John Hawks - The Traveler

She sat in a booth opposite Gabriel and they spoke to a bored waitress wearing a stained apron. The food came quickly. Gabriel wolfed down his hamburger and ordered a second one while Maya picked at her mushroom omelet.

People who crossed over into different realms often became spiritual leaders, but Gabriel Corrigan didn’t show any sign of spirituality. Most of the time he acted like an ordinary young man who liked motorcycles and put too much ketchup on his food. He was just another citizen-that’s all-and yet Maya felt uncomfortable being around him. The men she had known in London loved the sound of their own voice. They listened to you with one ear while they waited for their turn to speak. Gabriel was different. He watched her carefully, focused on what she was saying, and seemed to respond to her different moods.

“Is your name really Maya?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“So what’s your last name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a last name,” Gabriel said. “Unless you’re a rock star or a king or something like that.”

“In London, I called myself Judith Strand. I entered this country with a passport that said I’m a German citizen named Siegrid Kohler. I’m carrying backup passports from three different countries. But ‘Maya’ is my Harlequin name.”

“What does that mean?”

“Harlequins pick one special name when we’re twelve or thirteen years old. There’s no ritual to follow. You simply decide on a name and tell your family. Names don’t always have an obvious meaning. The French Harlequin who calls himself ‘Linden’ is named after a tree with a heart-shaped leaf. A very fierce Harlequin from Ireland calls herself Mother Blessing.”

“So why are you called Maya?”

“I picked a name that would annoy my father. Maya is another name for the goddess Devi, the consort of Shiva. But it also means illusion, the false world of the senses. That’s what I wanted to believe in-the things I could see and hear and feel. Not the Travelers and the different realms.”

Gabriel looked around at the dingy little restaurant. WE TRUST IN GOD, said a sign. ALL OTHERS, PAY CASH.

“What about your brothers and sisters? Are they also running around with swords looking for Travelers?”

“I was an only child. My mother came from a Sikh family that had lived in Britain for three generations. She gave me this…” Maya raised her right wrist and displayed the steel bracelet. “This is called a kara . It reminds you not to do anything that could cause shame or disgrace.”

Maya wanted to finish the meal and leave the restaurant. If they were outside, then she could put her sunglasses back on and conceal her eyes.

“What was your father like?” Gabriel asked.

“You don’t need to know about him.”

“Was he crazy? Did he beat you?”

“Of course not. He was usually in some other country trying to save a Traveler. My father never told us where he was going. We never knew if he was alive or dead. He would miss my birthday or Christmas, and then would show up at some unexpected moment. Father always acted like everything was normal, that he had just been around the corner for a pint of beer. I missed him, I guess. But I also didn’t want him to come home. That meant we had to resume my lessons.”

“And he taught you how to use a sword?”

“That was just one part of it. I also had to learn karate, judo, kickboxing, and how to fire different kinds of guns. He tried to make me think a certain way. If we shopped at a store, he’d suddenly ask me to describe every person we had seen. If we were riding in the Underground together, he’d tell me to look at everyone in the car and determine the sequence of battle. You’re supposed to attack the strongest person first and work your way down.”

Gabriel nodded as if he understood what she was talking about. “What else did he do?”

“When I got older, Father would hire thieves or drug addicts to follow me through the streets after school. I had to notice them and figure out a way to escape. My training was always out on the street, as dangerous as possible.”

She was about to describe the fight in the Underground with the football thugs, but fortunately the waitress arrived with the second hamburger. Gabriel ignored it and tried to continue the conversation.

“It sounds like you didn’t want to become a Harlequin.”

“I tried to live a citizen life. It wasn’t possible.”

“Are you angry about that?”

“We can’t always choose our path.”

“You seem angry at your father.”

The words slipped beneath her guard and touched her heart. For a second, she thought she was going to start crying so hard that it would shatter the world that surrounded them. “I-I respected him,” she stammered.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be angry.”

“Forget about my father,” Maya said. “He has nothing to do with our current situation. Right now the Tabula are looking for us and I’m trying to protect you. Stop racing up the road on your motorcycle. I need to keep you in sight the whole time.”

“We’re in the middle of the desert, Maya. No one is going to see us.”

“The Grid still exists even if you don’t see the lines.” Maya stood up and slung the sword carrier over her shoulder. “Finish your meal. I’ll be outside.”

FOR THE REST of the day, Gabriel rode in front of her and matched the speed of the van. The sun went down and melted into the horizon as they continued traveling northeast. About forty miles from the Nevada border she saw the green-and-blue neon sign of a small motel.

Maya reached into her purse and pulled out the random number generator. An even number meant keep driving. An odd number meant stop here. She pressed the button. The RNG showed 88167, so she flashed her headlights and turned off into the gravel courtyard. The motel was shaped like a U. Twelve rooms. An empty swimming pool that had grass growing on the bottom.

Maya got out of the van and walked over to Gabriel. They needed to share a room so that she could watch him, but Maya decided not to mention that fact. Don’t push him, she thought. Make up an excuse.

“We don’t have a lot of money. It’s cheaper if we share a room.”

“That’s okay,” Gabriel said, and followed her into the lighted office.

The hotel owner was a chain-smoking old woman who smirked when Maya wrote Mr. and Mrs. Thompson on a little white card. “We’ll pay cash,” Maya said.

“Yes, dear. That’s fine. And try not to break anything.”

Two saggy beds. A small table and two plastic chairs. There was an air conditioner in the room, but Maya decided to leave it off. Noise from the fan would muffle the sound of anyone approaching. She slid open the window above the beds, then went into the bathroom. Tepid water trickled out of the shower head. It had a flat, alkaline smell, and it was difficult to rinse her thick hair. She came out wearing a T-shirt and athletic shorts and Gabriel took his turn.

Maya pulled the blanket off her bed, and then slipped beneath the sheet with her sword lying a few inches from her right leg. Five minutes later, Gabriel stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair, wearing a T-shirt and underwear. He walked slowly across the worn carpet and sat down on the edge of his bed. Maya thought he was going to say something, but he changed his mind and crawled under the covers.

Lying faceup, Maya began to catalog all the sounds around her. The wind lightly pushing against the screen. An occasional truck or car passing down the highway. She was falling asleep, half in a dream, and then she was a child again, standing alone in the Underground tunnel as the three men attacked her. No. Don’t think about that.