The Loved and the Lost

by Lory Kaufman

  Hansum looked away, staring into space, bereft of words. His breaths were long and slow. After a while the Deganawida leaned around, so he could look him squarely in the face. The spiritual man’s movement was enough to repeat his question without words. Finally Hansum spoke, still very quietly. And as he did, his hands, and then his whole body, began to shake.

  “If I thought I had a chance . . . of success.” And then Hansum began to weep. Large tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. His face contorted and a sob wrenched itself up from his chest. He expelled two, then three more sobs, tears flowing until he no longer had the breath to make a sound, and when finally he could inhale, a pitiful rasping sound hurt his throat. Still shaking, and through clouded eyes, Hansum peered at the Deganawida. The spiritual leader was looking back at him with such quiet and compassionate eyes that he seemed to give Hansum permission to continue crying. He slid down the tree trunk, onto the ground and began to wail. The Deganawida sat down next to him, cross-legged and looking away, patiently waiting for Hansum to release whatever was pent-up inside him. This went on for several minutes, Hansum gasping for breath and clasping and re-clasping his hands. Finally the Deganawida turned and faced Hansum.

  “Say it out loud, my son. It is important to say with your own mouth what is troubling you.”

  “I’m . . . I’m afraid, Elder.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Of . . .” Hansum’s lips quivered. “. . . failure,” he finally whispered. “. . . again. I’ve failed Guilietta . . . I’ve failed her three times. Because of me, she’s died in pain. Awful . . .” and he exploded with sobs again, “. . . pain! I failed her and she died in agony. I failed her and she died in agony,” he repeated. “I failed her and . . . she died. I’m afraid . . . I’ll fail . . . and she’ll have . . . more pain.” And he began to cry again, this time without constraint, his long wail echoing through the canopy of nature’s temple.

  “Good,” the Deganawida said. “Good,” and he put his hand on Hansum’s knee and sat as the sobbing continued.

  After several minutes they heard footsteps. They looked up and there was the boy, the slave. He had one of the packs on his back and was lugging the second.

  “Here you are, Master. I’ve brought your . . .” He saw the state Hansum was in and stood transfixed.

  “Leave the one pack and go back to the village, Daniel,” the Deganawida said. “I will follow soon.”

  “Yes, Master,” the slave named Daniel answered. He dropped the second pack and, still staring, continued on. Hansum locked eyes with him, unashamed of his circumstances. Then Daniel turned and continued through the wide, open walkway under the trees.

  “Slave,” the mentor called out, and the boy stopped and turned. “You referred to our friend as a hero. Do you use that word because you wish to honor his strengths?”

  Daniel seemed to think about it and then spoke. “Not just because of his strengths, Master. I admire him and call him a hero because he persists through his struggles.”

  “Ah. Very good. Then this man is a hero,” the Deganawida said, and he patted Hansum’s knee again. Daniel smiled, turned and left.

  Hansum was sitting motionless. The Deganawida got up and went to the backpack. He removed a bronze canteen from an outside pocket, unscrewed the horn cap and brought it to Hansum.

  “Wash your face, my son. You’ll feel better.” Hansum cupped his hands. He splashed cold water on his face three times. It did feel good. “Now drink.” Hansum drank deep, feeling cleansed. He sighed and passed the canteen to the Deganawida, who also took a long drink.

  “Thank you, Elder,” Hansum said. “I feel much better.”

  “Good,” the Deganawida replied. “Remember that a person’s critical mind and their emotions are two distinct things, but living in one body. The mind knows what must be done, while the heart cries out for what it craves. In time you will gain the wisdom to know when . . .”

  But there was to be no time for Hansum. Arimus, with Sideways looking out from his cloak, site transported in front of them.

  “Ah, Hansum, here you are.

  We’ve been looking for you, near and far.”

  “Arimus, you old rattlesnake,” the Deganawida said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  “And you too, Andy . . . oh, forgive me, I mean,

  Deganawida, Great Peacemaker.

  I see you found our boy.”

  “He found me, actually, and we’ve had a good talk. He’ll be fine.”

