Chapter 3 - The Boatman

It’s always the same: a trinket, an idiot, a wise and frightening old man, and the steadfast companions. Mix, match, multiply and you’ve got the American Executive Branch of Government. Oh, and a fantasy novel, though they aren’t that different. – Overheard at a sci-fi convention

I was floating. We were all floating. The world around us felt peaceful, warm and unrushed. In the distance a blue light drifted toward us. Just as one can feel the heat of a fire before it reaches you, so could I feel the empty cold of that blue light. My limbs grew numb. My thoughts sharpened to a fine edge. I knew that I had once again gotten rapidly older. I was an adult with the body of an adult. With the knowledge of an adult.

We were clinging to old, round, white life preservers, straight from the Titanic or Love Boat. Beneath us, the water felt cold and sharp like a knife blade, piercing our exposed skin. Above was a great fog, the kind from which you expect to hear the low rumble of a ship or semi’s horn. Trawling toward us, like George Washington over the Delaware, was another old man, holding a blue-lighted lamp well above his head.

Through the fog I could make out the old man’s features, which were the same as – yet wholly different from – the angry, scabby man of a few days before. This man had the same bent, slouched appearance. His clothes were shabby and torn. Most importantly his eyes pierced into mine with the gray light one could only find in the eyes of an ancient wolf. Yet this man smelled, if not clean, then strong, like the salty sea air, like the dust flying from the saw and the lumber, like dirt and rain and mud.

“Ahoy, young’uns!” he called. “Would you be likin’ a climb aboard? You’re lookin’ – ahyuh, ahyuh – a might cold!”

My cousins said nothing. They were too shocked to speak. Jonathan’s mouth kept opening and closing, searching for words and finding none.

“Ple-e-e-e-ase, sir. This water is fre-e-e-ezing,” I tried to say through chattering teeth. “What…what’s going on?”

“I’ll – ahyuh, ahyuh – tell you in a moment, lad,” called the ancient man. “It looks like Aly here might be goin’ a bit blue on us.” He indicted my cousin, who did appear to be changing colors as the blood desperately rushed to combat the glacial waters.

Jonathan, Kenzie, and I swam over to Aly, as the old man and his boat angled in her direction. With much jostling and after a terrifying moment in which my head was submerged in the terrible waters, we managed to force Aly into the boat. Once the rest of us had climbed in, the gray-eyed man handed us heavy woolen blankets.

“Welcome – ahyuh – to the dark waters of the mind, children, where anything can and, usually, does happen,” he said, once we had all stopped shaking. “My name is Abraham – ahyuh – Honest Abe, and I shall be your guide.” He gave Kenzie a wink at this. Her eyebrows flew up at this, then dropped down in confusion and thought.

“That’s what… you’re the old man from Wolf Creek!” she said in an accusatory tone. Kenzie and the rest of her Chemistry II classmates had taken a field trip to the Wolf Creek Nuclear Power Plant the week before.

“I am who I am,” replied Abraham, simply. Then he grinned, “but I am who I am – ahyuh – not, as well!”

“But who are you?” asked Aly.

He grinned at her, “When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see! And well do I see thee, my dear.”

He turned now upon me, and his expression clouded. “Ah. Dewey. It’s too late, is it not? Brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor sea, but sad mortality over sways. You’ve seen my brother.” It was not a question; I nodded regardless. He sighed. “Then now is not a time for laughter. I must put aside my grins, my winks, my yucks, and my bard’s many words.”

He grinned at Jonathan, but the smile was weaker now. The piercing, gray eyes looked tired. “You’re going to love this one, boy,” Abraham said. Jonathan said nothing. Abraham turned back to Dewey.

“Do you know where Matty is?” he asked.

It did not occur to me to wonder how Honest Abe knew Matty. Too much had already happened to worry about such a minor triviality.

“Kansas City,” I replied.

“Yes,” said Abraham, “but can you get there?”

“I….” I did not know. I did not know what he meant. I was a kid. How was I supposed to get there? It was not like I could just ask my dad to pack everything up and drive me to KC because some imaginary man named Abe asked me to.

Abraham had not taken his eyes from mine. “You don’t ask,” he said. I jumped. Abe could hear what I was thinking? “No, but I can make pretty good guesses,” he said with a tired smile.

