Akilina: Out of the Woods Read online

  Now there was the stovetop too, with its four burners. That really slowed things down. But the stovetop helped the ritual: she could shut the kitchen door, and could do the checking even when Fernando was out and about – he rarely ventured in there. She’d thought this addition was a clever idea, but it quickly became essential and time-consuming. Check each knob once, from left to right, then do it again, from right to left. The thin black line in the center of the knob had to be exactly vertical, and sometimes she’d hit one of the knobs with her hand in her haste, and she’d have to start over again. That’s what took the time. If Fernando shouted at her through the kitchen door to hurry up, it also meant she had to start over, because she hadn’t been fast enough the first time.

  Most important, she had to check the basement door. The door, non-descript when they’d first moved in, was now quite striking: she’d succumbed to a compulsion to paint it a high-shine glossy black. It took three coats to get the depth of color just right. That done, she’d decided it needed a new doorknob, and she went from shop to shop to shop until she found the perfect one, a transparent mock crystal with gold fittings.

  She could see the door clearly in her mind. Checking that glossy black basement door was always the final check, done just before they left the house. Once, last October, she had discovered it was unlocked. She didn’t know how it could be unlocked – no one ever went down there. She could remember the feeling even now, a year later, how her heart had clenched at the discovery, how her hands had gotten so sweaty that the mock crystal knob had slipped in her grasp, and she couldn’t get it to lock right away. She thought about the door: had she checked it before they left? She couldn’t remember. She simply couldn’t remember.

  * * *

  “What’s the matter with you?” Fernando asked, as if he’d been bothered by something for quite a while. “Why are you breathing like that?”

  Halley jumped, startled from her reverie. The woods came back into focus.

  “What? Sorry…”

  Fernando looked at her for a long moment, and then shook his head. He turned his thick arm to check the face of his large silver watch. “Twelve o’clock. Well, at least we’ve made good time.”

  Halley couldn’t believe two hours had elapsed. Lost in her thoughts, she’d seen nothing of the walk.

  Fernando took off his backpack and removed the contour map from its waterproof pouch. With a flick of his wrist, he shook the map open, and pulled out his compass. Halley waited quietly. Fernando studied the surrounding countryside, marking the position of the large peak to the left and the shorter one slightly to its right, and compared this with the map. He confirmed the map’s North-South orientation with the compass, and nodded to himself. With precision, he folded the contour map along its original fold lines and stowed it back in the plastic case, and then in his backpack, along with the small red compass. He pulled out a thin white towel from the pack and wiped the perspiration from his bare shoulders and arms. When he offered it to Halley, she shook her head.

  “Hot today,” he offered.

  Halley dropped her pack to the forest floor and quickly removed her long-sleeved t-shirt, which was wet with sweat. She hadn’t wanted to stop before to remove it, afraid he’d get angry at her for slowing them down again. She felt him watching her, and fumbled with the zip of her backpack, shoving the shirt in on top of the windbreaker. She was about to put her backpack back on when she felt his gaze shift down towards her chest. Fernando was staring at her. “What? What’s the matter?” she said, with a slight hesitation in her voice, as if she were dreading the answer. Her shoulders had hunched in together and her chest sunken, as if she were awaiting a blow.

  He seemed to be thinking of just how to put it. The edges of his lips lifted in a mocking smile. “Just wondering where you got that ridiculous shirt. A crown, Jesus, Halley. It’s so…” He lifted one eyebrow.

  Fuck you, she thought. Fuck you, you bastard. She opened her mouth, but closed it again. Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is a stupid shirt.

  He turned around and begun to walk, leaving Halley to put her backpack back on. She jog-trotted to catch up with him, and followed silently, three feet behind.

  The sound of her footsteps bothered her. As her green hiking boots struck the path and moved the leaves around, they seemed to be whispering “weakling, weakling” at her, with each stride. She was a weakling: she knew she had to leave Fernando, but she couldn’t do it.

  That’s not fair, I’m not a weakling, she thought, as she watched Fernando’s swinging stride. I have tried to leave him. Even though he acts like he hates me sometimes, he always pulls me back. Like that time on High West Mountain…

  She remembered the occasion well; it was the most recent time she’d tried to leave. That time, she’d come really close. It had been a four day hike, and they had planned to swap leadership at the end of each day. But on the second day, when it was Halley’s turn, she could feel the distrustful way he watched her with the map, his impatience and his questioning and his doubts about her ability. His attitude made her doubt herself, made her make silly mistakes.

  She’d gotten angry and left him. They had climbed separately for days, both aiming for the same base camp. He was there on the mountain with her, but for the first time, she didn’t seek him out. She got lost a few times, but that didn’t matter so much; she always managed to find her way again, backtracking and using the map and compass.

  After two days, she found she could take a few breaths before she thought of him. After three, the light in the forest seemed to change in a subtle way, becoming brighter and less threatening. It would get better, she knew; in time, she would be all right alone. The fourth night, she slept soundly.

  When she woke the next morning, she saw his familiar handwriting on a flat grey rock – he had written her a message with a coal from her own campfire. She had felt a sharp constriction in the center of her chest. The message simply said, “Thinking of you”.

