The fuzziness that had settled over him since he arrived fought against the reasoning and the reality he had to remember. He had to pace. He couldn’t just sit still. This was way too disturbing. Wals tried to sit up, but the weight of the forgotten Rose in his lap held him back. She stirred at his sudden movement, but settled back into sleep when he murmured soft nothings into her ear. Unconsciously, as if he did it every day, he gave Rose a light kiss on her forehead as she drifted off again. Trying not to jostle her too much, he easily stood with her in his arms. After settling Rose comfortably back in the rocking chair, he pulled her beaded black shawl off of a peg driven into the log wall to tuck it around her shoulders.
Wals fingered the oval nametag he had stashed in his pants pocket. He had to keep touching it, to feel its comforting reality. The Zippo lighter. His head suddenly shot up. He had forgotten all about that. Where was the lighter that had been in the same pouch as his nametag? It didn’t belong here in this time period either.
Looking frantically around, Wals ultimately found himself turning complete circles and accomplishing nothing. Think, man. Where were you? With the wolf. He went to the pallet on the floor and, ignoring the blue eyes that were still intently watching him, felt around on the rough wooden planks that made up the floor. It had to be here.
Behind the leg of the crude table, his fingers closed over cool metallic smoothness. Grabbing it, turning it back and forth to catch the firelight, he reread the words of praise for Dr. Houser engraved on the face. I’m such an idiot! Those numbers are a year. It is 1962. But, my time is 2007. How could Dr. Houser’s lighter dated 1962 be here? That’s a forty-five year difference. He’s not that old. Wals’ reckoning abruptly stopped as the reality of what he was saying seeped into his consciousness. If what I am thinking is true, then Dr. Houser doesn’t belong here either. When did he get here? He was here when I arrived. How did he get here? How did I….
When his mind started to go in unanswerable circles, Wals realized he needed to concentrate on only one perplexing problem at a time. Maybe if he thought about how he got here the rest would fall into place. What is my last memory of my real time?I was in a canoe. I was paddling down the River. I was making a supply run to Rainbow Ridge…. No, that’s not right. That was what I did after I got here. Think back, Wals. Think!
Wals closed his eyes and pictured the scene. He was in a canoe. He was paddling down the Frontierland River. It was night. He was alone on his supply run… No, there was no supply run. And, he wasn’t alone that night. His friend was with him. It was Mato…. No, it wasn’t Mato. But, he was dark like Mato. They had been friends for years. Mani. That was his name. Sumanitu Taka was how he had pronounced his full name. Mani for short. Or…Wals whispered into the night, “Not Mani. Wolf. It was Wolf. I was with Wolf in the canoe that night. There was a sudden, freaky storm that night and we paddled right into it.”
He kept his remembrance going, talking out loud to himself as he paced to and fro in the small room. “The sky lit up with lightning and there was a black whirlpool in the water. Wolf had to have fallen out of the canoe. I looked back. He was gone. The canoe tipped over and we were caught in the whirlpool.” He unconsciously rubbed the back of his head where the canoe had smashed into him. “I never saw Wolf again,” he stopped and frowned. “I never even thought about Wolf again until now. But I remember…I remember there was something else in the water with me.…” Eyes narrowed, he took up the remaining stub of the candle and walked over to the pallet on the floor. Wolf was still reclining on his rug, his bandaged leg stretched out behind him, his ears pointed directly at Wals, eagerly listening to every word. The deep blue eyes regarded Wals steadily. “It was a wolf. I saw the face. It was your face! The black fur on the ears and the mask of gray around the face.” He stooped down and shone the wavering light in Wolf’s face, studying the sharp features and the hopeful eyes. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were pulled into that inferno with me, weren’t you, boy? But what in the world was Rose’s wolf doing in the River at Disneyland? Did you get lost too, like I did? Dang! It must have been terrifying for you.”
