Dark Witness (4 page)

Robert tied up, got off the boat, and trudged a little ways away from the riverbank. He snapped the safety pin that held his pants together, unzipped his zipper, and whipped it out.

"In front of God and everyone," Robert said aloud, in his slightly high and nasal voice.

He thought this was quite funny because, as he deduced, there was no 'everyone' in the forest, and God had already seen his 'equipment' since He had made it in the first place. Robert was concluding that his deduction was correct – that there was nothing to be ashamed of by peeing in the forest when – Bam! Wham! Bam!

God screamed in Robert's left ear so loud Robert poked his substantial tummy with the safety pin before he clasped it shut, and then he forgot to zip up his pants. That's how much of a rush he was in to do God's bidding and find the hole in the universe.

Looking around all he saw was forest and more forest. Left and right, behind him and in front of him. God and Duncan had given him directions by the compass so he took it out, considered it, and then started walking north and a little east.

It was hard to go as fast as God wanted because Robert was a big boned man. That's what Duncan said. Big boned. Not fat. Not obese. Not grotesque. Big boned. No matter what he was, he couldn't hurry very long so he walked some of the way and then stopped at an outcropping of rock. He steadied himself by putting an arm on a ledge and thinking both God and Duncan had got the whole thing wrong. He didn't see a road. All he saw above him were the mountains rising to dizzying heights. Before he could look closely, he was distracted by the sound of a plane. Or at least he thought he heard the sound of a plane

In the years Robert had lived in this place, he had only actually seen one plane. It landed in the river with its motor sputtering and coughing. That day Robert stopped what he was doing, sat behind a stand of trees, and watched the pilot work on the motor. Then the man sat on the pontoons for another hour and napped. If Robert had a gun he could have shot that man dead or wounded him and taken him prisoner or just, well, shot him. Robert could also have taken the plane.

But Robert had no gun.

And Robert didn't know how to fly a plane.

And Robert wouldn't have done either of those things because that wasn't how things were supposed to go. Duncan was very keen on how things were supposed to go. God told Pea, the prophetess, who told Duncan, the interpreter, who then told Robert and Melody and Glenn and Teresa and the others how things were supposed to go. That's how order was done, so that was why Robert didn't hurt the pilot of that plane. Because no one told him to.

It was just interesting to Robert that he had been so close, and the man never knew he was there. In Alaska, keeping yourself apart was as much a choice as making yourself known. That's the way it was in heaven, too. Apart. Together. Known. Unknown. Within. Without. Face your sins, make up for them, be forgiven, be healed, be peaceful, and be whole. That's what Duncan said.

Easy Peasy.

Robert listened harder for the sound of a plane, but there was only ungodly stillness – or godly silence – all around. Robert chose to think of it as godly silent. Duncan said you had to choose how to look at things. Like a glass half full or half empty. Like Robert's face. Half . . .

He flinched when snowflakes hit his lashes. He blinked and he forgot what he was thinking. The wind skated through the branches of the fir and pine and birch. There had been ice already in the river. Animals were hiding and hibernating.

Maybe God was hibernating, too, because Robert couldn't hear Him anymore. Maybe he had run so fast he left God behind. Or maybe he'd gone so slow that God had gone on ahead. Either way, Robert was a little worried because Duncan said God would guide him, and now He wasn't talking. Tired and disheartened, Robert deduced he had been stupid to think God was talking to him.

He sniffed really hard and took a deep breath. He didn't like being on the river when it was very, very dark. He hoped Glenn would have the fire going strong and that Teresa would have something good to eat when he got back. He hoped Melody would fix the button on his pants for him. He hoped Duncan wouldn't be sad that he had failed to find the hole in the universe. Robert raised his head as if he could smell the bread baking, but all he smelled was snow and frost. Then he saw a little miracle. Not a hole in the universe, but a pretty little fawn with a white flick of a tail and eyes that looked afraid even though he hadn't done anything at all to make her afraid.

