Dolphin Dreams

by Lyle Nicholson

  And then the dolphin dived. Niklas instantly tried to move his hand towards his nose. He remembered that simply holding the nose closed and blowing softly, the standard decompression move of all snorkelers and divers would equalize the pressure in his head and prevent the bends or decompression sickness.

  He couldn’t move his hand though. He looked to his side and saw a flipper where his arm should be. In the next instant, he rose up, sucked in air through his blowhole, and with a motion of his flukes, propelled himself along with the rest of the pod. He realized he had become a dolphin.

  The pod moved as one, first diving deep through an ocean canyon, then around a sunken freighter. It followed the light up to the surface to ride the waves and leap in and out of the ocean. Niklas knew he was in a dream, but he had never felt so free in his life.

  The noises of the pod were clear to him. He understood what the dophins were saying, and each was recognizable to him based on its speech pattern. He sounded back to them in clicks and squeals, and together they made a chorus as they shot through the sea.

  The pod made a sharp right turn and picked up speed. Faster and faster Niklas went, until the water rushed over the dolphin skin he was in. The fluid motion of the powerful flukes on his tail shot him forward and upward, and then he surfaced and breathed in moist Caribbean air.

  A small sailboat appeared on the horizon. The dolphins easily caught up to it. They slowed their speed and rode the waves created by the bow, and then some of them shot out of the water in a movement called spying to catch a glimpse of the sailing vessel. Niklas was content just riding the waves at the bow. He felt the pressure from the boat as the water rose up and propelled him forward.

  Then he heard knocking. Loud knocking. At first he thought someone was hammering on the boat’s hull, trying to communicate with him and the other dolphins. The knocking became louder and louder, until it fully entered his consciousness and he woke up.

  The knock was coming from the hallway door. Niklas got out of bed, threw on his T-shirt and shorts, and opened the door. Standing there was a smiling man from the hotel laundry holding up his dry cleaning. “Señor, we only have this so far, but I rushed it right to you, as I know you would want it.” The man held out a dry-cleaning bag containing the navy blue Mexican beach wedding shirt and the pair of linen pants he had sent down.

  Niklas rubbed his eyes. “Where are the rest of the clothes I sent down? The sports coat, slacks, dress shirts —what happened to all of those?” Niklas took the wedding shirt, the one he had spilled salsa on, the one he did not really want back at all.

  “Ah, yes, they are coming, they are coming …as soon as we locate them. We have had many weddings in the past few days …very busy …but see …you have this. And for the wedding party on the beach, you will look great.” The man smiled, and as he could see Niklas was not about to offer a tip, he left.

  Niklas stood there, holding the Mexican beach wedding shirt. He was about to yell out to the man that he not attending a wedding, he was attending a conference and was about to make a very important presentation when he looked back into his room at his bedside clock. The time read 11:35 a.m. His presentation was supposed to have gone from 10:00 a.m. until 11:00 a.m.

  His heart sank. He threw on the shirt, pulled on the linen pants, slipped on his shoes, and ran out the door. He didn’t bother with the elevator —he took the stairs two at a time, passing bewildered vacationers coming back from their mornings at the beach.

  Niklas’s brain was on fire. He only hoped that the conference had run late and that perhaps he had time for his speech, or that someone else hadn’t shown up, or that the entire conference had been cancelled as everyone had come down with a terrible illness.

  He reached the front of the conference hall and knew right then that he had blown it. Malcolm was standing in the front of the conference hall, and his look said it all. His look of utter disappointment as Niklas approached him.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DISAPPOINMENTS ALL AROUND

  With every step that Niklas took towards Malcolm, he felt his soul sag. “Malcolm, any chance of getting my presentation in …wedging it in over lunch?” Niklas asked when he reached him.

  Malcolm touched Niklas on the shoulder, which Niklas took as an act of fondness for him, as the English never touch anyone except their bartenders or favorite dog handlers.

  “Niklas, sorry old chap, you know how these conferences are, choc-a-block with presenters from one end to the other.” Malcolm’s face broke into a grimace of despair as he looked around and said, “I say, I did have to call your university back in Finland when you didn’t show up, as I thought perhaps you’d taken ill. Terribly sorry, but I got in touch with a Ms. Elsa Groop, who then put me in touch with a Frans Lindholm …terribly sorry …but he seemed quite agitated and claimed you would be sacked.”

