Dolphin Dreams

by Lyle Nicholson

  Caroline chimed in a shrill falsetto. “Yes, naked! Is it a crime to be naked in your country on the beach? Half the bloody students are topless and bottomless in your downtown bars for God’s sake.” Caroline collapsed her head back into her hands, rattling her shackles.

  Niklas looked from Pekka to Caroline and realized that on returning down the beach from a night club or wherever they had gone to, they had decided on a late night swim, and in run into the water naked. Caroline obviously deciding Pekka would be her next conquest. They must have come rushing out of the water just as Maria and Tepeu shot past them on the Dolphins and the Mexican police arrested them on the beach.

  Niklas shook his head at the unfortunate luck of these two; it was almost as bad as his own. He looked at the commandant. “Although I do know these two, they weren’t involved.”

  “Then who was?” the commandant asked. His eyes flickered slightly. His trap had been set.

  “No one. I told you I acted alone,” Niklas said, attempting to look as honest as possible. He wasn’t sure how that should look —it never worked in the movies, but he had to give it a try.

  The commandant’s gaze moved from Caroline to Pekka and then back to Niklas. “Señor, I have witnesses from the hotel who say a man and a woman were with you on the beach. These two here came out of the sea right behind you. If you say these are not the ones, then tell us who was involved and these two go free.” A wide smile followed his words.

  Pekka and Caroline shouted in unison, “Yes, yes, Niklas, tell them.”

  Niklas looked at the two wretches, two people who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. He felt sorry for them, but he could not give up Maria and Tepeu. If he did, then Elisa, the lovely, young, fragile Elisa, might be found out as well, and then perhaps the patron, Acan. No, I can’t do it.

  There was only one avenue open to Niklas now. I’ll seek out a lawyer, and perhaps the Finnish consulate. There was one in Mérida, the capital of Yucatán. He needed to stall as long as possible. He was not sure where Maria, Tepeu, and Elisa had taken the dolphins, but he needed to give them time.

  He was thinking all of this while Caroline and Pekka were shouting, pleading, pounding on the table. Their shackles clattered. He somehow tuned them out; he tuned out everyone, even the commandant. Then he heard it. It was quiet at first, like a small voice in the distance, and then it grew louder —wait.

  Wait repeated itself over and over again in his brain. It was as if his thinking process was on pause. Niklas had heard sounds that no one else could hear all his life, but never a voice sounding in his brain. The voice had sharp tones with a repeating chorus. It almost sounded like dolphins.

  He forced himself to focus his attention back at the room. He looked calmly at the commandant. “I have nothing to say. If you have no more questions, then I would be happy to return to my cell.”

  Caroline and Pekka exploded into a fury of words. Pekka swore at Niklas in every slang and nasty word he could dredge from the depths of Finnish. Caroline screeched, wailed, and called him a cad, a cur, and then an asshole, shithead, and bastard. They went on and on, and Niklas shut them out. He was waiting. He was not sure for what, but he felt content to do so.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  MALCOLM OUTLINES THE DILEMMA

  The two guards moved Niklas from the small room to another small room down the hall, where he sat for some time. He hungrily munched the beans and rice wrapped in a tortilla they had given him. He realized it had been some time since he’d last eaten, and he did not know when he would again. He was caught up in events now. Waiting. Waiting for what would befall him next.

  Next took a while but he had no sense of time as they had removed his watch, and there was no clock on the wall. He sat looking at four bare walls in various stages of paint-peeling. A musty smell permeated the room. A small fan sat in the corner, rusted and unplugged. There was no outlet. Niklas regarded the irony of the fan for only a moment. He tried to let his mind wander somewhere. It kept coming back to the room.

  Then the two guards entered again. They escorted him down another hallway, down some stairs, and past a loading dock that Niklas regarded longingly. It looked like a portal to freedom. They continued on to another small room and opened the door to reveal another small table with two chairs. Occupying the table was Malcolm, dressed in his blazer, blue shirt, and school tie. He looked hot.