Wals got up and went back to the fire to lean against the river-stone that made up the fireplace. “I need to go to the Fort to talk to Dr. Houser,” he decided as he pocketed the Zippo. Falling silent, deep in thought with his mind whirling through the scenes of both of his lives, he didn’t see Wolf slowly shake his head side to side in disbelief at what he had just heard nor did he hear the wolf mumble to himself, “So close. Unbelievable.”
The Island – 1817
It was too late at night for Wals to go back to Fort Wilderness to speak to Dr. Houser. He also now had some unfinished business with Private Daniel Crain—regarding both Rose and the wolf. He didn’t anticipate the meeting with Crain would go very well. Most of the soldiers were decent, hard-working men. The private didn’t fall into that category. Daniel Crain was a loud-mouthed bully, a coward. But, Wals reminded himself, Crain had a lot of friends—friends Crain knew would protect his back if push came to shove. Wals knew he would have to go to the Fort prepared for anything.
Turning his head from the fireplace, he looked over at Rose. A small, desire-filled smile flitted across his face. Noticing the awkward position in which he had left her, Wals realized she would have a stiff neck if she slept there all night. He carefully lifted the sleeping beauty to carry her into her tiny bedroom. She made a small, sleepy sound and put her arms around his neck. He breathed in the lilac scent in her hair as she settled into his arms. Eyes closed, he stood still in front of the flickering fire, enjoying the warmth of her body nestled into his. Knowing he couldn’t stand there all night holding her, he slowly walked to the bedroom and gently laid her on the bed. With the silver moonlight streaming in through the curtainless window, she looked so beautiful, her wavy golden hair spread out to frame her face. He touched one of the glimmering curls, letting the silkiness roll between his fingers. He then saw her lips part in a breathless sigh. Going against every primal urge flowing through him to bend down and kiss those lips, Wals gave a resigned moan and, instead, tucked a worn quilt around her shoulders. Making a contented noise, she snuggled deeper into the quilt and turned onto her side, one arm outstretched as if reaching for him. With a deep groan, he quickly spun around and left the room.
Wals returned to the fireplace and stretched out on the wood floor in front of the dying fire, the memory of her face playing through his mind. Even this hard floor is better than sleeping alone in my canoe. He smiled to himself, hands clasped behind his head. His smile slowly faded as he realized what he had just thought. He had to stop thinking of this time period as home. The disorientation threatened to overtake him again. It had to be the Island working against him, working against his memories. Think of your apartment in Huntington Beach. Think of your 300ZX. Think of your friends Trey and Chloe and Wolf. They are your reality. He touched the nametag he had decided to pin on his shirt to help keep his mind focused…. No, his costume, he reminded himself. This is just a costume. Your clothes, your real clothes, are waiting for you in your locker at Disneyland. You need to get back to them.… And you need to take Rose and the Doctor with you when you go, just like….just like...as he struggled to think…who was it who had told him that?
Wals propped himself up on an elbow, frowning at the glowing embers of the fire. A spark jumped out of the remnants of the fire and landed on the rough plank floor. Absentmindedly, he reached over to pat it out. Watching his finger go round and round the small burn spot, he knew he wouldn’t sleep that night. His memories were getting all confused again.
Wolf, hoping his friend was drawing closer to putting it all together, pushed through the pain and hobbled over to Wals to lie down next to him. Wals could see the animal was favoring his bandaged, injured leg and a small whine of pain escaped his lips when it hit the hard floor. He placed a comforting hand on the wolf’s wide, silver-tipped back.
“Sorry you got shot, Wolf. Don’t know what you were doi
ng outside the Fort though, but you should’ve run instead of just standing there. Seemed like you were staring up at me. Were you looking for me? Did Rose send you to find me?” Wals gave a little self-conscious laugh. “I keep expecting you to answer me. Silly, huh?” He rubbed the wolf roughly on the head between his ears and received a low, warning growl. Quickly jerking his hand back, he apologized. “Umm, sorry, boy. My Dalmatian used to love that.” He heard a disgusted snort from the wolf. “Darn, but it seems like you can understand everything I say. Probably Rose thinks the same thing, too.” He gave a deep sigh and shook his head slowly side to side, again placing his hand on the warm fur. “I’m just trying to work all this weirdness out. Wish you could talk back. You might know something that could help,” he chuckled at his little joke.
