*
Ron opened the door to his hotel suite for Em, eyeing her curvy bottom as she passed in front of him.
“Tony's a hoot. Critical thinker. I can see why you like him so much.”
Ron grinned. “He's a good guy, no question.” He slapped her on the bum. “Enough about him. Time for a quickie before I have to go back to the theatre.”
“One sec.” Em flipped on the TV looking for the news.
Ron came out of the bedroom half undressed. “Hustle your buns, girl.”
Em stood frozen in front of the TV, her face a mask of horror and anger. “I don’t believe it. What the hell are they thinking? I told them, damn it. Fucking idiots! How can they be so fucking stupid?”
“Em, what the hell?” She sounded like a stevedore. He turned to the TV. The scene was familiar, bombing in the early hours somewhere in the Middle East. “… at each other again in yet another of the attacks and counterattacks that are making a mockery of the ceasefire.”
Ron held his breath. His heart beat wildly as he watched missiles exploding in flashes, lighting the night sky, illuminating the mangled wreckage of cars and buildings strewn with bodies and blood. Combat helicopters blasted the top floors of a building sending rubble flying in every direction. Clouds of tear gas floated in the street, tanks roared past crushing everything in their path. A car exploded spewing metal fragments onto the street.
The incessant pinging of gunfire drummed at his brain and there Em was, striding down the street—smack in the middle of it all. News reports had always shown Em in dangerous situations but never, never like this. Her dress was a beacon in the dark night air making her a perfect target. “Oh, Em!” Ron moaned. Unable to tear his eyes away from the screen, he cried out to her. “Oh, my God, Em! You’re going to be killed, be killed, be killed….” The words echoed ominously, endlessly.
The usually dispassionate voice of the BBC reporter bristled with tension. “Bloody hell! Miracle Madame has appeared out of nowhere, her dress a brilliant target, beckoning through the dark patches. My God! She is walking directly into the lines of fire. She’s going to be killed.
“Oh noooo!” The announcer’s wail echoed in Ron’s ears. “I can’t see her. Is she still there?
The reporter gulped, mopped his forehead with the back of his hand, then suddenly recoiled and staggered back as if shot. “A man just exploded. His severed head bounced across the street; bloody bits of bone and flesh splattered in every direction. Nails and pieces of shrapnel too, I think. God, I can’t see. Where is she?”
Another bomb exploded and set a car on fire bringing unwanted illumination. The cameraman, having found her in those moments of light, moved to a close-up. She stopped in the center of the street and raised her arms. Slowly, very slowly, she made a full turn. The gunfire and missiles ceased, their thundering echoes reverberating, dying slowly, the howl of war dissolving into shards of silence.
Ron could see that she was speaking. He collapsed on the sofa and watched intently. Men poured out of the buildings on both sides and flocked around her. She spoke again and the crowd dispersed, absurdly peaceful, almost like a group leaving a stadium after a game.
Suddenly she was back, beside him, hugging him, demanding he hug her tighter, and tighter still, telling him she loved him, babbling incoherently, on the verge of hysteria.
*
Okay, this was a bit much even for me. I had to use all my power to protect her. She was reckless, acting without thinking. I’d have to have a little talk with her. Set some ground rules. Damn, she'd be dead before I could talk to her, if she wasn't more careful. I used all my power and pulled her from the scene. Sent her back to Ron. Made me mad to have to do so when all I wanted was to have her with me.
I turned my attention to Ron for a moment. He felt brittle, on the verge of breaking with the pain and distress. Mentor was beside me, watching; plotting a way to make Ronny boy feel better, no doubt. That made me even madder.
*
“Em, I was so afraid. Oh God, so afraid. I’ve never been that scared in my life.” Ron’s hold on her tightened. He felt her body shudder and fold in on itself. He held her up and massaged her back and shoulders. as he spoke, the words tumbling out on top of each other. “I thought you would be killed. I thought you would die.”
“That was the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done,” Em said. “But you know I can’t get hurt.” The quaver in her voice, the thin tinny sound didn’t convince him.
