He was part of a panel discussion at 2:00 p.m. that day, and his speech would be the next day at 10:00 a.m. The academic head of his university department, Frans Linholm, had given him permission to travel to Cancun. Frans was an ageing relic of academia who held on to age-old ideas of education, but he knew how and when to grease the corporate world’s wheels to receive more funding, and that was Niklas’s mission: impress the corporate world with his knowledge and get more funds flowing to the university.
Niklas knew he was a mere pawn in the university’s scheme to raise funds (along with its status in the world). He could live with it. He kicked sand and watched the waves roll in until he realized he had to get back to the hotel and ready for his conference. He made his way back to the gift shop, picked up another Mexican beach wedding shirt and pants, this time a green shirt and white linen pants, and after changing in his room, he made his way to breakfast and then the conference.
The conference he found boring. The people he found the same. The Conference Cougar had latched herself onto a tall, long-haired, disheveled young man. Niklas knew from the media the young man was Lars Hansen, a Dane, who was married to a supermodel from Hamburg. The man was all of twenty-seven, had developed an app for the iPhone that had made him millions of euros, and now lived in Copenhagen in the summer and the Maldives in the winter. What the young man found appealing in Caroline Niklas could not fathom, but at 5:00 p.m., she held him tightly as they walked arm in arm away from the conference and in the direction of her room.
Niklas wandered back to his room and called room service to ask about his laundered clothes. A very happy-sounding Mexican man told him he was sorry but that there was nothing for him at present and that everyone in the laundry was out on break —perhaps he could call back later?
Niklas put down the phone and picked up his BlackBerry. There was a message from the university: Do not use your BlackBerry for phoning, texting, or emails. The roaming charges are too high. The note came from Elsa Groop, Frans Lindholm’s administrative assistant. All the other professors called her the department Nazi. She eyed expense accounts like a hawk, never smiled, never laughed. Most wondered if she’d ever been laid. Some said yes, but badly.
Wandering down to the business center, Niklas found a computer and looked over his emails. There were six more nasty ones from his ex-wife telling him in detail what a bastard he was, as well as one from his grandfather telling him the perch ice fishing was good, how much he missed him, and what a wonderful display he had made of trashing the Volvo. Niklas’s grandfather Magnus had never liked Volvo. Actually, he had never liked Swedes, or Danes, or Russians, or …well, the list was endless.
The email that got his attention was the one from Frans Lindholm. It stated that the university board was discussing his recent conduct and wanted to subject him to a review. His tenure was in question. Lindholm suggested he do well on the next day’s presentation.
Niklas logged out, squared his shoulders, and decided to get drunk. He knew he was in the right place to do it, as all the drinks were included. The lobby was filled with guests checking in. With fresh drinks in their hands, they marveled at the massive size of the Mayan Dreams Resort, and Niklas walked through them as if in a daze. He was a man on a mission.
He walked past numerous fellow conference delegates, nodding to this one and that one and waving to some he knew well. He walked the telling walk of a preoccupied man —a man preoccupied with getting drunk.
Niklas knew just the place. He walked past the pool with the loud music, where the teenagers would down beers one after another until sometime late that night. Then they would hurl the contents of their stomachs into a porcelain bowl and swear off alcohol only to start fresh the next day after a large and oily breakfast. He walked past Pekka, Rafu, and Otto, waiting outside a restaurant who were now lost in deep conversation about the cost of their wives’ cosmetic surgeries and whose had cost the most. He walked past Caroline, whose smile and purr was obvious as she guided her freshly captured cub towards a bar.
Niklas made it past them all and found himself at a small bar on the beach at the far end of the hotel called the Mayan Breeze. He found a stool far away from the crowd and the ever-noisy blenders that were in constant motion, blending various concoctions of drinks. Niklas ordered a Tequila Sunrise, as he thought it sounded healthy.
