The Sound of Many Waters (31 page)

“You have to admit it’s a pretty crazy story.”

Dominic laughed. “Not to me. It’s just the life that I know.” He ripped a drumstick off the chicken and threw it on the floor. Zane looked down, confused.

“Alvar, eat!” said Dominic, and the panther sprang from beneath the table and seized the drumstick. Zane jumped in his chair; he had forgotten that Alvar was even there.

“Take off your bandage,” said Dominic.

“What? Why?”

“Just take it off and look.”

Zane peeled away the tape and lifted the gauze. Below, he found a healed scar that looked like it was already a few years old. He ran his fingers over the pink scar tissue.

“I don’t expect you to believe me right away,” continued Dominic. “It took me years to be fully convinced. But I am telling the truth as I know it. How does it work? That’s still a mystery. Maybe there’s some rare mineral in the water, something yet unknown to man that has the ability to preserve life. Or maybe there’s something of the divine in it. I don’t know. What I do know is that nothing decays in it. Even metal does not rust. It’s a marvel, but a dangerous one. My many years on this planet have taught me that man is man throughout time…ferocious, complex, and as capable of good as he is of evil. This spring is a secret that must be protected, now more than ever.”

“Then why tell me?”

“Because I think you were sent here to replace me.”

“
Sent
here? By who?”

“By the one who makes the plans.”

“What—God? I don’t think so.”

Dominic held up Zane’s doubloon pendant. “Then explain this to me. Don’t you see? This coin was from the wreck of my ship.
My ship!
”

“Listen, I got here because Miguel, your crazy friend—”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Well, whoever he is, he’s a murderer. He found the rest of those coins, took me hostage, and killed at least four people like it was nothing!”

Dominic’s face filled with concern. “
Killed
them?”

“In cold blood. Maybe you don’t know what he’s capable of, but I do, and I would be very happy if I never see him again.”

A knock at the door brought Dominic to his feet. “Who is that?”

“What if it’s him?” Zane scanned the room. “Where can I hide?”

The knock came again, this time as a pounding. Dominic opened a closet. “In here,” he said. Zane jumped inside. Dominic shut the closet door and Zane leaned back. He felt som
e
thing cold and hard against his shoulders and when he moved it made a clanking sound. A crack between the planks of the door let in a sliver of light and allowed Zane to see that the object was a polished metal breastplate, something like a knight or crusader might wear in a movie. Or a Spanish conquistador. Zane shook his head in disbelief, but he reasoned that anyone might be able to buy such a replica on the Internet if they searched hard enough.

Zane heard the front door of the house creak open. He peeked through the crack.

“Evening,” said The Law. The Taxman stood behind him, his face as dark as the air, leaves swirling about him. Zane was relieved it was not Miguel. He thought about jumping out of the closet and turning himself in—ending this ordeal once and for all—but given that the two men were alone and had previously been intent on revenge, he remained silent.

“Evening,” said Dominic.

“We’re awfully sorry to bother you tonight, Mister—”

“Cowhead.”

Drawing on the sparse amount of Spanish he had learned from Lucia, Zane realized that Cabeza de Vaca meant
head of cow
in English. He smiled.

“Right,” said The Law. “Mister Cowhead. As I said, we’re sorry to bother you, but an emergency call was received from that dumpy little church up the drive, and since you seem to own the land it’s on—and all the land within ten miles, actually—we thought we should come down here just to double-check. The fella at that church claims it was someone pulling a prank, but, you see, those calls are recorded and what we’ve got on the recording is the name of a fella we’re looking for. Zane Fisher. You seen any strangers round here lately?”

“No one but you,” said Dominic.

“And what about that moving truck parked out there?”

“I found that old thing abandoned up on the main road. How’s that saying go—finders keepers, right?”

“Not exactly. You’re supposed to notify the authorities. We ran the plates. Turns out it’s stolen.”

“You don’t say? Well, I’m not surprised. As you can imagine, people dump things out here all the time. I’ll be sure to notify someone, though. Listen, I live alone out here, just like the many generations of Cowheads before me. If I catch an
y
one sneaking around, you can bet they’ll be sorry they ever set foot on my ranch. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a storm coming and I need to finish my preparations.”

Dominic swung the door shut but The Taxman stepped forward and blocked it with his arm. “One more thing, if you don’t mind, Mr. Cowhead.”

Dominic stared at The Taxman, his mouth slightly ajar.

“What the hell are you looking at?” said The Taxman.

Dominic shook his head and looked away. “Sorry. I thought I saw something in your eyes. My apologies. You were saying?”

“Just one question. Do you know Miguel Orellano?”

Dominic paused. “I don’t think so.”

“Then why is it, Mr. Cowhead, that Mr. Orellano pays your property taxes every year, and, in fact, his family has been paying your family’s taxes since this land was purchased some umpteen generations ago?”

“Oh, you must mean Miguel Ore-
yano
. In Spanish, you see, two
l’s
make a
y
. Yes, of course, I’ve known Miguel for most of my life. He’s not in some kind of trouble, is he?”

“We are not at liberty to say,” said The Taxman, and then he looked at Dominic for a long time without blinking. “You’ll contact us if you see him, won’t you?”

“Or if you see the Fisher kid,” said The Law.

“Of course, but I must tell you—I don’t have a phone.”

“No, you wouldn’t, would you,” said The Taxman. “We’ll just have to stop by again later, then, won’t we.” He turned and plodded down the porch steps.

The Law lingered a moment and looked up at the dark churning clouds. “Hope Juan isn’t as bad as they say he is,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“The storm. It’s gonna be a doozy.”

The Law turned and followed The Taxman. Dominic watched them get into their car and drive off just as a sideways rain began to fall, and then he shut the door. “You can come out now,” he shouted, and Zane did.

