Gator
Friday, Rainforest, North Sumatra
They came around a bend and the tree branches opened up. They found themselves in a massive clearing. Homes were built in neat rows and topped with boat shaped roofs. It looked more like a shipyard than a village. As the group huddled around their guide, he described the architecture and how it served the villagers well during the rainy season. Many of the homes were hundreds of years old, he explained, and were still used by the same families, today.
“Now, gentlemen.” The guide failed to address the women, or maybe his English was poor enough that he thought that the term was inclusive. “I know you’re here to take fabulous pictures. Mr. Davidson, your host, told me that he had planned to have you pictured with the orangutan. As this is not possible. I have produced an even better photographic opportunity for you.” He sounded like a carnival huckster to Gator. “I will be introducing you to the village holy man. He is of the Christian faith but as those who came before him, he blends his Christianity with the beliefs of his ancestors.”
There was a general discomfort in the group. People shifted from foot to foot.
“Yes,” he chuckled. “I see that you’ve been told that these villagers were once head hunters, and they ate their enemies. But thankfully, this is not on the menu today, since you have provided your own caterer.”
There was a bit of nervous laughter amongst the men.
“Today, we will meet with the holy man. He will prepare you, then we will walk on the burning embers! What wonderful pictures of you walking bravely across the hot coals!”
Hot coals. What?
“After this we will show you our warriors as they dance and leap the boulder.” He turned to Karl. “You say boulder?” He pointed to the large rock in the middle of the open space. It was about shoulder height to an average man.
“Boulder works,” Karl said.
“And they will jump this for the video.” He nodded at the photographer, who nodded in return. “Then you will leap over the boulder for photo opportunity. Before you leap, you eat. American chef is there behind the houses preparing your meal. All food you know and enjoy. I promise you, no cannibal meat.” He grinned broadly as if this were a great joke.
No one in the party seemed to think it was funny. A couple of them pulled out their phones to see if they had signal and looked up at the cloud covered sky.
The guide saw this and misinterpreted. “Unusual day. The weather is changing. We think maybe a storm later. Not now, though. Tonight. This is new. This weather. Climate change.”
That last bit didn’t seem to go over well with these men. They weren’t in the business of worrying about climate change. They were—as far as Gator could tell—petroleum giants. Either producers or consumers.
The guide opened his hand toward the end of the row of houses and set off.
Gator was unsettled. There was a weird vibration about this place. He’d felt that way in some places in the Middle East. A shimmer of something. An accumulation of undefined energy. It raised his hackles. He sidled toward Blaze.
“They’re going to walk on hot coals?” Blaze said under his breath. “We can’t medevac out of here.”
“My guess is one guy steps in, burns his foot, screams to high heaven, and there ain’t no other takers on the opportunity. We have burn bandages enough for that in our first aid kits. We can take turns fireman carrying him outa here.” His gaze scanned over the group. “Maybe we can get a little one to go first.”
Blaze shifted his focus over to the group. “Keep Gregor away. I’m not sure how we’d wrangle him down a path.” Blaze slapped a hand on Gator’s shoulder. They moved behind the group where they were listening to the holy man explain his ancestral beliefs, his words being translated by their guide.
Gator moved into the woods and scanned for anything that needed his attention, lifting his feet high as he made his way through the foliage. Blaze stood to the side of their group and caught his eye. All was well there. Gator increased the distance and made another sweep.
When he got back to the group, they were seated on benches that had been carved out of logs and had been worn over time to a satin finish. The holy man raised his stick and the sounds around them stopped. The birds, the insects, the frog calls stopped. What had been a loud buzz of ambient noise became eerily silent. Gator was instantly focused. This weren’t normal.
The holy man called to the sky then threw fists full of herbs on the fire. A shower of sparks flew up making everyone gasp. The photographer was snapping his pictures of the show. Gator caught Blaze’s eye. Blaze gave him a one-sided smile. Look at this show, it said to Gator. But Gator was on alert. The bugs didn’t stop humming all in accord for nothin’. He’d seen the power of magic on dark nights in the bayou where voodoo was a way of life. There was strength in this holy man’s incantations.