  “Sacked? Niklas asked. He had heard the term before but was not quite sure of its English meaning.

  “Yes, sacked, as in your tenure terminated, fired. I am sorry, old man, but we had the front desk call your room several times, and we sent people up to knock on your door, and there was no answer. You were nowhere to be found when security entered your room at 10:30.”

  Niklas took a step back. “I wasn’t in my room?”

  “No, my dear boy, and that’s why we called your office. We thought perhaps you had called the university to say your were leaving Cancun. Your friends Rafu and Otto said you looked quite despondent after the conference last night.”

  Niklas could only repeat, “I wasn’t in my room?”

  “Are you all right? Perhaps you’ve had too much sun or tequila? We all know that’s often the case down here,” Malcolm said as he nudged Niklas’s arm.

  “No, no, not too much sun. Look, I must get back to my room. Let me know if anything opens up for my presentation, if anyone else cancels, or if I can give it over cocktails —anything at all.” Niklas walked slowly away from Malcolm, who was spouting numerous English platitudes such as “stiff upper lip,” and “keep your sunny side up,” all of which meant nothing to Niklas.

  He walked slowly over the bridge that divided the dolphin pools. The dolphins were just about to start their show —they would interact with people and let them ride, feed, and caress them. As Niklas passed, the dolphins stopped what they were doing and looked in his direction. He heard their voices, individually —they were the same dolphins he had swum with in his dream last night.

  His feet carried him back to his room. The message light on his phone was blinking. A very irate Frans Lindholm informed him that the university board was meeting the next day and if he did not turn up with some excellent reason for his absence, then his tenure would be terminated.

  Niklas sat on the bed and tried to fathom how he could have been missing from his room. Sure, he had had three tequilas at the bar and a beer with dinner, but that had been hours before he had gone to sleep at 3:00 a.m.

  Then he remembered —the knock at 11:30 that morning had brought him back from his swim with the dolphins. Was I sleepwalking last night?

  Niklas got up and walked into the bright Cancun sunlight on his balcony. The dolphins were finishing their show. They waved with their pectoral fins and slapped their tales in the pool, splashing the people. The people clapped and shouted with happiness as the dolphins waved goodbye.

  The phone inside Niklas’s room rang, and he went in to answer it. He was hoping it was Malcolm calling to inform him that a spot had opened up at the conference. “Malcolm, you have something for me?” he asked in an excited tone.

  The phone was quiet for a second. “Hi, Niklas, it’s Grandfather Magnus. What the hell is going on there?”

  Grandfather Magnus was the last person Niklas had expected to hear from in Cancun. “Grandpapa, why are you calling?” Niklas sat down on the bed. He could see himself in the bureau mirror, and he looked like hell.

  “I got a call from Elsa Groop at the university. She told me you were in some kind of trou
ble. You missed a meeting, the hotel couldn’t find you, and now the university wants to fire you. Grandson, if this is all over a little dog shit in Vilpas’s car, hell, I’ll pay the bastard so you don’t have to worry.”

  “No, Grandpapa, this is not over the dog shit, it’s something else, and it’s lack of sleep. Some dreams …some dolphins …it’s not about the dog shit …” Niklas stopped himself when he realized it would be hard to explain how the dolphins were speaking to him and that he had mysteriously disappeared overnight. Then a question popped into his mind. “Grandpapa, why did Elsa Groop call you?”

  The line went silent, and then Grandpa Magnus replied reluctantly, ”Ah, yeah, I came by your university many years ago to see you. I met her, and well, you know, one thing leads to another …we’ve been somewhat intimate.”

  “My God, Grandpapa, you’ve been sleeping with Elsa Groop?” The jokes that the other professors made about Elsa Groop getting no sex or bad sex were his grandfather’s doing. Niklas’s grandmother had had the same dour look. Grandfather Magnus must have that effect on all women.

  “Look, Niklas, this is not about me, this about you and the crazy behavior. I have someone else who wants to speak with you. Your daughter is here.” The phone rattled as Magnus passed it on.