Wolf turned his massive head to look at directly at Wals, his eyes half closed. If the wolf could have spoken, Wals was absolutely sure he would have heard the word, “Duh.”
Rose was only able to fix a light breakfast for the three of them as her supplies were running low again. Wals promised to stop in at the Supply Store inside the Fort for her while he was there.
The wolf hobbled outside with him when Wals was getting ready to leave. Thinking Wolf was going to try to come with him, he crouched down in front of the animal. Palms out towards Wolf, Wals talked really slow, “Wolf, I want you to stay here. Stay, Wolf. Stay with Rose. Okay, boy? Stay!”
He didn’t know what to think when Wolf tilted his head to the side and let out an exasperated breath of air like ‘humph’. Wolf lifted his face to the sky like a petition, shook his head once, and, turning his back on Wals, limped back into the cabin. Using his nose, he managed to slam the door shut.
Wals stared after him, dumbfounded. “How the heck did I just insult a wolf!?”
Thinking he might need a faster get-away from Fort Wilderness if things with Crain got out of hand, Wals, with Rose’s practiced help, put a bridle and reins on the mare who had been watching from the edge of her little rail corral. She is always waiting there, Wals thought. Nowand then. Amazing, he smiled.
The ride along the riverbank in the early morning mist was quiet and peaceful. Way across the wide River, Wals could barely see the little native girl who was checking her fishing line from on top the log that had fallen out over the water. Having better eyesight and hearing than his mistress, her shaggy white dog looked over when he heard Sukawaka and gave a friendly bark. Wals gave a wave back when the little girl looked up. Now recognizing the familiarity of that scene, he reached for his nametag. This got Wals thinking again about the two Islands and the differences he was now noticing. Like this ride to the Fort, for instance. In his time, well, there was no path all the way to the Settler’s Cabin. It was located in No Man’s Land, fenced off so the guests wouldn’t wander around the backside of the Island. The actual dusty path was only a few hundred feet long, winding along the River as he was now doing and ended at the old Fort. But he knew that here Rose’s cabin was about a mile away from the Fort. And then there was the River itself. From being overturned in his canoe more times than he would like to admit—both in this time period and the other one—Wals knew the River here was fifteen to twenty feet deep. More than deep enough for the Mark Twain to have safe passage. There was no guiding rail under the green water here. The pilot actually had to safely steer the large white ship, avoiding sand bars, rocks and submerged trees.
Knowledge like that made his current situation all the more confusing. Everything here was so much bigger. Bigger and very, very real. Was he really in the same physical location? Or did the vortex take him to an alternate reality in a different location? He now wished he had paid more attention to the science fiction shows he used to watch on television.
The mare’s ears perked forward and she turned her head and whinnied as they passed the entrance to Injun Joe’s Cave. Looking at the dark opening, Wals remembered he hadn’t been in the caverns since he was a kid. He used to have so much fun running over the Island, whooping and hollering with the other kids, playing hide and seek, and trying to ditch his parents. Lost in his memory and not knowing enough about horses, he didn’t take the warning message from the mare. He simply tugged her head back to the path and nudged her with the heels of his moccasins.
As he kept riding toward the stockade gate, his mind drifted back to Rose and the beautiful picture she had made while she was sleeping last night. How could he have not seen her beauty when he had first spotted her in the Fort? He was literally dumped right at her doorstep during the canoe race, yet he passed up a golden opportunity to keep the budding relationship going. Why hadn’t he kissed her then? Why had he wasted so much time with the Fort women and never gone back to see her? Well, he was going to make sure he did things right this time….
Wals musings stopped when the mare stopped her rambling walk. Before he could wonder why Sukawaka had come to a halt on the dusty path, he instantly knew something was wrong. The stockade gate was closed. He glanced at his wrist to see what time it was. No watch, moron, he told himself, shaking his head. It probably fell off in the whirlpool. He checked the sun. It was late enough in the morning that there should have been soldiers on duty and river people coming and going from the docks.
