by Smith, Skye
He kindly waited while she did her shopping. He just stood and talked to the young women at the checkouts. Small town. Small resort town. In the off season everyone knew each other, and everyone had time aplenty to gossip. He even introduced her around as Maya, Nana’s granddaughter. That of course meant she got the local's discount, which saved her a few bucks.
Back at the dock, after she had said 'thanks' and 'bye' to Joseph, she played with the cat for at least ten minutes and finally had to cast off and throw him onto the dock to get rid of him. She was so happy to be able to pet cats again that she sang old Rod Stewart songs all the way to the island. Somehow the Scottish themed music seemed to fit with the scenery of the bay.
* * * * *
Once she had the shopping safely stored in the refrigerator, and had her winter clothes hung up and was wrapped in a Mexican serape that she had found in the linen cupboard, she stopped moving long enough to look over Nana’s shoulder at the laptop she was reading.
“Just refreshing my memory, dear,” said Nana pulling her head back so that Maya could read. “It's one of our old papers, Peter's and mine. His specialty for his Political Science chair was Coup d’Etats. You know, one ruling elite replacing another ruling elite very quickly and often by murder. I was riding on his shirt tails at the time, giving his modern studies a historical perspective.”
“When did you write this? It’s on the internet.”
“Oh, I paid to have all of our old papers uploaded onto the University’s site years ago. Even if no one else reads them, it made it easy for me to search through my own work.” She pointed to a date. “We wrote this one in 1948. That's why we were in Europe. That was how we first met P.P. He would have been furious if he had known that our trip was being funded by US Army Intelligence.”
“You were spies?” Maya asked with eyes widening.
“No, Intelligence workers. You can imagine how interested they were in Peter's theories on Coup d’Etats. He should have never helped them, but it was just after the war and decisions in those days were very black and white. They eventually put his theories to work using false flag operations to destabilize and then remove labor friendly governments all over the world. When we complained, we were threatened with a McCarthyist style trial.”
“You mean they thought you were communists?”
“Oh lordy, girl. Those witch trials were not about hunting Russian spies as much as about silencing anyone who wanted to turn organized labor into a registered political party. It was just after the war, so everyone had spies in everyone else’s country, not just Russia. Remember that Russia had been our most important ally to conquer the Nazi war machine.”
“I thought that was England.”
“Oh, heavens no. If not for the Russians, Germany would still be ruling most of Europe.”
“I must have skipped that day in history class and gone to the beach,” murmured Maya. “Blah, blah, blah” she thought to herself.
“Well, not to worry, dear. It was all a long time ago. A very long time ago. The only thing you need to remember is that our boys signed up during the time of the Great Depression where you were either rich or poor. They went overseas and deposed governments that had created much healthier economies than our own. When our boys came home, they sent a very clear message to our own ruling class. Make our economy fairer, else we’ll depose you, too.”
“That’s not the way they told it in school, or in the old movies,” Maya argued.
“I’m not surprised. Our ruling classes were shaking in their boots. Ten million men who knew weapons and organization were demobilized at the same time. The economy was reorganized to make everyone better off, so that those men did not rebel. They even allowed labor unions.
The McCarthyists started the witch hunts to make sure that a third political party, a labor party, could not be created and take control of this country. They turned communist into a dirty word and used it to label everyone who sided with labor. At that time in Europe, the conservative war governments were being replaced by labor governments. There was no way the big corporations would allow that in the USA.”
Blah, blah, blah, Maya thought and tried to change the subject. “So why are you reading your old papers now?”
“Oh, I was reading them all last night too. It was because you got me thinking about rogue males. Back in the late forties, we had identified theories about their roles in Coup d’Etats, and had cited lots of historical examples. Rogue males in nature are usually loners. What is unnatural is when rogue males take control of a social order. Eventually that entire social order begins to act like a rogue male.”
Maya snapped awake. She needed to know as much as she could about psycho societies, if nothing else, so she could stay well away from them. “Can you give me a simple example, like without involving a lot of history?”
“Say you have a rogue lion who is banished from his pride. A pride is like a tribe of lions. Pride lions are group hunters. They hunt to eat. The population of their prey, say antelope, are kept in balance. Rogue lions, on the other hand, hunt alone. They cannot afford to be injured, so they become masters of the ambush. They pick on the weak. When the killing is easy they keep on killing, for the hunt and the kill, not for the food.
Say the rogue becomes the leader of the pride, and under him all the other lions start killing for the thrill rather than for food. Eventually the antelope are over hunted, and the pride of lions starve.”
“Okay, I get it,” said Maya. “what works for one, may not work for many. But that is wrong. I thought that Darwin guy always talked about like, the survival of the fittest.”
“Darwin talked about the survival of the fittest species or the fittest social order, not the fittest individual. The ant hill, not the ant. You are confusing Darwin, with the Darwinists. Those were a bunch of rich guys who justified ripping people off by misquoting Darwin. They saw themselves as the fittest because they were rich, and therefore had the right to screw everyone else.”
