The Memory Painter

TWENTY-SEVEN

The first thing Bryan did when he arrived at St. John’s was rent a boat. He had no trouble handling it. Bjarni’s expertise and passion for the sea now lived inside of him.

The Hunter Vision 32 sailboat was perfect for his needs and the owner had rigged it for single-handed use. Bryan had easily maneuvered it through the Narrows and caught a swift wind that would take him north. He was planning on sailing up the coast, into the bay, and then sighting the new land just as Bjarni had done a thousand years ago.

The last two nights he had slept on deck just like every Viking had before him. This was not the first time that Bryan had roughed it. As he sailed, he remembered previous lifetimes when there had been no electricity, no running water, no modern medicine.… Hardship only existed if one knew differently.

Modern conveniences had always felt less necessary to him after he’d experienced a recall. It was because Bryan felt no need for modern comforts that he was able to survive those first years after he had left home—or run away, as his mother liked to say. The day after his eighteenth birthday, he had packed his backpack and vanished in the middle of the night, leaving his parents only a letter saying that he had to go find himself and his place in the world, alone.

For the first year, he had called once a month to let them know he was all right, if only to ease his guilt. After that, he’d limited his contact to an occasional phone call or postcard. A true nomad, he backpacked all over the world, camping for months on end in the wilderness. He spent a lot of time in Europe—so many places there resonated with him. He would camp in a forest and then wander into a nearby city to do street art or play music to earn money.

He traveled across the continent with the money he made, freely tapping into his language skills and speaking whatever was required. Because he could play unusual instruments like the lute, zither, and pan pipe, he’d often join groups of bohemian musicians. If there was a girl in the group, she would usually offer him a place to stay for however long he wanted it, though those relationships never lasted long. Either he’d have an episode and need to move on, or he would recognize someone from a vision. His recalls inevitably complicated things. He’d found out the hard way that only painting and being on his own could keep him sane.