  Malcolm rose as Niklas walked into the room. “Niklas, old boy, what have you gotten yourself into? I’ve been with the police and the hotel management all morning, then with the commandant this afternoon. I must say you’ve gotten yourself into a bit of a spot, old chum.”

  Niklas was happy to see Malcolm; he was always a person who got things done, solved issues. Perhaps he would reason with the police on his behalf. “I’m sorry, Malcolm, to have dragged you, Caroline, Pekka, and the conference into this.” Niklas sat with the two guards on either side of him. He was used to them now, and mentally referred to them as his chaperones.

  Malcolm leaned forward, the sweat visible on his forehead. “But Niklas, you do realize the fix you’re in, don’t you?”

  “Fix?”

  “Yes, old boy, your situation, your dilemma. The commandant has informed me that the hotel raised a bloody stink and wants you charged to the full extent of Mexican law. The State of Quintana Roo wants to brand you an eco-terrorist.” Malcolm leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowing. “They want to throw you in prison for a long time.”

  Niklas shifted slightly in his chair. The thought of prison was bad enough —“long time” attached to “prison” was terrifying. “Ah, yes I see” was all Niklas could manage in reply.

  “Now, old boy,” Malcolm said, leaning even closer, “if you were to give the commandant the names of your friends, which would allow Caroline and Pekka to go free, the commandant assured me that the Mexican government would show some leniency.”

  “Leniency …they said that?” Niklas rolled the word around in his mind. He knew what the English word meant; he wondered what it meant to him. He knew it meant giving up Maria and Tepeu.

  “Yes, my good man.” Malcolm spread his hands on the table. “They might shave a few years off your sentence, or better yet, allow you to do your prison term in Finland.”

  “Finland?” The thought of going from one prison to another to sit out his sentence struck him as absurd.

  “Yes, Finland, and once there, who knows what your good Finnish justice system might do. Time off for good behavior, perhaps, and who knows —in a short time, you may be a free man, with all of this behind you.” Malcolm waved his hands as if the entire prison sentence had disappeared.

  Niklas looked at the well-dressed Malcolm Turnbull, all hot and sweaty in his suit and tie, and realized that he had been sent by the commandant to do what the others could not: reason with him.

  “Malcolm.”

  “Yes, Niklas.”

  “Piss off.”

  Malcolm’s look of disdain was evident. “You know, this will end very badly for you. The Finnish consulate has already said they will have very little to do with any of their countrymen who participate in criminal acts in other countries.” He stood, straightening his tie. “Yes, I thought I would give you that information at the end. They will send you a Mexican lawyer who speaks little English and wash their hands of you.”

  Malcolm said something to the two Mexican guards in perfect Castilian Spanish and strode out of the room. His English sensibilities had been pushed to their limits by Niklas’s refusal to give up his friends.

  The guards guided Niklas back past the loading dock, up the stairs, and back down the hallway towards his cell. On the way, they came upon the young man Niklas had met in the drunk tank.

  “Hey, man,” the boy greeted him as he approached with his own two escorts. “How’d it go? Did you get off with a few hundred or a few thousand?” He leaned his head closer as they stood shoulder to shoulder in the hallway. “Looks like they didn’t remember me from a
few days ago —I got off with five hundred bucks.” He winked. “How about you? Whadja get?”

  Niklas shrugged his shoulders. “Unfortunately, the Mexicans are somewhat upset at me over the release of some dolphins. They want me to spend some time with them.” Niklas smiled at the humor of his own words.

  “No shit, you’re the guy everyone was talking about in the jail cell. You’re like a freaking hero man, like a really cool superhero.” The boy raised his hands to accent his admiration.

  Niklas just shrugged. His guards motioned him to move on, and as he brushed by the young man, he felt something drop into his pocket. He smiled at the boy and moved on.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WAITING

  Niklas was surprised when the guards directed him past the general holding cell. He could smell the stink as he walked by —it was now late afternoon, and it seemed to have aged somewhat.