Smoke billowed and cloaked their group, the air was still and the humidity high. It held the thick cloud in place, stinging their eyes, making them cough. More herbs, more sparks, more smiles on the faces of the group. Even nervous-as-shit Taro was smiling.
The holy man stamped his walking stick into the ground three times and swirled his hand in the air as he called out what sounded to Gator’s ear like an invocation. Gator watched as the faces of those around the fire slackened. He wondered what plants had been thrown on the flames. He sent a glance toward Blaze to get his gut check of the situation. Blaze was leaning backward into the tree trunk, looking drunk on the experience. Eyes shut. The same slackness about his face.
Gator looked at the other two guards, the guide, and the photographer guy. They had succumbed to the smoke and the chant. Gator was the only one standing on his own two feet. The only one with his eyes open. He was afraid to step closer and breathe the fumes. He wondered if this was all part of the preparation for the fire walking. Truth be told, he didn’t know what to make of this.
Whooeee, I have seen some strange Voodoo shit. But this here takes the cake. His thoughts seemed to have physical density, and they wended their way over to the holy man.
The holy man turned toward Gator. And though his mouth didn’t move, Gator heard, “Welcome.”
Without forethought Gator pressed his hands together over his heart and bowed.
“This is but a dream.” The holy man held his arms wide. “We live through thousands of dreams in this life-time. We live through thousands of lives in our soul time. We enter one life with birth and return to the whole with death. As the water comes from the sea and falls again into the sea. From the sea. To the sea. Dreams of our lives are like our lives in one life.”
The words were like a dance. A spell. They swirled around Gator. Making sense. Not making sense. Gator needed to make a sweep, needed to make sure the area remained safe. He needed to check pulse points and respiration on the group to make sure they were dealing okay with the drugs that filled the air. But he couldn’t move from where he stood, his eyes locked on the holy man. Gator had never met anyone this powerful before. Formidable. Gator wasn’t afraid. Perplexed? Yes. Curious? Definitely. But he felt nothing malevolent here.
“What brought you to this place at this time?” The question came on the wind moving from the holy man’s mind to his. The man hadn’t opened his mouth; he couldn’t speak English if he did. But Gator knew the question was posed. It was the kind of question that Lynx would ask. She didn’t believe that anything happened by chance. She thought that people moved in and out of our lives purposefully. She’d say that Gator’s being here now and having this experience now was a gift that would serve him. He could almost hear her whispering those words. But it was just the wind, he told himself.
Gator had no answer as to why he was in this place or why this time. But it made perfect sense in the grand scheme of the energetic shit-storm he’d been living through that this was happening. Why not throw a little shamanic-voodoo-Sumatran holy man hallucination into the mix? Man, Lynx was going to laugh when he told her about this.
The holy man rested both hands on his staff. “You have walked the Earth many lifetimes. You have been accompanied by two women. One is a woman who has fought beside you and been your bosom friend – I see her as a wild cat, her spirit animal. She is your great friend. And you think of her now.”
Shit.
The holy man lifted his arm, the sun-faded red cloth of his cloak draped and rippled in the now turbulent air. “You came for her.” He pointed to Christen and a dragon breathed fire through Gator’s system. This guy needed to drop his arm and leave Christen the hell out of this.
The holy man smiled. “This is the woman who has fought beside you and loved you in every lifetime. And always tragically. You recognized her immediately when she walked into the room. You claimed her as yours the second your eyes met. You knew you loved her when she touched your arm. And you felt the fear.”
“Yes.” he said it without words but knew the holy man heard him. Everything the man had said was true: How he felt. What happened in the hotel lobby.
“It clawed at your stomach. It felt like you could not survive it. It growled like a monster through your system.”
“Yes.” Gator wanted to take a step closer. To get between Christen and this man. Not out of fear but out of…habit. Huh. That was an odd thought. He really hadn’t known Christen long enough to have developed a habit. Gator couldn’t move, couldn’t get off the X.
“I see your heart. You don’t believe in a soul’s journey. You think this is your one opportunity. One life and then the after-life, either heaven or hell.”
“That was the way I was raised, yes, sir.”
“I wish to help you to understand. Each life time is rolled one over the other. Many lifetimes, always the same. And this lifetime, too, unless you decide to break the agreement.”
