Wind Whisperer

by Theresa Jenner Garrido

  “Excuse m-me.” I said breathlessly like I’d been running. Regaining some composure, I tried again. “Excuse me, but that old man…over there on the bench? I think-I think there’s something wrong with him. I think he’s ill or something.”

  The young man made a face and shrugged. “Naw…that’s just old Dreamer. He’s a regular around here. Showed up one day, oh, about three years ago. Perfectly harmless. Boss says to just leave him alone and let him do his thing. Some of those old guys drink too much. You know?”

  I glanced over my shoulder then stepped closer to the guide. “He doesn’t look intoxicated…just so sad…and-and lost…. Maybe he’s got Alzheimer’s or something.”

  “Yeah. I thought that myself. I don’t know why the boss allows him to be here. A lot of tourists have asked about him. He’s Native American, as you can tell, and I’m told that he’s not as old as he looks. Mental, if you ask me. But harmless. Really, he’s harmless. Don’t worry.”

  I sighed. “I’m not worried that he’s going to hurt me. I’m just concerned that he’s suffering and needs help. Where does he live? Does he eat?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I don’t really know. You’re going to have to ask the manager if you’re that concerned. I just work here.” And with that, the young man turned and began sorting colorful brochures on a display rack. I took the hint. He didn’t plan to tell me anything more.

  Wanting to stick out my tongue at the stupid man, I left the main room of the museum and strolled over to the entrance of a smaller room that featured artifacts from the Makah Tribe—well known for their whaling and love of the sea.

  Then my stomach did a nose-dive. Two mannequins wore the native dress of the indigenous people—a marvelous skirt of woven shredded cedar bark and a vest so elaborate, it snagged the imagination. The female figure’s long, black hair had been oiled and bound with colorful feathers and slender strips of bark. The male wore a serious expression that demanded respect. Dark, blank eyes stared out beyond me—out past Today to a far distant Yesterday. Stepping closer, I reached out to finger the girl’s skirt then drew in a sharp breath.

  “Ohh,” I breathed. “Oh, Joy…Gray…Gray Otter…” This startled me. Why had I said that? Who was Joy? And Gray Otter? Where had that come from? Was it a book I’d read and forgotten? Something I’d seen on the History Channel?

  Jonah came up behind me and tapped my shoulder. “Hey. What’s the matter, numbskull? You look like you just swallowed a live jellyfish.”

  I turned and looked at my cousin for a long moment and then shuddered. “Oh, Jonah,” I murmured. “I-I…it’s awful…”

  He wrinkled his nose. “What’s awful? For crying out loud, what’s eating you, Hannah?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. Suddenly, I feel like someone who’s just had to say good-bye to a really close friend. You know—someone who you’ll never see again and miss already? Crazy, huh? Seeing this stupidly awkward and irreverent attempt at mimicking a lost culture seems—oh, I don’t know—blasphemous, somehow.”

  “Jeez, you sound like old Mrs. Herriott in social studies.”

  I ignored that. “These were people, Jonah. Real, living, breathing, laughing, crying, playing, loving people. And, somehow, modern man hasn’t done them justice. Somehow, I think they deserve more. I can’t explain it.”

  “You sound loony, if you ask me.”

  “Never mind.” I turned on my heel, left the room and went outside, where I crossed my arms against my chest and stared down at my shoes. Jonah had followed me and now stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had. I certainly didn’t feel like myself. “Jonah, just give me some space for a few minutes, okay?”

  He shrugged. “Sure. You’re creeping me out, anyway. I’ll be by the totem poles. Must be that time of the month.”

  I gave him a withering look then started down a small path that wound around the exhibit. Quiet. Not many tourists around. I was alone.

  Then I heard it. A soft, sibilant whispering, coming from somewhere in the dark, indescribable forest nearby.

  I lifted my arms and closed my eyes. Taking in a deep breath, I listened to the haunting melody; to the faint, subtle rustling of wind, whispering in the tall Douglas firs and cedars that stood around us. For one brief moment, I thought I could hear the sound of childish laughter; hear the sweet laughter of a young woman.

  For one brief moment, I thought I could see a young man’s dancing, dark brown eyes.

  Gray Otter…Gray Otter… Black spots danced in the corners of my eyes like hordes of mosquitoes or gnats. Cawing crows, murmuring voices, car doors slamming, barks of laughter filled my ears until I thought they’d smother me. Jeez. Everybody be quiet. Shut up. Everybody just shut up. I thought I might faint. I bent over to let the blood get to my head.

