For I Could Lift My Finger and Black Out the Sun (21 page)

12

Sol approached as I sat on the park bench, the one closest to General Tulloch and his horse, their likenesses frozen in time and stone, oblivious to the downtown park around them.

With a dark hoodie pulled up over my head, I raised one hand to Sol.
Stop
. I pulled out the cellphone I’d borrowed from the loudmouth woman on the bus and dialed Sol’s number.

It rang once, then twice.

Sol, taken aback or just annoyed, paused. He may have even chuckled. But he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, pressing the button to accept the call.

“Yes, John?” he said, staring at me across the park as he raised the phone to one ear.

“Stop where you are,” I replied.

“I understand, John,” Sol said, relaxing his shoulders. “This is all very new, very strange, very hard for you. But as I have told you, I am your friend.” He took a step forward.

“No,” I said. “Don’t get any closer.”

“Come now, John, isn’t this a little… silly?”

“I don’t think so. You and I both know that our powers have a limit, at least in terms of distance. That’s why we can only bend minds when people are nearby.”

“Indeed, you are right,” Sol said. “But John, you are well within my limit even now.” The bastard smiled.

I didn’t stand up, didn’t visibly react in any way. Didn’t give him the pleasure. “Yes, I know,” I said. “And you’re well within mine.” Sol froze. Now he wasn’t sure exactly what to expect from me. He stayed a good 40 feet back, fidgeting a bit, but not getting closer.

Instead, he changed the subject. “In truth, John, I need your help.”

“Really?
You
need
my
help? For what?”

Somewhere in the distance a bell tower rang out its chimes as the clock struck noon. One… Two… Three… My heart pounded. Four… Five… Six… Sol began to answer, but the chimes were loud enough to interrupt him. Seven… Eight… Nine… Three people walked by, the park getting more populated at lunchtime. Sol glanced around, not concerned, but calculating. Ten… Eleven… Twelve… The last tone hung in the air, like it was unwilling to hand the day back over to silence once again.

Sol gestured toward the statue, an offhand move. He was, as always, suave and charismatic. He began to lower the phone, trying to speak to me directly. “John, let’s be done with talking on the phone.”

“No!” I said. “Stay on the phone, and stay away. I won’t talk to you if you put down your phone or get any closer.” Sol seemed legitimately surprised, holding the phone out to one side, eyebrows raised. “Do it,” I said, “or I’m leaving.”

Sol raised his phone again. “John, this is absurd. If I just walk forward a few feet, you could hear me without this phone. We could just talk. Are you even going to look at me?”

“I don’t want to talk,” I said. “And I don’t want to look at you. Stay on the phone, or I leave.”

Sol hesitated. Then he smiled. “What makes you think you could leave now even if you wanted to, John?” He stared at me, letting the threat linger. Then, he gave a little shrug and rolled his head around on his shoulders. He gestured toward the statue. “Do you know the story of General Avery J. Tulloch, John?” A random question, but Sol enunciated the general’s name with an air of importance.

“Nope.” Impertinent. I was being a jerk on purpose. To knock him off his game, maybe, but really because I was a kid and I thought he deserved it.

“Well, then, let me tell you about him. I think you’ll find the story quite interesting.” Sol licked his lips, as if he were preparing himself. “When he was a boy, Avery James Tulloch was one of 14 children, raised in an extraordinarily strict household. His father, also a military man, but of significantly less stature than Avery would one day achieve, ruled the home with an iron fist. They lived on a ranch, so everyone had to help out. His father’s harsh approach wasn’t an exercise in manners or discipline. They lived on the rugged Midwestern plains, and back then, if you didn’t do your part, you or your family might die. Starvation was a very real problem. Avery and his 13 siblings each had jobs, and they were expected to do those jobs without question and without fail. But of course you suspect what happened, correct?”

Sol waited, but I didn’t answer. “Yes, of course you do. One winter day when he was only seven, Avery was sent to deliver a wagon of vegetables to a market in the nearby town. He did, and he got paid. And he didn’t steal the vegetables or the money, or go off and misbehave, not even a little bit, but he did do one thing wrong. Avery saw some other children playing in the street. You see, the children in town had a lot less to do than those who lived out on the ranches. Their lives were by no means what we today would consider easy, but still, they actually had time for games. Avery thought it was wonderful to play with these other children, some of them his own age. It was cold and he didn’t think his father would notice that he was gone an extra hour or so. He thought it was great fun. Until, of course, a few days later, when a friend in town spoke to Avery’s father and told him what had happened, not at all trying to get the boy in trouble. In fact, the friend remarked
how nice
it had been to see Avery having so much fun. Do you know what happened next, John?”

Interested despite myself, I shook my head. “He got in trouble?”

“Oh, indeed. He
did
get in trouble. Quite a lot of trouble. Avery’s father decided he could no longer trust his son, and made Avery sleep outside as a punishment. This went on for
four nights
. It was January, and there was snow on the ground. Avery was allowed the clothes on his back and the blanket from his bed, which was thankfully thick wool, though full of holes. Years later, General Tulloch was quoted as saying that he thought he would die on those nights. The first evening or two, he called to his father for mercy, but after that he suffered in silence. It was probably the silence that saved him from having to sleep outside on the fifth night. His father finally let him back in, and Avery never again wavered from what he was told to do. Which, of course, made him a perfect candidate for military training. But he was also very smart, so he rose through the ranks quickly. Discipline. Intelligence. And a healthy fear of the deadly consequences of failure.”