“Whoa there, what agreement – an agreement I made in a different life-time?” The holy man’s words weren’t the linear black and white kind Gator liked. They were swirls or color and Gator was having trouble making sense of it all. “Sir, that’s not what I believe happens. I don’t believe in reincarnation. If that’s what you’re sayin’ to me.”
“You believe in the Ten Commandments, Thou shalt not kill?”
Gator said nothing.
“And yet you have, and you do, and you will kill. There are no stipulations in that commandment – it does not say thou shalt not kill unless your president requires it. Thou shalt not kill unless you are protecting someone else. It simply says thou shalt not kill, and so you have decided that within that law there is room to maneuver. You believe in the commandment, and yet, you also know there is another reality. I am not asking you to change your belief system, but if you wish her to live, you must consider that there is more than meets the eye.”
And with that he slammed his rod into the ground and the Earth shook beneath Gator’s feet, the air ocellated.
“You are on a journey. Fly.” Again, he raised his staff over his head and brought it down onto the ground with a bang that was too loud for wood against soil. The bang blew outward in circles like the blast from an IED shocking the air. It blew through Gator breaking him into particles that hovered and crowded like a swarm of bees. Then he came back together. This must be a dream. Those herbs that guy was throwing on the fire must be some kind of powerful hallucinogenic.
In his drug induced dream, Gator was at the gate of a castle, dressed in heavy armor. His horse snorted and stomped the ground beside him. “I will keep you safe,” he promised the black-haired woman. She was tiny and delicate; her face was pale with fear. Though it looked nothing like Christen, this was Christen. She rose up on her toes and pressed a kiss against his lips, He desperately wanted to feel her in his arms but the suit of armor made the contact impossible.
“I will love you forever,” she whispered, her eyes feverish with dread. And with those words the air spun, and Gator was watching—as if fast forwarding through a film—a mighty battle where their forces were overcome, and he was taken prisoner. The castle gate was breeched and before their eyes, the women and children slaughtered. Gator opened his mouth to scream as he saw the broad sword slice through Christen’s raven hair, her delicate neck. Gator fell to his knees in anguish.
Bang went the staff
Gator knelt on a pelt thrown on the dirt floor of a round hut. He was dipping a piece of leather into the herbed water and squeezing it in his fist. He pressed the tincture to a woman’s head. Christen. She had the dark skin of an African woman, a flatter, wider face. The same feverish, frightened eyes.
“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me,” Gator whispered, as her eyelids slid closed.
“I will love you forever,” she whispered.
Gator was on his knees on the edge of the Sumatran rainforest, gasping at the pain that wracked his body as he realized that Christen, in that moment, had died. He wasn’t sure he could endure this level of agony. His eyes sought those of the holy man, begging for relief. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced. Nothing he could have even imagined.
The holy man banged his staff into the ground.
Gator crouched in the corner of the alley his body shielding someone else’s. Gator knew it was Christen without even seeing her. Her body trembled against his. The snarls and barks of the dogs echoed off the stone walls.
“Here they are. That’s her. Schnell!”
Gator saw a man holding back his enraged German shepherds. Another man in an SS uniform stalked toward them. “Yes, here she is,” he called over his shoulder. “The leader of the Resistance? If the resistance is made of such as you. We will have them all corralled by morning. It will be very hard to resist from where you’re going. Stand up.”
Gator pushed to his feet, pulling Christen up beside him, tucking her behind him though she didn’t want him to. How could he protect her? How could he save her? The SS were soulless when it came to torturing their captives for information. Gator’s eyes scanned the alleyway, up the walls to the roof line, looking for any route for her escape. Christen pulled him around to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry,” she breathed out. She pressed a kiss onto his lips. Gator shook his head. Don’t say it. Please don’t say it.
“I will love you forever.” She said it without emotion. It was matter of fact. It felt cold next to the heat of his horror. She turned and ran directly toward the SS officer. He lifted his sidearm and bang. Christen dropped. Dead.
Bang went the Shaman’s rod.
Gator needed him to stop, for this to stop. All the agony over all these lives was churning through his system. It consumed him. Flooded his cells. Made them shriek with the pain of his losses.
