The Daykeeper's Grimoire (29 page)

“No worries, I got it under control.”

“How?” I ask.

“You know that my dad owns a communications company, right? Well, we make this little adapter that connects your cell phone to any portable music player that has a mic input.”

He pauses like I should clap or something. “Oh, okay, kind of like ghetto karaoke?”

“Exactly. We brought a small high-amp portable CD player, the adapter, and the cell phone. You’ll be playing Machu Picchu
live
, baby!” he says, ending with that ‘waaaere waaaere’ sound that guys make when they play air guitar.

“Great, thanks a lot David,” I say. I forgot what a cheese ball this guy was. “God, I wonder what they’re going to do in Cambodia and Egypt, though?”

“Cambodia will be no problem; one of my dad’s biggest markets. More cell phones than land lines. Any kid that wants to should have no problem getting her hands on a cell phone.”

I’m really impressed that he used “her” instead of “his” and it makes me rethink my cheese-ball judgment.

He continues. “And Egypt, well, you’ve got Amisi on that, right? She’s kick-ass smart and her dad being who he is can set her up with anything she needs.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I say. “Thanks, David.”

“Hey, no problem. Just remember: You need worldwide communications, you think von Kellerman …”

There’s no doubt about what he’ll be doing when he grows up.

“Hey, thanks again, David. Can I talk to Justine one more time?”

“Sure. Great talking with you, Cracky. Can’t wait to hear your speech!”

I gasp when I hear the word
speech
. “It’s not a speech!” I say too late; he doesn’t hear.

“What?” Justine says as she comes back on.

“I just want him to know it’s not a speech,” I say, pacing the room.

“Then what is it?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“Let’s just call it a … a conversation. Yeah, it’s a conversation.”

“But no one can talk back, only listen right? Isn’t that what a speech is?”

“You’re stressing me out!” Then I try to compose myself. “Oh my God, I’m sorry Justine, I just really need to think of this
not
as a speech.”

“Jeez, Caity, are you okay?” she asks.

I look at the sun for as long as I can before my eyes water and twitch shut.

“I’m fine, really. Alex has been great and—really, I’ll be fine.”

“No, you’ll be amazing,” she says in her calming Justine way.

After we hang up, I take the longest shower ever. As I stand there letting the water beat down on my head, more and more ideas about what to say flood into my mind.

I get dressed and put the satellite phone and all the other stuff I’ll need in my backpack. With how clear the cell phone was I realize I could use that, but the satellite phone is super reliable and less likely to lose a signal.

Alex is already downstairs when I arrive. Smiling with every tooth showing he says, “He’s sleeping like a baby.”

“You did it! You’re the best!”

“Doubt he’ll be up for hours.”

As we walk through the lobby to the restaurant, two young girls approach me. They are beautiful, with brown skin that has a purplish undertone and shiny black hair. As they get close I realize they must be sisters; they walk the same way and have the same chin.

They stop in front of me. In a very thick accent the older one says, “Are you the one?”

Excuse me?” I say.

“Are you the one to talk?” the younger one says.

I look at Alex; he shrugs.

“What do you mean?” I ask. “Talk about what?”

“About kids. Change world,” the older one says as she holds up a printout of my email.

I take a deep breath. My phone call with Justine should have prepared me for this.

“I guess so,” I say.

“We help. We have car,” the younger one says as she reaches for my arm.

“You want to take us somewhere?” I ask.

They nod. “Good place for talk.”

I make the gesture for eating. “We need to eat first,” I say.

“No no, we have food in car. Very good empanadas. Sweet coffee. You come?”

I turn to Alex. “Aye, let’s go!” he says.

“What are your names?” I ask the girls.

The older one points to herself and says, “Catherine,” then to her sister and says, “Maria.”

I hold out my hand to shake. “I’m Caity.”

“I’m Alex,” he says, extending his hand. They look at him shyly and smile. Clearly Alex has worldwide appeal.

They lead us to the smallest, most beat-up car I’ve ever seen. The ceiling fabric is dangling down like tree moss and the seats are draped in blankets that are covered in dog hair. They offer me the front seat but I give it up to Alex.

Catherine starts the car, which is no easy feat because there are levers and pulls and things that have to be done, it seems, in just the right order. I ask where we are going. Maria replies, “Ahu Vinapu,” as if this was obvious. “Vinapu special place for winter solstice.”

“
Winter
solstice?”

Alex looks back. “Did you forget that we’re on the bottom half of the world?” he asks, which makes me feel like an idiot.

As we drive away from town, we pass an enormous stone sculpture, about as tall as a two-story house, that’s facing in toward the island. It’s just a long head on a short torso, sticking out of the grass like a tree trunk. Maria points to it and says something that sounds like “Mo eye.” I repeat, “Mo eye,” and she nods yes.

“Do you ever get used to them?” I ask. “I mean, do they ever stop being strange?”

Both shake their heads. “Always strange,” Catherine says as she points to another with almost everything but its cheeks and nose buried under the ground as if he’s drowning in grass.

I’m surprised at how barren the island is. Aside from grass it seems like the Moai are the only things sprouting from the earth. The early settlers and the animals they brought destroyed the island’s plants and trees and soil, so now nothing but grass covers the island. I wonder, for a moment, what they were thinking those hundreds of years ago when they cut down the island’s very last tree.

