Hugo awards the short st.., p.222
Hugo Awards: The Short Stories (Volume 1), page 222
“Dreadful indeed… but K’o, what of him?”
“Ah…” The old man took a long pull at his tequila. “Well, by this time there were coming the tourists, you know, and all sorts of new equipment, and good boats. And the aqua skis. Well! If only you could have seen K’o perform on waterskis – dance, jump, stand on his head, ride one like a surfboard, carry girls – anything. And I remember he had the first of those brillante striped shorts, what they call Madras. The touristas – all the women – were falling over him. But it was no use. K’o was for the sea. Only the sea. Anything to do with the sea, he was interested – but beyond that,” Manuel made the Maya sound again – “there were many unhappy girls, I tell you. What K’o wanted he took, and then he was off again like a god.
“It was the time when the water-skiing was the great thing. Estiloso. K’o liked me because I always had a boat. Sometimes I could beg or borrow even a really big one. Also, I would spend the hours he wanted to perfect each thing. And then he told me what he really planned.
“He wanted to be the first man to waterski from Cozumel to the mainland. These days, perhaps, it may not sound like much, but even now it would take great strength. And with the equipment we had then–!”
“There’s always a hell of a chop – very rough water in that strait.”
“Yes… but we were young and crazy. And, moreover, he didn’t plan to go straight across the shortest way. He wanted to go slightly south, up-current, to land at Tuloom. It was not stupid; the angle of the big swells would be better so.
“Of course there were no people at Tuloom then. That was before the Mexican arqueologicos and the turistas. Even the vandals, the ladrones, could find nothing more to take. Soon it would have been all gone. And yet, when Chichen and Uxmaal were already long dead, Tuloom was still a major place, with sea commerce and many towers and people. But not religious, I think… Something always a little mysterioso about Tuloom. Barren women still sometimes make pilgrimages there to watch the sunrise. They use the old name, Zama, the Dawn.”
“Poor old Tuloom,” I sighed. “Have you read what the conquistador Grijalva said of it, when he sailed by in 1518? He did not land, you know, they found the great bay of Ascension instead.”
“No. What of Tuloom?”
“ ‘We saw there a shining bourg, so large that Seville itself could not have appeared larger or finer.’ And he speaks of ‘a very high tower, and crowds of Indians bearing standards’.”
“That… I had not heard.” Captain Manuel’s gaze was on me, yet not quite focused. “White… finer than Seville.” He repeated so softly that I thought he might be yielding to sleep.
“So you tried this trip, this crossing?”
He blinked, nodded. “Ah, si!
“It was still dark when we started, just such a morning as this is going to be, with a small moon in the sunrise. I had got hold of the best boat I knew – about seven meters with two hundred-horsepower outboards – very modern for her day. And how we worked on the ropes and harnesses – I tell you, we could have dragged wild horses. Spare skis, of course, in case one cracked or he hit flotsam. Even some candy bars and water we tied around his waist. So we crept out of the marina, in the moonlight, and he waved me on impatiently and got up on the skis, and I opened the throttle and the boat began to plane. Oh god, we were young. And the strange thing is, although K’o was so determined to be the first, he told no one but me his plans. It was all between him and the sea, I think.
“Well, for a long time it was just work, with the world turning pale around us, and me trying to pick the best path for him. He was all business, after one flourish when we took off. He just settled down determined to do it. The porpoises found us in the first light. I could see them playing around him. But that was all right; they seemed to understand the business, they never got in the way. The light was quite deceptive when we crossed the first big rough current, and I was worried that he was having a bad trip, but every time I looked back he waved me on.
“And then of course the color began to come – a beautiful dawn – look, there’s a little rosea ahead of us now – and our spirits rose. Of course we were headed away from the sun. But you know the west is beautiful in the sunrise too.”
My Spanish was not up to attempting “Not through Eastern windows when morning comes, comes in the light,” so I merely agreed.
“We crossed the second bad current then in good style and came to quite a stretch of smooth water. I decided it was time for him to eat and drink. So I steadied down the pace, gesturing to him. He didn’t want to – he got mad and made a fist, waving me on – but I was stubborn too, and he saw I wouldn’t pick up until he’d taken something. So he did, while I took the steadiest course I could. I was watching him too, to make sure he ate – I can still recall seeing the light flash off both those watches, his own good one and the poor thing the dead boy gave him on his other wrist.
“Then he threw the empty canteen away and waved me on, and I stood the boat up and we made wonderful time across that smooth sea. The sky was fantastic above us – like cities of all colors, how do you say, castles – cuidades del cielo, cities of the sky; and all colored flowers with the great rayas of light streaming onto them from behind us, out of the east. And then just as we came through the last rough current, I saw that the lowest line of color was the cocos of the mainland shore! And there above on the cliff was the shining tower of Tuloom, and I knew if I was careful we were really going to make it.
“But we were not there yet, not by much. Many bones of ships and men lie between where we were and the Castle of Tuloom.