  “Hello, Papa, Ansa here. How are you doing?”

  Niklas couldn’t speak for a second. His lovely daughter, the love of his life, until this very second had refused to speak to him, and hadn’t spoken to him for almost a year. “I’m fine, Ansa, I’m fine. How are you?” Niklas couldn’t believe he was engaging in pleasantries on the phone. There were so many things he wanted to say to her, and he wanted to start with how sorry he was.

  “Papa, look, Grandpa told me you’re in a bit of trouble with the university and a bit of trouble here with Vilpas, and the dog shit, and the car, but you know, I know why you did it.”

  “You do?” Niklas asked weakly. He shifted again on the bed.

  “Yes, Vilpas shit on your life, and so did Mom. You loved her, I know you did, and I was mad at you for not fighting hard for her. But I know she doesn’t love you any more …but you know what?”

  “No, what?” Niklas had never heard his daughter’s voice more forceful, more full of life. His hand reached to his face, as if he were touching hers.

  “I know that I love you, Papa, and when you come home, I’m coming to live with you. There, that’s settled. Now here’s Grandpa.” Niklas heard rustling, and it sounded like someone almost dropped the phone.

  “Hi, Niklas, so you see, not all that bad. You come home, we get this all figured out, and no more of this horse shit …yah!” Magnus said in a tone that Niklas had heard many times before. It meant an end to the conversation.

  “Yes, Grandpapa, I promise. I’ll be home on the weekend, we’ll sort everything out, and you and Ansa and I, we’ll go ice fishing for perch.” Niklas put down the phone. He realized he was sweating profusely.

  He went to the bathroom, took off his clothes, showered, then shaved and looked at himself in the mirror. His daughter had told him she loved him. He could not have felt better. After brushing his teeth, he put his Mexican beach wedding clothes back on and resolved to go back downstairs to find Malcolm and somehow get time for his presentation. Everything would be good again.

  He walked briskly out of his room, down the stairs, and across the bridge over the dolphin ponds in search of Malcolm. When he got to the main conference room, he saw Caroline Gillette, Malcolm’s assistant, standing by the entrance with her notepad in one hand and pen in the other.

  “Seen Malcolm around?” Niklas asked nonchalantly.

  Caroline replied, “Ah, Niklas, the missing person. I was forced to cobble together three other presenters to fill your space. How we doing? All rested now that you had your little episode?” The sarcasm lingered in the air, as she moved her note pad from one hand to other, and fully turned on Niklas.

  “Ah, sorry about that, really hard to explain. But should you have any opening for my presentation, anything at all, I would be most grateful.” Niklas shuffled from one foot to the other like a schoolboy caught out of class. He realized he could only fall on his sword with Caroline, as she had offered him sex many years ago at a conference and he had turned her down. Obviously, she had not forgotten.

  Caroline replied, “No, nothing at all. Why not check back with me every half hour or so?” And with that, she snapped her writing pad closed and marched off.

  What Niklas did not know was that a space had in fact opened up that very afternoon, in the next 2 hours, but Caroline had decided to let Niklas sweat over it for a little while longer. She had decided she would let him know fifteen minutes beforehand, just to truly throw him off his game, and exact all the revenge she could for turning her down all those years ago. Her little play toy, the Danish multimillionaire, had left just that morning for Copenhagen, and she was feeling right bitchy.

  Niklas put his head down, thrust his hands in his trousers, and said, “Thank you, I will. I’ll come find you, shall I?” His words echoed off Caroline as she strode off in determination.

  A parrot cawed from a cage near the hotel lobby entrance, and a bellman came by with a trolley full of luggage and two guests in tow, who were marveling at the view and drinking their welcome drinks.

  Niklas felt pressure at his sleeve. ”Señor, I’m glad I found you.” Niklas looked around and found Tepeu by his side. “Señor, I am here to take you for your meeting with the patron of Cancun.”

  Niklas had thought his meeting with the bartender had also been part of his dream. Obviously my dreams and reality are colliding somewhere here in Cancun, he thought. He was not sure why, but something in him was compelling him to follow Tepeu.