  They walked down another hallway and came to a series of small, one-room cells with tiny, wire mesh windows on the doors. The guards opened one of the cell doors, but before they sent him in, they stopped and did something strange —they smiled at Niklas and then took turns standing beside him and taking pictures with him with their camera phones. One of them remarked in broken English that the picture was for his sister in Guadalajara. Niklas realized he was now a major criminal in the eyes of Mexicans, a prize to be shared on Facebook.

  Finally, one of the guards motioned for him to enter the cell and then closed the heavy, metal door with a slam. His keys rattled as he locked Niklas in. The cell was two meters wide by three meters long. A single bed with a mesh frame and thin foam mattress half covered by a dingy wool blanket hugged the right wall. A toilet that looked like it had been cleaned in a previous lifetime occupied the far left corner of the cell. The stench hit Niklas’s nostrils immediately.

  A dim light emanated from a single dusty bulb encased in a wire frame. One very small open window with heavy bars across it was situated above the toilet. A meager ray of light shone in, highlighting the dust in the cell and the graffiti on the walls.

  The walls were a record of the previous prisoners’ pain, the ones lucky enough, like Niklas, to have been taken out of the main prison holding tank and given this “special treatment.” Niklas sat on the bed. The springs gave way, and the bed sagged like a hammock, almost touching the floor. Loneliness and despair crept in, like a tide slowly ebbing in over his consciousness, until it lay just behind his eyes like a deep, black pool.

  What lay before him was the most depressing situation he could imagine. Somehow, I need to meet with a lawyer in the next day or two and try to mount a defense. Will it be insanity? Do they have that in Mexico? he wondered.

  He only knew he could not give up Maria, or Tepeu and Elisa and Acan. His own morality stood in his way. His integrity would not allow him to give them up. How the Mexicans would pressure him he did not know, but he knew things could get a lot worse than they were presently.

  As he sat there, sinking further into the mattress, he felt something in his lower shirt pocket. He smiled to himself about the usefulness of the Mexican beach wedding shirt —it had two lower pockets, and one held something from the American kid in it.

  He pulled out a cell phone and regarded it as if he had just discovered a diamond, or a one thousand euro note, in his pocket. He punched the power button —it worked. Pulling up the menu, he found it was a temporary cell with seven minutes of time left.

  He wondered whom to call. There were so many people that he needed to explain his actions to. The phone showed the time in Cancun: 6:30 p.m. It would be after midnight in Finland. He knew he needed to speak with Ansa. Taking a deep breath, he dialed her number.

  He waited as the line buzzed, chirped, and finally connected with Finland’s familiar ring. A breathless Ansa answered. “Hello, hello, who’s calling?”

  “Hi, Ansa, it’s Papa.” Niklas could not believe how lucky he was to have reached her. Tears welled up in his eyes.

  “Papa!” Ansa yelled into the phone. “We heard from some Englishman named Malcolm that you’re in prison. My god, Papa, what have you done?”

  Niklas could hear Ansa’s breathing —fast, erratic, and scared. “I’m sorry, Ansa, I’m so sorry for doing this to you. I meant well, but this did not end well.” Tears streamed down his face, and he brushed them away and took a deep breath. “Look, I know I’ve been a bad father to you, divorcing your mother and now this. I really want to say I’m sorry.” Niklas had to stop as he was about to break into sobbing. His shoulders convulsed, and he breathed deeply.

  “Papa.” Ansa’s voice went very quiet. “I’m sorry for sounding so upset. We heard you set the dolphins free. It just came on the news. And Papa …”

  “Yes, Ansa,” Niklas said, taking another deep breath.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’ll be okay, and I’m coming with Grandpa Magnus to Mexico. We’ll meet with a lawyer there and get you out.”

  Niklas could not believe the maturity and strength in his daughter’s voice. How did she become this force of nature all of a sudden? Niklas stammered, “Ansa, no, you must not come. Stay in Finland. I’ve caused enough trouble for both you and your mother.

  “Papa.” Ansa’s voice was now very stern. “You know what I’ve learned in the past year, Papa?”

  “No, Ansa …no, I don’t know.”