Lynx help me – it was an involuntary cry of desperation as the wind picked up and the air wavered again to take him to a new scene.
They stood in front of a horse. Gator crouched, hands spread wide. He looked down at the rattler, coiled, noisily warning its intent to strike. “Don’t move,” he exhaled, trying not to disturb the air and rile the snake any more. He raised his eyes to Christen, in her long dress and straw hat. As he did, her gaze met his. “I will love you—” and though he shook his head and waved off her words she uttered them anyway—“forever.”
There was a sudden movement - a blast. A scream. Gator turned to see Lynx rushing forward with a shotgun in her hand. The snake lay dead. Relief flooded Gator’s body. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said until he saw Christen lying on the ground, her hand gripping her neck. She’d been bit.
Lynx looked up. “I couldn’t get to her. I’m so sorry.” She raised her gun. “Don’t move. Behind you,” she yelled. Bang went the shotgun.
Bang went the rod.
How long was this going to go on? Surely, that was enough. He saw the pattern. He got the message. Let this end.
“Lynx,” Gator hollered. He lay on the precipice his right arm over the edge. He gripped a wrist. He knew it was Christen. He knew that the ground had given way. Lynx ran forward and grabbed at his belt, held him steady, kept him from sliding forward. They were stuck there. Gator could not make any move that didn’t make the ground under him crackle and the rocks slide. He couldn’t haul Christen up. He couldn’t let her go. And Lynx couldn’t let go of his belt or he’d just slide over the edge. They were at an impasse.
Had been an impasse for a long time.
They panted and exerted. Every once in a while, one of them called out for help. The ligaments and sinew of Gator’s shoulder were giving way. He felt them tearing. Extraordinary pain shot up his arm, begging him to release his hand and find relief. But Christen was hanging there, her feet dangling mid-air. If he released her wrist, she would fall to her death. A scream of anguish ripped from his throat. This was agony. This was torture. Stalemated, he tried again to flex what was left of his muscles and bring her up. As he did more of the cliffside slipped away.
“Let go,” she called as her fingers released from his wrist. “Let me go. It’s okay.”
“No!” he bellowed.
Lynx grabbed tighter to his belt and tried to crawl backward. Her heels dug into the friable dirt.
“Let me go. It’s okay. This will not end my love for you. I will love you forever.”
He felt her fingers slide from his hand.
And she was gone.
And he was nothing.
Not a sensation. Not a body. Not a thought or a care or a soul.
He was absolutely nothing without her.
Gator managed to lock his eyes on the holy man. “Let me go. Stop this. I can’t…” he whispered. “I understand.”
The holy man was a statue. Still. Silent. Unconvinced.
“The cycle has to be broken,” Gator panted out. “We found each other again. Even my friend Lynx can’t save us from…this, no matter how hard she’d try. No matter how hard I’d try. I’ve felt this from the beginning. From seeing her walk through the door. My connection. The depth of my love. I knew it was too good to be true. I get it.” Gator climbed back to his feet. He stood like a soldier. “I’m on this mission for a few more days, sir.”
The holy man cast his gaze toward Christen in her trance. Gator wished this was just a bad trip on some exotic smoke. But it all rang true. From Tanzania until now, this all made sense to him.
“Please. I can’t leave this assignment for a few more days. Then I’ll never see her again. Never talk to her again. She doesn’t love me. She’s never said a word to me outside of my role on her security team. I’ll leave. I’ll be out of her life. I’ll make sure of it.” He’d seen Christen looking at him, the feelings that swirled through his own system: curiosity, confusion, connection had been reflected back at him when he’d caught her gaze. He had to go before she gave voice to those feelings. Gator knew he could never tell her how he felt. And he knew as sure as he knew the sun would set and night would fall, that she was the only one for him. He’d walk the rest of this life alone. “Can you help her? Help her stay safe through these next few days until I can go?” It was a huge price to pay, to leave her, to never see her again. But Gator was willing to pay any price to protect Christen.
As those thoughts formed, the holy man slammed his stick into the ground.
All eyes blinked open. Gator stood under the tree.
Shell-shocked.
Bereaved.
Determined.