Golublog: An Anthropology Blog

(for a quick reminder you may want to reread the first episode)

“I understand that as professional assasins, you probably don’t have a particularly well developed ironic sensibility,” I said, edging nervously away from them and towards the rim of the caldera, “but surely,” I said gesturing towards the roiling sea of lava that splurped and hissed directly behind me, “surely you can see that this entire thing is just a little bit, how can I put it, de trop?”

“We’re not assasins,” spat one of the business-suited, sunglassed, AK-47′d men advancing slowly towards me, “we’re executive outcome professionals. We provide advanced morbidity solutions… enterprise wide.”

“Because I mean really,” I said, laughing nervously and trying to sound brave, “being forced to the edge of a lava-filled volcano in the middle of the Taklamakan desert as a dozen assasins advance menacingly towards me… I mean, can you really go through with something like this?”

The men in front of me took a moment and glanced questioningly at each other.

“Yep.” said one.

I sighed deeply and made my light saber live.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn – ”

I took a deep breath and… and then I shuddered as I realized where I was – back at the volcano where this had all begun. I remembered everything – the way they were about to attack me, my rendez-vous with Rex, escaping to Kashgar and meeting Andrew for the first time. I touched my mouth – there was a hint of blood, red now, and felt my head – the pain was gone. Then I began shaking, almost uncontrollably. What had happened to Andrew and Cinnamon? Where wer they? Before I could even finish formulating the thought one of the men charged me. With a single glance I saw there were too many to take on at once. I took a deep breath and charged forward and used the force to push three or four of them down with a wave of my arm, riding the aftershock of their concussion through the air in a long, somersaulting leap. I landed in the sand behind them, sheathed my lightsaber, and sprinted down the sandy slope of the volcano, juiced on the adrenaline running through my blood and the confusion running through my head.

Pulled by intuition down the slope, I saw a humvee lit up with the variable green illumination that I recognized immediately as the flash of Rex’s lightsaber in close quarters. A body flew out of the open window and the car started heading towards me. As it approached I saw three over humvees behind it in pursuit. The passenger-side door flew open and I felt an intangible invitation from Rex. As the humvee veered towards me I leapt sideways, caught the edge of the door in my hands, and used the torque of my rotation to fly inside of it, slamming the door shut in the process.

“How is it?” asked Rex distractedly, glancing now in the rear view window and now over the windshield, shoulders hunched in intense concentration.

“I’m ok,” I said, “a group of MPAA goons tried to corner me.”

Rex stole a moment to give me a serious, guilt-inducing look.

“What did I tell you about taking on large groups of professionally trained assasins when I’m not around?” he said, looking down his nose.

“I didn’t,” I protested, suddenly feeling like a little girl again, “I avoided them when I saw I was outnumbered. You can’t expect me just to rush headlong into battle every opportunity I get.”

“Can’t I?” asked Rex suspiciously.

“And anyway,” I said, the enormity of what had happened flooding back to me, “we did it! We made it! Here we are. Back in Kashgar in 2004!” I exulted, collecting my tattered robes about me. I took out my lightsaber and sniffed at the tell-tale smell of ozone that clung to it – a clear indication my leap forward in time was successful.

“Yeah we made it,” said Rex, “we got the artifact the MPAA were interested in. But we won’t be in the clear until we loose those three humvees – and you know how much I hate driving. And, uh, Anne – did you just sniff your lightsaber?”

* * *

Six hours and three burnt-out enemy Humvee husks later were back in our safe house in Kashgar, exhausted.

“God that was close,” said Rex as I poured us out a cup of tea before bed, “those guys must have been real nuts for whatever this is.”

He took a canvass bag from out of his robes and undid the draw string, dumping the Codex of Lost Souls unceremoniously onto the kitchen table.

“Ohmigod,” I said, frozen, kettle in one hand, “don’t read it, Rex. Whatever you do. Don’t. Read. It. For god’s sake!”

Rex looked at me quizzically.

“Why not?” he asked me, genuinely puzzled.

“Don’t you remember what happened in Bukhara?” I asked with more than a little hint of desperation in my voice.

“But Anne, We’ve never been to Bukhara,” said Rex, walking towards me, giving me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder with one hand and taking the kettle from me with the other, “you’ve been acting oddly ever since I rendez-vous’d with you back at the volcano. Are you feeling ok?”

“What do you mean? Don’t you remember what happened to us?”

Rex looked at me as if a large penguin had sprouted out of my forehead.