  “I learned that my mother left you because she loves herself more than she loved you and more than she loves me —that is what I’ve learned in the past year. You caused no trouble, Papa. You leaving Mother helped me see that.”

  Niklas sat there, his ear pressed tightly against the phone as if it were a portal to another universe, one that did not include the room he was in, or the future that lay before him. He finally managed to say, “Ansa, I love you very much, and I’m so glad you’re my daughter …but will you wait a few days before you come here?”

  “Pappa, I love you so much. Okay, Grandpa Magnus and I will wait two days, but we will come there …I promise …”

  The cell phone beeped, signaling that his minutes were about to end, and before Niklas could say another word, the cell phone died. He stared at it —his portal to the other world that was his daughter, his homeland, was gone.

  He placed the dead cell phone back in his shirt pocket and lay on the bed, turning himself away from the toilet towards the cell door. The springs on the bed sagged menacingly close to the cold concrete floor.

  Looking at the small window, he could see shapes drift by —people perhaps, or maybe cars, he couldn’t be sure. The shapes deflected the sunlight for the briefest of moments and then they were gone.

  He thought about Ansa and his grandfather making the long trip to see him and what condition he would be in when they arrived. He was sure of one thing: he knew he would cry when he saw them.

  The light grew dim outside. Night was falling. Closing his eyes, he drifted into a troubled sleep. He was still in his cell, consumed with the ominous knowledge that many more days would become months then years of a similar fate. Then the door opened, water rushed in, and he was swimming.

  The water was clean, and then there it was —the taste of salt, of the ocean. The moon rose, and a myriad of stars shone overhead. Shapes moved towards him from the horizon, and he instinctively knew what they were.

  “Dolphins!”

  The dolphins closed in on him quickly. They splashed their fins and greeted him with what he knew were cries of joy and welcome. He grabbed the fin of the lead, and it started speeding away, with the others keeping pace. They dived.

  Niklas held his breath and let go of the dolphin’s fin. A moment later, he flexed his powerful tail and came alongside the lead dolphin. He was transformed again. He was a dolphin in his dreams.

  He and the dolphins rose to the surface as one, taking in air. Their blowholes expelled and sucked in air in one motion, and then they dived down to the seabed. Niklas could hear the pod’s sounds, the conversations. The dolphins discussed not
just what they saw, but the joy of what they were seeing. They discussed the joy of being alive.

  Canyons of rock and coral lay before them, and they investigated each one. They swam with schools of fish, annoyed some sea turtles, and scared away some bothersome sharks. The pod was tireless in its movement.

  Then the dolphins came upon a small boat. A sliver of moonlight shone through the clouds, forming a spotlight around it. They were attracted to it, and they swam around and around it. Niklas swam up too, and then popped his head up and looked into the boat.

  Two people looked back at him, smiling and waving. One of them reached out to take his beak and hold it. It was Maria.

  Then Niklas heard a loud clanging, and he pulled his head away from Maria. She smiled at him, waved, and yelled something —he couldn’t hear what it was.

  He woke up. He was in his cell. The door was opening.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  VAMOSE

  Niklas sat up and swung his feet onto the floor, rubbing his eyes. The stench hit him along with his despair and formed a wad of phlegm in the back of his throat he badly wanted to discharge.

  The door of the cell clanged more violently and jarred back and forth. Someone was trying to open the door, and it was resisting due to a poor fit or metal that had rusted in the humid Caribbean air.

  After several more clangs and wrenches, the door swung open. The tall, skinny guard and the short, fat one stood at the entrance to the cell. The tall one looked in, smiled at Niklas, and motioned for him to come out. “Vamose.”

  Niklas had no idea what time it was. It still looked dark outside. He wondered if Mexican lawyers started early, or if the commandant wanted to see him to demand more information. He decided he might as well get into the habit of doing whatever was asked of him and follow wherever he was led. I must get used to this new life of prison.

  He walked in front of them down the hallways that were still dimly lit, passing dark prison cells with sleeping occupants. The guards talked in whispers, treading quietly. Niklas was confused as to what could be so important before dawn.