  He hadn’t written “I love you”, or “I’m sorry” or even “Goodbye”. His intent in writing the message was unclear, and she couldn’t be sure why he’d come close again. She hated the message, the way it made her long for more, long for him. Why can’t he just leave me alone! She knew the reason – it was situated somewhere between her “beautiful body” and the powerless way she admired him; he couldn’t bear to let either of these things go. She rubbed the message out with the toe of her boot.

  But she kept thinking about it. It twisted and turned and ate away at her resolve. She didn’t mean to, but she found herself tracking him and finding him later that day. Quickly forgetting her days alone, her competence, she handed leadership back to him. He didn’t seem at all reluctant to take it. She had gone back to him again, and was disgusted with herself.

  It happened this way, over and over. It wasn’t that he was overtly abusive. She’d never have stayed with him if he’d hit her, or cheated on her, or abused her openly. What he did was far more subtle, she thought, and hard for anyone else to see. Her friends all said he was great, handsome, that she was nuts to even think about leaving him. But she knew. He was undermining her, like the slow erosion of a hillside. Eventually, she would simply collapse.

  Coming back to the present, she stared at his strong back. I’ve followed him too far. I think this is how drowning must feel. She had an image of icy waters closing in over her, suffocating her. She coughed; there was a full sensation in her lungs that was disconcerting. She cleared her throat but didn’t speak.

  After a long while, Fernando broke the silence. “You haven’t said a word in hours,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

  Halley was surprised. Fernando rarely asked her questions like this, questions that invited her to speak openly. “I was thinking about us,” she said. They had stopped walking and were facing each other. The sun filtered through the trees.

  “What about us?”

  She couldn’t quite read his tone. “I don’t know,” she stalled.
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  “I was thinking about that picture of us on the dresser…you know the one?” Her hands moved as if drawing the frame of the picture in front of them. “The one I took with the tripod.” It wasn’t really a lie – she had thought about that picture earlier.

  Fernando’s forehead creased. “What, the one out on Cougar Mountain? No…wait, it was in the canyon, that’s right. You led that day.” He said it like her leading was a liability. “What? What about the photo?” He seemed to see it in his mind, and his eyes softened. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I remember now.” His tone had changed. “You were so hot that day, baby…” He took a step towards her.

  Halley blinked.

  “You know, Halley, you’re still hot,” he said. “Still so beautiful.” His eyes pulled at her. “I love that picture; I love the way you’re looking at me in that picture.”

  Halley felt as if the ground had become soft under her. It was always like this; he always won. “Oh, Fernando,” she said, looking up at him. His name felt of satin to her, the name of a Latin lover from some tropical climate. Inviting images overcame her: the taste of mangoes, ripe and in season; the passionate dance of a tango; the color red; the feel of hard muscle against her chest. Her face flushed. She found herself tumbling fast into the depths of his black eyes, which, when he wanted them to, could seem bottomless.

  He took another step closer. “I love when you look like that, as if you can’t wait for it. Come here…” He nodded his chin at her and crooked the forefinger of his right hand. He smiled his devastating smile.

  She started to move towards him, but her body clenched. “But you said…you said we had to hurry, that it got dark earlier now.” She couldn’t bear to be blamed again for their being late.

  “No, baby, there’s time for this.” He smiled invitingly, and opened his arms. When she stood just a pace away from him, he reached out with one muscular arm and drew her tightly up against him. The feel of his solid body pressing into her was unbearably good. He held her upward gaze; they seemed to breathe as one.

  * * *

  It was over quickly anyway, she reflected, zipping up her combat trousers. She hadn’t even had to take off both boots.

  They walked for another hour. She was thinking about the strong outward curve of Fernando’s tanned shoulders when the first sharp pain hit her. It took her by surprise, striking her right where her inner eye would be, if she had believed in such a thing as an inner eye. The pain was so sharp and so sudden that she stumbled, inadvertently bumping into Fernando’s solid back.

  “What the…?” he said, turning around to face her, and at the same time taking a step back from her.

  “I’m sorry. My head…” She sunk onto her knees, both hands pressed against her forehead.

  “What’s the matter with you?” His tone didn’t suggest patience. “Do you need some water or something?”

  Halley looked up and tried to meet his eyes, but he just slicked his away, like a car skidding on an icy highway. It made her feel like she’d simply disappeared.

  Abruptly, she looked up. She could hear a baby crying, in deep distress. The pain in her head grew. The wail and the pain were insistent and pulling, but when she looked at Fernando, he seemed oddly unfazed.

  “The baby…” she said.

  The sound crowded her head, dragged at her. The crying was pulling at a deep place inside of her. Suddenly, she could hear another voice, that of a young girl. It was saying something over and over again, what was it? Save the baby, save the baby, save the…

  The pain in her forehead throbbed urgently.

  “What baby?” He looked around with aggravation, cocking his head slightly. “I hear a bird calling, I hear some insects. I hear you…” He took a prickly breath. “Come on,” he said, gentling his voice with apparent effort. “Try. Please. For us. I need to get back. We’re at the end of the trail anyway.” He looked at her, as if unsure whether to continue. “You keep…God, Halley…why do you keep acting so crazy? What’s the matter with you?”

