I WAS FAMILIAR WITH THE FOREST LUCY HAD POINTED OUT TO ME. And by that I mean I knew where it was located…because of the triplets’ killer. It was the same woods area, but it was indeed quite large. And from what I could gather out of the maid’s explanation, it was situated almost at the opposite end of the murder site. Other than that macabre piece of information, I was blind. I had no idea how to get anywhere inside the woods.
When I hung up on Annie, I checked my pocket for the map the maid had drawn for me. My stomach screamed at me as I inspected the greasy sheet with childish doodles. I looked at my watch: it was past two and I was in desperate need of lunch. I decided to make a quick stop at Alistair’s diner for a fast fix from the hands of his marvelous cook.
I got into my car and drove a few blocks to the source of all my midday meals and evening beers, especially since I had become a widower like Frederick Hurlingthon. I never liked it when an investigation crept up and touched me with its stinky paws. In this case, the odor was moldy, so close to the reeking presence of a corpse that it was unnerving. And I believe this time...they weren’t paws. They were claws. And they were starting to pierce through my skin.
I walked into the muddy looking diner. I know that, to the newcomer, the place could seem in desperate need of a good scrub with hydrochloric acid. But that was to the naked eye. I swear I never saw a cockroach in there…not a live one, anyway. The problem was the decoration. Everything was either dark brown or reddish-brown or greenish-brown. Basically, one stepped into a pile of muck for lunch and believe it or not, that unholy look had never affected the stream of people coming in and out of the joint.
Alistair had old customers, food-and-alcohol-based relationships he had established over the decades. Word of mouth to attract young fellows with empty stomachs and dry bladders was all Grumpy Al ever needed.
Alastair had gained his nickname a few years before when I had discovered the place. I liked it right away. It was the kind of place you can get in and just get lost. No one noticed you, and if they did, they wouldn’t care for you being there. As it turned out, it took Al a great deal of hard work and numerous broken fists to achieve such mood quality. Back when I belonged to the force, we always went out for lunch in groups of three or four. When you’re a policeman in the homicide division, you spend most of your time dealing with the lower side of humankind, the side that turns us into murderers, rapists, torturers, thieves and haters. Any chance you get to enjoy laughter with another human being, you take it.
When four loud, rough and very noticeable cops walked into Al’s place, it did not take long before he was kicking us off of his property. Any cop will tell you he isn’t used to being told what to do when it’s not coming from someone with a bigger badge than his. Al could not care less for our rules. The whole deal quickly turned into a fist fight that we promptly ended by arresting Alistair for harassing law enforcement members. On the ride back to the station, one of the guys referred to him as Grumpy Al. As soon as we walked in to give Grumpy Al a couple of useless hours inside a cell, the mayor called the department and demanded Alistair’s immediate release. We had to let him go. The only explanation I got was a sharp scolding from my boss that I’ll remember until the day I die.
The first thing I thought was that I needed to mend my ways with such an influential man. I went back to the joint to apologize. And all I got from Al was a cheese sandwich that made my day. This was his way of accepting my apologies. Not much of a talker, but as years went by, I discovered one hell of a friend…most of the time. It took me some years and a great deal of pain to understand Alistair’s connection to the government, but that’s a story for another time.
Gaining Grumpy Al’s trust meant you always had your seat reserved under his roof. And every stray dog needs a place to crash. So why not where he wouldn’t be kicked around?
I took my spot at the bar, and in the blink of an eye I had a cheese sandwich and a coffee cup in front of my nose.
“Richard.” Grumpy Al’s greeting came seasoned with a head movement. He limped with his left leg, so any motion to that side came easily to him. In time, I realized what I had thought to be a courteous social manner on his part was nothing but Newton’s laws working on him.
“Al.”
I stuck my nose inside the cup, trying to absorb as much heat as possible. I could feel it in my bones that I would need it later. My cheesy meal (royalty fit, in my opinion) filled my stomach with its lactose content, and I felt ready to deal with the wood’s witch. I left money on the counter and as I walked out, I articulated my usual monosyllabic farewell.
“Al.”
What I received in return wasn’t the usual “Richard”. Grumpy Al decided to break out of the accustomed palindromic encounters and let some feeling leak into our gastronomic relationship.
“Be safe, Richard.”
I turned and stared at him. I could not believe my ears.
“What’s that?”
“I said: be safe. You’re not the first, but I pray for you to be the last.”
If a piano had landed on my head while I was still inside the diner, I would not have been more surprised. How did Alistair know what I was doing? Did he know Lord Hurlingthon? Did he know about Lord Hurlingthon’s...condition? I was so baffled by his remark I couldn’t find a way for my tongue to communicate with my brain. Grumpy Al went inside the kitchen before I could rearrange the scrambled words in my mind. And that’s how I lost my chance to find some strong lead, to do some real police work. What he told me meant he knew about the other detec...Wow, hold the horses! Wait a minute: Grumpy Al prayed? Oh, man, that was going to get me in trouble...
