Dead Awake: The Last Crossing

  ***

  Word of my quest spread like a forest fire and burned into everyone’s ears. Before I set off, on this task to a magic nowhere, the whole island had come to see and say their part; eager to provide me with as much knowledge and experience as they could. It was funny how quickly they came. I had just decided to leave that very day, and not two hours later most of the island had come to see me off. When I was ready they pointed me in the direction I should go (a mountain far away on the other end of the island) and gave a cheer for my cause and me. I had the entire island’s support, backing me on my crusade. The vast majority of them didn’t actually believe I’d find the flower. They were just invigorated by the show of my valiancy. The other few, a petty minority, hoped but still doubted.

  Indeed, I became very popular amongst everyone: a hero, and the topic for all conversation. I wish that I hadn’t become so popular, because that recognition would later prove my downfall. For now, however, it was very useful to my cause.

  They gave me a backpack made by the women out of a remarkably light fabric. Inside were provisions: water, a compass that would help me reach the top, a lamp, and some light blankets that they forced me to take. They also made me dress as if I were going to the North Pole, saying that it got really cold up in the mountains. Cold? Ha! How could it get cold on an island where the temperature is constantly at 85 F and the humidity is always 100%? But they made me wear the clothes anyway, and so I humored them.

  I was lost almost from the start. I wasn’t even on the mountain slope yet, and confusion had set in. All directions seemed the same. It was as if I had been spun inside a giant top and then been placed in the woods. The villagers would have laughed, had they seen me now. Nothing looked right. I wasn’t familiar with any of these slopes or valleys, and the island was much bigger than outward appearances would indicate.

  Going with Noelia to a nearby waterfall was a long shot from being placed with no guide in the middle of some unknown country, and then having to find some place that was proportionately pin-sized in the middle of an island-sized haystack.

  The directions they had given me were awful, as are usually given by someone who is not of your own country. Why was that? People always give bad directions when you’re traveling. Do they mean to do it? It seems to me that they try purposefully to confuse you when you are already confused, and leave you worse off than before.

  Panic set in. I was in the thicket of this impenetrable forests and certainly no one would ever find me! Like a frightened goat, I ran through the trees searching for a path. And then finally, I came upon an opening where some huts had been built and the trees had been cleared to make room. They were the same village huts I had been used to all the time. In fact, I hadn’t even left the edge of the town yet. I recognized the huts and I’d even been there before. How silly of me, I thought. All the shrubbery had confused me and made me panic. They made everything look the same. Not looking hard enough, any one of the scattered huts could have been Noelia’s, for all I knew. Everything was built the same way. Clay and adobe for walls, covered by hay and wire for a roof. No one could tell the difference.

  After that it didn’t take too much more wandering about for me to find a path towards the right mountain. Once I reached the bottom of its slope the stress of the whole situation lessened. Hiking had always been enjoyable for me. Something about the great outdoors and the feelings of freedom that it gave made me feel at home. Back in New York there was hardly any time for that. The air or something here, unlike the toxic gas chamber of the New York streets, gave me new life and power. Even my muscles breathed it in. So now, the opportunity for a hike became therapeutic. I still felt the despair because of Noelia, but it was much better here than it would have been anywhere else. I felt guilty for enjoying it.

  There was a light sprinkle of moisture in the air. It wet my face and hands and began cooling me from the intense sunlight. The slope was gradual, without present danger. It reminded me of the mountains I had climbed as a boy, when my parents had lived in Utah. They were natural and smooth; a tender roll of hills and mountains that invited all to come. Mountains that would care for you as you climbed on their backs, like a giant holding his child. No danger of falling or hurting oneself on those mountains. They had been my friends and I missed them.

  It got cold quickly. The more I went up, the faster the temperature dropped. At first I thought it was because the sun had begun to go down, but soon realized there was a complete change of climate within every few feet. Strange, how in the middle of a tropical island, there could be such a mountain. I was in for a greater surprise.

  After having climbed for several hours, I looked up and saw the almost unreachable peak of this great mountain. I saw snow! I couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t easy to see clearly, because of a fog that had dropped, but it was snow; even falling snow! I was glad about the blankets and heavy sweaters now. However, I’m sure if I had refused them, the villagers would not have let me go. I even found myself wishing they were thicker blankets, for I was the shiver-prone type. I’d be cold even when it wasn’t cold, which it wasn’t yet. It was probably fifty degrees, but after having spent some time on the island, fifty degrees seemed like fifty below.

