loved it. Even with all the problems we face, even though he had many other places he could go, he wanted to be here.”
Simon kept sorting, but his gaze flickered back and forth toward her, not lingering. “Like you.”
“Yes. Like me. We both had island fever. We loved it here, and we did not ever want to leave, and yet we were desperate for someone else who knew about the world. The first day after his return, I’ll never forget. Armando was seated there in Harold’s office and we started talking, and two minutes later, it felt as though we had been friends for years.”
The pain of loss bloomed inside her. She did not often indulge her sorrow, or the vacuum Armando’s passage had left in her life. Sofia swallowed hard. “He loved you very much, Simon.”
He stopped. He did not move or speak. He merely stood there. One look was enough to know he was burdened by the same weight. And more besides. He looked so sad.
She heard herself say, “Armando described you as a son. He accepted your flaws as only a father could. He talked about you every time we met. You and the device. He hoped it would help the poor of Mexico and help you as well, finally bring you around.”
Simon dragged in a single breath. It was not quite a sob. He started to speak, though no sound emerged.
The words were there. Waiting.
“Look at me, Simon.”
His gaze was filled with the shadows of a thousand wrong moves. He stood there, defenseless. Waiting for her to attack and destroy him utterly.
She knew now why she was there. She needed to help another orphan. Deliver the message Harold had instilled in her. Help them move in the right direction.
“We all carry burdens. We all make mistakes. We all sin and fall short of the people we should be. We leave things undone. We do what we shouldn’t and we give in to bad actions and worse emotions. We hurt those closest to us.”
His gaze gave Sofia the impression that he was too filled with pain to weep. Her eyes filled for him, as though one of them needed to shed tears over the state of their fallen world. “But there is an answer. An eternal truth. That the Savior died so we might be washed clean. So we can be forgiven for all we have done, and all we have left undone. So our lives can be made whole. So we can speak that impossible word, hope, and believe it is true for us. So that we can know joy. And love. And claim them for ourselves.”
She stood there, waiting. “Would you like to pray with me, Simon?”
All he did was turn his head and look out the window. But it was as clear as an audible denial. He had broken the connection.
Sofia turned and walked out the door. She stood in the sunlight and saw the children run and heard their laughter. And she felt whole.
Chapter 20
The assembling of Vasquez’s and his device into one unit went far easier than Simon expected. The machines were almost identical. Not quite, because the two men had been working at a distance and communicating mostly by e-mail. They mirrored one another’s work, to a point. Until, that is, Vasquez had come up with his new idea.
The professor had clearly waited to discuss his alterations once he had evidence that they worked. This was not unusual. He and Simon both tried a number of different directions and up to now none had succeeded. So they developed a sort of scientific shorthand. As in, I have a new maybe. That’s what they had called them. New maybes. The name worked as well as anything.
What had been different this final time was the excitement. Vasquez had sounded electric the last couple of times they spoke. And the pages in the professor’s globe had offered substantial hints. By midday, Simon had combined the working components of two machines into one functioning device.
He organized a dozen kids into a solar-lantern assembly line and appointed Juan their manager. The kids worked and chattered and laughed through the process. Juan proved to be a born dictator.
By late afternoon, the lanterns were finished and tested and boxed. Pedro joined them in loading the assembled lanterns into the orphanage’s dilapidated van. They completed their work just as
the chapel bell rang.
Simon joined the kids by the outside faucet, loving the sound of their young laughter and easy delight at having this gringo wash his face and hands with them. Chapel revived him, and dinner with the children was a time of rare joy. He sat with Pedro and Harold and Juan and Sofia, speaking little, savoring the simple delight of belonging.
Afterward Harold insisted Juan join him in the office for another voice lesson. Pedro and Sofia and Simon ambled through the long shadows and entered the classroom. Brother and sister settled by the entrance as Simon gave the assembled device one last check.
Sofia recalled, “Vasquez talked about retrieving lost energy.”
“Okay, first of all, energy is never lost.” Simon did not look up from his work. “The amount of energy in the universe is unchanging. It is a constant. Vasquez’s dream was to retrieve energy that was wasted.”
“He said it was your dream too.”
Perhaps someday he would hear these words and not feel the bloom of guilt. “Vasquez had an idea. I helped make it happen. But it was his vision.”
“So how does your device work?”
“Scientists have struggled with retrieving wasted energy for over a century. A physicist named Tesla claimed to have actually done it. And maybe he did. But it’s been hard to replicate his device because his notes were both illegible and incomplete. But the cost of Tesla’s equipment was staggering. He spent millions of dollars to collect about a nickel’s worth of usable power.”
“What makes your device so different?” Sofia asked.
“Quantum field theory.”
“What is this, exactly?”