Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (12 page)

“I’m trying to,” I confessed, stunned and
anxious, as if I’d not only discovered that the boogie man was
real, but that he was standing behind me, peering over my shoulder
and giving me instructions on mixing crullers. “But for the life of
me, I can’t comprehend what it means.”

A flock of silky black birds with red eyes
came out of nowhere to land in the tree. They squawked in a
maddening frenzy, fighting with each other. Their loosened feathers
scattered to the wind and floated down around us like falling
ashes.

“This isn’t right,” I said, feeling shaky and
queasy. “It’s, it’s, I dunno—unholy.”

“It’s no different than what you do, Mike,”
Bryce said. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were
jealous.”

I shook my head in denial and that’s when I
noticed the violets on the ground had withered into black rotting
vegetation. The lovely tree with the chain of yellow flowers had
dried up into a gray corpse.

“My, God, Bryce,” I accused, “in order for
this magic to work it required the life of another tree and an
entire meadow of flowers.”

“Who cares?” Bryce replied. “The important
thing is that it worked just like the charisma.”

“No, it didn’t. Charisma gives of itself to
make life. This magic stole life from other plants to give to
another. It’s not the same thing at all. It’s...it’s...it’s an
abomination.”

“God, Mike, you never used to be so
holier-than-thou. You’ve been hanging around Red too long.”

“I gotta get out of here,” I said, panicking.
Just when the world had started making a little sense again, Bryce
threw this at me. Running toward the woods in the distance, needing
to be alone, I ignored my brother’s calls to lighten up, open my
mind, and quit being such an old stick-in-the-mud.

(Michael Penn)

“Uncle Mike,” an urgent voice whispered into
my ear. I thought that now I had moved into my farmhouse, these
middle of the night interruptions would stop. No such luck. “Uncle
Mike, wake up. Dad sent me to fetch you.”

“Isaiah?” I said, sitting up in bed with a
stretch to see my twenty-two-year-old nephew hovering over my bed.
Dark stubble covered his jaw line. “Natural disaster or
invasion?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s nothing like
that.”

My wife sat up with a groan. “Hey, Isaiah,”
she said with a yawn. “What is it this time?”

“Guess who walked into Galatia a couple of
hours ago.”

“Josie and the Pussycat?” I joked.

“Uncle Barrett’s dead wife.”

“Huh?”

“And eight other Galatians from Uncle Bryce’s
and Barrett’s old settlement.”

“You mean Veronica’s middle girl—Feenie?”

“None other. And get this—she’s dressed like
Jasmine.”

“Jasmine the flower?”

“No, Aladdin’s princess girlfriend in that
old animated flick, with her belly button showing, gold sandals, a
jewel on her forehead. How Uncle Barrett managed to snag a fresh
piece of tail like that, I’ll never know.”

I dragged my butt out of bed, dressed, and
followed Isaiah to the horse hitch outside. A lot of Galatians had
horses now, thanks to my dwindling jewelry collection. Every piece
that was sold off felt like losing a tiny bit of my soul, which
spoke of my unhealthy attachment to material things, a vice I
needed to work on.

Isaiah and I rode toward the city together.
The air was warm and the misty full moon cast a watchful eye over
the impromptu picnic. Despite the late hour, at least two hundred
Galatians were celebrating by candlelight. Lanterns glowed on at
every table. Bowls of salted nuts dotted the tables. Rock candy of
every hue, imported from a wealthy Commoner city down the river
called Faladore, was passed around to the children.

Feenie, who once was lost, but now was found,
sat between her mother and husband. Across the table, Jo and
Dante’s two children, Nick and Shasta, hung on her every word. The
boy’s eyes were full of gladness. He got up from the table and
dismissed himself in a futile attempt to hide his tears.
Apparently, he had been very fond of his Aunt Feenie. Seeing her
again appeared to be more than he could bear. And I had to admit,
there was a lot to see. Her bare midriff was showing just like
Isaiah had said. Her eyes were outlined in black, heightening their
blueness. So flawless was her ivory skin, I thought it might be
painted on. The young woman had a surreal quality in the firelight.
No wonder the young men were so impressed. Barrett sat on Feenie’s
right side, holding her hand, repeatedly kissing it. They gazed
spellbound into one another’s eyes, while Feenie ran her toes up
and down his leg beneath the table.

