Spirals

by Scott Bergin

  "I wouldn't expect you to." He replied.

  "And why not?" She asked. "We do have very few subscribers you know."

  "I just didn't think you would know that many families from France." Robert responded.

  "You're right." She confessed. "I don't know anyone from France, except you."

  "So you know me then?" Robert asked.

  "Well enough to know that I can probably trust you." She replied. "How about you?"

  "I Guess I can trust you." He said.

  "Then you'll show me your photos?" Gabrielle asked.

  "Not yet." Robert replied, taking the wind out of her sails. "But, I will get your film developed for you."

  "Here, in Yaoundé?" She asked.

  "That's where I got mine developed." He explained.

  "But you've only been here for four hours." Gabrielle said. "They don't have one hour photos here, and most places aren't even open for business."

  "Money talks." Robert replied.

  "So, you're paying for it then?" She asked, though trying not to show how poor she was.

  "Let's go." Robert insisted.

  "We can't leave now." Gabrielle protested. "Curfew is in a couple of hours. We'll go tomorrow. No photos are worth getting shot over."

  "All right, tomorrow then." Robert agreed. Getting up off the blanket, Robert put his shoes back on. Then, he helped Gabrielle off the blanket.

  "Well, I'm over here." Robert said, pointing across the floor.

  "Would you mind my company?" Gabrielle asked.

  "It's a lot better than the alternative." He said, pointing toward the drunk.

  "Thanks." She replied, sincerely.

  "For what?" He asked.

  "I could use the company, and the safety." Gabrielle acknowledged.

  "You're alone here?" Robert asked, looking around.

  "Not anymore." Gabrielle replied, picking up her supplies and following him across the floor. "Not anymore."

  Chapter 25

  April 13

  10:15 p.m.

  The Congo

  Thomas set his torch down on top of the small pile of twigs that he had gathered. Quickly, an ample fire was burning. Thomas collected more wood for the fire. He set it safely off to one side. The jungle floor provided only a minimal supply of burnable materials. It took Thomas more than fifteen minutes to gather enough wood for the evening. Though, Thomas was fortunate that this part of the jungle contained a surprising number of rocks. Thomas carefully picked out three perfect ones. They were all palm sized, and each had one flat side. After carrying them back to the fire, Thomas arranged the stones in a small triangle. He took out the small pan with the bullet hole in it, and set it on the stones. With painstaking accuracy, he began to level the pan. Thomas lay on his belly, in order to make his head level with the lip of the pan. He slowly tapped one side deeper into the thick mud, then the other. When he was satisfied that it was nearly level, Thomas got back off his belly.

  Thomas stopped to make his camp here, because it had all the necessary elements. There were plenty of rocks, a fair supply of wood, and a nearby stream. He crossed it only moments before making his camp. Thomas walked back to the brook. Kneeing down beside it, he filled his mouth with water. Though, he was careful not to drink any of it. He carried the mouthful back to the fire. Thomas sat beside the fire and stared at the pan. His breathing was slow, and through his nose. He had to constantly fight his body's natural reaction, which was to swallow the water. The water was probably not lethal, but it wasn't healthy either. For all Thomas knew, a gorilla might have taken a crap just twenty feet upstream from where he put his mouth in. The thought gave him an uneasy feeling. Thomas leaned over the pan. Water trickled off his lips, and landed in the pan. The water ran almost straight toward the bullet hole in the center. Thomas made minor adjustments to the pan, as he continued to drip water from his lips into the pan. When the water flowed directly toward the hole, regardless of where it landed in the pan, Thomas was satisfied. He turned his head to the side and spat the remaining water out. Thomas carefully got up, making sure not to touch the pan. There were vast quantities of leaves to choose from, and Thomas selected one. He tore the leaf into tiny pieces, and held them tightly in one hand. Then, he returned to the stream. While trying to put the thought of the gorilla out of his mind, Thomas filled his mouth with water. Again, he returned and sat by the fire. This time, he was even more conscientious about accidentally drinking any of the water. Thomas carefully placed his left hand under the pan. With his index finger, he plugged the hole. He filled the pan with the water from his mouth. Then, he just sat. When the water finally stopped moving, Thomas opened his right hand. He sprinkled some of the pieces of the leaf into the water. As they floated around on the surface, Thomas patiently waited. When they ceased to move, Thomas looked up toward the sky.