  A thought whipped me in the face. I straightened, whirled around, and tore down the path back to the museum…and the bench supporting a tired, old man. Skidding to a stop, I stepped up to his hunched over form, and reached out to tap his shoulder. He raised his head and looked at me.

  I wish I could describe what I saw in his dark brown eyes, but I can’t—in a million years, using a million words. His eyes held every bad thing that’d ever happened on this planet, every tear shed, every wound that bled, every baby that cried. I wanted to look away, but I didn’t. I stared right into his eyes, wrestling with the thoughts taking shape in my mind. I had to choose my words carefully. If I said it wrong, I’d lose my only chance to communicate.

  I wet my lips. “H-hello. My name is…” I had to swallow to get down the lump clogging my throat. “My name is Hannah. And…and your name…your name is Man of Many Dreams…isn’t it?” Then I grimaced, sure he’d think I’d gone completely over the hill. And, boy, I was right. The poor guy jerked like I’d just stung him. He raised his arms, crooking an elbow to shield his face.

  “I’m sorry.” I blurted before he could get up and run away. He looked so shaken, I was afraid I’d really scrambled his brains. “Please. Don’t be afraid. We need to talk.”

  The guy lowered his arms and sagged. Three grunts slipped from his partially open mouth. I crunched down so I could be level with him. But before I could say what I wanted to tell him, Jonah appeared.

  “Hannah. For crying out loud. What’re you doing?” His long strides brought him over. It didn’t take a degree to see how disturbed my cousin was.

  I stood, gave Jonah a shove and stepped away from the old Indian. “Lower your voice, Jonah…”

  “What the heck were you saying to that guy? Jeez, Hannah. The guy’s loopy. You don’t know if he’ll do something stupid or…”

  “Put a lid on it, Jonah. I need to talk to him. Why is none of your business.”

  “Hannah, you are really freaking me out. Ever since we came back from our walk, you’ve acted like some kind of alien, or something.” He grimaced. “Jeez, I apologized a zillion times for jerking you around that day. Man. I’m sorry if you got scared out there, but move on, will you? Jeez.”

  This was it. I had to try. “Jonah…I’m not mad about the silly prank you played by that horrid, old tree. Really…it’s…well…” I glanced over my shoulder to be sure no one was around. Then I stepped closer to my cousin and said in as measured a tone as I could manage with my heart beating in time with Lord of the Dance. “Jonah…please, listen to me for a sec. Please think very hard. Do you remember anything about being inside that monster tree? Anything happen that you can’t explain—or don’t want to?”

  Jonah’s eyes widened and his lip curled. “What the heck are you talking about?”

  I sucked in a deep breath. “Jonah…what I’m trying to say is…something happened to me when I crawled inside that tree…. When I came out, I wasn’t…I wasn’t here…”

  “What?”

  “Shut up and listen to me. I wasn’t here—here-here, I mean. I was…I was in another world…in another time…and I lived with these people…” I waved my hand toward the exhibit. “I lived among thes
e people and did what they did and saw what they saw.” Before my cousin could say or do anything, I quickly added, “And you were there, too, Jonah. You and your stupid Walkman were there. Don’t you remember? Please remember. Please, Jonah. Think.”

  I was prepared for my cousin to either laugh or drag me over to his parents and tell them that I’d gone insane. But, instead, he stood there and stared through me at something invisible beyond. I can actually say his eyes went glassy. I mean, I’d read that phrase a lot of times and never really understood what it meant. Now I do. Jonah’s eyes went all glassy, like he’d tuned out or something.

  “Jonah? Jonah, talk to me. Please understand wh…”

  “Quiet.” Jonah grabbed my arm and hauled me over to another bench that sat partially hidden behind a large rhododendron bush. “My God, Hannah. This is wrong. It’s wrong. D’you hear me? I can’t have done the things I think I remember.”

  “Then you do remember.”

  “Jeez, Hannah. Don’t advertise it.” He winced then put his face an inch away from mine. “Hannah…what I’m remembering is impossible. Get me? Impossible. It can’t have happened. Not to us; not to anybody. No way. Uh uh. Nope. Only guys who smoke weed or-or take LSD remember stuff like that.” He grimaced again.

  “I know, Jonah…but it did. It happened.”

  TWENTY-THREE – RECIPROCATION

  For an eon, Jonah and I just stood there, stupidly staring into one another’s eyes. I broke the spell first. “So…I need your help.”

  My cousin did a double take. “My help? Doing what?”

  I jerked my chin toward the old man still sitting slumped over on the bench. “Getting him home.”

  “What? Who the cripes is he?”