“Hey, I saw that on a movie. Whatsit. With that old guy, umm, Russell Crowe. The crazy mathematician. It was in the scene when they were like, trying to pick up a bunch of girls. He proved that all the guys ended up better off if no one went after the beautiful blonde, even though she was everyone’s first choice.”
“The movie was called 'A Beautiful Mind',” said Nana. “It was about John Nash. He did the math that proved Adam Smith’s theories of capitalism were flawed and incomplete. He restated them to say that a market works best when each member plays to his own best self-interest, but that his own best self-interest is usually dependant on a common best interest. Yes, very good. That is the best example of all, sort of don’t kill the goose that lays the golden eggs.”
“I think we are wandering off topic again,” prompted Maya.
“Delightfully so. History is my passion.” Nana was enjoying herself. She got back on topic. “Bloodlines. I spent the night reviewing my findings on bloodlines. You know, because..., well, you know.”
* * * * *
* * * * *
MAYA'S AURA - The Charred Coven by Skye Smith
Chapter 9 - Farewell to Books
The fog horn sounded like it was right outside the window. Nana nudged her urgently. “It’s not right. The closest fog horn is at the lighthouse on the main point. It must be a boat in trouble. We’d better check it out. Grab your coat.”
It was almost ten in the morning yet it was still cold, though the sky was blue and a weak sun glistened over the water. The strangest looking craft was standing off the small bay. It blew its horn again. Maya told Nana to wait on the porch while she skipped down the path to see what they wanted.
“Can we come ashore?” yelled a man in overalls. It was Joseph from the marina. “I got a truck and some passengers aboard that say they have business on your island.” A gust of wind blew the strange craft sideways a bit and Maya realized that it was a small landing barge carrying a large and very modern-looking delivery van.
Another man joined Joseph. “I’m Ed Harris from Harvard. We’re here to pick up the books. You were supposed to be expecting us.”
“We were, but we weren’t expecting you to come in a truck. There are no roads on this island.”
“It’s a special van with environment control. We want to handle the books as little as possible so I rented this landing barge so we can load the books directly. Joseph here needs to know where the best place is to run the barge up onto the beach.”
“Right where he is has no rocks or snags, it’s all shingle.” Nana called out as she finally reached the beach. “Hey Joseph. How’s Millie?”
“Pissed that we didn’t sell our house when we had the chance. She blames me, of course. 'If a man is all alone in the forest, is it still all his fault?' and all that.”
“That golf club deal? And yes, it's always the man's fault.” Nana laughed along with Joseph, and then he grimaced.
“Yeah, a lot of folks got burned. I knew that deal was too good to be true. Stand back, now, I’m going to goose her.” The old diesel roared out a fog of blue smoke and the props dug in and pushed the barge up onto the shingle until it was beached. Joseph pulled some pins and worked a winch to let the bow ramp down.
Everyone walked ashore. Joseph, Ed, and three women from the Library Sciences department, who were all dressed in sweats and ready for some dusty work. Ed and Joseph decided to back the van off the barge and run it as far up the beach towards the cabin as possible. “Keep going until you get stuck,” Joseph said, “I can use the winch to get you back to the barge.”
Ed looked at the shingle and then sand of the beach. “I don’t know, Joseph. I’m a curator, not a truck driver.” They stood looking at each other. Ed gave him an expectant look.
“Oh no,” said Joseph, holding up both hands, “if I smash the van up, your insurance company will come after my barge insurance.” The two men continued their stare at each other.
“Jeez, I’ll do it,” offered Maya. It was no different than backing her mom’s pickup into the clear cuts to pick up firewood logs. Both men watched with their mouths open as Maya kicked the blocks out from behind the van’s wheels, climbed in the cab and started the moor. She put it into reverse, but it didn’t move. She looked around and found the park brake release. The park brake was on hard. It took her both hands to release it.
She beeped the horn as a warning, then set her sight line in the side mirror with an old stump, and then floored it. The van leaped off the barge and then ground away at the shingle and lurched and teetered up the slope of the beach. She fought the wheel the whole time keeping the line with the old stump. She almost but not quite made it to the stump before the rear wheels dug themselves into the shingle and spun.
“Okay,” said Ed. “Well, let's get loading. Please show us to the books.”
“Joseph,” Maya yelled, her head stuck out the window. She was thoroughly enjoying being Maya the Truck Girl. “Put your winch on her and draw her out of the holes I dug before we put more weight on her.”
“Right, good thinking, just stick her in neutral and I’ll take care of it.” Joseph marched back to the barge to work his winch. Maya walked towards the group.
One of the women was standing next to Ed, very close, touching. “So, who are you, the handy man?” she said with a giggle that was more of a snort.
“Can’t blame you for thinking that. It’s the clothes,” said Maya. She unzipped her ski jacket so that her belted sweater showed off her narrow waist, and then shook her long blonde hair out of her toque. “I’m the great-granddaughter, Maya.”
The woman hated her immediately. “I expect you’re a dancer. Isn’t that what your sort usually put on their tax forms as their profession?” the woman snarked. She put her arm through Ed’s and held him closer. It was a clear sign to keep away from her man.