I staggered to my car. It took me a few minutes of severe wheel-staring before I could start the car and drive away to my initial destination. It was about a forty-minute drive to the woods. I had to get in and out before night came down on me.
The map indicated a place where I would have to leave the car and start walking. Awesome. First dealing with a warlock. Then, Grumpy Al prayed. And last but not least, physical exercise? Could that day get any better? Maybe some rain? Or snow? Snow would’ve been nice. I had a couple of extra toes and frostbite sounded exciting.
I have to say, just to give nature a break, that contemplating all the trees and little mountains that had started to surround me was soothing after shaking hands with death. Yes, it was autumn, and alive wasn’t the word that came to mind when looking at the naked trees or at the hard land as it was being stripped of her green summer dress and forced to cover herself up with a brown turtleneck sweater.
But…there’s something about death in nature. Somehow, it seems right. There’s nothing forced or violent. It just comes and takes what has fulfilled its function. Then it retreats, leaving room for the new to bloom away. No resentment. No tears. No hard feelings or desires of revenge. Just the sheer joy of knowing that things are taking their place in the long chain of events, as it is expected. No cutting life short before it has time to experiment. No nipping in the bud before it unravels, unless there is absolute knowledge there is no place for it on earth.
The peacefulness one might want out of a human’s death can only be obtained in nature. Temperance soaks through the course of life, and nature understands. We humans, in our frantic rants for control, have found a way to take naturalness away from death. What a pity we cannot just be.
Lucy had pointed out the entrance through the north side of the woods, but from what I made out of her drawing, there was a path through the west side of the land that could’ve taken me faster to the juju man. I circled the forest and found the west entrance. A trail started there, unfolding itself in front of my eyes and interknitting its lengthy presence with the trees.
I got out of my car and walked into nature’s fortress. The path was clearly defined, even in the turquoise ambiance of the moistly guts of the woods. Because after a row of leafless trees taking a cozy nap, every tree was as green and bright as if I had been taking a walk on a summer day.
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sp; I had been tottering in that road for a good half an hour and still had not found the crossroads where the path to the shaman house started. Maybe I had missed it? I was too taken by the intensity of the green as I went deeper into the forest. Perhaps I needed go back and try the entrance the maid had recommended. Getting lost in there was the last thing I wanted to experience. I didn’t even want to know what kind of animals roamed in there at night.
By then, I had already removed my raincoat and jacket and I had rolled up my sleeves. I was sweating like a pig close to a kitchen knife.
I walked a little farther, but it did not seem to make any difference. Everything was a long road. No forks. No turns. No new paths. I was not even sure the woods were actually so long. Was I walking in circles? At least I should have been on the other side. Or any side, for that matter. I decided to turn back, it was the only option left. I could not think of anything else but to start over. Wasted time, just what I needed.
“Are you lost?”
A deep masculine voice pinned me down. I hadn’t heard anyone coming, yet this voice embraced me from the back. I quickly turned and slipped in a mud puddle, but I caught myself before reaching the ground.
The man studied me in a total relaxed state. He had long braided hair and dark eyes. His skin was pale, I guessed from living inside the woods, and he was abnormally tall. A thick deep green cape covered something that appeared to be a tunic, and he used for a cane a tree branch with a peculiar twirl at the top end.
“Uh...well, yes. I’m looking for the shaman. A girl named Lucy told me he had...treated Lord Hurlingthon.”
He bowed and started to walk in front of me. I stood in my mud puddle, not quite sure what to do. Was that him? Did the fact that he had walked away mean he had no idea what I was talking about? Just before I decided to shout Hey, warlock, I need your help! he turned on his heels and motioned with his hand for me to follow. I hardly had any option but do as I was told. Wet, lost and filled with questions was not a good way to end the day.
After a short walk from the place we had met, a new path appeared to our right. I took the map out of my pocket and saw that this road wasn’t on it. A couple of turns left and right, and the blinding green announced to me that we had reached a special place. I had no idea the woods could look like this. I had never imagined it was possible for a tree to glow...I always thought it was impossible for a man not to die. Enough said.
In the middle of this magical spot, there was a wooden house with no door and it had been completely covered by climbing plants. Some branches even got in and out through the space between the piles of logs forming the walls. I turned to ask my escort if I should knock the nonexistent door or just walk in, but by then, like the door, he was also nonexistent. Great. How was I ever going to get out of the woods?
I still had one more trick up my sleeve.
“HELLOOOOOOOOO??????!!!!!!!” I shouted as loud as I could manage.