“I…” my voice trailed off in uncertainty. Had I dreamed it all? Everything that had happened to me? How could Rex not remember?

“I’ll tell you what,” said Rex, “it’s been a long night. Let’s have our tea, sleep on it, and I’ll have a plan developed in the morning.”

* * *

I awoke the next morning filled with resignation. The same fan turned the same dusty eddies about my bed. The same figs sat in the same bowl. It was all exactly as I remembered it. Was I stuck in some sort of time-loop, destined to repeat the same experiences over and over again? Was the Rex that had rescued me the night before the real Rex, or some imposter? The power of the pool certainly seemed to have deserted me. What would I do? What was happening to me?

I trudged downstairs and sat grumpily at the table, shoulders stooped over my tea. Rex bounded down stairs with his usual ebullient energy.

“Well Anne,” he said, obviously trying to cheer me up, “I think I’ve got our little problem solved. I happen to know a person who lives here in Kashgar who can have this little codex-thingie identified lickety split.”

“Great,” I said unethusaistically, stirring my tea.

“And the interesting thing about him is….”

“I know, I know. He’s immortal.”

“Why yes,” said Rex, clearly nonplussed, “how did you guess?”

* * *

An hour later we were walking the streets of Kashgar to meet Rex’s ‘mysterious friend’ who I already knew would be Andrew. A few blocks from the safehouse I turned down the road leading to Andrew’s store.

“Where are you going, Anne?” asked Rex, eyebrows wrinkled.

“To your friend’s place,” I said tiredly.

“Hmmm. Good guess but no. The force is weak with you. He lives down this way,” said Rex, jerking his thumb in the opposite direction.

“No he doesn’t.”

“I assure you he does,” said Rex, brow wrinkling in concern, “are you sure you’re ok? Did you sleep well last night? You seem out of sorts.”

“I’m fine,” I said glumly, acquiescing to Rex’s route, “let’s just get this over with.”

* * *

“He does not live here.” I said, glancing skeptically up at the twenty foot tall white-washed walls that encircled the enormous mansion outside of whose gate we stood.

“I assure you he does,” repeated Rex, winking at me and walking towards the gate where he handed his card to two guards wearing bullet-proof vests and brandishing assault rifles. At the very edge of Kashgar, where the irrigated fields blended sterile into the desert, I could see the tops of green, water-hungry trees peak over the wall of the estate. Whoever lived here was rich.

In a moment we had cleared security and were inside the estate. A large tiled fountain gurgled away serenely at the front of a scrupulously trimmed British lawn dotted by luxurious growths of peach trees and grape vines. In front of me, a massive house topped with minarets and riddled with wrought iron windows stretched upwards.

“Rex old man, how are you?!” I heard an unmistakable voice ask.

It was Andrew. There was no doubt about it. But instead of wearing his usual crumpled earthtones we was dressed in a carefully tailored linen suit complete with a cravat. In one hand he held an oversized martini glass filled with an oversized martini. He hugged Rex warmly but carefully so as not to spill and then glanced at me, eyes twinkling in curiosity.

“Andrew, how good to see you!” said Rex happily, “Meet my padwan Anne Kawharu. Anne Karhawu, Andrew Huff.”

“Pleased to meet you,” said Andrew, smiling and shaking my hand warmly as if he’d never seen me before in his entire life.

“Uh.. er… um…” I said articulately.

Whatever remaining ability I had to use language to communicate with other humans was completely taken away a moment later when Cinnamon bounded out of the house in a light summer dress and ran to embrace Rex.

“And this is Andrew’s wife Cinnamon,” said Rex, extricating himself from her arms, “Anne, Cinnamon. Cinnamon, Anne.”

“So pleased to meet you, Anne,” said Cinnamon without a trace of recognition, “a friend of Rex’s is a friend of ours. Welcome to our house.”

“Gagh. Grrr. Ugh. Er.” I said in reply, trying not to faint.

“I say Rex,” said Andrew, sipping on his martini, “I’ve just asked Wajid to make a pitcher of martinis. It’s on the side table on the third floor dining room if you’d like to help yourself.”

“You know me too well, Andrew,” said Rex, already making for the door, “You’ll make Anne at home, won’t you?”

“Of course – go get your martini,” said Cinnamon, waving to him. But he was already indoors.

There was a moment of akward silence as Andrew and Cinnamon stood arm and arm, beaming benevolently at me.

“Uh… nice house you have here…” I began lamely.

