Montaro Caine A Novel

30





IT WAS QUITE LIKELY THAT THE SMALL WHITE-HAIRED MAN DID not hear them as they approached. He was a solitary figure, hunched over in his white lawn chair as he sat by an empty pine table; he seemed to be lost inside himself, somewhere between his mind’s eye and his inner ear. He had the aspect of a man preoccupied with his own thoughts, out of touch with the reality surrounding him. As Montaro Caine and Dr. Howard Mozelle strode urgently toward him on the late summer grass, the aged man signaled no awareness of their advancing presence.

The sky was overcast and the air was muggy. Swirling rain clouds were randomly rearranging themselves into threatening configurations. The outdoor recreational area of the Oakville Estates retirement facility was otherwise deserted. Even the crickets in the nearby grass remained silent and still. As Mozelle and Caine approached the man with the twisted chin and withered right leg, they shared a quick, meaningful glance. Then, Montaro’s firm voice shattered the silence.

“Hello, Luther,” he said.

Startled, the old man wheeled to look up at the faces peering down at him. He squinted, but for a moment nothing seemed to register. He frowned, puzzled. A long, cautious moment passed. Then his eyes lit up. As his eyes roamed Caine’s face, a smile began to gather slowly upon his weathered lips.

“Hello,” he said in a garbled voice that Caine recognized instantly from the cassette tapes he had listened to. His smile broadened. Caine smiled back. Luther then shifted his gaze to the face of Caine’s companion, where it lingered. Luther’s smile grew even wider. He moved as if to rise, but Caine’s arm shot out and rested on his shoulder with a gentle downward pressure, and Luther eased back into his chair.

Mozelle introduced himself to Luther, but the moment Caine began to say his own name, Luther interrupted.

“I know who you are,” Luther said plainly. “You’re his son.”

Caine felt himself involuntarily gasp. He tried to maintain his poise as he and Howard Mozelle sat across from Luther at the table.

“I am,” said Caine.

Luther’s smile dissolved into an expression of quiet seriousness. He watched Caine pull out from a jacket pocket a small flannel bag with a drawstring. Caine loosened the drawstring, carefully turned the flannel bag upside down, and slid an object out into his hand. Luther’s and Howard’s eyes fixed upon the dark, round, shiny form that was nearly as large as the palm of Caine’s hand. On one of the tapes, his father had said it looked like a compact, but Luther John Doe had called it a ship.

Caine placed the object gently on the table, then looked at Luther, who raised his eyes to meet Caine’s.

“Tell me about it,” Caine began.

“What do you want to know?”

“Why did you carve it?” Caine asked.

Luther looked down at the object. “Because I saw it.”

“Where?”

“In my head.” Luther’s tone was matter-of-fact.

“Forty-eight years ago?”

“Forty-eight years and three months,” said Luther.

“You mean you saw it in a dream?” asked Caine.

Luther looked up, one eyebrow arched. “No,” he answered, almost as if Caine’s suggestion offended him.

“You told my father you made it for me,” Caine said. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” Luther said. “For his son.”

“But we had never met.”

“I know.” Once more, Luther stared into the steady blue eyes of the handsome, sandy-haired man seated across from him.

“Luther. You’re sure we’re not talking about a dream?”

“It was no dream, no sir.” Luther spoke firmly.

“Why are you so sure it wasn’t?”

“Because you’re here now. And you’re no dream, are you?” He tilted his head toward Howard Mozelle. “I saw him, too,” he said. The weather-beaten face of the elderly doctor flushed and his body shivered slightly. “And I saw the ship, inside and out,” Luther added.

“What is the ship called?” Caine asked.

“The Seventh Ship,” said Luther. “It should be coming soon, now that you’re here.”

“Where is it coming from?”

Luther looked up and pointed toward the restless sky—the dark clouds above seemed to be fidgeting. “Out there,” he said. Dr. Mozelle’s pulse was racing, but he sat quietly as Caine continued to question Luther.

“Who are they, Luther? Who’s coming on the Seventh Ship?”

Luther shrugged.

Caine’s forehead knotted. “Think hard, Luther. Who or what is on that ship? What do they look like? You’ve seen the inside of the ship; you must know.”

The bewilderment on Luther’s face deepened. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never saw what they looked like. That would have been impossible.”

