Читать книгу LINK - Lucella Campbell - Страница 6
IV.
ОглавлениеIn the nearby village of Placencia, life chugged along at its usual easy pace, completely oblivious to the developments right on its doorstep. But oblivion was normal for the people of Placencia. Barely attached to the mainland of Belize, Placencia had carved out its own existence in a symbiotic relationship with the sea that surrounded it on all but one side. It was an existence, oblivious to the hustle and bustle of Belize City two hundred miles away, oblivious to the political machinations and the tensions that wove a tenuous web around its many ethnicities.
Placencia was like a place forgotten on the edge of time, but happily so. It was as if time had found in Placencia a place of rest, and it took on a different quality here. Folks here felt no compulsion to enter the rat race. One almost expected to see the small, colorful, wooden houses fold in their raised stilts, and settle down for an afternoon siesta, especially on those steamy, hot May days. But somehow it never got to that. Maybe because the sobering breezes from the surrounding sea knew just when to bring their cooling influences to bear on the situation.
Every morning, windows everywhere would ease open, letting in the faint morning rays in a daily ritual to greet the dawn. But the village did not come fully alive until at least three hours later, when men and women ambled off to their various tasks on sea and land, and children skipped off in merry bands to the school house on the edge of the village. It was not at all unusual for many of these people to go about barefoot, by choice, their movement made easier by the sandy soil that coated most of the village. No one stood on ceremony here.
Placencia laid claim to the narrowest main street in the world. Only three feet in breadth, at its widest point, this cement ribbon stretched across the heart of the village, forcing all traffic to traverse the one larger back street. A web of well-worn footpaths connected the rest of the village. On the end of one of these footpaths at the edge of the village and nestled in the embrace of the foothills was the house and garden that was the pride of the village. The garden was truly a fairy’s paradise – a cascade of color and scents orchestrated to bring pleasure to the senses. And the white cottage with its lilac detail was the perfect complement to the garden, its ornate porch circling the entire house. There Dax and his grandmother lived in the cocoon that was Placencia. And now nearby, within this nurturing haven, a life form was making its entry into the world, cutting off the umbilical cord that had linked it to its homeland, Altura.
Dax was the village mascot. He was a rambunctious twelve year old, so well-loved in the village that every house was like his home. This had been so ever since both his parents had died instantly in that collision with the oil tanker four years ago. They were on their way to the hospital in the nearby town of Dangriga, where Dax was to have a new baby sister. Dax was beside himself with delight when he had found out that he was having a sister. He led off all the shopping excursions for baby items in the city, choosing her furniture, her tiny woolen booties, her clothes and that musical overhang for the cradle that he loved so much. He would listen to the wonderfully soothing lullaby, over and over again in anticipation of her coming. He was planning to lull her to sleep with it, singing it in his own voice.
On the day that she was to be born, it had taken all of his grandmother’s powers of persuasion to get him to agree to stay with her while his parents went off to the hospital. And now…he would never know what it was like to hold his baby sister, after all of that practice with his cousin’s dolls. He would never feel his mother’s loving squeeze or play soccer again with his dad. Everyone had said how lucky he was that he had not gone to the hospital, lucky that he had not been in the car crash. But he did not feel lucky. For a very long time he wished that he had been there and gotten it over with.
For weeks he could not be seen outside of his grandmother’s house. He could not be seen outside of his room. On that issue, his grandmother’s powers of persuasion had no influence. Dax simply did not want to be here. Food, people, play, school, friends – none of it held any interest for him. In one fell swoop, he had lost everything that mattered to him, and life now and ever had no meaning. Recognizing that the grandmother could not handle the situation alone, after several weeks, the school and the entire village intervened. Faced with the relentless efforts of that undaunted battalion of people, Dax s l o w l y emerged from his world of darkness and began to embrace life. And so he became, first, the ward of the entire village and then its mascot, as he rekindled his buoyant spirit.
With the entire territory as his home ground, Dax was often seen flitting across the village from place to place. He was special assistant to Mr. Williams, the village shopkeeper, delivery boy for the weekly paper, altar boy for Fr. Nicholas and gas attendant to the local gas station on Saturday afternoons. Still, he found time for the Old People’s Home, the school basketball team and his grandmother’s chores. He was quite the little businessman too, hoarding up his earning in the local savings bank and requiring a monthly statement.