Ever so slowly, Andrew’s eyes wrinkled with supressed mirth. He leaned towards to me.

“Rex doesn’t remember a thing, does he?” he whispered, chuckling.

“Oh Anne!” exclaimed Cinnamon, breaking into peals of happy laughter, “it’s been centuries!”

And then they both embraced me, laughing and crying at once.

* * *

“We’re still trying to determine how much of our future you changed,” said Andrew, pouring me a glass of lemonade, “or perhaps I mean how much of your past? It’s all quite complicated. When we finally met Rex again for the first time a couple of years ago it was clear he had no idea who we were and had no memory of the incidents surrounding the Pool of Lost Souls. We played dumb, of course. When you’re in our line of business, you learn how not to give too much away.”

“Your business? And this,” I said, looking around at their estate, “this is your house? And Cinnamon – you’re alive? I don’t understand. When I met Andrew in 2003…”

“Yes, well, the thing is that that never actually happened,” said Andrew.

“Perhaps we ought to back track a bit,” said Cinnamon, seeing my confusion and patting me on the arm comfortingly, “everything you experienced in your first time in Kashgar was before what you did at the Pool of Lost Souls. Even though it happened afterwards, chronologically speaking.”

“Lessig and Kathy were right about you, Anne – you did change the course of history. If it hadn’t been for you Cinnamon would have died and I’d have been left to wander the earth for eternity bemoaning our unrequited love. But you did the right thing and saved us both.”

“The last thing I remember is you two falling into the Pool of Lost Souls.”

“Well that’s the last thing I remembered for a long time too,” said Andrew, “when we regained consciousness it was all we could do to scramble out of the cavern before the entire place came tumbling down around us. It wasn’t until years afterwards, when our friends started turning grey and we were as young and vital as ever, that we realized what had happened to us.”

“Consciousness? I remember that you, Andrew,” I said, shuddering slightly, “The water didn’t hurt you anymore – you had already become immortal. But Cinnamon…?”

Both of them beamed benevolently at me.

“You’re both immortal?” I guessed.

“Well, let’s just say that you’re not the only person who can bestow immortality with a kiss.” said Andrew. Cinnamon blushed.

“The pool gives life Anne – it doesn’t just take away. And not just that,” said Andrew, tapping his head with his forefinger, “but there’s a bonus! After my experience at the Pool of Lost Souls, I was plagued by bad dreams. Soon those dreams congealed into memories – memories of the future. A future which, thanks to you, I’ll never have to live.”

“You remember meeting me for the first time?” I asked, a bit embarassed.

“I remember meeting you for your first time. And I remembered everything else that never happened to me – I remembered an entire future that hasn’t occurred, thanks to you.”

“And that,” said Cinnamon, pouring herself more lemonade, “was when we decided to go into the art market.”

“The art market?” I asked incredulously.

“Well, with a century’s worth of memories you can’t help but want to make a killing in art speculation,” admitted Andrew, “most of our profits go to our philanthropic endeavors, of course. The liberation of Tibet, a couple of endowed chairs in philology, some research grants to further human-cetacean communication. But basically the businesses and NGOs are merely a front for our other activities.”

“Other activities?”

“Our cultural preservation special ops,” said Andrew, smiling broadly, “as a little in-joke we decided to call it ‘Section 13′.”

“The past century or so has been incredibly hectic,” said Cinnamon, squeezing Andrew on the arm, “we just barely realized we were immortal before we had to dash over to Greece to strip the Parthenon bare before that idiot Turk blew it up. Trust me – the Elgin marbles are nothing compared to what we’ve got!”

“I spent most of the First World War doing oral history – collecting autobiographies of soldiers in the trenches, poetry. Cinnamon was busy in China, of course, making sure the Qing didn’t sell too much of China’s heritage to the Big Noses. And then then thirties – ”

“Oh god, the Thirties!” laughed Cinnamon, “it was all we could do to keep up! By the time we’d gotten our Cubist collection together we were straight onto stealing stained glass out of cathedrals – sometimes we’d only get to them minutes before the allied bombings. And then the Cultural Revolution in China – god! We’ve still got five container ships anchored off of Brunei we haven’t even catalogued yet!”

“Oh yes, and then the post war years! Which reminds me – we’ve got a little thank-you present for you Anne,” said Andrew, producing a jewel case from his pocket. The cover featured a blurry black-and-white picture of four obviously drunk young men with bol-cuts flipping off the camera while Cinnamon and Andrew hovered in the background, waving and winking.

