Sanibel Flats

'But we need to have a talk. I keep wondering why you're so quick to follow along, Tomlinson. I keep wondering why you don't ask me more questions about this trip.' Holding the forty-five in his right hand, not pointing it at Tomlinson but keeping it between them.

'Questions?' Looking really uncomfortable now, Tomlinson had begun to tug at his hair, as if he were trying to come up with a quick question or two. 'Well, you're an awfully early riser—I was going to ask you about that, but we all have our quirks.' He paused, looking at the pistol . . . then at Ford. 'That's what this is all about? You want me to ask more questions? I mean, we can definitely work something out in that regard. It's your vacation, man. I'll try to help brighten it up any way I can.'

Ford studied him for a moment, doubting if anyone so smart could be so vacant. He said, 'I didn't come for a vacation, I came to get the boy.'

Tomlinson nodded quickly, anxious to understand. 'I know,

I know. Little boys are nature's gentlemen. I was just joking about the vacation thing. You know, trying to lighten things up.'

'There's something else you should know. One year ago I helped steal the Kin Qux Cho from the Presidential Palace in Masagua.'

That made him sit up. 'The book, man. You stole the book that has all the old Maya ceremonies in it? Rituals of the Lake? You?'

'That's right, me.'

'Come on, now you're joking, right? Like April Fools, only it's not—hey, maybe it is April. I've been losing track—'

'It's no joke, Tomlinson, and this is no game.'

'Goddamn, Doc, you're really serious, aren't you?' Tomlinson was looking at him, the slow smile turning into delight. 'You, a thief; who in the hell woulda thought it? There are depths to you, man. Stuff I never guessed was there. And you really know where the book is? Damn, I'd give anything to see that book.'

Ford rested the gun on the gear shift console, within easy reach of Tomlinson. 'You'll never get much closer. It's only about three miles from here, hidden away. But I can't let you see it.' Then he left the gun there, taking his hand away, letting the lie settle; turning away, as if looking out the window, but watching Tomlinson.

'Hell, man, if you say you can't, you can't. Just seems a damn shame, me being a scholar, that's all. Maybe I could see it later?'

'No. No way. Sorry. I think you'll be a help getting the boy. But I can't let you get involved any more than that.'

Tomlinson was assuming an expression, contemplating, but he had still made no move toward the gun. Ford said, 'I've got to take a whiz. Be right back.' He stepped out into the jungle and the car door swung shut so that now he could see only Tomlinson's outline. He stood behind the vehicle for a time, watching as Tomlinson slowly leaned forward, reaching for the pistol. Ford crouched slightly and, in three steps, was at the passenger's side. He pulled the door open, but before he could do anything Tomlinson swung the automatic toward him . . . holding it with two fingers, like it was a soiled diaper, and said, 'Doc, I'll help you with the boy, but first you've got to agree to something.' Ford stood motionless, waiting, as Tomlinson added, 'You've got to agree to put this thing someplace where I can't see it. Bad vibes, man; very bad vibes. It really disturbs the fucking thought processes. And take the bullets out, too.'

'You want me to hide the gun.' Ford's heart was pounding, the adrenaline really pumping through him, even though the automatic contained an empty clip. Empty weapon or not, it would have gotten nasty had Tomlinson tried to force him to retrieve the book.

Tomlinson said, 'Right. I hate to be so firm, but this business about shooting border guards is just asking for bad karma. You shoot a border guard and, next thing you know, the whole trip is going to start getting weird. Take my word on this one.' Tomlinson was holding the automatic by the barrel, wanting Ford to take it.

Ford said, 'Tomlinson, let me just ask you outright: Did the CIA send you to keep an eye on me?' as he accepted the gun back.

'The CIA?' Acting as if he were giving the question serious consideration, but in a patronizing way, like dealing with a crazy man. 'Ah, no-o-o-o, but it would be an easy mistake to make. Could happen to anybody.'

Ford stared at him for a moment. 'You don't work for them, do you? You really are exactly what you appear to be. Amazing.'

'See what happens when you think about killing border guards?' Tomlinson said kindly. 'It sets all the negative ions in motion. Really destructive stuff, man. I've got some books you should read.'

'Okay,' he said. 'All right. I believe you.'

'See, we all got auras, man—these sort of electrical fields around us, only you can't see them—'

'Auras, right, uh-huh.' Relieved, Ford put the automatic back in the briefcase, gathered himself for a moment, then took out a fake passport as Tomlinson rattled on.

'These auras are made up of ions; positive, negative, you know, basic physics man. '

'Right. Hey, give me your passport for a second.'

Saying, 'Now, normally you have a real positive aura. I mean the best. That's why people are attracted to you.' Tomlinson fished his passport out of his back pocket and handed it to Ford. 'The moment I met you, I thought, 'Now this guy's been down some unmarked channels. A real karmic hipster. '

Ford said, 'Gee, thanks,' as he used a knife to cut the photograph from Tomlinson's real passport and then trimmed the yellow masking to size. Tomlinson was watching now, interested, saying he was real impressed the way Ford did that, as if he'd done it before, and don't be hurt about his asking no questions, he'd ask a lot more from here on out.

The border guards waved them through with a quick glance at the passports, more interested in collecting the tourist tax, which Ford knew they would pocket, and getting back to sleep. There was a village beyond: tin- roofed shacks and shabby bars, then more jungle. The roads were bad now, rock and mud. It was the rainy season and the bridges not washed away were bare planks thrown across gullies. Twice Ford had to get out and sound the depth of a creek before driving through it. Then Tomlinson decided that should be his job, wading into the next creek up to his beard before calling back they'd have to find a better place to cross. Between creek crossings, Ford told Tomlinson the truth about the Kin Qux Cho.

'Then you really don't know where it is?'

'Not for sure.'

'Then why did you lie to me, man?'

'It was a test, for God's sake!'

'Goddamn, some test. Next time just send me a telegram saying my parents got blown up by Iranians or something, but leave the guns at home.'

'I had to be sure.'

'That sort of thing is bad for the heart. I almost wet my drawers.'

'Okay, okay, just drive.'

Tomlinson drove in silence and, after a long time, asked, 'Did that woman, Pilar what's-her-name, really do that to you? Coitus interruptus, armed-guard style?'

'Just afterward. Almost like she pressed a button beside the bed. I didn't even have time to get my clothes.'

'What a bitch, man.'

Ford said, 'No. She had her reasons.'

'You're sticking up for her? You must still be in love with the lady, man.' When Ford did not answer, Tomlinson said gently, 'It'll pass, Doc. It may not seem like it now, but it'll pass. I know. I've been through it.'

Ford said, 'I'd like that.'

Much later, replying to a long monologue by Tomlinson, Ford asked, 'And that's when they institutionalized you?'

Tomlinson said, 'Yeah, they had to. It's hard to believe now, but for a while there I was what you might call insane. ...'

The half moon was waxing, but the jungle seemed to lure in, then absorb all light, so that the frail moon above only emphasized the darkness. The roads became narrower, pale ribbons in the overhanging foliage, ascending, always climbing, and at the top of each ridge the forest spread away in striations of silver mist with