All of this early stimulation had left in him a yearning to know more. He had an ever-expanding curiosity, and he constantly bombarded his elders with a barrage of questions, which often they could not fathom.
"Why were we put here on Earth?"
"What makes planes stay up in the air?"
"How does the music get into my radio when I turn it on?"
"Are there other people in the universe?"
"Where do people go when they die?"
In his restless search for answers, he discovered the world of books. Every evening after eight, he could be found crouched in the corner of his room enthralled in yet another book.
"You’re well ahead of your age, boy," his grandmother would say.
And Dax would chuckle knowingly.
His powers of observation were highly tuned and every day added volumes to his reservoir of questions and findings. For most of the villagers, the wide expanse of open fields and the woods that bordered the village was simply a gift of nature, a beautiful extension of their cozy village and a place where their cattle could roam and graze freely. For Dax, it was a living laboratory. He studied intently the angling of a bird’s wing as it took off and maintained flight. Their formation as they moved out in flock was a study in organization to him.
The graceful unfolding of the daffodil, as it bared its delicate self to the oncoming day, was an exercise in trust. The scurrying antics of the rabbit at play, the heightened awareness of the deer in sudden flight, the community spirit of a team of ants intent on hoarding food for the whole, the mating rituals of animals in heat, the calming influence of early morning dew, the variation of wind songs, the enchanting lullaby of night sounds, the subtle varied patterns of blades of grass – all held a fascination for him and in turn they unveiled their secrets to him. He learned to anticipate the weather by listening keenly to the changing melodies of the wind. From the deer, he had learned to hear beyond the hills. From all the wood creatures, he had learned to read the patterns of the ground. When he could not be found in the village, inevitably, he would be in the woods lying inert, seemingly idle, his eyes trained on some detail of nature.
And today he had set out again to his training ground. He was in high spirits, whistling as he skipped along, his light shoulder bag flailing in the wind. In it, he always carried a pencil and pad and some bathing trunks in case he decided to take a plunge in the nearby lake. As he came to his favorite clearing in the interior of the woods, he noticed a figure in the distance, crouched under the almond tree. This took him completely by surprise as he had never before run into anyone here. The people from the village usually limited themselves to the open fields or the edge of the woods. As he moved closer, his mouth dropped open in surprise. The figure was unclothed. He did not know whether to move in closer or run away. He stayed put.
The Alturan too was caught in a morass of confusion. Suddenly out of nowhere, the sounds in the air had shifted, and there were these piercing notes that somehow held together in a jaunty rhythm. He could hear new movements through the trees. Again, he could feel his body registering a range of emotions, but through it all he stayed still, not knowing what to make of it. He had sighted the human, before Dax had caught a glimpse of him. This human carried a strong aura. He squinted to perceive more clearly the pervasive colors. Blue, violet and white hues gave off a sense of buoyancy and well-being. He relaxed in the certainty of his unfolding destiny.
And now, no more than thirty yards separated them as they faced each other across the opening. Dax made his way across in a semi daze.
"Are you alright? Who are you? What happened? How did you get here?" Dax was the first to speak. But, then again, the flow of language came naturally to him.
Not getting any answer from the stranger, Dax pointed to his nakedness, "What happened to your clothes?"
Stretching out his hand to the stranger, Dax slowly helped him up to his feet.
The stranger wobbled on his feet as his full weight hit the ground, and Dax had to grab on to his shoulders to steady him. This was like watching the unsteady rhythm of a newborn calf finding its legs. How could this be? The person before him had to be about eighteen years old. But there he was, caught up in what seemed like a novel discovery of his legs. Ever so slowly, he raised his right leg, halting it in midair as if to test its weight.
In contrast to his former weightlessness on Altura to the stranger, this limb felt as if it were made of solid steel. Haltingly, carefully, he placed it on the ground, following the process with his left leg, and then back to his right leg. But as he got used to it, he seemed to discover a magic in the mechanics of his leg movements. He had of course seen humans walking around on his previous observation visits from Altura, but he had not yet really associated that activity with himself. Now he recognized fully that various parts of his body could be made to move. He began to fully explore the process, regaining the movement of his arms and fingers uncovered earlier and then discovering elbow movement, shoulder movement. For Dax looking on, it was like watching that old spiritual hymn in pantomime:-
The ankle bone connected to the leg bone,
The leg bone connected to the thigh bone,
The thigh bone connected to the hip bone;
…………………………………………………
The shoulder bone connected to the neck bone.