“Even so. Oh Em!” He held her even tighter, but she didn’t protest.
A long while later she said she had to go back.
“Em, you can’t. It’s too dangerous, even for you.”
“The fighting has stopped now. I’ll be okay. I promise. I’ve set up some meetings. I have to go. It’s my job.”
“No! Em, please. I’ve been fool enough to think I understood what you go through. Now I’ve seen, firsthand, the toll. How much more of this can you take?”
“As much as I have to. Ron, I have to.” She was gentle and chiding at the same time.
Ron sighed. “When do you have to go? Jeez Em, I hate sounding like a sulky child.”
“Soon, but I don’t want to leave you yet.” Ron called in sick, knowing his understudy would be thrilled to go on for him. They ordered room service, but the food went untouched.
“I have to go.” Em said.
Ron rose reluctantly and held out his hand. She took it and moved into the circle of his arms.
“I have to go.”
“I know Em, and I’m making it harder for you.”
*
Yeah, he was and she should have been angry with him but instead her heart softened. Women! But, would I want Em to be any other way. I liked that she was strong and soft at the same time. I liked that she was sensitive to his moods and needs. I wanted that for myself. That's what I wanted.
*
“I’m sorry,” Ron said. “If I had an eternity, it wouldn’t be enough time to love you.”
“I know.” She moved away from his embrace and took his hand. “They’ll wait for me,” she said, and led him to the bed.
Afterwards, in the blink of an eye she was gone. She had been standing, naked, smiling sadly down at him. Then she was gone.
*
“Man, you're one lucky bastard,” Tony said when he and Ron met at Jake's the next day. “Not to knock you or anything, but what the hell can you do for her? I mean she's Miracle Madame for Christ's sake.”
Ron closed his eyes. I am privy to her thought processes. I help her clarify her thinking. I help her bring the two halves of her life together. I am her refuge from her fears. I am her love, her heart, her soul.
*
Who did the bastard think he was? Me?
Then I heard Ron tell his friend that he felt blessed that Em had chosen him. Huh, Mentor chose you, you idiot.
I clamped down on that thought immediately, but Mentor didn’t seem to notice. She was focused on the two humans.
“Everything we see and hear about her paints a picture of perfection,” Tony said. “Is she really that flawless?”
“She says she gets cranky and bitchy but I’ve never seen it.”
“Have you seen her angry?”
“Oh, yeah!”
Mentor`s eyebrows rose. “She gets angry.”
“Yes,” I muttered.
“Good for her.” Mentor sauntered away whistling a jaunty tune
Chapter 38
The slow lumbering gait of a caravan heading south attracted Em's attention; over one hundred camels loaded carefully and precisely with blocks of salt, trekking for months to reach their destination. The camels refused to move if the load wasn’t packed exactly the same way each day. Historically there had been huge wealth in the trade of salt for gold from Ghana. Now the men earned a mere pittance. What did they live on? What motivated them to travel the far reaches of the desert? Genetic memory? The habits of lifetimes? She??
?d never been able to figure it out.
Waiting for the caravan, she scanned the horizon. She had always wanted to see the world, but never as a tourist. She snorted as she thought of the “job” she had with Powers. She was certainly seeing the world; plunked now in this vast barren landscape that captured her heart. Be careful what you wish for?
She played idly with the ring on her left hand as she waited. Many months ago she had decided it was relaying messages from Powers, guiding and advising her, but she hadn’t always had clear signals. Or, perhaps the signals were crystal clear and she lacked the wisdom to read them. Either way, the ring with its iridescent stone screen brought comfort with a sense of Powers’ presence protecting her.
She looked into the ring but there were no images. The caravan was not her job then. Nevertheless, as it approached, she rose and walked with the men and boys for a time, catching up on desert gossip and giving them news of the outside world. Eventually she waved goodbye and made her way back to the meager shade of the lone baobab tree.
She sighed heavily, wishing away the memories of what she had seen on TV. She cursed softly wondering at the sudden curiosity that had compelled her to watch the documentary even for a few moments.