Caine glanced at Mozelle, who appeared both intensely absorbed in what Luther was saying and also far away. He understood that Mozelle was reminded of another time in his life when he had allowed his faith to overcome his doubts about what was possible—when he and Elsen had traveled to an island in search of a man named Matthew Perch.

“You told my father the ship was coming to get information,”

Caine continued. “When he asked you what kind of information, you told him it was a secret and that you would tell me when I came to see you.”

“That’s right,” said Luther.

“What is that secret information, Luther?” Caine asked kindly.

The little old man with the twisted chin and withered right leg had waited most of his life to answer this question. His chest swelled and his body seemed to straighten slightly, as if his answer would mark the most majestic moment of his life. “Everything,” he said simply.

“What do you mean, everything?”

“Everything about them,” he explained, his voice full of reverence.

“Them?”

“Yes. They are coming to get all the information there is about them. From the beginning to the end.”

Howard Mozelle leaned across the pine table closer to Luther. “What does that mean?” Mozelle asked. “Help us to understand. Please. How did this secret, this information, whatever it is, come to be here?”

Luther leveled his eyes at the doctor and whispered. “They’ve stored it here.”

Caine and Mozelle exchanged glances. “How did they store it here?” Caine asked.

“In people. In me, in you, in him,” Luther whispered, pointing to Dr. Mozelle. “In lots of people. Most of them don’t know anything about it.” He smiled and added, “But I do.”

“If you’ve never seen them, how do you know so much about them?” Caine asked.

“I don’t know. I must have seen only what they wanted me to see. But I never saw what they looked like.”

“Did you ever tell anyone else about them, or about the information?”

“No. It was meant only for you.”

“How did you know you were only supposed to tell us?”

“I just knew.” Luther shrugged. “I guess that’s how they wanted it.”

“Why did they choose you, Luther?” Caine asked. Then he added, “I mean, to let you hold their secret all these years, until today, for me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because they liked me,” Luther replied.

“I’m sure they do. You seem like a very special person.”

Luther smiled broadly. He liked the compliment and also the attention.

“Luther,” Caine said, leaning closer for emphasis. “A very special, smart, and talented guy like you can help us figure this thing out. Of all the people in the world they picked you, me, and Howard, and some others; but why us? For what reason? They picked us for a purpose, Luther, and we have to know what that purpose is. I know you can help us with this. Will you?”

“I’ll try,” Luther murmured.

Caine massaged his chin and pulled at it as if to draw milk from his mind. “Judging from the size of the ship,” he asked Luther, “how many of them would you guess are on board?”

“None,” said Luther simply.

“None?”

“None are on any of the ships. They died a long time ago.”

“Then who operates the ship?” Mozelle asked.

Luther turned to Mozelle. “It operates itself,” he said, then spoke with greater enthusiasm. “That ship knows everything that was ever known, and can do everything that was ever done on that place that used to be. With the information that we have been keeping for them, the ship will take it and bring it someplace where they can be born again, and in turn, you can use the information it has brought here.”

Luther leaned back and waited, giving Caine and Mozelle time to digest what he had just said.

“Tell me about the place where the Seventh Ship is coming from, Luther,” Caine said.

“It’s a place that isn’t there anymore.”

“Why isn’t it there anymore?”

“Its sun died. Just as ours will,” Luther stated plainly.

Caine’s brain jammed as if it could not compute the appropriate imagery. He swallowed hard.

“How far away is the sun that died?” Caine asked.

“Thirty-three thousand years by light.”

“And how long ago did it die?”

“It’s been one hundred thousand years since the light stopped.”

“The Seventh Ship left before the sun died. Is that what happened, Luther?”

“A long time before. All of them did.”

“There were seven of them?”

“Yes.”

“And they’re all coming here?”

“No, only the Seventh Ship.”

“What has happened to the others?”

“They have all been here and gone.”

“Gone? Where to?”

“Each has gone in search of a sun that won’t die soon.”

“Will they stay here?” asked Caine. “Is this where they’ll be reborn?”

Luther shook his head. “I doubt they’ll stay,” he said.

“Why not?” asked Caine.

“Because someday the people here will have to leave, too. Just like they did.”