“That rough water goes all the way to the main reef in front of Tuloom, you see, sweeping along by the harbor passes; it can be malicious. And the passes are not simple; there appear to be several, although only two are truly good. But the light was brighter every moment, and the seeing was clear – I tell you, I ran those last kilometers with so great care, trying to put K’o just right of every wave – I was like a borracho, a drunkard, who is carrying the last bottle of tequila on earth. Whenever I looked back, he was waving to go faster. And in fact he was right, some speed is necessary for such water. But always I was worried because we would have to slow down for the pass, and the danger of the following waves broaching me – I was in such a state I was not even sure I could find the right pass, though I knew it like my wife’s ear. And, oh! – the beautiful colors of the dawn, and the dolphins playing – never shall I feel such an hour again. But we were going fast, so fast.
“I had to lose speed without letting any slack come in K’o‘s lines, you see. But of course he understood that as well as I did. I could see him commencing to cross the wake, back and forth, always with the lines so beautifully tight, but gentle. But always waving to me to go faster, waving like mad. I thought he was for the first time a little loco. And then, my god – just as I found the start of the main pass, I saw him cut far to one side and I understood what he was planning.
“He was not going to follow me through, see? He was going to shoot along beside me through the other pass. That was why he wanted the speed. So I opened the throttle, not caring if I smashed the whole boat, and the lines went tight, tight, with the speed he needed. And yet, my god, how tired his arms must have been.
“So he turned and came snapping back past me in a great curve, like the end of a whip – standing up like a prince – I tell you. He even waved as he shot by into his pass, on the crest of a wave, just right – did I tell you he had learned to use the skis like a surfboard, long before the surfers ever came? I could see him as clearly as I can see you, and his lines were still tight, just right – and his dolphins tearing along with him too.
“It was that strange moment of sunrise, the instant when the sun rises falsely – Oh, yes, I know how we see it by refraction before it is truly there, while it is still really under the curve of the sea. And sometimes it is the wrong shape, misshapen – although it is the true sun, still it is for a few seconds sinistre. A momento spectrale – which I do not quite like. This was the sun that burst upon him just as he passed in. I remember there was a small cloud cutting it in three fat chunks, like a papaya, cold but beautiful. And at that moment K’o‘s harness went weird – it was still tight, you understand, and I could see him holding it – but the part near me faded in an abnormal fashion, it became hazy like a vapor.
“And then so many things happened to me at once, although I never took my eyes off K’o. He was planing, or riding at tremendous speed through the pass into Tuloom harbor. He had to be heading for a terrible spill in the coral. For a time he seemed still to hold the rope; for all I know the dolphins were pulling him. The wave cresting all around him – but he was still upright, perfectly all right in a great blaze of sun despite the crash that had to be coming. And I noticed there was no more rope. He was holding his body like a surfer, but somehow different. Superb till the end.”
Don Manuel’s tone grew low and quieter, with a great seriousness. “My friend, I could not swear to you that he was not standing or riding on the dolphins, driving straight for shore. But the shore had become strange too. There was not only one Castillo above us, there were more. And I think in one glimpse I saw work going on – not the miserable scaffolds of the arqueologicos, but like building, fresh and new. And voices, people shouting, Mayas rushing down the cliff path now, rushing into the sea toward K’o. And all strangely dressed, or rather, ornamented – everything shining, colorful. But then I had no more time to look. Because you see both my motors had died.
“Oh, yes. Just as I saw him pass into the harbor, first one engine quit and then the other, dead as dogs, and I was being whirled ‘round and carried across the pass entrance. Luckily – maybe unluckily – the tide was running out and took me with it. I was so crazy with confusion and contra-natura, things turned against nature – I did not even comprehend my own danger. Only I had the sense to seize the palo and push away from the most dangerous rocks – all the time the current and the tide were carrying me away – away –
“I had one last look at the glory – how did the man of old say it? –towers shining, noble as Seville? As it must have appeared so many hundreds of years ago, perhaps before it was ever seen by accursed eyes.” For an instant the old Maya-mestizo, who normally called himself a Spaniard, allowed a hate I had never heard before to show. “Yes, And then when I could look again, there was nothing but our poor old Tuloom.
“Zama, the city of the dawn, was gone forever. And K’o with it.”
Here Don Manuel got up, poured himself another tequila, and I joined him in a weaker potion. The divers were still sleeping soundly in their amacas, one in every corner; from two of them came gentle snores. The sky was brightening, blooming into beauty, with a great salmon explosion ahead of us, in which lay Cozumel. I glanced back at the west; again there were the glowing cities of the sky, lavender and saffron and rose, with the faint chip of setting moon still sharply visible, and somehow alien among the softness.
“No,” said Don Manuel, though I had not spoken. “Nothing of him was ever found. No body, no skis, not a scrap, nothing. Although everyone looked for weeks, even from the air. And – another strange thing – even the coil of rope-end in my lancha was gone too. I remember in the excitement I had glimpsed it seeming faint, like a mist, but I was too busy trying to save myself from wrecking to attend to that.”
“How did you come ashore?”
