The Traveler

28

Maya studied the map and saw that an interstate highway led straight from Los Angeles to Tucson. If they followed this thick green line they would be there in six or seven hours. A direct route was efficient, but also more dangerous. The Tabula would be looking for them on the main highways. Maya decided to cross the Mojave Desert into southern Nevada, then take local roads through Arizona.

The freeway system was confusing, but Gabriel knew where to go. He rode his motorcycle in front of her like a police escort, gesturing with his right hand to tell her to slow down, change lanes, take this ramp. At first they followed the interstate into Riverside County. About every twenty miles, they’d pass a shopping center with massive warehouse stores. Clustered around the stores were residential communities of identical houses with red tile roofs and bright green lawns.

All these cities had names that appeared on the road signs, but to Maya they were as artificial as the plywood sets on an opera stage. She couldn’t believe that anyone had traveled to these locations in a covered wagon to plow the land and build a schoolhouse. The freeway cities looked willful, deliberate, as if some Tabula corporation had designed the entire community and the citizens had followed the plan: buying homes, getting jobs, having children, and giving them up to the Vast Machine.

When they reached a town called Twentynine Palms, they got off the main highway and turned onto a two-lane asphalt road that led across the Mojave Desert. This was a different America from the freeway communities. At first the landscape was flat and barren, and then they began to pass piles of red rocks-each hill as separate and distinct as the pyramids. There were yucca plants with sword-shaped leaves and Joshua trees with twisted branches that reminded her of upraised arms.

Now that they were off the freeway, Gabriel began to enjoy the journey. He leaned from side to side, making graceful S curves down the middle of the empty road. All of a sudden, he began to go much faster. Maya stepped on the accelerator, trying to keep up, but Gabriel kicked into fifth gear and roared ahead of her. Furious, she watched him grow smaller and smaller until bike and rider disappeared into the horizon.

She began to get worried when Gabriel didn’t return. Had he decided to forget about the Pathfinder and go off alone? Or had something bad happened? Maybe the Tabula had captured him and now they were waiting for her to appear. Ten minutes passed. Twenty minutes. When she was almost frantic, a tiny dot appeared on the road in front of her. It grew larger, and finally Gabriel emerged from the haze. He was going very fast when he blew past her in the opposite direction, smiling and waving his hand. Fool, she thought. Damn fool.

Glancing in the rearview mirror, she watched Gabriel turn around and race to catch up with her. When he passed her again, she honked the horn and flashed the headlights. Gabriel pulled out into the opposite lane and drifted alongside the van as Maya rolled down the window.

“You can’t do that!” she shouted.

Gabriel did something to the motorcycle so that it got even louder. He pointed to his ear and shook his head. Sorry. Can’t hear you.

“Slow down! You’ve got to stay with me!”

He grinned like a mischievous boy, pulled back on the accelerator, and raced away from her. Once again, he headed down the road and was absorbed by the haze. A mirage appeared on a dry lake bed. The false water sparkled and flowed beneath the white sun.

WHEN THEY REACHED the town of Saltus, Gabriel stopped at a combination general store and restaurant that was designed to look like a pioneer’s log cabin. He filled up his motorcycle’s fuel tank and went into the building.

Maya pumped some gasoline into the van, paid the old man running the general store, and passed through an open doorway into the restaurant. The room was decorated with farm tools and wagon-wheel light fixtures. The stuffed heads of deer and mountain sheep hung on the walls. It was late in the afternoon and no other customers were there.

She sat in a booth opposite Gabriel and they spoke to a bored waitress wearing a stained apron. The food came quickly. Gabriel wolfed down his hamburger and ordered a second one while Maya picked at her mushroom omelet.

People who crossed over into different realms often became spiritual leaders, but Gabriel Corrigan didn’t show any sign of spirituality. Most of the time he acted like an ordinary young man who liked motorcycles and put too much ketchup on his food. He was just another citizen-that’s all-and yet Maya felt uncomfortable being around him. The men she had known in London loved the sound of their own voice. They listened to you with one ear while they waited for their turn to speak. Gabriel was different. He watched her carefully, focused on what she was saying, and seemed to respond to her different moods.

“Is your name really Maya?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“So what’s your last name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a last name,” Gabriel said. “Unless you’re a rock star or a king or something like that.”

“In London, I called myself Judith Strand. I entered this country with a passport that said I’m a German citizen named Siegrid Kohler. I’m carrying backup passports from three different countries. But ‘Maya’ is my Harlequin name.”

“What does that mean?”

“Harlequins pick one special name when we’re twelve or thirteen years old. There’s no ritual to follow. You simply decide on a name and tell your family. Names don’t always have an obvious meaning. The French Harlequin who calls himself ‘Linden’ is named after a tree with a heart-shaped leaf. A very fierce Harlequin from Ireland calls herself Mother Blessing.”

“So why are you called Maya?”

“I picked a name that would annoy my father. Maya is another name for the goddess Devi, the consort of Shiva. But it also means illusion, the false world of the senses. That’s what I wanted to believe in-the things I could see and hear and feel. Not the Travelers and the different realms.”

Gabriel looked around at the dingy little restaurant. WE TRUST IN GOD, said a sign. ALL OTHERS, PAY CASH.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Are they also running around with swords looking for Travelers?”

“I was an only child. My mother came from a Sikh family that had lived in Britain for three generations. She gave me this…” Maya raised her right wrist and displayed the steel bracelet. “This is called a kara. It reminds you not to do anything that could cause shame or disgrace.”

Maya wanted to finish the meal and leave the restaurant. If they were outside, then she could put her sunglasses back on and conceal her eyes.