  "Please let this work." He said softly.

  Thomas removed his finger from the hole. At first the water flowed straight down the hole. Then, the tiny whirlpool was created again. The pieces of the leaf were sucked into the spiraling water, and then thrown out the bottom. Thomas added a few more pieces. They were sucked into the same swirling pattern. A huge grin spread across Thomas' face, when he realized what was happening. The water was spiraling in the opposite direction from the way it had the previous night. Thomas knew the meaning of the change. It meant that he would soon be out of the jungle. Paying no more attention to the pan, Thomas shut his eyes. He envisioned the clock on the wall of his apartment.

  Thomas stared at the small clear clock. As he saw it, the clock had only one hand. The hand spun much faster than a second hand. One complete revolution only took about three seconds. Thomas watched as the hand spun, clockwise. He took the small clock off the wall, and held it in front of his face. He stared at it with the same intensity that he had been staring at the water, only moments ago. Thomas could see the imaginary plane that the face of the clock rested on. It stretched out infinitely to the sides, and to the top and bottom. The plane passed through his fingers as it extended to the sides. He could see his fingers resting on the other side. Thomas realized that the plane could be crossed. He slowly spun the clock. The plane spun with it. As he turned the clock, the plane made its way across his body. When he completed spinning the clock a hundred eighty degrees, everything was the opposite. His fingers were now on the side of the plane that his body had been, and vice versa. The most remarkable change was that the clock now spun counterclockwise. Thomas hung the clock back on the wall. He continued to stare at it, as it unwound time.

  Opening his eyes, Thomas found that he was dreaming. He looked around, and saw that he was still in the jungle. Though, he knew that what occurred in his dream was real, and it just happened again. He crossed over an imaginary plane, and reversed everything. Only this time, the plane had a name. It was called the equator. The plane that divides a spinning object, in a path that includes all points on its revolution, determines the perception of the revolution's direction. Crossing the plane reverses all perceptions of direction. Thomas saw the pan, and the earth, in this way. If he could pass through the bullet hole and come out on the other side, such a change would take place. When he looked back through the hole, the water would have appeared to change direction. Thomas knew that he could not pass through the hole, but he knew that there was another option. He could cross the rotational plane of another spinning object. The object was earth, and the plane was the equator. Like crossing the plane of the clock reversed the perceived direction of the hand's revolution, the equator had the same effect on the water. The effect was the same, because crossing the equator also reversed the perceived direction of a spinning object. Watching the water spin, from underneath the pan, would appear the same as watching it from above the pan, once he crossed the equator. Thomas knew that was the only explanation for the change in the water's direction. At some point in the day, he must have walked across the equator.

  Thomas stood up. He picked up the pan, and threw it acros
s the jungle. He no longer needed it. The pieces of the leaf were no longer necessary either. Thomas had only used them so he could see the water's direction more clearly. Without them, it would be difficult to figure out which way the water spun. The fire provided considerable amount of light, but not enough to determine the spin of small transparent particles. Thomas threw the rocks into the jungle as well. He didn't need any of it. He knew exactly where he was. Since he had been walking due south, and he just crossed the equator, he could pinpoint his position on any map. The farthest he would be off by was a couple of miles. Thomas sat next to the fire. He was proud of his accomplishment. He guessed that very few people would know how to gain their bearings the way he had. Somehow, he felt that made him better than anyone else. He sat in the middle of the jungle, fully aware of his exact location. Even without a map or a compass, he knew precisely where he was. What is more important, he knew exactly how to get out of the jungle in a way that no one else could. Tomorrow he would change his direction. There was only one city within fifty miles. If he missed it, he might end up walking for a whole extra day or more. If he kept heading south, it would take several days to get out of the jungle. By turning his path, he would be able to exit the jungle within a full day's walk. Thomas lay on his back and stared up at the canopy that still loomed high overhead. Tomorrow, it would not be above him anymore. Excited by the prospect of not having to spend any additional nights in the jungle, Thomas couldn't manage to sleep through this one. He knew that he would need all his energy for the day ahead, but he could not force himself to sleep. He just stared off into space. The look on his face resembled that of a prisoner on Christmas eve who knew that he was going to be released the following day. Though it was not Christmas, Thomas still thought of himself as a captive, imprisoned in the jungle. The trees were like gigantic cell bars. Tomorrow, he would find the only sanctuary in this jungle. He would then use it to gain his freedom. For nearly an hour, he lay motionless, waiting to sleep. Slowly, a hypnotic trance seemed to engulf him, and he eventually fell asleep.