Caine gazed at Luther with wide-eyed fascination while Mozelle interjected. “Luther, do you know of a man named Matthew Perch?” he asked.

“No. Who is he?”

“Have you ever heard of a woman named Whitney Carson?”

“No.”

“She is married to a man named Franklyn Walker. Have you heard of him?”

“No.”

“Someday soon, Whitney and Franklyn will have a child. Do you know what will happen when that child is born?” Mozelle continued.

Luther shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know these people,” he said. “Who are they?”

“People who, like you, have had something to do with the information you’ve given us,” said Caine.

Howard mentioned the names Hattie Sinclair and Carrie Pittman, but Luther had not heard of them either.

“I’d say they must have something in common, though,” said Luther.

“What would that be?” asked Caine.

Luther shrugged. “Maybe they’re just honest people like you,” he said. “Maybe they’re people who have the capacity to believe.”

“Luther,” Caine asked. “Do you know how fast light travels?”

“One hundred and eighty-six thousand miles per second,” answered Luther.

“And thirty-three thousand years by light would be how many miles?”

Luther smiled. “Five trillion, eight hundred and sixty-five billion, six hundred and ninety-six million, one hundred and seventy thousand.”

Dr. Mozelle gasped.

“Where did you learn that?” asked Caine.

“From a friend of mine,” answered Luther.

“Who?”

“His name is Tom Lund.”

“Where is Tom now?” Caine asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe dead by now.”

“When did you last see him?”

“A long time ago.”

“Where?”

“In the hospital in New York. When he was my friend.”

“You haven’t seen him since?”

“No.”

“How much did Tom Lund know of what you’ve just told us?”

“Nothing. One day when I was carving the ship for you, he asked me what it was. I told him it was a ship, and we got to talking. I asked him how many miles away thirty-three thousand light-years was. He knew about things like that. He was smart with numbers. We got along good. But I didn’t tell him anything about what I just told you.”

Before Caine could ask anything else, a distant voice shouted, “Sorry, gentlemen, we are starting to serve dinner now.” The group looked up to see an approaching orderly dressed in white.

“It’s time for Luther to join the others,” she said as she neared the table.

“That’s all right,” Luther said. “We’re done here.”

Caine started to ask the orderly for more time, but Luther had already begun struggling to his feet; he now seemed more fragile than he had when they arrived. He tilted to his right side so severely that it seemed as if his spindly, withered leg would give way beneath him.

Luther picked up the carving of the Seventh Ship and passed it to Caine.

“Don’t forget this.” He placed the object gingerly in Caine’s outstretched hand. It seemed to rattle slightly. Caine hadn’t noticed that rattle before.

Raising the carving to his ear, Caine shook it lightly and heard the same faint rattle. “Is there something inside?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Luther.

“What?”

“A surprise.”

“Is there a way to open it?”

“You can’t. It will open when it’s time.” Luther turned and walked away with the orderly. He looked satisfied and at peace.

“God bless you, Luther,” said Mozelle. But Luther didn’t hear him. Mozelle and Caine watched Luther hobble along across the lawn with the arm of the orderly supporting him. Finally, he disappeared into the main building of Oakville Estates. For a long time, Mozelle and Caine stood still, gazing upon the spot where Luther and the orderly had been swallowed up by the red brick building.

Mozelle looked dazed, as if struck by a traumatizing blow. “Oh my God,” he said, quietly. “I hope we’re not losing our minds.”

Overhead, lightning ignited and thunder rolled. Then, silently, Caine and Mozelle turned and moved toward the parking lot where Caine’s car was parked.

“Maybe we are,” said Caine.

Once the men were back in the car, a light rain began to pepper the windshield. As Caine began to drive back toward Manhattan, both he and Mozelle sat silently, deep in thought.

Dr. Mozelle was thinking about the artwork on the walls of Matthew Perch’s hut, the configurations of constellations that he had also seen on the coins, the strange moon or star that appeared on one coin but not on the other. Perhaps, he allowed himself to think, this was actually the star Luther had spoken of, the star that had died.

Caine was thinking of that long-ago day when his grandfather had handed him the carving of the Seventh Ship, a gift from a little black boy he had never met. “Later in life,” his grandfather had told him, “who knows—this might provide you with fond memories of your father.” Yes, he thought, that indeed had been true.