Navigating Early (21 page)

“I get it,” I interrupted.

“Like, if Captain America needed to keep a Nazi spy from discovering war secrets and keep Red Skull from assassinating the president of the United States at the same time, he could send Bucky as his proxy for one or the other. Probably he’d send Bucky after the spy.”

I studied the letter. “So, Gunnar wants me to be his sidekick.”

Early’s eyes lit up. “Yes, a sidekick. I like that one the best.”

I tucked the envelope and book back in my pack. “Well, that’s a bone best chewed on another day.” Early didn’t seem quite sure what to make of that. “That just means we’ll worry about it later. For now, we’d better keep moving,” I said.

We walked a ways in silence. Early looked up at the night sky as the clouds cleared and found the constellation Ursa Major, the Great Bear. We followed it into the darkness, in search of another great bear—this one on the Appalachian Trail. My feet were heavy, and the woods closed
in around us. There was only darkness and danger in front of us. And now there were dogs and pirates behind us. Early’s quest had gone on long enough. It was time to turn back. I opened my mouth to say so, but Early spoke first.

“Jackie?” Early said again.

“Yes, Early.”

“Thank you for coming with me.”

For a moment I didn’t know how to answer him. I could be honest and say,
I think you’re crazy and we’re both crazy for looking for this stupid bear
. Or maybe,
I know you want your brother to be alive, but he’s just not, and nothing is going to bring him back
. Or,
I only came because my dad didn’t show up and I didn’t want to be alone
.

Then the moment passed, my feet kept moving, and all I said was “You’re welcome.”

23
 

T
he dawn was just beginning to cast a purple hue all around, and we could see puffs of air coming from our mouths as we breathed. We were getting tired. You’d think we’d have figured out that it was best to sleep at night and walk during the day, but with dread pirates following us, what worked best and what was safest were two different things.

Eventually the sun peeked out, stretching into the day around us. We came to one of those covered bridges that New England is famous for. It seemed a little strange to me, why anyone needed a covered bridge. Even in the horse-and-buggy days, when travelers were more at the mercy of the elements, that bridge would keep them covered for only the minute or two it took to cross the bridge. Then they’d be out in the rain or snow again. Our neighbor back home, Mr. Kloster, who—according to my mom—was as cheap as the day is long, would call that a poor use of good
lumber. But even Mr. Kloster couldn’t argue with the fact that that covered bridge spanning the banks of the Kennebec River and nestled among countless maple, ash, and birch trees, with their red, gold, and orange leaves, was a pretty sight.

Seeing that bridge gave us a sense of direction. After all, a bridge is meant to be crossed, isn’t it? Bridges are a means of getting somewhere. They give you safe passage to wherever it is you need to go. So we went.

Once we set foot on the shaded wooden planks, it felt like we were stepping back in time. Our shoes clopped along, echoing like horses’ hooves in the cavernous structure.

“HELLOOOOO!” I shouted, expecting to hear an echo.

“HELLOOOOO!” came the reply. But it was only Early.

“Very funny,” I said. “I was waiting for an echo.”

“Oh, do it again.”

“EARRRLLLLLYYY.”

“WHAAAAAT?”

I just shook my head.

“CAPTAIN AMERICAAAAA,” he called.

“TO THE RESCUUUUUUUE,” I answered.

We ran the rest of the way across the bridge and into the warm sunlight on the other side, where the path forked. I was just getting ready to ask Early which way we should go, when I caught sight of something red on the path to the right.

“Hey, look! Berries!”

And lots of them. They were dark red in color and had that squishy look of berries that are past their prime.

“I think we should stay to the left,” Early said.

“What? And miss out on a feast of free berries? Both paths head north. They’ll probably end up in the same place eventually. Besides, it’s my turn to lead for a while.”

I started off to the right, and Early followed a reluctant two paces behind. I don’t think he liked me choosing the direction, as he didn’t even eat any berries.

Suit yourself
, I thought, popping one berry after another into my mouth as we walked. They glistened with dew and had a moist taste that was both bitter and sweet.

I don’t know if it was the berries or having decided on a course, but I felt relieved and sort of relaxed. I had chosen a path and could let go for a while, just let it take us where it would.

“Does Billie Holiday have any good hiking songs?” I asked.

“No. Besides, it’s not raining.”

“How about Benny Goodman?”

“Nope.”

“Sinatra?”

“No.”

I popped another berry in my mouth, thinking,
I guess good singers don’t make good hikers
. But I recalled my grandpa Henry’s favorite walking song.

    
“Camptown ladies sing this song

    
Doo-dah, doo-dah …”

I paused for Early to join in.

“We’re going the wrong way,” he said.

“Don’t be a spoilsport. Just enjoy the scenery.”

He was grumpier than I’d thought. But that was okay. I let my eyes take in the soft shades of some evergreen trees. And the reds of the berries, a few here and a few farther down the trail. Just enough to keep me moving along, beckoning me. It felt good to get drawn into the intoxicating colors, scents, and flavors of the path.

    
“The Camptown racetrack’s five miles long
,

    
Oh, doo-dah day.”