  Chapter 26

  April 13

  11:02 p.m.

  Gabon, near the Congo border

  Alex slowly opened his eyes. He saw a modest campfire burning in front of him. Beyond that were three men with painted faces. They looked like the men that Alex saw before he slipped into unconsciousness, but these men were too old to have been running after him. These men obviously were the tribal elders. When they saw that Alex was waking up, they started talking to one another. Alex could barely hear their mumbling, but he could tell that he did not know the language. He was not surprised. What did shock him was that he was not tied down. He was placed with his back to a tree, but he was not restrained at all. Alex looked around, and saw why. Two men were standing to either side of the three who were sitting. Each man had a blowgun pointed at Alex. He was amazed at how short they all were. The tallest man didn't even stand four feet. He realized how strange he probably looked to them. They might never have seen a white person, or even someone who stood above five feet. Alex thought that he might be able to use this to his advantage. If they had never seen anyone like him before, then he could probably trick them into believing that he was some kind of god. Alex carefully slid a hand into his pocket. He pulled out the lighter. With both hands, he held it out in front of himself. From across the fire, the three men stared at him curiously. For the moment, they stopped talking. Alex lit the lighter, then watched for their reaction. The three men just stared at him, not with amazement, but with the same fixed curiosity.

  "They don't smoke." Alex heard someone say, but when he looked around he could not tell who had said it. Then Alex saw someone walking toward him. The man was the same height as everyone else, but he was wearing blue jeans and a T-shirt.

  "I said, they don't smoke." The man repeated as he approached.

  "You speak English." Alex said, putting the lighter back into his pocket.

  "Are you retarded?" The man asked, as he sat next to the three men. "First you offer us a light, when you can clearly see that we have a fire. Now you are trying to figure out if I am speaking English. You are one strange Yankee."

  "Yankee." Alex said in amazement. "Am I supposed to believe that you are British?"

  "British say Yanks, people from the southern United States say Yankee." The man explained.

  "O.K." Alex said. "Am I supposed to believe that you are from there?"

  "Man, you must be retarded." The man said. "Do I look like a foreigner?"

  "Who are you then?" Alex asked.

  "My name is Fimyany." The man said. "And we welcome you, Alex Taylor, to our village."

  "How do you know who I am?" Alex asked.

  "I read your driver's license." Fimyany explained.

  "Oh." Alex replied, reaching for his wallet. It was still in his pocket.

  "Of course I put it back." Fimyany said. "We are not thieves. What about you?"

  "What do you mean?" Alex asked.

  "I mean, what kind of criminal are you?" Fimyany asked.

  "I'm not a criminal." Alex said.

  "Then why are you handcuffed to part of a policeman?" He asked, pointing to the arm.

  "How did you know it was a policeman?" Alex asked.

  "I recognize the material that the sleeve is made from." Fimyany explained. "But don't change the subject. Why are you handcuffed to that arm?"

  "The cop was already dead when I was handcuffed to him." Alex explained. "I had to sever the arm to save my own life."

  "And who handcuffed you to this dead policeman?" Fimyany asked.

  "That man was the thief, and a murderer." Alex replied.

