6

Helicopters search the ocean, circling, darting, rising, falling. It is one of dozens in the air. The Company is looking for lost treasure, no stone will go unturned. They defy the laws meant to restrain them, they search with every tool at their disposal, pay whatever price is asked. He is too dangerous to let free, too valuable to let lie.

A powerful foe wants him dead. This alone makes his recovery vital.

I am asleep, drifting. I am cold yet comfortable. Do I dream? Am I a dream myself? It is hard to know anything.

This search involves forces far stranger than men in flying metal. Winged creatures search the waters from above, green serpents beneath. Eyes watch the waters from far away through means mundane, magical, electrical. There is little hope. One whirling metal bird sees something in the water, drops, hovers. There is a splash as a body enters the water. A struggle amongst the waves; two bodies are pulled out.

I can hear voices in my dreams. They are talking about me, to me, around me. My head hurts. I don’t know where I am, only that I am in trouble. Did someone slip chili into my food? I don’t remember.

The body is broken, waterlogged, motionless. The medics cannot do anything with him. Needles break on his skin, his chest is still, his skin cold. There is no pulse. They are told this is normal; they shake their heads in despair.

Insects bite at my skin. I am young again, too tall for comfort, too awkward for sympathy. My sister teases me. She tells me that one day she will be a model, I will be a telegraph pole. We play with the family greyhound. We are happy.

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The chopper lands on a private estate in the country. The pilots are taken aside after landing, blindfolded, interrogated. Their work this night will earn them either rapid promotion or death. The body is dragged across wooden floors into an empty room, dropped. There is fear in air, desperation.

There was a day when the rain fell in love with the soul of a tree. The rain woo’ed the tree, sang to it, blessed it. The world is made of such unlikely liaisons. They had a child.

Two men enter. One opens a briefcase, pulls out a long syringe. The other man holds the body down. The syringe is wooden. It enters his body smoothly. They talk quietly, discussing rumors about their patient. They know little. The body stirs slightly.

The rain’s brother, the ocean, heard of the tree, became jealous. It ravaged across the land to destroy the tree. The destruction was indiscriminate, ripping up forests, tearing apart the very ground itself. The child survived, his mother did not.

The syringe contains rainwater. It enters his veins, calls to him. It is not enough. His sister arrives, escorted by the Company’s most senior leaders. They beg her to help. She has tears in her eyes, a letter in her hand. They argue over the letter’s contents. It is many years old, written in elegant copperplate. It is his will.

I grew, learned, became. The ocean forgot me, the rain did not. My human family was good to me. I will miss them. I have been killed by a smiling enemy, a wrathful uncle, a forgetful sister.

He is wrong; she has not forgotten. The Company men are surprised by the force of her passion, insistence, anger. They shrug, pull the body outside. The body is heavy; they drag him as best they can. One man finds a shovel, another picks a point in the ground. They bury him up to his shoulders, leaving head resting on the sweet soil. The sun rises, clouds march across the skies.

#

And it begins to rain.