Amidst this urban forest of bare trees, there was this one young maple that somehow managed to keep its leaves. I first noticed it one night while feeling particularly maudlin, and continued to see it for two weeks. Perhaps it sounds silly, but I often thought of that tree, even one night while sitting at the Concourse stand, reading theWall Street Journal , trying to decide upon a good mutual fund in which to invest my first full year's patronage dividend check. At the same time, I reflected upon a call that had come up earlier at the U-Square PO. Immediately following my arrival at this point of origin, three men and a woman had approached the cab.
"Damn," I said under my breath. This ironic déjà vu was certainly not lost upon me. They opened the doors and climbed inside.
"I am sorry," I said, "but U-Rides are allowed only for parties of three or less. Some of you may ride. Those who remain are welcome to call U-Ride for another cab, but I cannot take all four of you at once."
There was a moment of silence. Finally, the men climbed out of the cab.
"Hey, that's okay," one said. "Take her home. We'll just walk."
"You sure that's okay?" the woman said.
"No problem," another man said. "You take the ride. We can walk."
The men began walking away from the cab. One broke from the group and approached me.
"You make sure she gets home safe," he said through the open window.
"That is what we do," I replied with a smile. The man smiled back. A cool breeze gusted through the cab. The wind felt gentle, yet it would herald the harsh winter that would come all too soon, bringing a bounty to us all. All seemed right with the world, for this bizarre experience of déjà vu brought me comfort, proving that reality can actually be as it should, as opposed to bringing to fruition one's greatest nightmare. Putting down my newspaper, I thought of that brave little tree and smiled, knowing that I was able to bend in the wind too, adjusting and adapting to this ever-changing world. With this American holiday of Thanksgiving approaching, I gave my own thanks, grateful that the bountiful Cab Gods were there to watch over me.
Later that night, the soft breezes turned angry, seeking vengeance wherever available. Yet, despite the severity of these gales, I fully believed that my brave little maple would survive. Feeling rather confident of this, even feeling a bit giddy, I drove to visit my leafy friend only to find a pathetic little stump, its branches and leaves blown into oblivion.
Suddenly, the images rushed before my sight, and the vanity of my philosophical rationalizations came crashing down upon me. Before my eyes: three naked, blood spattered corpses, one with the neck horribly twisted, one with the neck partially torn out and the third with the head completely ripped from its shoulders; two corpses, one an adult male with his neck grotesquely twisted, the other a mere child, naked, smooth skin ripped and torn, chocolate brown flesh turned gray; and one corpse, merely a collection of charred bones.
I had done this!
A wave of nausea passed through me. One can hide in distractions, but the consequences of one's deeds will always be. A great vista of carnage opened before me, and I suddenly realized that were Francois here, he would have been quite ashamed and very angry.
"Seventy," Dexter's voice crackled, interrupting my contemplation. "There's a telegram waiting for you at your office. Just arrived."
"A telegram?" I answered, wondering who might send me a telegram. "Do you know from whom this telegram is?"
"Yeah," Dexter replied. "Some guy named Bob Johnson."
That could mean only one thing. In his last letter, my former aide-de-camp had said he had actually found some promising leads regarding the whereabouts of a certain Jenkins fellow. The previous image immediately faded, replaced by images of restored fortunes and sweet, sweet revenge.
Chapter 18
Full Circle
Jenkins found. See the Bruja,Catemaco,Mexico .
The terse message quickly obscured all other concerns, etching its way into my memory, the telegram read and read again until the paper, through excessive handling, grew to resemble parchment.
Suddenly, the sparseness of my drab abode became all too apparent. No longer could the shortcomings be obscured through a conscious lapse of attention to these details.
But no longer!
My bed would be the most exquisite of carved mahogany, the mattress like clouds, the sheets the finest Chinese silk money can