  “He found you?

  A coincidence or of nature a quirk?

  Isn’t it fascinating how these things seem to work?

  How are you, son?”

  Hansum began to say something, but Sideways interrupted. “There’s no time to catch up.”

  “Quite right, my friend.

  Come, Hansum, it’s that time again,

  to beard the lion in his den.”

  “The Council? Now?” Hansum asked, jumping to his feet. “Are we going to pick up the others first?”

  “They’re awaiting us there already.

  Come, of Sideways take hold his sleeve.

  Andy, have you reconsidered my proposal?

  With your skills, a great time traveling elder you’d be.”

  While Hansum moved to Arimus, the Deganawida stayed cross-legged on the ground.

  “No, I must refuse again,” he answered. “There’s enough guidance to be done in this one era. I’ll leave the rest of time to you.”

  “Come on, we have to go,” Sideways complained. “You saw the mood those fool Council members are in. We don’t want to give them more time to confuse themselves.”

  “Thank you again, Elder,” Hansum said, taking a handful of Sideways’s cloak.

  “You are welcome, young friend. When one faces and understands one’s fears, one goes a long way to alleviating them. He’s all yours, Arimus.” Arimus looked straight into Hansum’s face.

  “There’s the old Hansum I’ve missed.

  Sideways, away.”

  Chapter 5

  The first things Hansum noticed when he appeared in the longhouse with Arimus and Sideways were a long, hand-hewn table with twelve chairs, six a side. Half were occupied by men and half by women, and all their A.I.s were backed up against the longhouse wall, giving their humans a wide berth. This separation of humans and A.I.s was strange enough, but nobody was smiling.

  Actually, one person did look happy. It was Elder Cassian Olama, the aged representative from the future. He sat contentedly in a thirteenth chair at the head of the table, his chin resting on an upraised palm, his eyes closed. He once again appeared fast asleep. Talos was hovering at the other end of the table with Shamira, Kingsley and Lincoln. He presumed Medeea was there too.

  As the History Camp Time Travel Council members noticed the new arrivals, Elder Cynthia Barnes turned around. She was gracious enough to smile.

  “Ah, here you are,” she said pleasantly to Hansum. “We thought you had become lost.”

  “I was out in the woods with the Deganawida, helping butcher a deer,” Hansum explained.

  “Yuck!” Elder Parmatheon Olama said, making a face. “I’m a vegan. It’s been horrible getting meals here.”

  “Nonsense,” Elder Barnes laughed. “I’m vegetarian and find this community has the largest selection of fresh produce I’ve ever seen.”

  “We disagree again,” Parmatheon Olama said. “Now, let’s get on with the meeting so we can vote against the proposal and I can go home. So we can all go home. I’ve already got the votes.”

  This took Hansum aback. He wasn’t so much surprised Parmatheon was against him as he was that he would say it so blatantly, even before Hansum was allowed to make his presentation.

  “The results of Journeyman Hansum’s proposal,

  let us not presume,” Arimus suggested, smiling sincerely.

  “After all, the feed to the public started

  as soon as he entered the room.”


  This startled Elder Parmatheon and he sat up straight.

  “They heard what I said?” he asked.

  “Of course,” Arimus answered with a smile.

  “Uh, shall we take a seat?”

  he said looking around. There were no extra chairs.

  “You can speak standing,” Parmatheon said bluntly. He had obviously arranged this.

  “Elder Parmatheon,” Cynthia Barnes interrupted. “I am the chairperson of this Council. I’ll direct things, if you please.” Parmatheon gave a wave of his hand and sat back belligerently. Elder Barnes turned to Hansum and Arimus. “Please forgive us. I’ll call for more seats.”

  “No need,” Hansum said, striding to the foot of the table. There he took a deep breath, found his center and allowed a relaxed smile to spread across his face. He was feeling a lightness he hadn’t enjoyed in a long time and, as he made eye contact with each person, not reacting to any of the hostility he saw in many of their glances, he channeled Mastino della Scalla. He would try to act as he thought the long-dead noble would have done when facing a hostile group such as this.