The bartender, a squat, round Mexican with black hair and soft brown eyes handed him his drink and welcomed him to the bar. Niklas sipped his beverage and watched the group at the end of the bar. There was a group of twenty or so dressed in blue T-shirts that said “Carla and Calvin’s Wedding.” They were a noisy group from Minnesota plying themselves with numerous drinks as they waited for a table for dinner.
Niklas did not mind Americans. He had met many in his travels, and although they were sometimes loud, they were no louder than Swedes, and though sometimes arrogant, they were never as arrogant as Russians.
A server soon approached the Americans and directed them to the restaurant that was some three hundred meters away. Their noise slowly diminished as they went inside, and then there was just Niklas, his drink, a few other patrons, and the bartenders. He could now hear the waves. He felt the wind on his skin. Somehow his drink had become empty.
The bartender came up to him with a smile and said, “Ah, I see you are thirsty, my friend. The same again or something else?”
Niklas was amazed. He had basically drunk the Tequila Sunrise as a shot. He could not even remember drinking it. “I’ll have a margarita this time,” Niklas replied. The bartender smiled and started to mix his drink. His name badge read “Tepeu,” a name Niklas had never heard before.
When the bartender placed his margarita on the bar, Niklas asked, “I’ve never seen a Mexican name such as yours. How is it pronounced?” Niklas was now feeling the tequila and was curious.
“Ah, my name is Tepeu, which is Mayan and pronounced te-PA.” The bartender smiled back at Niklas and went back to mixing drinks for some Russians who were at the other side of the bar.
The Russians took their drinks and wandered off down the beach, puffing cigars and talking loudly. The bartender came back to Niklas. “I see you need another drink, my friend.”
Niklas looked down at his drink. It was empty again. He had had no idea he could drink alcohol that quickly. He had not even known he liked tequila. He was not, like many Finlanders, a real drinker. Grinning sheepishly at the bartender, Niklas pushed his empty glass back towards him.
He turned towards the dolphin pools. He could hear their splashing and even the noises they made. The high-pitched squeals, the little grunts —he could hear them all. As the bartender placed a fresh drink in front of him, Niklas asked, “Do you think the dolphins want to be free?”
The bartender stopped, looked Niklas in the eyes, and said, “My friend, all creatures want to be free. Some, however, are captured for man’s pleasure, like the dolphins.” Tepeu went back to polishing glasses and putting away bottles.
The tequila had hit Niklas’s brain and was now effectively numbing his senses, making him forget the mess he was in, but the dolphins would not leave him. Rather, they moved front and center in his mind, became more vivid in his imagination. The dolphin pool was two hundred meters from the bar. Just then, one jumped and turned a cartwheel before dropping back in the pool. Niklas was sure it had looked at him.
Niklas took a long pull of his fresh margarita, emptying half of it, and looked over at Tepeu. “You know, I could free them.” He motioned the bartender closer and whispered, “They’ve been talking to me, telling me how to free them.” Niklas sat back on his barstool, looked around, drank the rest of his drink, and then pushed it forward for a refill.
The bartender approached Niklas slowly. As he took the empty glass, he placed his other hand on Niklas’s. “You say the dolphins talk to you and tell you how to free them?”
Niklas took his hand away from the bar. Hearing his words come out of Tepeu’s mouth made him sound cr
azy. He realized he must be very drunk. “I …I’m sorry if I’ve made myself sound crazy …it’s just that they kept me awake last night with their splashing …and perhaps the drinks …sorry …” he stammered.
Tepeu leaned forward and grabbed both his hands. “No, no, my friend, you’re not crazy. If the dolphins talk to you, they must trust you. Tell me, what did they say?
Tepeu’s honest eyes and expression put Niklas at ease. He told Tepeu how the dolphins had told him about the cracks in the sea wall and how they knew he could free them. He explained that he was a navy demolition diver many years ago in Finland. He would have told Tepeu the story of his life from the time of his birth, as he felt that comfortable with him, but after he had explained his vision of the dolphins flowing into the sea, Tepeu stopped him.
“This is a strong vision, my friend, and you share this vision with others. The dolphins impart this vision only to those they trust. Tomorrow, I must take you to the patron of Cancun. He’s a man who can help you make the dolphins’ vision come true. His granddaughter shares this vision —he will be happy to meet you.”
