Dead Awake: The Last Crossing (14 page)

Her hands were hot when I
held them. She still looked weak, but much better... Then a miracle
took place. Her eyes fluttered and opened. “Oh!” A sigh of relief
rushed me. Joy and magic filled my veins, and then she spoke to me;
very confused.

“Where am I?” Her voice was soft and sleepy, but she was
alive!

I didn’t care to answer,
just took her in my arms and kissed her whole face. Her mother was
crying now and grasping her hands for joy. In my heart I leapt: She
was alive! Still a little weak, but at least not at death’s door
any more. As she recovered, and remembered, she looked into my
eyes. Some of the anger came back, but her mom came, as an angel,
and explained everything that had happened; and how she was able to
do it, and with such description, using just two sentences is
beyond me. But she did it.

There was nothing needed to
tell it any better, so I kept my mouth shut. There wasn’t anything
I wanted to say anyway. I already felt like a criminal off the
hook, deserving to be hanged by this lovely girl. And yet those two
little sentences worked, for all their simplicity – words that I
cannot translate.

The anger left her as
quickly as it had come and now she just reached out to place her
hands around my neck in a sigh of forgiveness. Accepted and
forgiven now... Everything wrong had been made right. I don’t know
exactly what I felt at that moment, with all the millions of things
rushing through my mind, but perhaps I was even a little glad that
she had gotten sick. It was a shameful thought, but what could I
do? I was holding her in my arms again, and besides that no other
event nor consequence mattered. She had let me back into her
life.

I stayed with her the rest
of that day and well into the night. It was the greatest day of my
life all over again. When I left, it was only to be proper. It had
been alright to stay by her side all the night of her illness, but
now that she was better it would have been inappropriate;
especially on the island of Natial where ill behavior was uncommon.
I didn’t want to give a bad reputation to her family, which now
considered me to be their son, so I did not make myself a burden on
them, even though they would have let me stay had I asked to do so.
It was best that I left when I did. We were unmarried and that was
what etiquette required. Even to stay innocently would have been
unfitting. No, the best thing was for me to go, so I
did.

The walk back to my room was
long and boring, but well enough. Everything was good now that she
was all right! As I arrived, again I saw a piece of paper stuck to
my door. I didn’t like those poems any more. They had been the
cause of all my adversities and they meant trouble! Whoever was
their author was a madman! I was so bothered that I got to the door
with intent to smash the poem. Snatching it up, I crumpled it and
was about to throw it into the bushes, but curiosity got the best
of me, so I unraveled it and read.

Once again, I found myself
caught up in astonishment. Funny how so many times I’d changed my
mind about them. One day I’d think the poems were awful, the next
I’d be franticly be searching for another, like an alcoholic
looking for another drink, and still the next day I’d be impartial
to it all, like an unaffected stand-by.

In one week’s time my mind
had gone from hating them, and what they’d brought me, to admiring
and appreciating them. Not only for their beauty and elegance in
words, but for their clarity in describing the events that unfolded
in my life. No longer was I in doubt about their ability to
foretell my future, for whoever had written the poems could not
have known what was in my heart so that they could write my own
mind down on paper; nor could they have followed me through-out my
entire stay. No, these poems were real and whoever had written them
had done so by some higher means, which I was unaware of, but which
gave them greater powers to look into my life.

When I thought about those things I felt chills again, but they
were not the same goose bumps I had felt when thinking of Noelia.
These were the scary kind, although I don’t think I was scared at
the time. At least not at the content of the words, for they were
smooth and beautiful, like a lunar eclipse. But it was certain
there was something about these poems. Something very strange and
very dark. They were interwoven with me somehow. With me, with
Noelia, with the island, and with something or someone else.
Hopefully that someone was not one that sought me ill; but of that
I was not certain.

I set the poem down on my
bed and lay down beside it. It made me think about Noelia even
more, and became the cause for all my dreams that night. I thought
about it continuously until the moment I fell asleep. It was good
that I could now fairly read the native dialects. It made it easier
for me to like this poem even more.

FIRE FLOWER
Sky of brilliant white

Wrapped in sheets of light
reflecting

Bending rays of sun that
bounce

Without the strength of
fiery breath.

Then comes the essence of the moon

Falling softly like a touch
of winter

Covering the
horizon

Watching the water freeze to
match its gloss.

But without hesitation blooms the flower

Growing from its own
sustain

A single seed to start the
growth

The glow from within keeps
its own existence lit

And takes it steps
further

To break through the rock
and ice

Above

CHAPTER 8

Los Cielos

The sun came in to bring the
new day. This time, there was no problem remembering what had
happened. My first thought was of Noelia and it put a smile on my
face. It would be all right to see her; no more the fear and bitter
misery that had come all week.

She was mine again, and I a
hero! Perhaps she would even love me more, for I had saved her
life. What a privilege and an honor it had been. There was no time
to be wasted today. All that was on my mind was to be with her. My
shower was quick but thorough, and the shave was as close as a
shave for a wedding. It was fortunate that I had not worn my best
clothes yet. They had been saved for the perfect occasion, and this
was it! I was ready for the ball with Cinderella... My Cinderella.
Never had my bangs looked so perfect, nor my style so crisp. That
day, everyone must have seen me as a walking smile.

It was a pleasant walk to
her house. The birds were cheerful, the wind just right and the
sand was a glass that made me glide, with slippery shoes, across
it; ice skating through a summer fantasy with flowers instead of
icicles. And at the end of the path was Noelia.

She was waiting for me at
her door; surprising because it was so early. I had expected to
find her still asleep, especially after last night, when she had
barely begun to recover. My little baby was awake and happy! I was
happy too. Very much more than happy – delighted! There she stood,
with a little yellow flower on her left ear. It was perfect. She
opened her gate, and came out to meet me, then ran and caught me by
yet another surprise when she jumped and wrapped her legs around me
so that I had to catch her. We swirled around and I felt like a
teenage boy. It was exhilarating.

