Part 10 (1/2)

”I was in the middle of writing a recommendation that you be steered to another line of work,” she said. ”Then this comes in. A request from the Columbus project for your presence next week. Will I grant you a paid leave of absence.”

”It would be cheaper for you to fire me, ” he said, ”but it'll be harder for me to help them in Juba if I lose my access to the Past.w.a.tch computer system.”

She looked at him with thinly veiled consternation. ”Are you telling me that you aren't a crazy, self-willed, time-wasting, donkey-headed fool after all?”

”No guarantees,” he said. ”That may end up being the list that everybody agrees to.”

”No doubt,” she said. ”But you've got your leave, and you can stay with us until it's over.”

”I hope it turns out to be worth the cost,” he said.

”It will,” she said. ”Your salary during this leave is coming out of their budget.” She grinned at him. ”I actually do like you, you know,” she pointed out. ”I just don't think you've caught the vision of what Past.w.a.tch is all about.”

”I haven't,” said Hanahpu. ”I want to change the vision.”

”Good luck. If you turn out to be a genius after all, remember that I never once for a moment believed in you.”

”Don't worry,” he said, smiling. ”I'll never forget that.”

Chapter 7 - What Would Have Been.

Diko met Hunahpu at the station in Juba. He was easy to recognize, since he was small with light brown skin and Mayan features. He seemed placid, standing calmly on the platform, looking slowly across the crowd from side to side. Diko was surprised at how young he looked, though she was aware that the smooth-skinned Indies often seemed young to eyes accustomed to the look of other races. And, especially for one so young-looking, it was also surprising that there was no hint of tension in the man. He might have come here a thousand times before. He might be surveying an old familiar sight, to see how it had changed, or not changed, in the years since he had been away. Who could guess, looking at him, that his career was on the line, that he had never traveled farther than Mexico City in his life, that he was about to make a presentation that might change the course of history? Diko envied him the inner peace that allowed him to deal with life so ... so steadily.

She went to him. He looked at her, his face betraying not even a flicker of expectation or relief, though he must have recognized her, must have looked up her picture in the Past.w.a.tch roster before he came.

”I'm Diko,” she said, extending both hands. He clasped them briefly.

”I'm Hunahpu,” he said. ”It was kind of you to greet me.”

”We have no street signs,” she said, ”and I'm a better driver than the taxis. Well, maybe not, but I charge less.”

He didn't smile. A cold fish, she thought. ”Have you any bags?” she asked.

He shook his head. ”Just this.” He shrugged to indicate the small shoulder bag. Could it possibly carry so much as a change of clothes? But then, he was traveling from one tropical climate to another, and he wouldn't need a shaving kit - beardlessness was part of what made Indie men seem younger than their years - and as for papers, those would all have been transmitted electronically. Most people, though, brought much more than this when they traveled. Perhaps because they were insecure, and needed to surround themselves with familiar things, or to feel that they had many choices to make each day when they dressed, so they didn't have to be so frightened or feel so powerless. Obviously that was not Hunahpu's problem. He apparently never felt fear at all, or perhaps never regarded himself as a stranger. How remarkable it would be, thought Diko, to feel at home in any place. I wish I had that gift. Quite to her surprise, she found herself admiring him even as she felt put off by his coldness.

The ride to the hotel was wordless. He offered no comment on the accommodation. ”Well,” she said, ”I a.s.sume you'll want to rest in order to overcome jet lag. The best advice is to sleep for three hours or so, and then get up and eat immediately.”

”I won't have jet lag, ” he said. ”I slept on the plane. And on the train.”

He slept? On the way to the most important interview of his life?

”Well, then, you'll want to eat.”

”I ate on the train,” he said.

”Well, then,” she said. ”How long will you need before we start?”

”I can start now,” he said. He took off his shoulder bag and laid it on the bed. There was an economy of movement in the way he did it. He neither tossed it carelessly nor placed it carefully.

Instead he moved so naturally that the shoulder bag seemed to have gone to the bed of its own free will.

Diko shuddered. She couldn't think why. Then she realized that it was because of Hunahpu, the way he was standing there with nothing in his hands, nothing on his shoulder, no thing that he could hold or fiddle with or clutch to himself. He had set aside the one accessory he carried, and yet seemed as calm and relaxed as ever. It made her feel the way she felt when someone else stood too close to the edge of a precipice, a sort of empathetic horror. She could never have done that. In a strange place, alone, she would have had to cling to something familiar. A notebook. A bag. Even a bracelet or ring or watch that she could fiddle with. But this man - he seemed perfectly at ease without anything. No doubt he could fling away his clothes and walk naked through life and never show a sign of feeling vulnerable. It was unnerving, his perfect self-possession.

”How do you do it?” she asked, unable to stop herself.

”Do what?” he asked.

”Stay so ... so calm.”

He thought about that for a moment. ”Because I don't know what else to do.”

”I'd be terrified,” she said. ”Coming to a strange place like this. Putting my life's work into the hands of strangers.”

”Yes,” he said. ”Me too.”

She looked at him, unsure what he meant. ”You're terrified?”

He nodded. But his face seemed just as placid as before, his body just as relaxed. In fact, even as he agreed that he was terrified, his manner, his expression radiated the opposite message - that he was at ease, perhaps a little bored, but not yet impatient. As if he were a disinterested spectator at the events that were about to take place.

And suddenly the comments of Hunahpu's supervisor began to make sense. She had said something about how he never seemed to care about anything, not even the things he cared most about. Impossible to work with, but good luck, the supervisor had said. Yet it was not as if Hunahpu were autistic, unable to respond. He looked at what was around him and clearly registered what he saw. He was polite and attentive when she spoke.

Well, no matter. He was strange, that was obvious. But he had come to make a presentation, and now was as good a time as any. ”What do you need?” she asked. ”To make your case? A TruSite?”

”And a network terminal,” he answered.

”Then let's go to my station,” she said.

”I was able to convince Don Enrique de Guzman,” said Columbus. ”Why is it that only kings are immune to my arguments?”

Father Antonio only smiled and shook his head. ”Cristobal,” he said, ”all educated men are immune to your arguments. They are flimsy, they are meaningless. You are opposed by mathematics and by all the ancients who matter. Kings are immune to your arguments because kings have access to learned men who rip your arguments to shreds.”

Columbus was shocked. ”If you believe this, Father Antonio, then why do you support me? Why am I welcome here? Why did you help me persuade Don Enrique?”

”I was not convinced by your arguments,” said Father Antonio. ”I was convinced by the light of G.o.d within you. You are on fire inside. I believe only G.o.d can put such a fire in a man, and so even though I believe that your arguments are nonsense, I also believe that G.o.d wants you to sail west, and so I will help you all I can because I also love G.o.d and I also have a tiny spark of that fire in me.”

At these words tears sprang into Columbus's eyes. In all the years of study, all the arguments in Portugal, and more recently in Don Enrique's house, no one had shown a sign of having been touched by G.o.d in support of his cause. He had begun to think that G.o.d had given up on him and was no longer helping him in any way. But now he heard words from Father Antonio - who was, after all, a greatly learned man with much respect among scholars throughout Europe - that confirmed that G.o.d was, in fact, touching the hearts of good men to make them believe in Columbus's mission.

”Father Antonio, if I did not know what I know, I would not have believed my arguments either,” said Columbus.

”Enough of that,” said Father Perez. ”Never say that again.”

Columbus looked at him, startled. ”What do you mean?”

”Here at La Rabida, behind closed doors, you can say such a thing, and we will understand. But from now on you must never give anyone even the slightest hint that it is possible to doubt your arguments.”