Miracle Madame’s strategy… The results have been astounding… a complete ceasefire…
*
Mentor turned from the earth view to ask, “Why did she see that?
“I don't know. I took the media reports away from her a long time ago. I thought maybe you—”
Mentor's scowl silenced me. She was mad. Perfect Ms. Mentor showing emotion. Made me wonder what went on behind the facade. As a child, I don’t remember feeling anger, or joy or anything like the emotions I’d learned from humans. Growing up, I’d always thought that meant we didn’t feel or at least didn’t feel deeply about much of anything, but now I wondered if we had simply become adept at submerging our feelings. And did years of suppression kill emotion?
Or? New thought! Was Mentor, like me, picking up on this whole laughing/crying/yelling thing that humans had going for them?
I wondered what the Guardians would think of all this? No way of finding out of course. They didn’t deign to converse with anyone. Sent cryptic messages to the Council Chair. At least that’s what I’d heard. The general belief was that there were three Guardians operating like a tribunal. But who knew? No one had ever seen them.
I watched Em seeking solace in those heartbreaking branches reaching for the sky. The ugly, beautiful weathered survivors tore at her heart. Standing alone against the harsh horizon they quite simply demanded love.
“Those trees are a good analogy for life down there,” Mentor said. “They’re a jumbled mass, defying all definition of order, but still they manage to function.”
“Beautiful in spite of the ugliness. Isn’t that what life is?” Em’s words following on Mentor’s seemed a direct answer.
Mentor scowled, apparently as startled as I was. “Surely, she can’t hear us.”
Suddenly Em bolted upright and paced furiously. “Those damn documentaries claim perfection. And there’s the real danger. Nothing is perfect. Nothing should be. True beauty isn’t found in David but rather in the unfinished pieces, the figures struggling to be free of the stone.”
“Who’s this David she’s muttering about?” Mentor asked.
“A statue by a long-dead artist of note.”
Em kicked at the sand as she stormed back and forth. “God!” she cried. “And you!” she shouted as she swung her fist skyward.
I knew she meant me.
“She means me.” Mentor said and I saw a tear roll down her cheek. “But we have to do this. Doesn’t she understand that?”
“The news she saw reminded her that her critical successes could well be colossal failures. All assurances from the Powers—me, that is—haven’t truly convinced her.”
“Hum.” I waited for more, but Mentor was watching Em, her eyes half closed, head tilted slightly to one side. I wished I could read her mind. What would she do if she felt Em wanting? A chill wound its way around my heart.
Em continued to pace and curse until, drained of energy, she collapsed under the tree, gasping for breath. “Oh God, Ron, how can I go on?”
Mentor didn’t move. I dared not speak although my soul ached for Em. I feared Mentor’s next move.
Mentor sighed and closed her eyes. “So much emotion. How can that possibly be good for anyone?”
Em sniffled. “Damn. No water to wash my face. Where’s an oasis when a girl needs one?” She dug in the pockets of her dress, even though she knew they’d be empty. “You’d think a Kleenex at least.” She pulled the hem of her dress to her face and wiped the tears as best she could.
She let her mind wander. As usual her thoughts turned to Ron. She missed him dreadfully. Their time together was so limited. It was only the intensity of their love that carried her from one visit to the next. And it had to be worse for Ron, she thought. He didn’t know what the voice—she meant me—had promised for them.
What Mentor had made me promise.
*
All thoughts were driven from Em’s mind when her hand tingled with the vibrations of the ring. She saw a very different caravan this time. A truck approached in the ring. She looked up to see an oversized prairie farm truck—now where had that 50’s image come from?
Typically overloaded and tilted at an impossible angle, it looked like a lopsided apple crate covered with wriggling maggots as it labored over the trackless sand. It crawled with human cargo. Desperate men clung to the sides; the luckier ones perched precariously on top, fingers and feet hooked into the ropes that bound the cargo, frantically fighting to maintain a place on this perilous journey from one country to another in a futile search for work.