  “Thank you very much Madame Chair and honored Council members, for the chance to present a proposal for another trip back to the 14th-century. Its objective will be to appraise when the best place would be to intervene and rescue my wife, Guilietta. I would also like to thank the public, whose interest in this matter means a great deal to me. It gives me added courage to go on and . . .”

  “The delegate will refrain from playing to the public,” Parmatheon interjected.

  “Elder Parmatheon Olama,” Cynthia Barnes chastised. “I warn you again to not speak out of turn. However, Journeyman Hansum, the elder is correct. Please confine your presentation to the Council.”

  “Of course, Madame Chair. My apologies.” But Hansum wasn’t sorry. He had mentioned the public on purpose, to make his point that the public was with him. He wanted the Council to remember that. He smiled and continued. “I would emphasize that this mission will not be a mission of action, but one of reconnaissance only. No unforeseen events can happen, as we will not be coming out of phase.”

  “We’ve heard that before,” Parmatheon said blithely. Cynthia glared at him.

  “Journeyman Hansum, continue, please,” she said.

  He nodded and did so. “I was fascinated to hear how scientists studying time travel are anxious to continue this . . . project. While for me, it’s a mission to save my family, it has also become an experiment to find out more about time travel, in this case the nexus points.”

  “Those are the theorized points in time when, people who otherwise can’t travel through time, may be able to do so?” Elder Barnes asked.

  “As I understand it, yes, Madam Chair,” Hansum said.

  “Theory,” Parmatheon said. “Only theory.”

  “As I said,” Hansum continued, “this is to be an exploratory mission. To begin with, we won’t even send people back. Your scientists have proposed, and received, preliminary agreement from their A.I. counterparts, to send back any number of out-of-phase cameras. They will follow multiple situations and hundreds of people for extended periods of time. The purpose of this would be to make sure that some unsuspected individual, who only looked peripherally involved with a situation, wasn’t really the cause of some major action. Only after identifying every possible juncture, and these hitherto unsuspected free agents, would we personally go back for a closer examination to see if we could find a nexus point there. That’s when, and only when, we would begin to formulate a final plan of intervention.”

  “Any number of out-of-phase cameras?” Elder Parmatheon guffawed. “And all the Mists of Time viewers and people to watch them? Watching hundreds of situations and people for extended periods of time? You want us to commit all these resources?”

  “As your scientists suggest,” Hansum smiled.

  “It sounds like a careful, step-by-step plan to me,” Elder Barnes observed.

  The scarecrow-shaped Demos floated over and whispered in Elder Barnes’ ear. Her eyebrows rose in surprise and she put two fingers to her temple, to take in more information.

  “I am informed that one hundred and fifty million people, half the population of the planet, are watching these proceedings,” she announced. With her hand still to her temple, she continued. “And well over ninety percent are communicating they want us to approve Journeyman Hansum’s proposal.”

  “Irrelevant poppycock,” Parmatheon objected. “The public is not knowledgeable about all the nuances of time travel or aware of the great responsibilities . . .”

  “You’re the one talking poppycock, Elder Parmatheon,” Cynthia Barnes rebutted. “Time travel is new for us too. This Council is new. We don’t have any experience in a situation like this.”

  “By law, the Council has the legal right to make the rules . . .” Parmatheon argued.

  “How can you make rules for situations you’ve never experienced,” Hansum queried.

  “What’s more important than sticking to protocol?” Parmatheon shot back. “Besides, you’re just a hard case troublemaker who caught the imagination of the pub. . .”

  “Order! This meeting will come to order,” Elder Barnes demanded. “Journeyman Hansum, do you have any more to add to your proposal?”

  “Well, Madam Chair, there is one other thing that wasn’t in our proposal.”

  “I knew it,” Parmatheon grumbled, and Hansum continued.

  “I think the Council might like to know,” he was again aiming this at the public, “that besides trying to rescue Guilietta, we would now like to ask permission to bring back Guilietta’s parents at the same time.” The Signora had become a well-loved figure to the public. She reminded people how mental illnesses used to destroy so many wonderful people. Hansum was counting on the public to be further enthralled with the idea of rescuing and curing her. But not so Elder Parmatheon Olama.