“Hello,” a tiny voice answered from above my head. I looked up and saw a young girl tiptoeing on a high tree branch. “Please, keep your voice down. There is no need to shout in the woods.”
“Sorry!” I shouted back as a reflex, she was so high. But I adjusted to the rules. You won’t ever get collaboration from other people if you don’t show you are willing to give something in return. “Sorry, I’m looking for the shaman. Do you know where he is?”
“Druid.”
Right, Lucy had told me that. Not a shaman, a druid.
“Yes, sorry. A druid. Do you know where I can find him? Is he inside the hou...? No! Wait!”
The girl jumped from the top of the pine tree to the ground. I thought she was going to turn herself into a smudge of bones and flesh, but she landed lightly on her feet as I ran to catch her.
“You can call me Irupé.”
“Because your real name is....”
“Something you can’t pronounce.”
“Right, ‘Irupé’.” Like that was any easier; what was her real name? Rumpelstiltskin?
Actually, compared to my fellow the invisible man of the cane, she was short and gnome-like: a button for a nose and big, round green eyes. Her copper skin wasn’t as bright as her long red hair. She also wore it in a loose braid, but the difference with hers was that several vine branches were intertwined with her own hair. The leaves were the same fluorescent green as the rest of the woods, which made the redness of her hair stand out even more. And bare feet, just like Little John back there.
Delicate movements, smooth and fluid, made her look even more magical. Maybe her real name was Tinker Bell. A heavy goldish-red hooded robe covered her completely.
“Do you know where he is?”
“‘He’ is me.”
“No, see...Don’t pull my leg now. I was told he is a man. It’s a man that released a girl named Lucy from the spirit of the swamp. And then he tried to help Lord Hurlingthon, but I’ve been told he wouldn’t go into the house.”
“‘The spirit of the swamp’, yes, I remember her. Well, sometimes, Mr...?”
“Saussure.”
“No first name?”
“Not for you.”
“Sometimes, Mr. Saussure, you have to give people what they want, not what they need. So I send Wayra to help them. If they see a tall, strong man reassuring them that they do belong in this life, they believe him. If they see me, well...they’re a bit more skeptical. Wayra dealt with Lucy, but when I heard about Hugh Hurlingthon I wanted to see him for myself, so I approached the property. Wayra came with me, as I don’t usually leave my house, and we travel by foot during the night. From the moment I saw the land, I knew I could not help that poor man, no matter how much I wanted to.”
“Why? What did you see?”
“Because that land is dead.”
“Yes, Lucy told me nothing grows there, but–”
“No, you are not listening carefully.” She glided across the woods to a tree with a hole in the middle and sat inside. “That piece of earth…that place on this planet is dead. When I touched it, I confirmed it. That soil has been drained. If I walk into Lord Hurlingthon’s property, I will die. If he comes in here, he will murder my home. There is no possibility that he and I can be in the same place without paying the consequences. The next day, I sent Wayra to explain this to the girl.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow. Why can’t you meet him?”
“We are on opposite sides of the spectrum. I deal with life.” She touched a wet leaf that had caressed her left foot during our conversation. “He’s in some kind of entanglement with death that not even I can undo.”
“Because you don’t have the sufficient power?” Maybe if I teased her a little she would talk.
“Mr. Saussure, with all due respect, I don’t expect you to understand the full extent of my mission in this life. I know you won’t because you entered my home from the back door.”
“What?”
“The paths. Do you get dressed every morning by putting your shoes on first?”
North entrance. West entrance. Got it.
“No offense, Mr. Saussure, but you’re barking at the wrong tree. No pun intended,” she said with a mischievous smile.
“I see. And in your opinion, where is the tree that might have an answer for me?”
She crawled out of the hole to help Wayra, who was coming back with a pile of dry wood to light a fire. How did he find anything dry in that green swimming pool? Actually, it was getting colder if I thought about it. I unrolled my sleeves and put my jacket and coat back on, but it wasn’t enough as my trousers were still damp.
“Well, I’m no detective, but if I want to find someone, I’d visit the places he or she goes.”
“Are you telling me to make an appointment with Death?”
She looked at me with her big eyes and said nothing, as if the one making a delusional statement was me. Where did Death hang out? Hospitals, cemeteries, morgues, car crashes, wars...
“Mr. Saussure, the only thing I could help yo
u with is your own grief. But I sense you’re not ready to let go of it yet.”
I glowered at her back while she was building the pyre and considered giving her a shove, but it was better to go away than to waste any more energy on this. I thanked her for her time and asked Wayra if he could escort me back to my car.
“You’re staying the night, Mr. Saussure. With us.”
I excused myself, arguing I had work in the morning, and it was not professional of me to delay Lord Hurlingthon’s business any longer.
“There is no way out of the forest in the night for foreigners. Nature’s rules. You’ll have to wait until morning.”
IX