Em was barely aware of the hot grains of sand invading her sandals and the heat burning her feet through the thin leather soles. Rivers of sweat ran down her back and between her breasts. Knots of tension rode her shoulders. She clenched and unclenched her fists, took three deep breaths, and counted slowly and silently as she expelled the air until the tension dissipated. Time to get to work.
The gears grated as the driver shifted down. Em signaled him not to stop, grabbed the arm of the rear view mirror with her left hand and swung up onto the running board. The cab had no doors and she found herself mere inches from the driver who was crowded to the edge of the seat by the five men who shared the cab with him.
“Madame,” one of them shouted. “You're back.”
“Bakary! How are you? What are you doing here?”
“Food for the refugees,” he said, gesturing to the load behind.
“Just one truck?”
“No. Five a day. The others are a little behind.” The driver smiled a wide toothy grin. Em chuckled to herself. A chance to show off superior driving skills was always a source of pride in these poorest of countries. “Foreign aid,” Bakary said, “from Europe and the United States. Rice, millet, dried fish. We’re the first convoy.”
“What’s this?” the man scrunched against the passenger door asked. “We’re carrying this too, but we don’t know what it is.” He handed her a small box.
Strawberry pudding powder, she read. Surely to God…. She opened the box, stuck her finger in and tasted it. Strawberry pudding powder. She didn’t try to explain.
She enjoyed the happy chatter of the men as she scanned the horizon.
They would come over one of the dunes.
In fact, the attack came from both the left and the right. Armed men on horses charged toward them. The driver cursed, ground the gears, and brought the truck to a shuddering stop. The men spilled out of the cab and those who had been clinging to the cargo jumped to the ground. They huddled together in silent groups, a few wielding their walking sticks as weapons. The driver swore again.
Em dropped down from the running board, strode to the front of the vehicle. The men called out, warning her to stay back. The
driver grabbed her arm. She shrugged him off. Bakary had seen her in action before. He grinned and offered a salute.
The rebels were closing in on them. She raised her arms, saw the horses brace their front legs, dig their hooves into the sand, haunches sunk low with the strain of the abrupt stop. The riders struggled to maintain their seats. Only a few succeeded. Most found themselves on the sand, weapons jolted out of their grip with the force of the fall. As they started to rise, Em waved them down. They hunkered in the sand, made no move to retrieve their weapons or horses.
To Em’s delight, the men from the truck took over. They bound the rebels, seized their weapons and soothed the horses, leading them to the truck. No need to cling to the cargo now, with these fine steeds to ride.
Em missed most of the grand celebration that ensued when the other trucks arrived. The ring vibrated again. She looked into the stone. “And, just where are you taking me now?” she asked.
Chapter 39
Watch me, Mom. Mom, watch me. She smiled as the toddler headed for the waves, momentarily brave, then came scrambling back up the beach to avoid them. Watch me, Mom, watch me, and the little girl headed out again.
She was immobile in the hospital bed, encased in plaster, right arm secured tightly to her chest, her body one mass of pain. Forty-eight hours now. Two days, two nights. How many more to go? Can I have a hug please? Are you sure it’s okay? Well if you put one hand here and the other around my shoulder…. Long gangly teenaged arms reached to embrace her, head bent low, his cheek pressed next to hers. Oh, Mom, it’s been so long.
Em woke with a start. The dream lingered in her mind. Where on earth am I now? She stared at the unfamiliar furniture, at the whorls in the elaborately plastered ceiling and she cried. Each fragment of memory an unwelcome jolt—since loving Ron.
*
Em took a deep breath. “Okay. You're Powers? Right? That means you can stop these memories. Right? If I don’t want to remember, that is.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“I think so, yes.”
“But, before, you were devastated with the not remembering.”
“And now, I am devastated with the remembering.” Tears were streaming down her face, but there was no sound of crying. “I long ago stopped wanting to know everything,” she said. “The yearning for that life made this one too difficult. I have to forget them—forget my other life. Don’t you understand? It’s too hard. It hurts too much. You may be guardians of the universe but what do you know of the heart?” She took a deep breath. “I need to….”