  Her eyes were closed and she didn’t answer. He waited.

  “Come on. Get up off the ground. You’re acting like a lunatic.” He bit the words out. His large hand reached down to help her up.

  Her eyes opened and she stared at his hand, overcome by a strong sense of déjà vu.

  This scene had played out before, somewhere in her past. The world was suddenly unstable and shifting. Time was no longer a straight line. She had the sensation of falling, of tumbling off the very earth on which she knelt. She closed her eyes and the vividness of the seeming memory swept her away:

  She had taken his hand; he had pulled her to her feet. With effort she had forced herself to numb her feelings, to dismiss the cry of the baby. A moment later, she had let him lead her out of the woods.

  Her eyes opened, and the feeling of déjà vu vanished.

  A new feeling replaced it: utter despair. For she could see her life stretched out before her. Empty; aching. In that other lifetime, she had followed Fernando down a path which was not her own. That path was littered with what-never-would-be’s: the centering love of another; a sense of self-assurance; the feel in her hand of the tiny hand of a child; a long life filled with purpose and meaning. All this, she had lost. She had followed Fernando one last time, and that one last time was the point around which the rest of her life pivoted.

  She could see it all with great clarity. Their relationship wouldn’t work; in the end, he would leave her, and the Halley he would leave would be too damaged to ever love again. In some strange, parallel universe, her whole life had already played out. She had made the wrong choice, and from this choice, disaster had followed.

  But it didn’t have to be this way.

  “A new place to begin,” she whispered, looking up.

  “What?” Fernando said, his forehead wrinkling.

  “This is my new place to begin.”

  Rising without his help, she experienced a sudden clarity. The leaves on the trees were more defined than usual, their individual veins appearing as finely crafted lines; a single bird cried; a musky pine scent permeated the air; even her skin felt more finely tuned.

  Fernando, in contrast, had faded. He seemed to have become subtly porous, as if she could feel the slight breeze pass through the infinitesimal spaces between his cells. He was suddenly less relevant.

  “I won’t follow you. I have to find the baby. I have to save him.”

  He blew out a hard breath. “You’re crazy! There’s no baby – I told you – if it’s anything, it’s a goddamned bird.” His impatience got the better of him; he let the word goddamned draw itself out long and sinewy, and then snapped it at her like a whip.

  But even as he spoke, the keening grew louder, more a wail now than a cry. It couldn’t be ignored; it was like the whine of a manual car stuck between gears. The urge to make it stop was unbearable.

  He stared at her through his suddenly solid black eyes. “It’s the end of the trail. I’m not wasting my time looking for some imaginary baby lost in the woods. I’m going back to the car, Sparrow. You can do what you want.” His eyes dared her.

  He stepped around Halley, and began walking the path back towards the car.

  Halley watched the shape of his back as he walked away. She watched, and she forced herself not to follow. It was strange that even at a great distance he still looked tall, like a leader. He turned the corner and the trail’s vast and sudden emptiness made her throat hurt. Oh My God Oh My God Oh My God. The force it took to keep herself from following him made her gasp aloud; it was as if he were pulling her innards out along the trail behind him.

  He hadn’t looked back. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t looked back.

  Time passed. The trail remained empty.

  Looking up at the sky with closed eyes, fighting back tears, she pressed her palms together with fingers interleaved as if in prayer. She tried to breathe. The blood pounded in her clenched fingers and the hollow between her palms grew warm. After a
long while, she opened her eyes. She turned around, away from the empty trail where Fernando had been.

  She stood at the end of the long straight trail, staring hard at the trackless wilderness before her, at the close-knit forest. It was a terrible place for the trail to end. She was alone; afraid to move; with no idea of where she should go next. It was a crossroads-without-a-crossroads.

  Shaking slightly, she felt Fernando, felt each step he took away from her pull at her body. She stared straight ahead. Silence; stillness. Even the air hung quiet, the clouds immobile, as if stuck, waiting for her move, her choice.

  She couldn’t go back; she couldn’t follow Fernando any longer. That was not her path. Though the crying had stopped, she knew the baby she had heard was real, that it was alone, that it needed her help. No one else could save it. She didn’t know how she knew; she just did. There was no turning back.

  In her loneliness and desperation, she asked herself pointed questions aloud. “Where do I go next? How do I find this baby by myself? Out here in this wilderness, full of thorny things and sharp teeth. How do I carve a trail, alone?”

  She looked outwards for wisdom. None was forthcoming. To be at the end of a trail, without a crossroads, alone; to discover that she had been heading the wrong way, following the wrong guide, for quite some time; to have an urgent, illogical need to save a baby she heard crying in the woods, and to be unsure how.

  The “next” was unclear, but in the “now”, the storm clouds broke open, and rain began to fall, pricking her exposed skin mercilessly, chilling her in her stasis. Freezing her to the spot.

  “Which way, which way?” she said to herself, urgency in her voice. She willed a leader, other than herself; she willed a hero. A hero would find the way, would take charge, and would save this baby.