  Niklas nodded. “Sure, let’s go.” And the moment he said the words, he knew he had given himself over to something greater than himself for the first time.

  Tepeu smiled, and they walked out of the hotel. Niklas had not left the hotel since his arrival. He walked now into the foreign world of Mexico and into a new adventure. They walked to a bus stop filled with hotel workers and boarded a bus that had just pulled up. The fare was eighty centavos each. Tepeu paid for both of them and guided Niklas past the smiling Mexicans to a seat.

  Niklas sat looking straight ahead, as if his destiny lay before him. Had he turned his head to the right, he would have seen Malcolm running after him and shouting that he had a presentation to do in less than two hours.

  The large diesel engine of the bus roared, the doors slammed shut, and the bus lurched forward into the bright Cancun sunlight.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MEETING THE PATRON OF CANCUN

  Niklas sat beside the window in the back of the bus with Tepeu. His mind was still. He watched as the bus turned off the street his hotel was on and into Cancun’s wide hotel zone. Retail shops announced unbeatable bargains for forgettable trinkets that tourists could carry home. Restaurants proclaimed to have the best, world-renowned margaritas that would make the tourist forget why he had left his country and then remember —the cold.

  The bus was not air conditioned, and the flow of hot air wafted over the mainly Mexican passengers. Every once in a while, one or two adventuresome, senior tourists would get on, deposit their eighty centavos, and take a seat among the smiling Mexicans.

  I really should ask some questions, Niklas thought. Perhaps I should know exactly what I’m doing. He shifted in his seat and asked Tepeu, “Where are we going for this meeting?”

  Tepeu smiled. “Ah, we will be meeting him at one of the restaurants he owns. It is not far, not far. We will be there soon.” Tepeu patted Niklas’s arm as if that was all that he needed for reassurance.

  Niklas went back to staring out the window and let his thoughts wander. He wondered why he was on this journey and soon realized it was for the same reason he used to go on journeys, the same reason he used to travel —just to see what was there. He wondered if he would feel any different once he got there. He us
ed to travel to exotic places just to go scuba diving and see different fish and coral. The past five years, he had gone nowhere, only to his grandfather’s cottage in summer and ice fishing in winter. I’m boring, he thought.

  The bus came to a stop. Tepeu tapped his shoulder and said, “Señor, this is our stop.”

  Niklas followed Tepeu out of the hot bus to the hotter street of Cancun. In front of them stood an Outback Steakhouse.

  “This is it, the restaurant?” Niklas asked in disbelief. He had expected —and almost hoped for —some authentic Mexican restaurant or bar, on a side street, somewhat secluded and romantic with mystery and imagination.

  “Yes, yes, the patron owns this one and several more throughout Mexico, plus some Bubba Gump Shrimps and Taco Bells in America. He also owns two dozen hotels throughout Mexico, but few know which ones. He is a very wise and powerful man, the patron, but very few know of his true riches, as he keeps his identity hidden. You should consider it a great honor that he is revealing himself to you and asking you to free the dolphins.”

  Niklas took this all in as he followed Tepeu to the back of the restaurant. They came to a back table obviously reserved for the patron of Cancun. Sitting there was a short, older gentleman with gray hair, bright brown eyes, and perfect white teeth. It was the same man who had given Niklas a towel in the Cancun Airport washroom, the one Niklas had tipped five euros. He was sure of it.

  Tepeu introduced the man as Señor Acan, a Maya like himself, and then with a doleful smile, he said, ”Señor please forgive me. I know only your first name.”

  “Okkonen,” Niklas said, still standing. He was not sure if he wanted to sit. To sit at the table would commit him to this dream or strange reality that was playing out before him.

  “Ah, Señor Niklas Okkonen,” Tepeu pronounced the Finnish name with much difficulty. “Please sit,” he said, and with that, Tepeu motioned for Niklas to sit across from Señor Acan.

  Niklas sat, and the unforgettable fragrance of toilet blocks and washroom chemicals wafted across the table from the old man. He wasn’t sure, but he thought a faint scent of urine rose up as well, but then it was gone. He breathed deeply, placed his hands on the table, and smiled.