What fun she was!

We went inside and there her
mom, dad and two brothers stood smiling at me. I guess I was that
hero I thought myself to be. I asked her how it was that she was
feeling so well, and her father answered by saying that the
substance in the plant always worked that fast. I asked how, but he
didn’t know, he just knew it worked the way it did. It had been
something they had learned about many generations past, he
said.

I didn’t learn anything more
about the flower then, but later I found out that the only things
one could learn about the flower came from legend passed down
through song from generation to generation. That legend was tied
with another legend called “El Tupa Moroti” and both were always
sung together as one song. I heard it sung many times after that.
It spoke of a white god who had come down from the skies to bring
many gifts to his people. He showered them with blessings, made it
rain on their crops, showed them how to gather certain herbs and
taught them many other things.

This legend also told of the
flower, picked and given to their grandfathers by the white god
that had taught them all. Then it went on to tell more about the
flower, explaining its magical qualities and preparation. When I
later heard the song I was able to recognize the part about it
having miraculous quick-healing effects upon the inflicted, as
would the hand of the great white god. The song also told about a
great promise, a triumph over evil and a final return of this white
“Tupa” whereupon he would be holding this flower as a symbol of
total victory.

Although I heard it many
times, it was not a common song. Mostly only the medicine people
remembered how to sing it. I do not remember any of it, otherwise I
would sing it now, but I cannot remember many things. If I had
known more Guarani at the time, I could have learned how to use it,
but I only knew enough to get me by.

Noelia still had her hands
and legs wrapped around me as I tried to put her down, but she held
me like her valiant prince. We spent the rest of the day together
and it was marvelous. For the first time, in a long time, I was
happy. I had stayed on the island much longer than I had expected.
Already, I’d been two weeks longer than originally planned. I had
gotten in touch with my job at the paper, and the airline, a few
days earlier, while the real troubles were upon me. I’d explained
the whole situation, with a few twists to the truth. My boss
granted me some extra time, so there wasn’t going to be a problem
when I returned. But even so, the time was closing in around
me.

Still, today seemed all
good. I spent it wonderfully with her. She was back in love with
me, and nothing could ruin it for us. We spent the day doing
everything and went to all our favorite places. We even went back
to the great waterfall “Igua tupa,” where she had taken me on our
first day together, and thus the opportunity for my plan arrived .
. .

As the custom required, I
got down on one knee and held her hand. I wonder how it looked in
her eyes; me kneeling with a box in my hand and a tear in my eye,
since she had never seen any of the cliché we are so used to in the
States. I held the box next to her and asked her to open it. She
did and I asked the words that had longed to be spoken: “Will you
be my wife forever, Noelia?”

She looked surprised, and
for a second didn’t know what to say. I interrupted, saying
something about me taking her and all her family with me and that
she didn’t have to fear because everything would be all right. And
so her answer came: “Yes,” and relief swept through me, as would
through a man cleared of a crime committed by another. She didn’t
know what to say about the States, and made it clear she wasn’t
sold on it just yet, but we determined mutually that it would be
resolved later and held each other tight for a long, long
time.

I could already see her in
white and couldn’t believe my fortune. Indeed lady luck had shone
on me. There was no need for any feather from a bird, I thought, as
I remembered that day of the Phoenix. I was correct when I had said
that fortune had already shone its light on me, a very lucky
man.

We got to her house a little
before sunset. Her mother was the first to hear the news, as Noelia
ran in to tell. Higinia yelled and cried for joy and ran out to
kiss me. Her father was next but he did not kiss me. He came out
and held my shoulder firm, smiling so dramatically and nodding his
head. “Mijo,” he said. They both held me, and held Noelia’s face in
rejoicing.

Hector and Julio were the
next to congratulate us. They were also exited and asked if that
meant I was their brother now. Jose Luis answered for me. “He has
always been your brother,” he said, “except, yes, now he will marry
Noelita and be your brother in the flesh.” Of course everything was
said in Guarani. It was good to understand it, finally. There were
yet a lot of words I couldn’t use, but the gross of it was
digestible.

What a day for celebration!
Now there was a good excuse for a fiesta and so I would not be a
party-pooper. The neighbors heard and came quickly. It was as if
there had been a party-bell raised to call all to a knowledge of
it. Everyone came quickly to celebrate with us. Although I didn’t
much like the part about all the liquor, it was a great time. They
made me and Noelia dance the lover’s waltz, played by soft live
mambo-drums and flutes. I held her in my arms and we danced on top
of the clouds and we fell on top of unicorns that strode through
the forest on the way to our eternal world. Softer arms I’d never
held. She was, and had been mine and only mine. The only one for me
from the day I’d met her. And during this dance, the sun set. I
remember the twilight piercing through the sky, like the hand of
God through earth’s creation.

She showed it to me and said
it was a sign that meant I had chosen well (and I knew I had). Upon
the horizon I saw the moon right on top the sun, almost pivoting on
top of it. And up and to the left of it was the first star of the
night. It lit the Earth with unity to those greater spheres, with a
twinkled beam of light that flashed across the sky. Then another
star appeared to complete that masterpiece of color, through clouds
that had formed a window, or a frame, around that spectacle that
God had painted for us. To me it was trinity. No other thought
could describe it, and a more beautiful painting or depiction of
the sky had never been seen. I remember nights in Rio de Janeiro,
where I’d sworn there would never be a better sunset. But those
sunsets were nothing compared to this one. It was a genuine
illustration of what heaven was, and was an ornament that God had
placed in the sky.