Tepeu’s words sounded as if they were being shouted down a well. They made little sense to Niklas. He smiled at Tepeu, gave him a tip of ten pesos, and eased himself off the barstool. It was time for a stroll down the beach. This dream was becoming too much for him.
CHAPTER SIX
BY THE LIGHT OF A MAYAN MOON
Nikla’s head was spinning from the tequila and Tepeu’s words. Had he walked into a dream? Perhaps he hadn’t really woken up that morning? He looked at his watch. It was 8:00 p.m. He was supposed to be at a conference dinner hosted by several large wireless carriers and webhosting companies. Conference delegates would be thoroughly drunk by now and dining on sweet accolades from salesmen flown in to wine and dine and wean contracts out of delegates’ hands.
Niklas was glad he had missed the dinner. He found a small sushi bar that was part of the hotel’s many all-inclusive food outlets and was led to a table for one, where he ordered dinner and a beer. The Mexican waitress was dressed up as a geisha girl. Her dark skin and dark eyes looked almost oriental in the costume. The “Hola Señor” was the giveaway.
He sat there for well over two hours, taking his time over sushi, then some sashimi, followed by green tea and sweets. His head was clearing. He was feeling better. Okay, this is just some bad dream, he thought as he left the sushi bar. I just need to get clear headed, do my presentation at 10:00 a.m. tomorrow, and go back to Finland and face the music. How bad can it be? A fine, some restitution to Vilpas for his Volvo, and I’ll get my life back in order.
These thoughts made him happy as he left the Sushi restaurant and headed back towards his room to get some sleep. As he passed the dolphin pools, his head down, trying to close his brain off from any sounds they might make, he saw her: the young, beautiful Mexican girl he had seen on the night of his arrival. She was sitting on the edge of the pool, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. Her legs splashed in the water as the dolphins swam slowly past her.
He did not know why he walked towards her. His mind screamed at his legs to stop, but his legs weren’t listening. They walked on their own, carrying his mind, his body, his soul towards her, and inside of a minute, he was sitting beside her. He slipped off his shoes and socks, rolled up his pants, and put his feet in the water.
She looked up and smiled. “My name is Maria…Maria Fernadez.” Her greeting was formal, a direct translation of “me llamo Maria.” She splashed her beautiful, long brown legs in the pool, and a dolphin rose at her foot.
Niklas looked into her deep brown eyes set in a face that was to him the beauty of all of Mexico and said, “My name is Niklas Okkonen. Glad to make your acquaintance.” His greeting was formal as well, the one he had learned in English grammar while attending middle school in Finland. The dolphin at Maria’s feet moved over to Niklas, and he moved his hand in the water to wave at it.
They sat there in silence. The dolphins’ splashing was the only sound. Niklas wasn’t sure, but he thought that while they sat, the entire pod of dolphins eventually swam by them, one by one. One came directly up to Niklas, and he was about to reach out and touch it when Maria grabbed his hands.
She examined his fingernails and said, “I need to make sure you have short nails. Their skin is quite delicate, and sharp nails can cut them.” She held Niklas’s hand, pronounced his fingernails short enough, and then placed his hand on the dolphin.
Niklas felt the warmth of her hand and the coolness and rubbery skin of the dolphin. He looked into its eyes, and it seemed to hold his gaze. “They seem to like the stroking.”
“Yes, their skin has many nerve endings, and all dolphins in captivity like to be stroked,” Maria said. She moved only slightly forward as she spoke, and her long black hair fell over her shoulder. She stroked the water lightly with her hand, and another dolphin rose to touch it.
The clouds parted above, and the moon shone down, making the dolphins’ skin glow. The pool shimmered in the moonlight. Niklas was transfixed by the dolphins and Maria and the light.
Maria looked up at the moon and the stars and said in a soft voice, “Have you heard the story of the Mayan moon?”