“What do you mean, I don’t ask?” I demanded.

Abraham stared at Kenzie for a second, as if weighing her in his mind, then returned to me. “You must get their on your own,” he said. “You may bring these three, and I may watch out for you from time to time, but this is not your father’s story. It is not your mother’s story. This story is for you.” He looked up into the sky for a moment, smiled, and said, “And for your cousins, I suppose.”

Jonathan finally spoke, “What? What is going on, old man. Why are we going… Why are you making Dewey go to Kansas City? Who is Matty?”

It is strange to me, even now, to think that my cousins had never met Matty before. In this instance I still firmly believe that it was coincidence. On the other hand, I am not sure how much trust I am willing to put into coincidence anymore.

“Matty is George’s son,” I explained for Abe. My father had been friends with George since high school. Kenzie used to have a crush on him. Dad thought that was very funny. My cousins all knew George.

“That still doesn’t explain why we have to go to KC to see him,” Jonathan pointed out.

I squinted, trying to put it into words, “Matty is…”

“Special,” finished Abraham. “Matty is special. He can do things that few other people can do; maybe no one else can do them. But he needs help. He needs Dewey. And Dewey needs the three of you.”

“And what can Matty do, exactly?” asked Jonathan. Abe looked at me, as did my cousins. I looked to Abraham, who nodded, and then I told the story of the boat and the wave and the scabby old man. And I talked about Matty. Before us in the waters, the images in my head floated by. My cousins watched as the wave approached. They watched us run and heavy. And they heard Matty asking me to stand by him.

When I’d finished my story, all eyes were upon me, and I was crying. I did not know why I was crying. Perhaps the experience was just too much to go through again. Or maybe I finally felt what Matty felt as the old man slouched and muttered himself down those stairs. Regardless, I was crying.

Jonathan and Aly looked away from me and to Kenzie, who did not take her eyes away from my face. “We’ll go,” she decided. ‘I can drive…”

“No!” Abraham interrupted. “You must not drive. If you do so, you will be in my brother’s hands. Try to stay off the roads. Follow them if you must, cross them if no other option exists, but do not walk along them. If you agree to the course you are about to follow, you will find yourselves steeped in dangers one does not ordinarily run into in Kansas.”

“What about our parents?” Aly asked. “Won’t they be worried about us?”

“If you succeed,” said the old man, “it will be as if you had never left.” He put his hand to the rudder, and the boat turned about.

For a moment, we were all silent, pondering the days to follow. It is strange, how quickly we accepted the old man and the mission he set us on, but we were children. We were not yet set in our ways. An adult had set us on a task, and it was our job to see it through.

Abraham broke the silence, “It is customary, at times like these, for me to give each of you some kind of gift. To that end…” he turned to Aly, “Alyson. I give you the gift of love. Those not set on your path by my brother will care for you and yours.” Now he turned to Jonathan, “Jonathan, to you I give the gift of bravery. There are many battles to be won and lost in this world, but one cannot win if one cannot face the fight.” He turned to Kenzie, “Mackenzie, to you I offer leadership. There will be times when others will not know what to do or whom to turn to. It is at these times when you must become the Voice. Believe in yourself, and others will believe in you.”

Finally, the tired, old man turned to Dewey, “Dewey,” he began, “there is only one thing left for me to offer you, but it may be the most important. There will be times when you all will struggle. You will tire. You will be frightened. Dewey, I offer you my lamp. When my brother has set his hounds upon your heals and his black despair gnaws at your heart, raise up my lamp and let the hope of the world beat back the darkness around you.”

Abraham held out his lamp. Dewey reached for it. As his hand touched the metal, the lamp vanished. In the darkness, the four children heard the ancient man’s voice, “When the clock strikes three and your parents are fast asleep, you four must rise. At that moment, the world you know will stop, like an unwound clock. Meet inside the Library door. I wish you all luck, and I ask you to think of Matty as you journey. He will need your strength even then.”

Abraham’s voice echoed upon the still water. For a moment, I thought I heard a final, “ahyuh,” and then the blinding light of mid-afternoon struck us. Mom had walked out of the kitchen and said, “The grilled cheese is ready.”