“Hallo the Fort!” he called, looking up at the watchtowers. No familiar face peered down at him. No rifles pointed out of the small slits or the larger windows. There was no answering call within the Fort. Sukawaka shifted uneasily beneath him, ears flat, eager to be moving. Reining her in, he tried again, louder this time. “Hallo the Fort!”
Again there was no answer. The logs of the structure were too close together for Wals to be able to see between them. Trying to think of the other ways in, he knew the Escape Tunnel he had used as a boy had been filled in and closed years ago. The only other entrance was a man door on the back side of the Island. But, it would take him a couple of hours to work his way around back there.
The Mark Twain let out a shrill blast of its whistle as it approached the entry of the Fort, as per custom. There were a few passengers seated on chairs that were painted white to match the pristine ship. The ladies, shaded under parasols and fanning themselves with colorful embroidered silk, properly ignored the River worker while the friendlier of the gentlemen lifted their tall beaver hats to him as they slowly sailed by. Riding to the water’s edge, Wals yelled up to the pilot if he knew what happened to the Fort, but couldn’t be heard over the great distance or over the noise of the engine and the huge paddlewheel churning in the back. The pilot, thinking Wals was just saying hello, gave a friendly wave and returned his attention to the River.
Riding up the small hill to the Fort’s entrance, Wals mentally added his height and how tall he thought the mare was. He was wondering if he would be able to reach the top of one of the shorter pointed logs that made up the Fort’s gate and then pull himself over. While the logs that made up the outer walls of the Fort were sixteen-feet tall, the logs of the gate were only about twelve-feet tall. Sidling the mare next to the gate, Wals picked out the shortest of the logs. Hoping the mare would stand quietly—she did it often enough in her little corral—he slowly brought his feet up on the back of the horse in an attempt to stand. Not getting any kind of reaction from the mare, he even more slowly came to a standing position, arms out for balance. Making a leap for the top of the gate, he hoped he didn’t impale his hand on one of the sharp points. Hitting his mark, but slamming hard into the upright wood, he held still for a moment to catch his breath. Then, using his feet and the strength in his arms, he pulled himself up so he could peer over the gate and into the parade grounds.
The mare, seeing some lush River grass, calmly walked away and began nibbling at the tender green shoots.
Wals didn’t notice that the mare had left him hanging. He was too busy staring open-mouthed into the empty, deserted Fort. The only movements he could see were some leaves blowing across the dirt. Pulling himself higher and carefully bending between the two sharp points
, he leaned over far enough to see that the stockade gate had been nailed shut with two huge crossbeams. Most of the doors to the different buildings within the compound, however, were hanging open, some with damaged hinges. There was some broken furniture half in and half out of the barracks. The bucket that had been used inside the stone well had been smashed to pieces, its rope cut in two. Some of the wooden stairs leading up to the four guard towers were missing.
Wals stared at the desolation, not comprehending how it could have happened so quickly. He had just been there. It was just yesterday!It was yesterday, wasn’t it? Wals frowned as he hung there. He was beginning to have a difficult time thinking back, trying to figure out the actual passage of time. He remembered his breakfast the day before and the women who brought it up to him. The wolf had shown himself just outside this gate and then had gotten shot by Daniel Crain…. It seemed so recent, but this…this wreckage laid out in front of him. How could this happen overnight?Where were the soldiers? Where was Doctor Houser?Looking over, he could see that the Infirmary had obviously been ransacked. Where were the women? What happened to Yvette? Looking over to the left, he saw that the cantina’s door was completely missing. The rubble he could see thrown about inside had to have been made from the tables and chairs where he used to sit.
Head slowly shaking in disbelief, he looked around the parade grounds again. His eyes came to rest on the flagpole. The fifteen-star flag had been taken down. The rope and pulleys that had been used by the soldiers were still there. Only now there was some kind of black flag hanging limp in the air that had gone still. He couldn’t make out what kind of flag it was or what those white markings were that showed in its folds.
Wolf! The Legend of Tom Sawyer's Island Page 21