Mother of Storms (30 page)
Authors: John Barnes
Carla has just realized that if the very biggest hurricanes are apt to have outflow jets—indeed, sometimes more than one outflow jet—then the biggest one in history is all but certain to.
It only takes her an hour playing with the model to see what’s going on. The biggest hurricanes on record up till now have outflow jets just strong enough to let them fight slowly upstream against a steering current. Almost always a hurricane follows the steering current, and the outflow jet, if there is one, modifies but does not control what happens. In a normal hurricane, that unpredictable outflow jet is a secondary force in the motion—the primary force is still the highly predictable steering current and the equally predictable Coriolis force.
But Clem is so much bigger, Carla realizes, and it’s another case where things don’t just scale up linearly, where bigger is different. Figure the outflow jet it must have just to move the mass of air to keep itself going—and figure the much bigger pressure gradient between where all that air
comes down and the much lower pressure than normal in the eye—and all of a sudden the steering current and Coriolis force are secondary. The outflow jet is what’s moving the thing.
comes down and the much lower pressure than normal in the eye—and all of a sudden the steering current and Coriolis force are secondary. The outflow jet is what’s moving the thing.
Outflow jets are not
completely
unpredictable. They tend to move around the hurricane in a counterclockwise fashion, though there’s a lot of wobble and variation in it and usually they don’t last long enough to establish a pattern. Further, when the hurricane does follow the steering current, it will tend to drag the outflow jet around behind itself, and thus end up running in the direction of the steering current anyway, though moving faster.
completely
unpredictable. They tend to move around the hurricane in a counterclockwise fashion, though there’s a lot of wobble and variation in it and usually they don’t last long enough to establish a pattern. Further, when the hurricane does follow the steering current, it will tend to drag the outflow jet around behind itself, and thus end up running in the direction of the steering current anyway, though moving faster.
So she knows now—she hopes—both why Clem behaved in a fairly typical way, if you allow for his crossing the cold spot in the middle of the Pacific and getting bigger instead of shrinking, and why he’s now moving west to east in a completely unprecedented way. And if she really understands, she can do some predicting. Not only can Clem move west to east, for long periods of time, unlike a typical hurricane, because he has warm water so far north and an outflow jet to move him against the current when he has to … .
They have all figured it will reverse any day now, wander up toward Siberia, hit the twelve-degree Celsius water south of the Bering, and die into thunderstorms, maybe striking a glancing blow at Hawaii or Japan on the way. But if she’s right, that’s not it at all.
She gets her data together, models, notes, the works—it takes the better part of four hours to get it all in a form where Di and the team will be able to follow it, and she’s red-eyed and exhausted by the time she sits down to make her introductory recording. She takes a big sip of water and says, “Cue in two.” The green light on the recorder comes up, and she begins, “Di, what follows is absolutely vital. By the time you get this, there won’t be much time. We’ve got to go public now. Clem is not going to turn back and do something ‘normal’—he’s going to head still farther east and then south, and he’ll keep picking up energy for quite a while. I can’t say where he’ll make his next landfall, but Clem could easily hit Hawaii square on, or tear down the whole West Coast. We needed to start evacuation planning a week ago; we might have as little as three days till Clem hits something.”
Then she sets her alarm to wake her in four hours. The whole inside of the little luxury submarine smells like her gym locker did back in high school, and she just can’t make herself care; there are clean sheets in a drawer under her bunk, and a shower six feet from it, and she cannot be bothered to use either. She has no memory of lying down; only of drifting into uneasy dreams until the alarm catapults her from the bunk, still tired but again able to focus.
The more Jesse thinks about it—and he tries not to—the crazier it seems that he’s still seeing Synthi, or Mary Ann, since that’s what she wants him to call her. It isn’t like they have a lot in common (though they do talk quite a bit), and it isn’t like the sex is especially wonderful (there isn’t any), and it isn’t like this thing is serious (though he notices that it seems to be subtly changing him, and that he finds the changes interesting).
For the first week of this strange little affair, he was too sore to try having sex with her again—and to tell the truth, till he got to know her better, he was also afraid of it. He doesn’t exactly know what was holding her back, if anything, maybe just his reluctance and maybe just another one of her unguessable whims.
But that wasn’t a bad week. They established the basic pattern early—he would come by her house, which is not far from the community college, for
comida
every day.