  There came a point of jagged rocks that was a little harder to climb and more dangerous than before. It was nothing that an experienced rock climber would have flinched at, but to me it looked dangerous enough. Immediately after the rocks came the ice, like a glacier. It was as if I’d just crossed the border between the dry land and the frozen world.

  The temperature had dropped again. It was as if an invisible barrier had been placed where the rocks had stopped and the ice began; and that barrier kept the colder air on one side and the warmer air on the other. I hoped there would be no pit in front, somewhere nicely hid by freshly fallen snow, where I could fall. The thought made me prefer the rocks, even though in the end they proved themselves harder to climb.

  It was a beautiful sight. Icy slopes, so easily treaded. Everywhere was white and soft. The sunny rays of day were at almost at their end. The better part of day had gone and now I was even closer to the top. But the peak of that mountain was not my exact destination. I had been told that the flower grew somewhere close to it, but not at its summit. I felt that it was somewhere on the joining plains, where the slope leveled off up ahead.

  My insides told me that I was close. It must be around here, I thought, but everything is so white and frozen. How could a flower grow in such a hostile frozen place? How could something bloom and blossom in the middle of this frozen desert? There was no earth for roots to grab hold of. The packed snow must have gone down for a least ten feet. It was asking for a miracle and yet, with all my doubt, my heart told me that I was close. It was an inner struggle between what was in front of my eyes and what I felt in my heart. A clash between faith and my sensibility.

  Looking all around revealed no flower, though my insides told me different. Then a sudden despair rushed through me. Wings of doubt took me to a loft where I could get a view of reality. What was happening? Nothing! There was no flower! I couldn’t see one. That was reality.

  As far as I could see there was only the same beautiful snow all around. Further down perhaps, past a few slopes there were some pines, but everything had stopped growing at this altitude. The only thing here was the snow, the fog that was now thick living clouds, and a little wind, but certainly no Fire Flower. There wasn’t even any vegetation here. Nothing was alive! Maybe if I dug deep enough, there could be grass or something, but was that what I was supposed to do? Was I supposed to dig for this Fire Flower? The villagers never said anything about digging. If they would have, at least then it would have seemed a little more conceivable, after having had a firsthand look of this place. But finding it, even that way, would be like winning the lottery. It made a lot more sense to climb down to where the trees grew because there was nothing here.

  Yet their instructions had been specific. They had said that it w
ouldn’t be found where the other things grew, but that one must go higher. Right below the summit, they said. And thus my frustration grew, although there was this feeling of being closer, so close, almost right on top of it. That feeling grew and made me go insane. Finally I shouted – not exactly to anyone or someone – perhaps to God. I shouted and asked for some answers and fell to my knees, in total surrender; inadequate now for the job placed in my care. I knelt there and shouted all my frustration out to anyone that was listening... Why was I in such a difficult position? It was so unbearable to me.

  Why was she going to die? Why couldn’t I find the damn flower, and what was that idiotic feeling, that feeling in my chest that kept on burning and harassing? What was it, and what did it want? Was it telling me where the flower was? So where was it? If it was telling me that, I still couldn’t see it!

  My shouting turned into soft whispers, so that my questions could be heard without irritation to the ears. At that moment, what was inside my chest, which had driven me to this lunacy, grew stronger. The uncertain confusion had ceased and now there was a calm surety in its place. It was a given reality. I didn’t know where the flower was, but now I was sure that it was there. It was a sure feeling of what I didn’t see, but of something I could tangibly feel; and whatever it was, it helped me to stand up again.

  In the midst of what I like to call “my communion with the heavens,” I stood up and began to walk for a few paces. Every step took me through virgin snow in an icy home. The only thing that had disturbed these white Elysian Fields were the tracks I’d made earlier. I could even see some of my tracks being covered with the falling snow. And there this feeling was, taking me to the place, as if fate had held my hand and was now showing me where to go.

  The fog, now thick as clouds fallen to kiss the ground, opened a path as I came closer and cleared the way for me to see. It was a miracle! Although I had looked in that place before and there had been no flower, now in untouched snow it rose as a newborn in a desert of snow. It was spiritual and even humbling. I was sure I had looked there already, but there had been nothing. Now, as I held the flower in my hand, hope in the magic came for the first time; all from this tiny thing sent from God-bringing optimism for her. It was something recognizable, as Jose Luis had said it would be. A thing of such great beauty that in all creation there was but one; as an image of her. Noelia was who it made me think of and I began to believe in that flower.