“Well, I tell you, I thought I was going to Cuba. I was sure there was water or dirt in the petrol, you see, although we had strained it three times through a good lana hat. Oh, he overlooked nothing, that K’o! So I was sucking and blowing away, drinking petrol so I was sick, when suddenly the motor started quite normally, and then the other, which I had not even touched. So I tore right back, looking for K’o – I went into the harbor, everywhere – but there was nothing but our dead ruined old Tuloom. And one viejo, a sort of caretaker, who had been shooting doves. He said he had heard a motor, but he was in the mangles after palomas, he had seen nothing. Only he crossed himself–” Here Don Manuel made a comic gesture – “about twenty times.
“I went back to Cozumel – the motors ran perfectly. And of course I alerted the Gardia, and all K’o‘s friends. But there was nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing. Nothing except one thing only, which I know. Shall I tell you a strangeness, my friend?”
“You ask me? May you never find another langusta if you keep silent now.”
“Very well.” He took a deep, deep draught. “This I never told. You know our poor Tuloom, how it is famous for two things. One is of course the magnificent site, the wall and the view from the Castillo, correct? And do you know the other, which is in every stupid guidebook?”
“What? Not the frescoes, they are gone. A few Chacs, rain gods – Oh! Of course. The figure over the top door, the Descending God, or whatever you will.”
“Do you know it is the only such a one in all Yucatan? In no other Maya ruina, even Tikal. Some fools call it the Descending God, or a setting sun, such as a few Aztec temples have up in Mexico. But this one is quite, quite different. I have made it my business to compare, you see. Even from the oldest drawings before the vandals came. You can believe me. The posture is not elegant, indeed, it is somewhat like a frog. Nevertheless, everyone except some of the Arqueologistos, call it not descending, but the diving god. The vandals have been at it, and the weather, of course. But I have consulted the old drawings, like your Catherwoods’ from Stevenson’s books. Have you never examined these?”
“No, not really.”
“Well. Some are very detailed. The hands are held so –” Don Manuel put his fingers together like a diving child. “And on the wrists he drew stiff cuffs with ruffles. But these are only drawn to fill the space, I think, it was already damaged, you see. Such cuffs are never seen elsewhere. Like Spanish court cuffs, or the cuffs the little typistas wear to keep their sleeves clean. The real statue that you can see today has no trace of such things. But if you look carefully you can see there was indeed something there, upon the wrists. Very omamentados. But not big cuffs. One perhaps a little smaller than the other, on the left wrist. And by the wrists – you know the Maya symbols for numbers, the bars and dots, not so?”
“Yes.”
“Well, a few small ones can still be made out, in the space by the diving hands. Strange wrist ornaments – figures of time?… How would the ancients show a diver’s watch, I ask you?”
“Oh, my god, Manuel.”
“Exactly, my friend. His name too, did you forget? K’o, K’ou, a god!”
There fell then a long silence, in which I was unconscious of the uproar of the old engines, the groans, the creaks, the double snore. Only the dawn wind, broken by an osprey’s scream, only the glorious sunrise over the marina pier, now visible ahead, from which came the almost imperceptible tinkle of a mariachi from some early riser’s radio.
Presently I sighed. “So you really think he made it, Don Manuel?”
“I know what I have seen, my friend,” Manuel said quietly. “And every word I have told you is the truth. I believe he was indeed the first man to waterski from Cozumel to the mainland. By several hundreds – perhaps, who knows? – even a thousand years. Mille annos, mas o menus. Quien sabe?”
IKE AT THE MIKE
Howard Waldrop
A strange and wonderful story by a strange and wonderful author. Enjoy.
-- Monica
Ambassador Pratt leaned over toward Senator Presley. "My mother's ancestors don't like to admit it," he said, "but they all came to the island from the Carpathians two centuries ago. Their name then was something like Karloff." He laughed through his silver mustache.
"Hell," said Presley, with the tinge of the drawl that came to his speech when he was excited, as he was tonight. "My folks been dirt farmers all the way back to Adam. They don't even remember coming from anywhere. But that don't mean they ain't wonderful folks. Good people all the same."
"Of course not," said Pratt. "My father was a shopkeeper. He worked to send all my older brothers into the Foreign Service. But when my time came, I thought I had another choice. I wanted to run off to Canada or Australia, perhaps try my hand at acting. I was in several local dramatic clubs, you know. My father took me aside before my service exams. The day before—I remember quite distinctly—he said, `William' he was the only member of the family who used my full name—`William,' he said, `actors do not get paid the last workday of each and every month.' Well, I thought about it awhile, and next day passed my exams with absolute top grades."
Pratt smiled his ingratiating smile once more. There was something a little scary about it, Presley thought, sort of like Raymond Massey's smile in Arsenic and Old Lace. But the smile had seen Pratt through sixty years of government service. It had been a smile that made the leaders of small countries smile back as King Georges, number after number, took yet more of their lands. It was a good smile; it made everyone remember his grandfather. Even Presley.
"Folks is funny," said Presley. "God knows, I used to get up at barn dances and sing myself silly. I was just a kid then, playing around."