“Nope, I’m just an actress, you know, from Hollywood, though I filmed my latest movie in Vancouver. You know, Canada. Maybe you’ve seen me on the screen.” Almost immediately she regretted letting the woman’s attitude get to her. After today she would never see her again. She had given way too much information away in a silly reaction to the woman’s cheer-leader style putdown. She counted down from three for the obvious response.
“I don’t go to those kinds of web sites,” the woman said. “I’m afraid of viruses.”
Maya had to laugh. It was wittier than she expected. She decided it was best to totally ignore her for the rest of the day. She turned around and watched the van being winched out of the holes the wheels had dug in the beach. “That’s good, Joseph!” she yelled. She heard the noise from the winch stop.
The Harvard crew was filing into the cottage behind Nana. She decided to stay outside and help Joseph fill in the holes. She didn’t relish the thought of being belittled by a bunch of snooty librarians, so she would let Nana explain the organization of her stacks.
“You and Nana should come off the island with us when we leave,” said Joseph. “Big blow coming in tonight, and for a couple of days. You’ll be stuck if you don’t come with us.”
“Thanks Joseph, but we’ve already cancelled our trip for Easter with our family in Boston. You know, my uncle Rob. Tall, fair.”
“I know Rob.”
“On the QT, this may be Nana’s last Easter on the island, so I think we’ll just hunker in for the storm and stay warm and think holy thoughts.”
“Suit yourselves. Millie’d be happy to make up the spare bed for you. We’re empty nesters nowadays.”
“No one coming home for Easter then?” Maya said in a low voice.
“Can’t afford it, can they? Not with what young people are paid these days.”
They both stood and stared as a body, a woman’s body, dressed in a white hazardous materials suit and with a re-breather mask and goggles walked towards them with a plastic bin in front of her. When she was closer, Maya recognized her as the insecure woman who'd been holding on to Ed.
“What’s with the suit? Find something nuclear?” asked Joseph.
The woman ignored them and walked up the ramp and into the back of the van. When she came back out, without the bin, she was carrying a roll of plastic sacks. She deigned to drop her face mask and stop to talk. “You may not believe it, but libraries are one of the most unhealthy of work places. Especially libraries that have old books. The industry is trying to ignore it, but librarians ruin their health just like coal miners do.”
“Like, the dust?” asked Joseph.
“Well, the dust, yes. Older rare books were sometimes preserved using dusting powder containing lead or even arsenic. Usually however, the real problem is the fungus and yeast spores in the dust. Then of course there are other parasites and perhaps even sleeping forms of horrific diseases. Perhaps even anthrax.”
“Oh my God,” said Maya in a worried voice, “Nana and I rifled through them looking for authors and titles and dates.”
“You were told not to touch them until we got here," the woman snorted at Maya in a superior tone.
“It was when we were creating a list of them, before we contacted you.”
“Well, if your gran comes down with some unexplained disease after this, don’t let some doctor tell you it is some syndrome or other. Have him dose her with antifungal drugs to ensure it is not fungus. The dust will have settled on everything, so even if you have a stomach upset, don’t let them tell you it is food allergies or irritable bowel syndrome or some such nonsense. Have them dose you for fungus first.”
“You sound like you have been through it,” said Joseph.
“I am on the union committee. Our biggest problem is getting all the strange allergies and skin diseases that librarians have suffered with for decades, to be taken seriously and be labeled as workplace hazards. It's maddening that doctors still aren't ruling out fungus as step one. There have been such breakthroughs in drugs to kill fungus lately, drugs that kill fungus in a few days, and then you know for sure. Absolutely maddening.”
“Yeah, just like lactose intolerance,” replied the woman
“My wife is lactose intolerant,” said Joseph. “You mean it can be cured? How’s that work?”
“Sometime in the past some fungus set up a colony in her intestines. Perhaps one of the cheese funguses. Feed it milk products and it consumes it and breeds. As the fungus eats the milk it creates byproducts and waste that may be poisonous.”
“Like penicillin from bread mold,” said Joseph. “It poisons bacteria.”
“Exactly. Whenever she feeds milk to her fungus colony, the byproducts poison her. Hey, just tell her doctor to treat her for fungus. If it works, she’s back to normal. If it doesn’t work, then you know it’s not a fungus.”
“That’s amazing. Why are the doctors fighting the librarians on this?” asked Joseph.
“It’s the same bullshit that we went through with ulcers. Ulcers were big business. The sickness industry was pissed when those Aussie doctors proved that ulcers were just a bacterial infection that could be killed in a week.”
Two more people in hazmat suits were coming down the path from the cottage. The woman said, “Gotta go,” replaced her mask, and headed for the cottage. Maya followed her and took all the food she had bought the day before out of the fridge and moved it to the picnic table on the terrace. No use making food indoors if there was a dust problem.
While she was busy making sandwiches, Ed led Nana out to sit with her. “I don’t think it is good for her to be in all that dust,” he said, “and I don’t have a hazmat suit to spare.” He nodded to Maya to follow him to the truck. When they were out of earshot of Nana, he said fussily, “The real reason is that she is horribly underfoot. She keeps hovering like she wants to look in each book one last time.”