“First he gets to be sheriff, then his hot
young wife comes back from the dead,” Nathan Steelsun grumbled into
my ear. “Your brother is one lucky bastard.”

I had never seen Barrett and Feenie together,
but it was clear that they adored one another. My heart rejoiced at
their good fortune. If something ever happened to my Jessica, I
would lose my reason for living. What must Barrett be feeling right
now? Others lost in the wagon accident were also enjoying reunions
with their families and friends. Someone brought out a flute,
another a violin, and they began to play a happy little duet.

Feenie offered me her hand with a coy smile.
I think she meant for me to kiss it, but I clasped it between both
of mine and shook it instead.

“Welcome home, Feenie,” I said, meaning every
word of it.

She flashed a white smile. “I hope you will
find me to be a good sister-in-law.”

Barrett beamed with pride. He came around the
table to wrap me into a bear hug, pulled me to arm length and said,
“You were right all these years, brother—God is Good.”

Now it was my turn to beam. Barrett had
always been a believer, but rarely showed any outward expression,
so his acclamation pleased me. As we pulled apart, that’s when I
noticed Mother watching us from the picnic table. Our eyes locked.
The expression on her face was akin to a furious badger trying to
get out of a cage. Startled, I didn’t know if her rage was directed
at me, Barrett, or one of the newcomers. Mother’s body began to
shake. Even in the moonlight I could see her skin had taken on a
red hue.

“Mom, Mom, are you okay?”

Her gnarled hands suddenly clenched her
throat.

“Elizabeth!” Veronica shouted. “What’s
wrong?”

Mother tried to speak, “Poh, poh, poh…” Her
eyes rolled up and she fell straight back into Bryce’s arms.

“Isaiah,” Red yelled. “Get Dr. Steelsun.
Hurry!”

Red leapt over a table to get to her. I
joined him at her side. A couple of ladies quickly spread a blanket
over the ground as we eased Mother onto it. I was relieved to find
a pulse, but it was so rapid I knew something was horribly
wrong.

“The excitement of our arrival must have been
too much for her.” Tears streamed down Feenie’s face as her chin
quivered. “I’m so sorry. If I had known this would happen, I…”

“It’s not your fault,” Barrett soothed,
pulling her into his embrace; she laid her cheek against his chest,
while her eyes remained glued on Mother’s motionless body. “Nobody
could have predicted this.”

..............................

Hopewell Hospital was one of the first
buildings erected in the city. It was a long two-story gray brick
building with a steep slate roof. There was a handful of physicians
in Galatia and six apprentice doctors-in-training. We had fifty
nurses available at a moment’s notice and other trained medical
staff. Thanks to Gizmo and his team of engineers, the hospital had
been fitted with electric lights made from clear bottles emptied of
their wine. It was thus far the only building with power, but it
gave us hope that the whole city would one day enjoy the luxury of
electricity, though at the moment we had only a rudimentary
hydroelectric generator.

Medical care was primitive compared to the
standards we were used to, but it was far better than the tent we
had used as refugees. We’d retrieved the army trucks we’d brought
out of the bunker, which we had abandoned on our journey to the
Promised Land. Keeping the old vehicles fueled would be impossible,
so most of them had been broken down for spare parts. Gizmo was
working on bringing some of the diagnostic equipment online again,
but we lacked the computing power needed to run most of it. Even
though I was proud of Hopewell, I still didn’t like hospitals.

Every time I walked through its double doors,
my sinuses were blasted by the sting of antiseptic. My mind flashed
back to when I was eight years old, just after the plague had hit,
visiting my dying father in St. Joseph’s Hospital. Two weeks later,
my siblings, grandparents and cousins died. The week after that, my
mother was gone too. I remember standing in the hospital hallway,
where bodies in plastic bags were stacked five high, wondering who
was going to bring me home. Since that day, I associate the smell
of rubbing alcohol with death, with loss, with the darkest hours of
my life, so having Elizabeth here wasn’t easy.