Niklas took his hand away from the dolphin and sat up straight. He gazed into her eyes as if he were looking into the universe itself. “No,” was all he answered. It was all he could bring himself to say. He was captivated by this lovely woman.
Maria smiled at him. “In Mayan mythology, Moon was a young woman named Ixchel, patroness of weaving and childbirth. One day as she was weaving, Sun seized Moon from her aging father. Her irate father shot Sun with his blowgun. Moon fell into the sea, when Sun let go of her. Tiny fish came to her rescue and patched her with their silvery scales. Then, each holding in his mouth the tail of the other, they wove themselves into a net and tried to lift Moon to the Sun, but in vain. Instead, they left Moon in the sky, where she tries to overtake her lover —the Sun. The fish became the Milky Way.” Maria smiled broadly, and her feet splashed the water. Several dolphins swam around her feet.
Niklas grinned. He could not keep from smiling. “That is a beautiful story.”
Maria got up from the pool, put her long black hair into a ponytail, and shook the water from her legs. “I need to be going. It was nice to meet you.” After putting on her sandals, she walked over to the other pool and began directing the dolphins to the inner pool, where they were supposed to be at night.
Niklas caught up to her, running in his bare feet. “Why do some of the dolphins leap near the sea wall at night?”
Maria whirled around and looked at Niklas, sizing him up. “Some of them refuse to go into the pen at night. They are very strong willed and want to be free. Sometimes we cannot control them.” Her eyes darted back and forth from the dolphins to Niklas.
Niklas sensed she wanted to say something else. Her mouth almost formed words, and then she stopped and walked quickly away. She broke into a run and hurried past the dolphin pools and into the room for the trainers. The door slammed and she was gone. The dolphins were agitated. They splashed back and forth and looked at him as if he was responsible for her leaving —he was.
Niklas walked slowly away, trying to grasp what he had just experienced with the beautiful girl, and the dolphins. He took the elevator up to his room, threw off his clothes, and put on his shorts and T-shirt. After grabbing a Coronita from the bar fridge, he walked onto the balcony. The clouds had covered the moon, and the main pod of dolphins swam slowly into their holding pen for the night. Two others swam slowly towards the sea wall. Niklas watched them, drank his small beer, and then went into his room to sleep. His bedside clocked glowed 11:00 p.m.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DREAMS OF SWIMMING
Niklas lay awake for several hours. The wind blew softly outside. The door to his balcony banged softly, almost like a sigh in the breeze. The dolphins splashed in the pool below, close to the sea wall. He walked out a few times and stood lo
oking down at the pool, up at the moon, and out to sea.
It seemed the only other people still awake were the security guards. Niklas thought the large guard, the one who looked like a walking mountain, probably weighed over 200 kilos, and he moved from side to side as he walked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His companion, a short guard whom Niklas figured to be all of 70 kilos, looked like an escort to a destroyer. Watching the guards, Niklas was reminded of the Russian naval convoys he used to watch go by in the Baltic Sea.
Somehow, after seeing his digital bedside clock, with its unfriendly red glow, advance from midnight to one and then to three, Niklas finally fell asleep. But it was a restless sleep, fraught with dreams.
He first dreamed he was back in Finland being chased by the local police through a car park. It was night, and he ran from one pool of streetlight to the next. His ex-wife was laughing in the background and yelling out curses at him. Ansa and his grandfather were also there. They called to him to come with them —they were smiling.
The light changed, and the dream changed. He felt heat, and warmth, and realized he was no longer in Finland. He floated down from the sky into a clear blue ocean. He swam for a while, treading water —his specialty in the Finnish Navy —and then a fin appeared, and then another. He was surrounded by them.
But the fins were rounded, and they rose and fell in the unmistakable movement of dolphins. They swirled around him and then rose up beside him as their beaks sounded a welcome. He felt warm and safe among them. One swam beside him, and he grabbed its dorsal fin and began to be towed along.
The entire pod moved in unison out to sea, towards the horizon and away from the land. The sun was setting in the west behind him, and large clouds moved overhead.
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