Comida
is a wonderful meal—to do it justice takes an hour, and then after that an hour of recovery, the traditional siesta, is virtually mandatory. Jesse had been here long enough to have fallen into the local patterns of dining, and he found that sitting and gossiping with Mary Ann—she seemed to be fascinated with the day-to-day trivia of his teaching and even with something of what he was teaching—plus receiving all that attention from such a beautiful woman, left him feeling pretty good. Then there would still be time for a nap, and napping with Mary Ann’s head lying on his chest, her body pressed against his, was a great pleasure as well, lying there looking up at the perfect blue sky over her courtyard, sometimes talking softly, about books, while he lightly stroked her hair.
comida
every day.
Comida
is a wonderful meal—to do it justice takes an hour, and then after that an hour of recovery, the traditional siesta, is virtually mandatory. Jesse had been here long enough to have fallen into the local patterns of dining, and he found that sitting and gossiping with Mary Ann—she seemed to be fascinated with the day-to-day trivia of his teaching and even with something of what he was teaching—plus receiving all that attention from such a beautiful woman, left him feeling pretty good. Then there would still be time for a nap, and napping with Mary Ann’s head lying on his chest, her body pressed against his, was a great pleasure as well, lying there looking up at the perfect blue sky over her courtyard, sometimes talking softly, about books, while he lightly stroked her hair.
Not that they shared much of a taste in books. Jesse tended to like things a little trashier than Mary Ann did, but it was something to talk about, and he was always afraid for that whole first week that they would run out of things to talk about.
After he returned to the community college and worked the last part of the day, Jesse would go back to his place, shower, put on good clothes, and go meet Mary Ann for a long walk in the city, hand in hand, chatting about everything and nothing. She told him a lot of stories about her early days as an actress, and almost nothing about anything that had happened since she was rebuilt into Synthi.
Jesse virtually stopped drinking.
In kind of an offhand way, he supposed Mary Ann didn’t know very many real people. He wasn’t sure what was more real about him than about her, but the “unreality” of show business people was so commonly talked about that he figured there had to be something in it. He got used to the
idea of dating a celebrity and realized after a while that it wasn’t really any different from dating anyone else—if anything what was unusual in all this was dating an older woman who really knew what she wanted and didn’t mind being in charge. That was what was interesting.
idea of dating a celebrity and realized after a while that it wasn’t really any different from dating anyone else—if anything what was unusual in all this was dating an older woman who really knew what she wanted and didn’t mind being in charge. That was what was interesting.
The routine of meeting for
comida
, taking siesta together, meeting again for a long walk through town, then eating cena together, did not vary for their first week, Monday through Friday. In all that time they only held hands, cuddled, and kissed goodnight.
comida
, taking siesta together, meeting again for a long walk through town, then eating cena together, did not vary for their first week, Monday through Friday. In all that time they only held hands, cuddled, and kissed goodnight.
But today is Saturday, and it’s a half day, which means that since it’s now noon, Jesse is off for the day. On his way out, José, and his friend Obet, give Jesse a certain amount of teasing about being with an XV star (“
Compadre
, what can you be thinking of? You already know what it is like with this one—”), but the slight edge in it, the feeling that they might even be a little angry, tells him at once that they envy him.
Compadre
, what can you be thinking of? You already know what it is like with this one—”), but the slight edge in it, the feeling that they might even be a little angry, tells him at once that they envy him.
“She’s not that different,” Jesse says, grinning, letting them think that perhaps she is. “And there’s certainly not the volume of crap you have to take with a twenty-year-old.”
José shakes his head sadly. “My good friend, my dear friend, it is not that you
had
to take that crap, it is that you
did
take it. What you have here is a woman old enough to know that you can walk away any time and that you do not have to take such crap, and therefore she is wise enough not to give it to you. She just does not know that you would be foolish enough to take it.”
had
to take that crap, it is that you
did
take it. What you have here is a woman old enough to know that you can walk away any time and that you do not have to take such crap, and therefore she is wise enough not to give it to you. She just does not know that you would be foolish enough to take it.”
“Could be,” he grins. “But you could get to like older women, you really could.”
“Ah, but when will we get the chance to try, with the great
norteamericano
conquering all the good-bodied women in the city?”
norteamericano
conquering all the good-bodied women in the city?”
Jesse points at his chest and makes a face. “Me? I don’t sew them shut when I’m done, you know.”
That sends both his friends into gales of laughter; one great thing about his Mexican friends, they’re still capable of shock. Jesse figures it’s a lingering effect of Catholicism or something. Anyway, they don’t seem to be having any attacks of jealousy or envy anymore, so he says
“Adiós”
and heads up the street.
“Adiós”
and heads up the street.