My adopted mother and I had a special bond
only plague survivors could understand. Losing her would be like
losing a piece of my past. Nonetheless, she had the dubious honor
of being the first patient to use Room 12D. The room had gleaming
white floors. White tiles went halfway up the walls. The bed frame
was made from dull gray metal slats. Her name was written on the
chalkboard hanging on the footboard. A wooden chair and a side
table flanked the bed. A vase with wild yellow roses had been set
on the wood nightstand, along with get-well cards made with
colorful construction paper and crayons, compliments of my and
Red’s youngest children. Covered in a white sheet up to her chest,
Mother didn’t stir when I entered. Her eyes remained closed as if
she were only napping. She normally wore her hair up in a bun, but
someone had brushed it out and had arranged it in a thick braid
that went down one shoulder—probably one of my younger girls. When
I was a boy her hair had been so black and shiny it reminded me of
grackle plumage. When had it gotten so coarse and gray?

Even though the room felt stuffy to me,
knowing how she was always cold, I layered a gray woolen blanket
over the sheet, and leaned over to kiss her cheek.

“Mom, it’s me, Michael. If you can hear me,
please hurry back. We need you.”

I leaned in further, just in case she tried
to speak. All I heard was the faint sound of her warm breath as it
tickled my ear. Without their high-tech equipment, the doctors
didn’t have a definitive diagnosis regarding Mother’s
condition.

Dr. Steelsun entered behind me with a nurse.
He had developed an IV bag drip during his ten-year tenure on
Future Earth, and hypodermic needles, so at least Mother was being
properly hydrated and nourished. Still, it had been two weeks since
her collapse, and she hadn’t shown any sign of improvement.

“Something isn’t adding up,” he said, drawing
more blood. “The tests we can run are extremely limited, but I want
to try to rule out a few more conditions.”

“Whatever it takes,” I agreed.

Barrett entered the room with Feenie, who was
wearing a slinky pink dress that cinched at the waist with a golden
cord. The collar was cut deep, exposing her cleavage and a lot of
skin. I tried not to ogle, but it was difficult when her breasts
were popping out everywhere.

“Hey, Mike,” Barrett said. “How’s she doing
today?”

“No change.”

“That’s too bad,” Barrett said, picking up
one of the kids’ get-well cards. It had a picture of a Future Earth
creature on the front—one of the small red dragon-like creatures we
frequently spotted darting from flower to flower. “That’s
cute.”

As Barrett leaned over to return the card to
its spot on the nightstand, Feenie whispered something into his
ear. He turned around with a shocked look on his face. I could
hardly believe it when she grabbed his ass right in front of me and
Simon. Barrett pulled her into his arms, and the two of them began
to kiss, and cupped each other’s butt cheeks. Talk about
awkward.

Simon cleared his throat.

Barrett and Feenie seemed to remember they
were not alone and quickly disengaged.

“Uh, sorry,” Barrett said, looking flustered,
while Feenie gave me a sly grin. “We’re here for the night shift
with Mom. I mean, if that’s okay with everybody.” Barrett said.
“Unless someone else really had their heart set on it.”

“By all means, stay.” Having been at the
hospital for the last twenty-four hours, I was glad for the break.
“My wife will be happy to have me home for a night—I think.”

Barrett pinched Feenie’s butt. She giggled
like a school girl. Good grief, I’d never seen my brother behave so
lewdly. This was so unlike him, I didn’t know what to think.

“For God’s sake,” Simon growled. “Your mother
is right next to you. Show some respect.” Even though I didn’t have
the guts to say it, I couldn’t have agreed more the good
doctor.

(Isaiah Wakeland)

After a breakfast of eggs and toast—real
bread made from yeast-raised dough, and real butter churned from
real milk, not that fake powdered shit they served in the
bunker—Isaiah walked over to Hopewell Hospital to see Grandma
Elizabeth. He had always admired how Dad’s mom could be stern and
gentle at the same time, keeping her four grown sons in line. Mom
said Grandma was the glue that kept the family together and they
could certainly use some of her sticking power right now.

Uncle Barrett was pissed at Dad about
something. Uncle Mike was pissed at both Uncle Bryce and Uncle
Barrett about something, and without Grandma there to referee, last
evening their arguing could be heard wafting over the city.