“What was your father like?” Gabriel asked.

“You don’t need to know about him.”

“Was he crazy? Did he beat you?”

“Of course not. He was usually in some other country trying to save a Traveler. My father never told us where he was going. We never knew if he was alive or dead. He would miss my birthday or Christmas, and then would show up at some unexpected moment. Father always acted like everything was normal, that he had just been around the corner for a pint of beer. I missed him, I guess. But I also didn’t want him to come home. That meant we had to resume my lessons.”

“And he taught you how to use a sword?”

“That was just one part of it. I also had to learn karate, judo, kickboxing, and how to fire different kinds of guns. He tried to make me think a certain way. If we shopped at a store, he’d suddenly ask me to describe every person we had seen. If we were riding in the Underground together, he’d tell me to look at everyone in the car and determine the sequence of battle. You’re supposed to attack the strongest person first and work your way down.”

Gabriel nodded as if he understood what she was talking about. “What else did he do?”

“When I got older, Father would hire thieves or drug addicts to follow me through the streets after school. I had to notice them and figure out a way to escape. My training was always out on the street, as dangerous as possible.”

She was about to describe the fight in the Underground with the football thugs, but fortunately the waitress arrived with the second hamburger. Gabriel ignored it and tried to continue the conversation.

“It sounds like you didn’t want to become a Harlequin.”

“I tried to live a citizen life. It wasn’t possible.”

“Are you angry about that?”

“We can’t always choose our path.”

“You seem angry at your father.”

The words slipped beneath her guard and touched her heart. For a second, she thought she was going to start crying so hard that it would shatter the world that surrounded them. “I-I respected him,” she stammered.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be angry.”

“Forget about my father,” Maya said. “He has nothing to do with our current situation. Right now the Tabula are looking for us and I’m trying to protect you. Stop racing up the road on your motorcycle. I need to keep you in sight the whole time.”

“We’re in the middle of the desert, Maya. No one is going to see us.”

“The Grid still exists even if you don’t see the lines.” Maya stood up and slung the sword carrier over her shoulder. “Finish your meal. I’ll be outside.”

FOR THE REST of the day, Gabriel rode in front of her and matched the speed of the van. The sun went down and melted into the horizon as they continued traveling northeast. About forty miles from the Nevada border she saw the green-and-blue neon sign of a small motel.

Maya reached into her purse and pulled out the random number generator. An even number meant keep driving. An odd number meant stop here. She pressed the button. The RNG showed 88167, so she flashed her headlights and turned off into the gravel courtyard. The motel was shaped like a U. Twelve rooms. An empty swimming pool that had grass growing on the bottom.

Maya got out of the van and walked over to Gabriel. They needed to share a room so that she could watch him, but Maya decided not to mention that fact. Don’t push him, she thought. Make up an excuse.

“We don’t have a lot of money. It’s cheaper if we share a room.”

“That’s okay,” Gabriel said, and followed her into the lighted office.

The hotel owner was a chain-smoking old woman who smirked when Maya wrote Mr. and Mrs. Thompson on a little white card. “We’ll pay cash,” Maya said.

“Yes, dear. That’s fine. And try not to break anything.”

Two saggy beds. A small table and two plastic chairs. There was an air conditioner in the room, but Maya decided to leave it off. Noise from the fan would muffle the sound of anyone approaching. She slid open the window above the beds, then went into the bathroom. Tepid water trickled out of the shower head. It had a flat, alkaline smell, and it was difficult to rinse her thick hair. She came out wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts and Gabriel took his turn.

Maya pulled the blanket off her bed, and then slipped beneath the sheet with her sword lying a few inches from her right leg. Five minutes later, Gabriel stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair, wearing a T-shirt and underwear. He walked slowly across the worn carpet and sat down on the edge of his bed. Maya thought he was going to say something, but he changed his mind and crawled under the covers.

Lying faceup, Maya began to catalog all the sounds around her. The wind lightly pushing against the screen. An occasional truck or car passing down the highway. She was falling asleep, half in a dream, and then she was a child again, standing alone in the Underground tunnel as the three men attacked her. No. Don’t think about that.

Opening her eyes, she turned her head slightly and looked across the room at Gabriel. His head was on the pillow and his body was a soft form beneath the sheet. Maya wondered if he had lots of girlfriends back in Los Angeles who flattered him and said “I love you.” She was suspicious of the word love. They kept using it in songs and television commercials. If love was a slippery, deceitful word-a word for citizens-then what was the most intimate thing a Harlequin could say to another person?

Then the phrase came back to her, the last thing she had heard her father say in Prague: I would die for you.

There was a creaking noise as Gabriel moved restlessly on his bed. A few minutes passed, and then he propped his head up on two pillows. “You got angry when we were eating lunch this afternoon. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked all those questions.”

“You don’t need to know about my life, Gabriel.”

“I didn’t have a normal childhood either. My parents were suspicious of everything. They were always hiding or running away.”

Silence. Maya wondered if she should say something. Were Harlequins and the people they protected supposed to have personal conversations?

“Did you ever meet my father?” she asked. “Do you remember him?”

“No. But I do remember seeing the jade sword for the first time. I was probably eight years old.”

He remained silent and she didn’t ask any more questions. Some memories were like scars that you kept hidden from other people. A trailer truck passed the motel. A car. Another truck. If a vehicle turned into the courtyard, she would hear tires crunching across the loose gravel.

“I can forget about my family when I’m jumping out of a plane or riding my bike.” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, the words absorbed by the darkness. “Then I slow down and it comes back again…”