  The walk back to the village was much easier than the climb had been. Nothing was impressive now, except the thing in my hand and the experience I had just gone through. The whole way up had been nothing but uncertainty and despair, which had made the climb much harder; but now there was life and hope. I still felt concern for Noelia, but it was much different. I knew that everything would be ok, so now my despair was gone. If time were measured by what we felt inside, I would have said that the hike up that mountain had taken me days and the decent only minutes.

  The villagers assembled quickly as they saw me coming and eagerly strained to catch the sight of what was in my hands. When they saw it was the flower a great tumult arose all around. Noelia’s father came out with his hands in the air, shouting praises of acclamation and claiming that he had believed in me the whole time.

  When I was finally within reach, the villagers rushed to meet me and carried me, as the new hero, atop their backs and shoulders. I hurriedly tried to get down, so that I could see Noelia, and when I did her father crushed me behind his arms in an embrace that was surprisingly friendly. He wasn’t usually that affectionate, and even a handshake made him a little uncomfortable. I never would have guessed a man, bony as a skeleton, could have mustered up so much strength. The hug took my breath. Perhaps it had been the only time when Jose Luis had let emotion get the better part of him, due to all the excitement and adrenaline rush.

  Indeed, it was a cause for celebration, but there was still work be done right away. I had to shout to remind the villagers that this was not another excuse for a party, but rather to save someone’s life. We had to act fast and begin the preparations so that we could give the remedy to Noelia. There was no time now to stop and sing a song, especially when the remedy was one I had no clue as how to make or administer. I had only been the errand-boy, sent to fetch the main ingredients for this “mother’s pie,” but now the village people were the ones that had to make the stuff.

  “Stop! Let’s get to work!” I yelled. They stopped their hero’s welcome, and immediately a fat woman came and snatched the flower from my hand, which she crushed between her hands and began to grind it into powder. It wasn’t pleasing to see this lovely flower treated in such a way, especially when I had taken such great lengths to attain it, but such is the way with things that are of worth. I wasn’t left to meditate on this, for Jose Luis pulled me in to see Noelia. The last thing I saw outside was the fat woman speeding away while another equally fat woman came to help, holding a cooking jar full of some brew that would be mixed with the flower.

  It was dark inside the house, as dark as it had been the first time I laid eyes upon her dying body. There was a simple glow from a little lantern against the wall, just enough to see her face. She was pale and looked grim, but she was still beautiful. I held her hand, cold and stiff, yet the only hand I could ever hold. No one could replace her.

  “Everything’s gonna work out fine,” I said to her. She only shifted a little, delirious in her fever. It was awful to see her like that, but still I held strong. I knew the flower would save her. It had to.

  Her father must have read my mind at that same moment, for he came over and sat by me. “She will be alright, the flower will help her,” he said. For the first time I understood every word from his mouth. It felt nice.

  Higinia came over too and put her arm around her husband. He answered the gesture as she laid her head on his shoulder. All would be fine now. There was no more need to worry and I saw her smiling again, for the first time in a long time.

  About an hour passed, and one of the fat ladies came in with a small wooden spoon filled with some liquid. This must be it, I thought. She came to my side and knelt, as I was beside Noelia.

  “She must drink it all,” she said, “And you must watch that she doesn’t spill any of it. And you must be the one who gives it to her. It is the only way.”

  Her charge to me was a great responsibility, for she said that if any of it were spilt, the magic would stop working. But she was asleep. How would she drink it, and how was I to do it?

  The fat lady, whose name was Natalia, told me that she would lead me through it as I did it. I supported Noelia’s head with my hand and made her drink as I watched carefully so that the precious drops would not spill. Fortunately it all went right in. She squirmed a little, but soon laid still again. I put her head down on her pillow and waited by her side. Natalia thanked me, and I, along with Noelia’s family, thanked her in return. Evidently everything had gone well, so I put my head on my sleeping Noelia’s chest and rested.

  There was nothing left to do now but wait. I reflected for a moment on how earlier in the week I’d thought things had gotten bad and I’d fallen asleep drunk, to wait for a better tomorrow, thinking that nothing could possibly go worse, and not really believing that anything would get any better with the passing of one more day. Now I thought about how much worse it really had gotten and how thankful I was that it was almost over.

  Maybe now she would forgive me, for how I’d been. Still, I was thankful, thankful that she was going to be all right, thankful that it would certainly be a better tomorrow, because she would still be alive and full of vigor. These things I reflected upon, right before I fell asleep, with the last of my thoughts drawn out to her.