  "O.K." Fimyany said. Then he turned to the three men, and began talking to them. Alex couldn't understand any of the language being spoken. He thought that Fimyany was explaining the situation to the tribal elders. Then Alex remembered how he had also thought that he could convince them that he was a god. Now he was just trying to convince them that he was not a thief or a murderer. After several minutes of conversation, Fimyany turned back toward Alex.

  "We will help you." Fimyany said.

  "You will help me do what?" Alex asked.

  "Well, what do you want?" Fimyany asked.

  "I could use a car." He replied.

  "That won't do you any good." Fimyany said. "There are no roads for more than a hundred miles, in any direction."

  "A hundred miles." Alex said. "Where is all the deforestation when you need it?"

  "We have been fortunate." He replied.

  "Well, your fortune is my misfortune." Alex said.

  "That is often the case." Fimyany explained. "Your good fortune was that policeman's misfortune. One day my misfortune will be someone else's good fortune."

  "Yeah. What goes around comes around." Alex said.

  "Precisely. What goes around comes around." Fimyany repeated.

  "Can you get this arm off me?" Alex asked.

  "We cannot." Fimyany said adamantly.

  "I don't mean pick the lock." Alex said. "I just mean chop through the wrist."

  "I didn't mean that we don't know how to remove it." Fimyany said. "I meant we will not remove the arm from you."

  "Why not?" Alex asked.

  "We believe that a man should be buried as a whole." He explained. "Oh, I don't mean that you should save all of your hair and fingernail clippings. You should be buried with all that you died with. You must return that arm to its rightful owner."

  "O.K." Alex said. "Then will you help me get out of this jungle, as quickly as possible."

  "What is the hurry?" Fimyany asked.

  "If I can get out of the jungle within a couple of days, I can catch the man who killed the policeman." He replied. Alex knew that he was lying to Fimyany, but he also knew that Fimyany would have no way of finding that out.

  "We will help you avenge the death of this man." Fimyany said. Then he turned again to the three men. Alex believed that his previous thought had been correct. These
men were the leaders of the tribe. It explained Fimyany's action, and the need for the guards. Alex noticed that this conversation was different from the last one. There was more pointing being done by both Fimyany, and one of the men. They appeared to be arguing about the proper course of action. The four eventually came to some type of agreement, and Fimyany turned back to face Alex again.

  "Tomorrow we will leave for civilization." Fimyany said.

  "Tomorrow." Alex protested. "I have to leave as soon as possible."

  "That is as soon as possible." Fimyany explained. "I conveyed the matter of urgency as best I could, but they insist that we stay the night. We must do as the elders say."

  "How long will it take to get out of the jungle?" Alex asked.

  "Two days, three at the most." Fimyany replied.

  "You said it was a hundred miles. I can't walk that far in two days." Alex complained.

  "No. I said there are no roads for more than a hundred miles." Fimyany said. "But don't worry, we won't be walking. You asked for a car, but you didn't ask for any other kind of transportation. We will travel by boat."

  "You have boats?" Alex said.

  "Well, they are more like rafts, but they will take you where you want to go." He replied. "But that must wait until tomorrow. Tonight we must sleep."

  Fimyany looked at his watch, then turned and spoke to the elders. One of the elders stood, then walked off. One guard followed him. Fimyany spoke to the others, then turned back to Alex.

  "They will prepare the raft with enough supplies to last." Fimyany said. "We will leave at dawn, so we must get some rest now."

  "How will you get back up the river?" Alex asked, trying to sound concerned.

  "I will walk." Fimyany replied.

  "Walk. What about the raft?" Alex asked.

  "Such things are disposable." Fimyany assured him.

  "Come." Fimyany said, standing. Alex stood, and followed him. Past where the two men sat there was a narrow path leading through the trees. The path widened after a few hundred yards, and a gathering of twenty huts was revealed. Fimyany guided Alex though the village. From all directions came dumbfounded stares. Alex realized that Fimyany was probably the only member to have seen someone like him before. Had it not been for him, the plan to act like a god might have worked. Fimyany brought Alex up to the entrance of one of the huts.