“It’s an acoustic live recording of The Beatles doing ‘I Want to Hold Your Hand’ in Maori – I think I got them to pronounce it right,” said Cinnamon, “We used to hang out with them in Berlin.”

“Obla-di Obla-da is actually about us,” confessed Andrew modestly.

“Wow. Great,” I said, trying to sound enthused as I turned the jewel case over in my hand, “uh… who are ‘The Beatles’?”

“Kids these days!” snorted Cinnamon, easing herself into Andrew’s lap and kissing him on the ear, “try Googling them sometimes, Anne.”

“And what happened to Cumin?” I asked, intrigued, “the last time I saw her she seemed to be getting along with Trevor quite well.”

“Trevor?” laughed Andrew, “No, that didn’t last. It turns out she only likes Jewish boys. No, the last time we saw her she was still going out with the Diamond Dealer.”

“The Diamond Dealer?” I said, jaw dropping.

“Yes. We saw her a couple of weeks ago, pulling some crazy Jewstastic stunt.” said Cinnamon.

“She’s immortal too?”

“No she’s not immortal,” said Cinnamon, brow wrinkling in curiosity as if I had suggested something outlandish, “she just, well, gets around a lot these days. She works mostly with Elijah – as much as she likes the Diamond Dealer, they quarrel a lot when on assignment as a team.”

“What about Lessig and Ghyslain?”

“Well whatever you did had far-reaching consequences,” said Andrew, sipping, “Lessig got his wish after all. He’s a senator now, and the DMCA never passed. Ghyslain, unfortunately, has been reduced to an embarassingly juvenile movie that was famous on the internet for 10 minutes. Now he only dreams of being a Jedi, I’m afraid.”

“Rex will be back at any moment, Anne,” said Cinnamon, “and we still have the most important thing to discuss. As you no doubt realize, the Pool of Lost Souls is neither just a group or people nor a part of the primordial landscape. The Pool exists at that intersection where nature and humanity meet – where inevitability and choice intersect. It took us decades to come up with an answer to the question of what it meant for someone to be part of the Pool of Lost Souls – an answer you came up with instinctively, Anne, when you tasted the waters of the pool. The Codex played with the skeins of our fate numerous times before we finally understood what it wanted.”

Our immortality was not an accident – even your intervention, an act of free will so great that it rent realities asunder, was but one turning point in history designed by Codex itself. Now we understand that it seeks guardians – people like ourselves, Anne. People as immortal as the Codex’s desire for secrecy, people as dedicated to safeguarding it as it is powerful. Our call to service began that day long ago when we tasted of the Pool of Lost Souls and became immortal. So we were sort of hoping…”

“Keep quiet about this to Rex?”

“Bingo. We still need to get a hold of Codex if we’re to keep to our new purpose in life, and now it’s cleverly worked its way into our hands. But you can’t let anyone know what’s happened. Don’t mention it ever Anne – especially to Rex” said Andrew, “don’t tell a soul – at least not until you’re old and grey. As usual, Rex seems to have gone through yet another adventure without a scratch on him. And as for the rest, here he comes now, I see…”

* * *

“Damn that’s a fine Martini,” said Rex, settling comfortably into his chair and sipping on his drink, “so – how are y’all getting on with Anne?”

“Oh splendidly,” said Cinnamon, casting the briefest wink at me, “it feels like we’ve known Anne for years.”

“So,” said Andrew, “what was it you came to see us about, Rex?”

“Oh well,” said Rex, pulling the Codex from his robes, “Anne and I recently retrieved this book from an MPAA convoy. My orders were to keep it out of Valenti’s hands. But of course the Council didn’t specify what I ought to do with it after that, and then I thought ‘hey, don’t Cinnamon and Andrew winter in Kashgar?’ and so I thought…”

“Thanks Rex,” said Andrew, taking the Codex from Rex’s hand, “It’ll make a great addition to our collection – whatever it is. Looks real old to me.”

“Oh yes, very old,” said Cinnamon, blinking with earnest innocence, “and it’s probably very valuable.”

“Well,” said Rex, beaming, “just consider it on permanent loan from the Council, ok?”

“Sure thing,” said Andrew.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Rex stared expectantly at them.

“Uh… could I get a receipt for that? It’s just, you know how the council is…” began Rex awkwardly.

“Of course,” said Andrew, pushing Cinnamon off his lap and producing a reciept book from the inner pocket of his coat and writing out a receipt.