And so we went along, me feeling like a sleek racehorse moving at a brisk clip, and Early—well, Early was more like a mule, being slow and stubborn.

    
“Goin’ to run all night

    
Goin’ to run all day

    
I bet my money on a bob-tailed nag

    
Somebody bet on the bay.”

Even as I sang that last line, I could tell that my voice sounded unusually loud in the dense woods. It seemed that while I was betting on the bob-tailed nag, the woods had grown dark around us, lining our narrowing path with thorns and brambles. Then I started to feel a little queasy, the berries in my belly turning sour.

Pretty soon our path was nothing more than a narrow opening between branches that tore at our clothes and roots that caught our feet.

“I told you we shouldn’t have gone this way,” said Early.

“Oh, all right, Mr. Know-It-All. So maybe we got a little off track. All we have to do is turn around and find our way back out.”

But backing up was more perilous than walking forward, as there wasn’t much room to maneuver without getting further scratched and poked. And the path that had been there seemed to veer and split in unexpected directions, leading us in circles and to dead ends.

Because we’d turned around, Early was now a few paces ahead of me and back in the lead position. And since he’d been so sure about where
not
to go before, I thought it only fair to ask him, “So, you think we should have gone left back at the bridge?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked around, getting a feel for our surroundings.

“This must be where the numbers start going in circles,” Early said.

“You mean the pi numbers?” I knew that he saw things in a different way than most people. And a lot of what he saw, he somehow related to the story of Pi. But MacScott wasn’t really a pirate. The explosion on the mountain wasn’t really a volcano. The barmaid wasn’t really the Haggard and Homely Wench. Of course, there had been strange similarities and connections, but Early had a way of making them fit the story as if he were making jigsaw pieces fit into a puzzle just because he needed them to. I rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of it but couldn’t help asking, “You’re the one with the crystal ball. What happens when the numbers start going in circles?”

“You don’t want to know.”

I tugged at a branch that was clinging to my ear. “Would it be a place called LOST?”

“Sort of. It’s part of the story I haven’t told you yet.”

“What part is that?” I asked, my voice skeptical.

“The part where Pi gets lost. For a while.”

“Lost how?”

“The same way we got lost. In a maze.”

“A maze,” I said, staring. “You mean like in England, where you enter a section of bushes and tall hedges, then wander around until you come out the other side?”

“Yes, but the maze he was in started with one two three. Easy enough at the beginning. Then it turned into four six four seven four eight. Very tricky. But it’s where he ended up that was really strange.…” Early’s voice trailed off, as if the ending were something really amazing.

“What? Where did he end up?”

“Well, it ended with three six seven seven seven seven. The place of the Ancient One.”

The Ancient One
 

P
I WANDERED IN THE MAZE FOR HOURS
, maybe days. He’d turn left, only to find himself blocked on three sides, in a dead end. Then he’d backtrack and this time take a right, only to find his way blocked again a little farther on. His mind began playing tricks on him as shadows grew longer, and the path of the maze seemed to toy with him, leading him the wrong way time and time again.

As he became more lost, wandering in the tangled woods, it seemed that the maze was more in control of his journey than
he
was. It led him deeper and deeper into its twists and turns, until eventually Pi was paralyzed by his inability to set a course and move according to it.

He lay down, overcome by exhaustion, and closed his eyes. Maybe if he could sleep, he thought, he might wake with a clearer head and a better sense of the workings of the maze. Just as he felt his body give in to the watery, floating sensation of sleep, he was awakened by a sound. A bell.

It rang with a clarity that drew him to it. Then he saw her. She must have been the oldest person in the world, with flowing white hair cascading over her thin shoulders, pale and wrinkled skin, and eyes that held the memories of centuries.

Something in Pi held him back, but the ancient woman saw him and beckoned him forward. She placed a mantle around his shoulders and took his hand in hers. “Come,” she said. “You belong here. You need to be here.”

It was the word
need
that struck him. And he knew that hers was greater than his. But he followed her. She took him to her home and fed him savory meats and delicious fruits. She gave him warm clothes made of soft and colorful fabrics. She spoke to him words of comfort and solace.

Once he suggested that it was time for him to leave, but she only explained to him that this was his home. She tried helping him recall stories and events that were at first unfamiliar to him. But the more she described them in great and wonderful detail, the more they became his own stories, his own experiences. Swimming in the stream as a boy. Fashioning toy animals from twigs. Picking flowers for her in the meadow. Her memories washed over him, making him think they were his memories.

She called him by another name. Filius. It must have been a nickname he’d forgotten he had. Soon he forgot about a world outside this ancient one encased in a maze. As time passed, he no longer thought of leaving. He grew comfortable in the home of the ancient woman. Until one night.

It was late. He was just finishing drawing water from the well before bedtime when a dark, shadowy form crossed his line of vision. He couldn’t quite make out what it was at first, so he followed it into the trees. A few steps. Then a few steps more. The moon shone bright in the sky and revealed a clearing, where he saw the dark form before him. A bear. Something shook loose within him. Maybe it was the way that great black bear held him in his gaze. Maybe it was the way the breeze ruffled his hair as he gazed back.