It isn’t so much that Tapachula is a city where nothing happens, he finds himself thinking, as that it’s a city where things get done instead of talked about. People work here. And like most people who are working, they’re glad enough for interruptions, but they also like to get done. So new gossip is always going to be a mixed blessing—better interruptions, but another thing in the way.
Or, then again, maybe bedding an XV star is something they can imagine happening only to a gringo, and it just seems like one more good
thing in life that has been reserved for
los norteamericanos
. He’d like to tell them the truth—that he and Mary Ann have done it only once and he didn’t much care for it, that her body feels strange and mechanical, that he isn’t sure he has the nerve for another try—but deep down he doubts that they would believe him, and even if they did, probably they would only be angry that an opportunity like that was being wasted on him.
thing in life that has been reserved for
los norteamericanos
. He’d like to tell them the truth—that he and Mary Ann have done it only once and he didn’t much care for it, that her body feels strange and mechanical, that he isn’t sure he has the nerve for another try—but deep down he doubts that they would believe him, and even if they did, probably they would only be angry that an opportunity like that was being wasted on him.
He rounds the corner onto her street; it’s very warm already, and the whitewashed buildings are hard to look at against the brilliant blue of the sky around the horizon. He can feel the heat washing off the buildings onto his skin, getting in under the little black crusher that he wears to keep the sun off his face. He takes a moment to sigh, as if pushing hot air out of himself, then walks the last few dozen steps to where the trees overarch her front yard, stepping into the shadows as if he were sliding into a cool pool of water in the jungle.
She comes out the door to greet him, wearing a white dress. After what they’ve done to her, it’s pretty hard for her to come up with anything pretty to wear that won’t call attention to her obscene body, but this is not a bad compromise. It swings out away from her in most places (though you can certainly still tell she’s huge in the bust), but it’s frilly and frivolous and looks more like a little-girl smock than anything else. She’s coiled her hair under a floppy sun hat as well, and she looks like nothing so much as the little girls in baggy clothing on an old calendar.
“You look terrific,” Jesse says, meaning it.
She beams up at him, and he notices that they either didn’t erase—or chose to leave—a light spray of freckles across her snub nose. He kisses her, shyly, on the cheek, and she hugs him, enthusiastically.
“I thought we’d just wander around the city, maybe take in a movie but probably just sit in a café or on a park bench,” she says. “There aren’t any other big attractions I know of.”
“If you want to be my date for it, I’m invited to a party tonight,” Jesse says. “Bunch of Lefties, everything from old-style Stalinistas to Deepers to plain-vanilla ULs. At least half of them will deplore your existence and the other half will want to talk to you about how exploited you are.”
“I deplore everyone’s existence and I love to talk about how exploited I am. Wallowing in self-pity is one of the things I do best. I’m used to handling myself in public, Jesse. And I wouldn’t mind meeting some new faces.”
“Well, then,” he says, “that’s at about nine tonight. Tapachula time, that means it won’t start till ten, and Leftie time, that means it won’t really get moving until close to midnight. So I’d say we still have quite a bit of wandering time ahead of us. Take my arm, madam?”
“Sure. Except when we’re crossing streets. I don’t want you to be mistaken for a Boy Scout.”
Stepping out of the shadows of her front yard is like stepping inside a tumed-on searchlight; it’s blazing hot and dry, and there’s piercing white light everywhere.
They spend an hour or so that afternoon wandering around the streets, looking at people enjoying their day off. Most of the time they walk hand in hand.
For some reason—maybe because out here they have to keep the subject of the conversation quiet—they talk quite a bit about sex. They’ve teased about it before, many times, Jesse pretending he’s afraid she’ll attack him again, Mary Ann asking him what it’s like to hump the Michelin Man. But this has an edge in it that suggests a certain seriousness.
Another reason for discussing it in low murmurs, out in public, is the endless interruptions that keep it from getting too intense; Jesse’s students stop to say hello and be introduced, and there are dozens of little carts with interesting food that has to be considered (and usually rejected), and sometimes the time is just better for walking along slowly and staring up the white street. Thus they are perpetually, pleasantly, called away from their flirting, and they don’t get back to that topic too quickly.
“Jesse, do you suppose we could ever have ended up together any other way?” she asks, abruptly. She isn’t looking at him.
He glances sideways, sees only the side of her sun hat. “I hadn’t thought about it at all.”
“Well, I have. And I’ve concluded this is absolutely the only way we could have ended up together. So I’m very glad it happened.” She sighs. Jesse notices a couple strands of flame red hair escaping from her sun hat, and brushes them back. She looks at him and smiles. “All I mean is it took strange circumstances to throw us together, but there was a lot I had forgotten and lost track of in my life … .”
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