“Great!” said Rex, “I’m glad we got that out of the way, I’m kinda busy, actually. Pancho Sanchez is doing a week’s worth of shows in New York in two days and I promised Kathy we’d make them all. Can you hold on a sec?” said Rex, pulling a mobile phone from his robes and pressing speed dial preset.

“Kathy? mobile phone? You don’t own a mobile phone! What are you doing calling Kathy?” I blurted, confused.

“Ha ha. very funny. Very funny ha ha. Rex has had a mobile phone for the past three years,” said Andrew beneath gritted don’t-fuck-this-up teeth.

“And of course you remember Kathy of course,” said Cinnamon, expositing bravely, “Rex’s chidlhood sweetheart and dance partner who he’s never broken up with ever despite their occasionally rocky relationship?”

“Hello? Hey babes,” said Rex contentedly, bending in concentration over his mobile phone and sticking a finger in his un-mobilephoned ear, “how are you? Good? Great. Yeah, I’m all clear over here – ”

Rex glanced up my way.

“Oh – Kathy says to send you big smoochies,” he said, smiling at me.

“smoochies…?”

“Yes. No. Yes. Ok. I’ll see you then. No. Andrew and Cinnamon. Cinnamon and Andrew. Yeah. I don’t know – some stupid codex. You? Has Ambi been getting his walkies? Ok. Ok. No, I believe you. Kat – what did I just say? Why would I say I believe you if I didn’t believe you? If he’s getting his walkies he’s getting his walkies. Ok. I’ll see you later. Love you too. Ciao.”

Rex snapped his phone shut and turned to look at me.

“You don’t mind, Anne? It’s just something we thought we’d try to do alone.”

“Alone? But what about me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Oh right, I forgot to tell you,” said Rex, making his lightsaber live and shearing off my padwan’s braid, “congratulations Anne, you’re a Jedi now.”

“I’m a what?”

“A jedi. You know – light saber, force powers, fighting for good? I got word from the council about a month ago that you were to get made at the end of this mission. They think you’re ready and so do I – it’s a good sign for your career you got a bump so early. I had sort of hoped we could go out with a bang – you know, an epic adventure, big battles, the world at risk, that sort of thing. But I guess some folks are lucky and some ain’t.”

“But I’m not ready to be a Jedi!” I protested, suddenly panicking, “I’m only sixteen! I don’t know anything about anything! I feel like I have so much to learn! I’m finally beginning to realize how difficult all this Jedi stuff is!” I protested.

“I think that’s why they decided you were ready.” said Cinnamon quietly, “I’m sure you’ve had adventures that Rex can’t even begin to rememb – uh, imagine.”

“But isn’t there some sort of official ceremony or something?”

“Oh well you can walk at convocation if you want, but officially it’s all settled. Congratulations, Anne,” said Rex, squeezing my hand fondly.

“But what will I do?”

“Wander the earth. Right wrongs. Just like we did, only without me.”

“Well just because you can’t think three days in advance doesn’t mean that I’m going ‘wander the earth’, Rex Masterson,” I said, surprised at how determinedly down to earth I sounded.

“Well it sounds to me like you’re more than a little ready to take responsibility for yourself, Anne,” said Andrew, grinning, “care to stay for dinner?”

* * *

We had veal with artichoke hearts and asparagus. Cinnamon made a salad. Andrew shoo’d the servants out of the kitchen and we made peanut butter cookies for desert as we finished the rest of the wine. Afterwards I saw Rex off at the gate of Andrew and Cinnamon’s mansion. He was a little worried about leaving me there and was concerned that I was imposing, but I assured him that Cinnamon, Andrew and I would have plenty to talk about. He smiled and hugged me briefly before he left.

“I’m going to miss you, Anne Kawharu,” he said.

He turned to go. I stayed at the gate and watched him walk away into the desert until his form shimmered with the heat, and then until it disappeared altogether, and then until even the outline of his presence was only a memory. And then I went inside.

* * *

The night air was crisp with summer in the high mountains. Andrew made glog and we took it out to roof. We talked all night. I felt the cold work its way into my clothes and watched the stars wink on and off. Soon enough, the dawn spawned orange and we sat together, letting it rise over the three of us. We felt it spread its growing warmth on our faces and watched as it glowed dimly, and then brighter, over our ever-lessening silhouettes, revealing in its growing light the outlines of our friendship – our own little pool of lost souls.

Fini