If Foster were with him, he would kill that deer and that would be sad. Robert loved a good hunk of deer meat, but he didn't want to kill a big-eyed deer to get it. He would like to pet her, though. He would pet this one if he could get close enough, but the wind shifted. When she smelled Robert, she bounded off on her matchstick legs. Deer were like people in that respect. If they smelled something on you like weirdness or ugliness or stupidity they just took off. Even the one person who was supposed to love you forever didn't like that smell.

Ah, well.

The deer was gone.

The snow was falling.

God was silent.

Robert's nose was running.

He was ready to go back to the boat, but he looked around once more just to be sure he hadn't missed something. He even looked up again in case he might see God hanging out in the sky pointing the way. He didn't see God, but he saw something he missed the first time. Oh, yes he did. Robert narrowed his already narrow, close-set eyes. He tilted his large head one way and then it flopped to his other shoulder. He pursed his full, pink lips.

Some of the trees had no branches. It sort of looked like there was a hole in the forest. He could see the granite colored mountains. He could see the dark sky. He could see a road. He shouldn't be able to see those things from where he was standing. Yes, there was a hole in. . .

Oh, God!

Robert shouted out in his head.

Oh, God!

A hole in his universe.

He was so excited that every layer of him wiggled and jiggled as he minced over the slick, flat rock. He balanced his massive person on the smaller rocks as he climbed right and then left. He teetered once and almost fell. That nearly stopped his heart. Falling out here, breaking a leg or spraining an ankle could mean death. He didn't want to die in the forest; he didn't want to die at all. Still, he was excited and because of that he tumbled the last few feet but landed more or less upright. What he saw made him let loose with a big "Oooh!" of amazement.

Robert climbed over limbs that were the size of a man, stepped over smaller branches and sunk into tufts of dead, snow-covered pine needles that made the ground squishy. Finally, he stood in front of a wreck of metal: a crushed container, and a flatbed truck. Two of the chains that were supposed to secure the load had snapped. No surprise. They were rusted and should never have been used. Even Robert knew that and, as people used to point out, he didn't know much of anything.

Cupping his hands over his nose, Robert breathed in and out to warm up his face as he poked around and climbed until he finally got to the cab. He stood on a rock that had slid down after the truck went over the side of the road. He looked into the empty cab. He drew his head out. He called:

"Hello! It's me, Robert. Duncan and God sent me."

When no one answered, he got down on his stomach and inched up the rock so that he could look over the side. When his head was hanging down between the rock and one of the giant wheels, he laid eyes on the dead person.

"There you are."

Robert took a huge, huge breath of cold air because this was not a pretty sight and he was afraid he might throw up. He hated to do that. He didn't hurl, though, because he was trying to figure out how the man had managed to fall underneath the cab and behind it all at the same time. Not that it mattered. He was deader than dead. Robert could only see the man's legs, so he slid off the rock, hunkered down to look into the little tee-pee space the crumpled metal had made, and looked at the rest of him. The man had done a number on himself. One arm was gone and the look on his face – once Robert got past all the blood and the hole where his cheek should be – was one of astonishment.

Robert wondered who he was, if he left anyone behind, and if he had any idea that he was going to die that day. Receiving no answers or directives from God, and certainly none from the dead man, Robert bit down on the fingers of his glove. He pulled it off, set it aside, and put that hand right on the man's stump. Even though it felt weird, he let it rest there while he thought about God, and the end of life, and all that. He did this because it was pretty much a sure bet nobody was going to be bringing this guy back home anytime soon. Robert for sure wasn't going to be letting the authorities know about this mess. He'd already been down that road and a lot of no good had come of it. The only authority in heaven and on earth was God like Duncan said. Well, and Duncan was an authority, too.

Tired of doing what he was doing, Robert climbed back up on the rock, side-stepped his way up to that toppled over cab, leaned in, and teeter-tottered on his substantial stomach to see what he might salvage. The inside of the cab stank of cigarettes and liquor and that answered the question of why the window was open. Robert wouldn't want to sit in that stink and neither did the driver.