  “And now he wants to bring back a crazy old lady who’s been dead a thousand years?”

  “Excuse me, elder. That is my mother-law,” Hansum retorted, surprising himself at his anger, but also playing it up.

  “Elder Olama, apologize,” Cynthia demanded.

  “Yeah, yeah. No hard feelings. Now, are you finished?” he asked Hansum.

  “Yes, sir. I suppose I . . .”

  “He’s finished, let’s have a vote.”

  “Elder, I warn you . . .”

  “I demand a vote this instant,” Parmatheon insisted.

  “I think you have to take the public into . . .” Hansum started, but the Council’s chairperson and co-chair were starting to argue in earnest. He tried to butt in, but stopped when he felt Arimus’s hand on his shoulder.

  “I will run this meeting,” Cynthia shouted.

  “I demand a vote!” Parmatheon insisted. “I demand it!”

  “Parma, you’re such a . . .”

  “I demand it.” he repeated. “It’s within my rights.” There was a silence “It’s . . . within . . . my rights.” Parmatheon looked to Demos and the A.I. nodded reluctantly.

  “Very well,” Elder Barnes conceded.

  Hansum went to object again, but Arimus shook his head, motioning with his chin toward the sleeping Cassian Olama. ‘Of course,’ Hansum thought. ‘The old guy from the 31st-century will veto any negative vote.’

  “Okay, let’s have the vote,” Parmatheon began. “All who agree that . . .”

  “I’ll call the vote, if you please,” Cynthia corrected. “All who are in agreement with Journeyman Hansum’s plan, please raise your hand.” Hansum looked down the table. Two hands went right up, including the chairwoman’s, followed by a third, fourth and fifth. Then, Elder Barnes asked, “Those against?” Parmatheon’s arm shot up. Then six more went up, albeit more slowly.

  “Finally!” Parmatheon said smugly, standing. “Now we can go home before that Tadodaho makes good on his promise to get me into a sweat lodge . . .”

  “Not quite, my fellow, it’s not the la
st word,” Arimus said.

  “There’s one more at this table, whose voice must be heard.”

  He gestured to Elder Cassian Olama.

  “Oh come now, he hasn’t even been listening,” Parmatheon spat. “The legal and rightful Council has ruled.”

  “Twelve people voting on something they’re ignorant about doesn’t make their decision right,” Hansum argued, “just because you’re the . . . authorized Council.”

  “Watch your tone, young man,” Parmatheon warned.

  “Quiet, both of you,” Cynthia Barnes broke in. “Elder Arimus is right. Wake Elder Olama and explain . . .”

  “He doesn’t want to know what’s going on,” Parmatheon continued arguing. “He just does what Arimus tells him.”

  “I said wake him up.”

  Arimus tapped his sub-dermal, to send the sleeping Olama a message. The old man didn’t stir. He tapped again. Still no answer. He went over and put a hand gently on his shoulder, looking directly at the old fellow’s smiling face.

  “Excuse the disturbance of your most happy dream.

  It’s time to wake up and . . .”

  Elder Cassian Olama’s head slipped off his upturned palm and crashed to the table.

  “Call a medical A.I. Quickly!” Elder Barnes shouted. “Lay him out on the . . .” Arimus put up a hand.

  “Please don’t bother,” he said,

  putting two fingers to the neck of the still-smiling corpse.

  “The grand old man told me just the other day

  his implants advised death was about a week away.

  He told me to tell that more time in this mortal coil he’s forsaken,

  and that no extraordinary measures are to be taken.”

  “Well, that’s it then,” Parmatheon said, slapping his hands on the table and standing. “No veto and the vote stands.”

  Hansum exploded with anger. “You can’t do this! It’s not right! And . . . and you still have an elder from the future here. Elder Arimus can take Elder Cassian’s place!”

  “I don’t think so . . .” Parmatheon said, smiling and wagging a finger knowingly. “He might be qualified, but he’s not certified.” The room was silent and looked to Arimus.