  “Jonah…what do you remember about…about our adventure?”

  “Indians…canoes…getting the crap beat out of me…jeez, Hannah…I don’t know…”

  “It doesn’t matter. I remember every single heartbeat. I remember everything. I remem…”

  “Jeez, Hannah. Then fill me in. What I remember is all hazy and distorted like a nightmare.”

  “Jonah, we don’t have time. Just trust me, okay? Please. Just trust me and go along with whatever I come up with. I don’t exactly know what I’m going to do. I just know I have to do something. Okay? Okay, Jonah?”

  He narrowed his eyes and gave me a really penetrating look then shrugged in defeat. “Yeah. Okay…I’m with you.”

  I nodded and turned around. “Okay. Let’s go.” I trotted back to the old man and once again crouched to get on his level. “Excuse me, sir.” The old guy raised his head, glanced once at Jonah then stared right into my eyes. I licked my lips and tired to speak calmly so he’d understand. “Your name is Man of Many Dreams…”

  The man stiffened but didn’t utter a word. I pushed on. “Your son is called Gray Otter.” At that the poor guy jerked and his eyebrows jumped into his hair. “Please, don’t be frightened, Man of Many Dreams. We can help you—my cousin and I. We’re going to try to get you back to your home. Okay? Can you understand what I’m saying?”

  I turned to Jonah. “Jonah…this is the sticky part. What I’m thinking is that if we can somehow get him back to that crazy tree, we’ll be able to send him back.”

  Jonah shook his head. “Heck, no, Hannah. That tree’s way back at Lake Crescent. That’s a couple hours or more away. How’n hell are we supposed to get him back there? You think my folks would buy any of this? Hell, no. If we even hinted about any of this, they’d send us both to psychiatrists. Jeez.”

  I felt my nose prickle. I was going to start bawling like a frustrated little kid if I didn’t get my act together. Then a bizarre idea slapped the side of my head. “Jonah.”

  “What?”

  “Do you have that rattle thing you found by the tree?”

  “Well, sure…in the car…in my backpack. Why?”

  “Go get it.”

  He made a face but sprinted toward the parked car. Three minutes later he returned with the curious little raven rattle. He handed it to me, muttering, “I wanted to keep this thing…”

  Ignoring him, I held the rattle up to the man. What happened next was the weirdest thing yet. He stared at the rattle for an eternity. I studied him as he examined the thing in my hand. His expressions went through a series of changes from disbelief to awe to recognition to resolve. When he reached for the rattle I gave it to him. Holding it out at arm’s length, he closed his eyes and hummed a haunting, singsong tune.

  I glanced at Jonah. He stood statue-still. Together we watched as the man rose to his feet, shaking the rattle in four directions, humming the weird tune. Just when I thought it would go on forever, he stopped, turned to face us, and spoke. “I go now.”

  That was it. That’s all he said. And before either one of us could move or respond, the guy straightened his shoulders and walked purposefully into the forest. Jonah and I stood there for several minutes without saying a word. It was only when my aunt and uncle called to us from across the parking lot that we moved.

  I grabbed Jonah’s arm. “Jonah. Jonah…”

  “I know, Hannah. I’m not brain-dead. I know. As far as I’m concerned, this never happened. Okay?” I nodded. He mock-punched my cheek. “Good. Tomorrow, we’re going to the beach. Right now I’m hungry.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Mom. Dad. Can we eat now?” He tore off, leaving me just standing there, chewing on my lip.

  I looked behind me at the dark forest where Man of Many Dreams had disappeared. I sucked in air then blew out my cheeks. Good-bye, Man of Many Dreams…good luck…give my love to Joy…and Gray Otter. Tell them…tell them I miss them. And with that thought left to tag on the heels of a passing breeze, I headed for the car.

  ABOUT AUTHOR THERESA JENNER GARRIDO

  A graduate of the University of Washington and a former middle school English teacher, Theresa has been writing since elementary school. In the beginning, her stories were written to entertain her cousin, but as time marched on and she began her teaching career, her audience widened. Besides teaching, she’s tried her hand at medical assisting, bank clerking, book selling, and teaching drama. Whenever she takes a break from her computer, she enjoys painting, hiking, swimming, amassing oddities from diverse locales, and reading. Now retired, she writes in the “spare time” left over from looking after a house, a retired engineer husband, getting together with extended family, and traveling.

  Theresa is the author of Shade and Shadow, a young adult mystery set in the South Carolina Low Country, and Centauri Serenade, a young adult science fiction novel that takes a teenage girl on an amazing journey.