Sol paused again as a young woman walked past him in the park. She may have noticed us, but Sol’s gaze fell upon her and I’m certain that her mind told her she saw nothing. Sol continued. “As a captain, Avery Tulloch led a charge against an entrenched enemy position and won the battle without a single loss of life on his side. In fact, his entire story is riddled with impressive successes like that, things the average person would find impossible to accomplish. Still, it wasn’t until he became a general that he truly excelled. Have you heard of the Battle of the Empty Hand?”

Sol was as charismatic as always, I’d become enthralled by the story he was telling. When he stopped to ask this latest question, it was like a dream being interrupted. Was he slowly pushing my mind? “No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Pity. May I tell you about it? It’s really quite remarkable.”

“Sure,” I said, still frozen on the park bench.

“The Battle of the Empty Hand happened in a remote place out west, called
el Desierto de las Tres Manos
.” Sol reveled in the words, emphasizing them with his deep voice and accent. “That means
the desert of the three hands
. It’s a hot, barren place, just jutting rocks and fields of sand ranging out in all directions. The rocks can reach hundreds of feet tall, forming random ravines and canyons throughout the desert. The natives called it
Tres Manos
because if you climb onto any of the plateaus and look down, it looks like three giant hands pressed into the rock, flattening it all the way down to the smooth sand and leaving steep-edged canyons. Some of the canyons cut all the way through, but many did not. Many formed box canyons — that is, canyons with only one entry point. These box canyons were great for herding livestock. Once you went in, there was only one way out, so keeping track of your cattle was fairly easy. But in war, these closed-off places could mean death.”

“I assume there’s a point to all this,” I said.

“Yes, of course. You are young, John. You prefer… what is it they call it? Ah, yes.
Instant gratification
. So I will jump ahead. General Avery James Tulloch had only been a general for about a year when he found himself commanding a force that was charged with providing security for the remote areas of the desert, protecting them from enemy patrols. The fear was that if no one kept these places safe, the enemy would be free to sneak through and attack something actually important, such as one of our more prominent southwestern cities. So while Tulloch’s task might have been thankless, he was providing a tremendous benefit to his nation. One day, a routine patrol group came charging back into camp, having nearly killed their frothing horses. The soldiers reported that the enemy was not just nearby, but had almost surrounded Tulloch’s camp. And, he was told, they outnumbered his men nearly five to one. The newly minted General Tulloch had a choice to make. Do you know what that choice was, John?”

“No idea.” Okay, maybe he had a point about instant gratification. I wanted to hear the good part.

“Well, of course, he could fight, but the odds looked to be very much against him. He could negotiate. There is no cowardice in that, only reality. Or he could prepare to surrender. As you might expect, General Tulloch hasn’t been remembered with this fine statue for his ability to quit. Instead, he readied his forces. And he and his men rode straight into the canyons, into the heart of
el Desierto de las Tres Manos
. All of them. They went in great haste, kicking up a massive cloud of dust behind them. The enemy commanders must have laughed at the sight. And their much larger forces simply followed behind, knowing that Tulloch’s army would tire. Into the deep, steep-edged canyons the soldiers went, tracking their prey. Ahead of them, Tulloch’s army reached a crossroads, where one thin path broke off from the main, much wider way. Both directions led to death, for these were two box canyons branching out in front of them, as Tulloch knew well from scouting the area. There would be no escaping out the other side. But Tulloch was clever. He ordered half his mounted forces off their horses and into the thinner canyon, followed by the other half, still mounted. They proceeded slowly and deliberately, for the walls were close on either side. Down the other canyon, Tulloch sent the riderless horses at a quick trot, with a few men to keep them going. Tulloch himself then waited, in hiding near the crossroads. I do not know the man’s mind, but from what I have read, I suspect he had an idea of what to do no matter how his opponent reacted. Not long after, the enemy approached in great numbers, a huge and fearful army. In their hubris, their commanders saw the lingering dust cloud of the fleeing horses and assumed what they saw to be the truth. They took the wider way. And when they reached the end of that box canyon, they found the
hand
to be
empty
. There were only riderless horses and the few men who guided them. Even as the enemy commanders realized their folly, Tulloch’s forces fell upon them from behind, trapping them against the dead-end walls of the canyon, killing them
en masse
, each one of his men killing several of the enemy. When the majority of the enemy was dead, the few men remaining begged for mercy and surrendered.”

Sol took a long breath, and again I felt like I was coming out of a dream I didn’t realize I had fallen into. “That’s a lovely story,” I said. “What does it have to do with you and me?”

“Ah, good question, John.” Sol took a step forward.

“Ah ah ah. No closer,” I said, and he stopped with an audible sigh.

“The reason I told you this story, John, is simple. Before I began, I asked you if you knew anything about General Tulloch. You said
no
. Yet from the tale I just told and many other tales of his fine abilities as a commander, we see that Avery Tulloch was a remarkable man. By the end of his life, he was nearly a god among men. People revered him, loved him. Songs were sung in his honor. They would listen spellbound to the tales of his deeds. He was asked many times to run for president, although he never chose to do so, finding politics distasteful. Still, none of this matters now. The world has forgotten him. Do you understand now?”

“Not really.”