Robert grunted, grabbed the keys hanging in the ignition, slid out again, dropped to rock's surface and got himself back on the ground. He rubbed his big tummy and wiped his perpetually running nose. He checked out the keys. There were three.

One had been in the ignition. One was probably for a house, and the other one had to be the key to a lock on the back of the container. Now he knew why God and Duncan had sent him here. Whatever was in this truck was something that Duncan needed. Robert hurried to the back and tried the key on the container lock. Sure enough, it swung open revealing a treasure trove of boxes.

Pushing one door open as wide as he could, Robert put his hands on the container and wobbled back and forth to make sure the thing was stable. It was at an awkward angle, but there was no doubt it was tight up against the trees. Twice he tried to lift his great bulk into the back. When he finally made it, his head was spinning from the effort and from seeing that there were about a zillion boxes of something inside.

When his eyes acclimated to the dark and his breathing was even, Robert opened his penknife, slit the tape on the box nearest him, and ripped the flaps open. There was bubble wrap on top and under that was a grid of corrugated cardboard. Nestled inside that were small bottles that had labels with lots of writing that Robert couldn't read. He was disappointed he hadn't found food or candy, but Robert filled his pockets anyway. If Duncan liked this stuff, Robert would come back with Foster and Glenn and they would get it all. Every last box. Maybe they would sell it in the store. Maybe it was something Duncan needed to do the healing. If that were the case, Robert would be a hero. Robert would be healed first and he he would get new pants, girls would like him, and life would be good.

When his pockets were full, Robert realized he had room on the boat for a few more boxes. He lowered the open box to the ground and then seized another. He tossed three more out of the truck with a 'whew' and an 'ugh' and a whistle. He was about to go for one more when he froze. His ears pricked. Slowly, he let go of the box he was holding. He peered into the dark thinking an animal had found its way inside. If it was an animal, it might hurt him. It might launch itself at him. Then he deduced the truth by considering one thing at a time as Duncan suggested he do.

First, how could an animal have gotten in the truck when it was locked?

Perhaps the animal was very small and found a little opening. That's why it made a very small noise.

That was as far as Robert's deducing went.

Still hunched over, Robert peered past the mountain of boxes as he unhooked the flashlight from his belt. He pushed the switch expecting to see something scurry away under the sudden light but nothing did.

He ran the narrow beam over the boxes. There was nothing to see but tumbled cargo and crushed metal. Still, Robert didn't think he was crazy. If he could hear the voice of God on the river, certainly he couldn't be mistaken about a noise inside this truck.

Inching forward, he put out his free hand, touched a box, and paused. The front of the container lay lower than the back and the angle was getting steeper. As he started to take his next step, he slipped and fell. His rump hit the floor so hard the sound was thunderous. The flashlight flew out of his hands and rolled away. Robert turned onto his stomach, groped for it, and kept his eyes on the shaft of light that was shooting upward. With a 'harrumph' he got his hand on the flashlight and was pushing himself into a sitting position when he heard:

Here

He froze. His bizarrely small eyes widened as much as they could, and the light in his hands shook just the littlest bit. He craned his neck. He said:

"I'm here. I'm here. Where are you?"

Here

"Keep talking," Robert said.

He got to his feet, all the while wondering 'what would Duncan do?'. Then he wondered what would God do? Then he decided if Duncan/God led him here, then whatever was here must be for him to discover. All the while he thought and deduced and waved the light around and the voice called out like a drip from a faucet:

Here

Here

Here

"Okay. Okay. Okay," he responded.

Sweat soaked through Robert's undershirt and his shirt and his sweater until it made stains under his arms and got stuck between his sweater and his jacket. Sweat rimmed his brow where his hat was pulled low. He licked some of the salty stuff off his upper lip. Finally, miraculously, he saw a small space between two of the boxes where he could wedge the end of the flashlight. When it was secure, he started to work in earnest.

"Are you in there?" His meaty hand pounded on one of the boxes and he heard a groan. Assuming that was a yes, Robert shoved two boxes to the side and pounded on the next one.