And the stranger explored every last connection, first slowly and then with increasing speed. Soon, he was flailing his arms wildly back and forth and kicking his legs up in a frenzy.
Watching these strange antics, Dax found himself caught in the wonder of the moment. It was like watching motor development in a baby, but on fast forward – a two year process collapsed into minutes. At this point, the stranger’s discovery had reached its crescendo. There he was in the middle of the clearing, completely enthralled in a celebration of movement – hopping, skipping, jumping, twirling, leaping, arms flailing wildly, moving to a silent drummer. And then the silence was suddenly broken with loud whooping as if the stranger had also just found his voice.
His gaze fixated on this naked abandon, Dax felt transported into another world – a world of innocence and wonder, where life was a celebration, a world where truth in its essence was being unwrapped. He knew without a doubt that this stranger marked a crossroads in his life, from which there was no retreat.
The stranger’s movements had now developed a fluid quality to it. Everything about him held one entranced. But it was his face that commanded the most attention. It was the face of an angel, a living work in warmth and true compassion. That gentleness of form and spirit was tempered however by the firm set of his jaw line, which spoke of an underlying resoluteness. His eyes were orbs of clear luminosity as if they held the wisdom of all time. His gaze was at once knowing, yet non-judging, and one felt rested in that comfort. In his face was the gentleness of a soft embrace, the decisiveness of the boardroom and the playfulness of summer clouds. Around his lips there seemed always to linger the promise of a smile, and as he broke into a grin, one could not help but be caught up in the sheer abandon of its unbridled glee.
And then as if suddenly remembering Dax’s existence, the stranger halted in mid-twirl and made his way towards him. To him, it was as if his moments of wild abandon had served not only to shake loose his limbs, but it seemed that an increasing acceptance of his physical existence served to coordinate his faculties. He could feel the ease of coordination of all of his movements – hands, feet and every joint. And mentally it felt as if all of the information about the physical form and this planet that he had stored up while on Altura was suddenly shaken free and downloaded into him. Now that he had mastered movement, he felt a driving urge to discover how his mental capacities would unfold in word and voice.
And with that, he turned to Dax. "OK, I guess you can see that this is all very new for me," he said haltingly. "Very…how you say it? Confusing. You ask – Who am I? Standing here, right now, I’m still trying to understand that. I am originally from Altura. That much I know. The rest is a long story. It is good that our paths cross. I clearly have a lot to learn. I will need your help. And there’s a lot that I too can share. We’re in for quite a ride. But where do we start?"
"Well, maybe a good place to start is with your clothes. What did you do with them? For some reason being naked does not seem to bother you, but it would bother just about everyone else. Lucky for you, I always keep a pair of trunks in my bag. Here you can have this," said Dax, dipping into his satchel and coming up with the pair of red and white striped bath trunks. "And while you’re at it, why don’t you just borrow my shirt. I have a t-shirt underneath. And then you can tell me about this place Altura. Where is it?"
"It’s okay," responded the stranger. "I’m comfortable like this. I quite like the feel of the breeze against my body."
Dax was completely taken aback. "You don’t understand. This is not something you can have a choice about. Normal people don’t run around naked. It’s just not done. How can you not know that? Where have you been? What kind of place do you come from?"
"What is so wrong with being just as I am? Why do people need extra layers? That’s so unnatural." All the same, he allowed Dax to help him into his clothes. His solo attempts to do so had made it clear that he did not know which opening in the clothes belonged with which limb. Dax was dumbfounded. This person had to be at least eighteen, yet he had not yet mastered the basics. Somehow, sometime he would get to the bottom of this mystery, but for now he needed to sort out what would be the next step.
The stranger remained silent for a while, lost in deep thought, and then he turned to Dax, "I didn’t know quite what to expect, but I can see that it’s going to take a lot of time and patience before I get it right. And I’m going to need all the help I can get from you. So, I guess I might as well start off by filling you in on how I got here."
"First, tell me your name. I’m Dax."
"Name?" muttered the stranger, looking quizzically at Dax, "What’s that?"
"Well it’s uh, in a sense a sort of special label you’re given to distinguish you."
"Well on Altura, I was a link to other worlds. So, I suppose that’s as close as I come to a name. On Altura, we are known by the function or special quality we contribute to the whole."
"Pleased to meet you Link," said Dax, stretching out his hand in greeting. Link mimicked the action, smiling in satisfaction at his quick command of another human ritual.