“Thanks for that,” said Zane.

“We have to be careful. I think they know something.” Rain crackled against the window. “It’s time we brought in the animals. We can go through the back.”

They approached the oak tree. There were at least twice as many animals around it as there had been before. How would they all fit in the house? It seemed crazy—as crazy as Dominic’s story.

“How does a tree get so big?” Zane shouted over the bluster.

“A lot of water,” said Dominic. “And a lot of love.”

Dominic instructed Zane to pick up the snakes and turtles from around the tree. Dominic shepherded the larger creatures in through the door. When most of the mammals were inside, Dominic stood at the stoop and clapped his hands. All at once the birds took flight from the tree and flapped their way in. Zane ducked and almost dropped a tortoise. Dominic then gathered the chickens and, lastly, yanked the goat by a leash. But the goat jerked away, pulling the leash out of Do
m
inic’s hand and bounding into the woods.

“Suit yourself,” said Dominic. “You’d probably eat all my books, anyway.”

Dominic barred the door after he and Zane came inside. “It’ll be a mess in here tomorrow,” he said. “Not that it wasn’t one already. I’ll tell you what—it’s amazing how easy it is to procrastinate when you have all the time in the world.”

The animals quickly found various perches and dens—beneath tables, on stacks of books, along the eves of the ceiling. A small fire smoldered in the brick fireplace and, above it, an antiquated teakettle belched steam, but Zane did not recall seeing Dominic make the fire before they left. Maybe it had been there all along. Dominic pinched a clump of dried berries from a bowl on the mantel, dropped them into a conch shell, and poured hot water over them. The water turned black.

He held the shell out to Zane. “Tea?”

“No, thank you.” Zane had never seen someone drink from a shell before.

“You wouldn’t like it anyway.” Dominic sipped. “It took me over a hundred years to acquire a taste.”

Dominic sagged into a big chair beside the fireplace and lifted a baby raccoon from a stack of books, pulled a small hardcover from the stack, and put the raccoon back. He blew a cloud of dust off the book, opened it, and thumbed through the golden pages.

“The woods decay,” Dominic read. “The woods decay and fall, the vapors weep their burthen to the ground…man comes and tills the field and lies beneath…and after many a summer dies the swan.”

Zane scooted a rabbit off the chair across from Dominic and sat. He tilted his head sideways to read the spine of the book.
Tithonus – Alfred Tennyson – 1833
. It sounded boring.

“Me only cruel immortality consumes,” continued Dominic. “I wither slowly in thine arms, here at the quiet limit of the world, a white-haired shadow roaming like a dream.”

Unable to concentrate on the words, Zane studied Dominic’s features. The man’s hair was whitish-gray, but a few black holdouts belied the way he looked in his youth. There was something unique about him, especially his dark eyes, which possessed such depth that it was not difficult to ima
g
ine them having witnessed many lifetimes of remarkable things.

“When the steam floats up,” continued Dominic, “from those dim fields about the homes of happy men that have the power to die, and grassy barrows of the happier dead…release me, and restore me to the ground.”

Alvar sloped up and rubbed against Zane’s knees. Zane stiffened and leaned back, hoping for the panther to leave him alone, but instead it set its paw on Zane’s lap and looked at him as if it wanted something. Zane took a deep breath. He reached out with a trembling hand and stroked Alvar’s head. The animal made a deep purring sound and pressed the top of its head against Zane’s fingers. Zane feared that the panther might sink its fangs into him at any moment.

Dominic closed the book and recited the final lines from memory. “Thou seest all things, thou will see my grave. Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn. I earth in earth forget these empty courts, and thee returning on thy silver wheels.” His eyes flushed. He looked at the fire. “Do you like literature?” he asked, forlorn.

Zane thought for a moment. “I like to fish.”

Dominic’s smile elevated his sun-bronzed cheeks and squeezed out tears. “I was not aware the two were mutually exclusive.”

“No, I guess they’re not. I’ve just always found my peace out on the ocean.”

“I can relate.” Dominic swigged the last of his tea and held the conch shell to his ear. He closed his eyes and smiled. “I have not seen the sea in four centuries. Can you believe that? I was once practically tethered to her. What is she like now—the sea?”

“Well, they say there aren’t as many fish as there used to be, but I still catch a few. On most days when I’m out I see a lot of trash floating around and sometimes globs of oil. And the coastline, well, it’s covered with huge condos that block the sea breeze for the rest of us. But you know what? It’s still beautiful.”

Dominic nodded. “And mighty. Man may think he can tame her, but the ocean is one thing that will always be more powerful than him. Just look at this hurricane she spawned.”

Zane leaned forward. “Speaking of
she
, I have to ask you—who’s the woman in the robe?”

“Pardon?”

“She guided me through the woods. Then I saw her by the spring.”

Dominic shifted in his chair. He looked uncomfortable. “Did she have long black hair?”

“Yes.”

“Dark skin?”

“Yes.”

Dominic rose and walked to the front window, the only one he had not boarded. He stood there looking at the deluge of rainwater streaming down the panes, at the trees jiving with the wind. He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. “It’s time you hear the rest of my story.”

Chapter Thirty Three

The cobblestone
avenida
piercing the town reminded Dominic of the streets he trod as a child. In the decade or so since he had last set foot in San Agustín—the only Spanish settlement in La Florida—it seemed like it had changed considerably, and not for the better.

Everything about the town, in fact, looked unnatural. The corners of the buildings were too sharp, the streets too straight, and the language spoken by the townsfolk too familiar. With the ground devoid of leaves and dirt, and most of the walls painted a sterile white, the whole place felt infertile and artificial. But as Dominic trekked farther, he realized it was not the town that had changed. It was the way he now pe
r
ceived the world that was different.