It doesn’t take long to get where they’re taking us, which is good because I’m really hungry. After we get out of the car, Catherine and Maria start pulling things from the small trunk.

We don’t venture far from the car as we take in the scene. There are a couple of structures that look like stone walls and then the ground is scattered randomly with toppling Moai, as if some giant had shaken them in his hands and then thrown them like dice.

“Kind of sinister, eh?” says Alex.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. I don’t know exactly why, but it seems we should be quiet here.

The girls lay out a blanket and motion for us to sit. In the center they set down mugs, mismatched and chipped, but clean. From a huge thermos they fill the mugs with light-colored coffee, and hand us each one. I take a big sip; it’s really good, very sweet and creamy. Then they bring out a big tin and set it in down on the blanket. Maria lifts the lid and an amazing smell escapes.

“Please, eat,” she says. “Empanadas.”

They look like small calzones, or like extra-big Hostess fruit pies, and are stuffed with meat and cheese. I bite into the warm pastry crust. “These are great, thank you,” says Alex, the consummate gentleman.

We each have two empanadas and lots of coffee and I feel the sugar and caffeine flooding my brain. “So how did you know where I was staying?” I ask.

“Our uncle drives taxi,” Catherine says.

“Taxi driver knows all that happen here,” Maria adds.

“And you knew about today because of the email?” I ask.

They nod. Catherine says, “I have email pen pal in Hong Kong. She know I live here so she send me your email message.”

I look at Alex. “Can you believe this? From the Isle of Huracan to Hong Kong to Easter Island?”

“You’re definitely doing your job.”

We hear some honking in the distance and an old truck overflowing with kids comes barreling down the road toward us. “The others are here!” Maria shouts.

“Wow,” I say. “Did you know they were all coming?”

“We make sure of it,” Catherine says. “My brother and friends all get trucks to bring kids.”

“Do kids here have cell phones?” I ask.

“No, only two or three,” she says.

I think about David von Kellerman’s idea but I seriously doubt there’s anything like a Radio Shack or Circuit City anywhere within a million miles of this place. Suddenly I have an idea. “Do any of the restaurants here have karaoke?” I ask. They nod. “Do you think we could borrow a machine?” They both nod and run over to the car to run and get one.

A load of kids jumps out of the truck, then the truck turns around and goes right back to town as another one pulls up and drops off a load. I don’t understand a thing they say as they mill around our blanket pointing at us and chattering away.

I am still in a state of disbelief that anyone showed up.

After a few more truckloads of kids get dropped off, Catherine’s car pulls up. Alex and I run over to the car to see if she was successful. She pulls a small karaoke machine out of the trunk.

“Perfect!” I say as I give them each a hug. “Let’s set this up.”

We head over to one of the walls and place the machine on it.

I ask Catherine to find someone with a cell phone; I need to keep mine as a backup in case something happens with the satellite phone.

She nods and says something to the crowd. One girl raises her hand and Catherine motions for her to come up to the front. I tear out a page from my sketchbook and write down the 800 number on it. I say to Catherine, “When it is time will you call this number? Then put the microphone on top of the phone just like this,” I say as I show them what to do. Catherine nods and says “
Si
,
si
.”

“Maybe we should test it out, to make sure you can hear me,” I say. I hand my phone to the girl who has offered her phone. “Will you please dial your phone number using my phone?” I ask her. She dials and after a delay, the phone rings. I answer it and start walking away.

“Okay, now put my phone down on the stone and put the microphone on top of it,” I instruct the girl over the phone. Saying, “Testing, testing, testing,” I motion to Alex to turn the volume up. It works! I can hear myself talking over the little karaoke machine even a few hundred yards away.

Maria has been getting all of the kids to sit in a semicircle around the stone wall where the karaoke machine sits. I walk in front of them and say, “Thanks so much for coming!” and then they all start clapping. This is just so weird.

I pick up my stuff and tell Alex that I’m going to set up and take a couple minutes to myself. I find a nice spot behind a fallen Moai head, above where the kids are sitting, and I take a seat. I definitely can’t be someplace where anyone can see me; I don’t want this to be a “performance” of any kind.

I pull out the satellite phone and make sure it’s working. Then, to calm down, I pull out my sketchbook and start drawing the Moai I see around me.

The sketching chills me out for awhile. When I see that I have eleven minutes until I have to make the call, I put away my sketchbook and pencil, set my backpack to the side, and arrange the phone in front of me.

I close my eyes and sit quietly.

I try to breathe deeply. In and out, in and out.

Slowing my racing heart, and with only minutes to spare, I make a silent plea to The Council, or to whoever is watching over me, to give me the right words.

I repeat what Uncle Li said,
“Think good, do good, speak the truth
.”

With four minutes left, I dial in to the teleconference. I’m relieved that the connection is good. An automated voice says to press five if I’d like to have music playing while the callers get set up, so I do and an instrumental version of
You Are My Sunshine
starts playing. I smile; this is one of Dad’s standard whistling songs.

I give the others until 12:02 to dial in and then I begin, trying to speak as slowly and clearly as I can.