Unlimited Page 14

  The harmonics stopped with a massive snap. A spark fired from the machine to his foot, like the device was angry with him. Furious.

  Simon was catapulted all the way back to the truck. He struck the front fender with a resounding thud.

  Sofia might have screamed. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was, just as the lights started returning, his own went out.

  Chapter 22

  The next morning, Simon’s joints ached and there was a second bump on his head that throbbed in time with the first. He showered and dressed and joined in the orphanage’s morning routine. He attended early chapel and then shared the kids’ simple breakfast. Harold greeted him with the same friendly reserve, the same knowing gaze. Simon figured it was only a matter of time before the guy erupted over what had gone down the night before. Only it never came.

  Simon spent the day going through his calculations and checking the apparatus for damage. Some of the components had been toasted, which was hardly a surprise. He disassembled the device. He taped the pages of frequencies to the blackboard and filled the surrounding space with calculations. When the board was filled up, he took sheets of large-lined paper from another classroom and filled them as well.

  The kids were busy with their afternoon game of soccer when he finally left the classroom. Harold sat in a high-backed chair by his doorway, reading from his Bible and watching the kids play. When he glanced over, Simon tensed, waiting for the condemnation over his actions the previous night. Instead Harold said, “I can’t thank you enough for assembling the lanterns, son. They could make a huge difference in our fund-raising efforts.”

  Simon started to respond in his normal offhand manner. But for once he checked himself and left the words unspoken. Perhaps it was Harold’s look, a solemn gleam that revealed hidden depths. Simon could almost see the force that bound this man to the place and these kids. “You’re welcome.”

  Harold shut his Bible, using his finger to hold the place. “Pedro tells me you managed some success last night.”

  “For about ten seconds. Before it shorted out a power station.”

  “Yes, it’s the talk of the town.” He surveyed the disassembled machine. “Can you resolve the problem?”

  Simon studied the orphanage director. Harold’s demeanor surprised him. “Hard to say. There are a lot of sensitive diodes that could be totally wrecked. And I don’t have the money to buy new ones.”

  “But in principle you could rebuild it?” When he hesitated, Harold pressed, “Simon, there is a world out there waiting for this thing. Vasquez and I shared the same dream. Helping the millions out there who suffer and perish because of one simple reason: no access to power. With your device we could provide free energy to the poorest of regions. I shared his concept with an old NASA colleague of mine who now runs a major venture capital group. He told me that if we can demonstrate a consistent flow of energy, even for a short period of time, he’s willing to fund the development of a full-scale project. That would replace the research grant the city council reneged on.”

  “You didn’t tell him that Vasquez died?”

  “Of course I did. But I also told him about you.”

  Simon saw the spark in Harold’s gaze. The fire that defied everything the man faced. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “You’re facing ruin. Everything you worked for could collapse tomorrow. But you’re talking about changing the world.”

  “Son, that’s the power of dreams. If they’re not big, if they’re not impossible, they’re not worth investing your life.”

  Simon backed up a step. “I’ve forgotten how to dream.”

  “Your problem is, you never learned.” Harold rose from his chair and stepped into his office. He returned holding a book. “I want you to have this. Pedro and Sofia kept after me to write down the lessons I developed from my seminars and what I teach the children. They are keys to help you unleash your potential. Help you make sense of your impossible dreams.”

  Simon was still searching for a response when the soccer ball skipped over the dusty earth and landed by Simon’s feet. Juan ran over. “Do you want to play football, Mr. Simon?”

  “You mean soccer?”

  Juan grinned. “This game is played only with your feet, no? So why do you call it soccer?”

  Simon set his cup on the wooden planks. “Guy who scores first gets to name the game.”

  His entry into the courtyard was greeted with shrieks of delight. The game soon became a contest between Simon and the orphanage. When Simon stole the ball, they stopped him with a mass tackle. It was Simon against the horde. He shouted a protest, but it was lost to the laughter and he did not care.

  Then Pedro stepped through the front gates, and Simon shouted, “Help!”

  Pedro moved amazingly fast, a flitting shape that was one moment by the orphanage entrance and the next dancing between Juan and the goalposts. Simon stopped fighting against the shrieking army and watched the two of them, shouting at each other and throwing up so much dust he could scarcely see their legs. Then Pedro looked at Simon and grinned. The message was clear enough. He stopped and let Juan sweep around him and kick the ball through the posts.

  The kids erupted in one unified cheer. Pedro and Harold stood on the sidelines and laughed while Juan did a victory dance and shouted to Simon, “Football!”

  Sofia pulled up in front of her apartment just as the descending sun painted the western ridgeline. The palette was gold and russet and rose. The light played through the trees lining her little plaza. She climbed the stairs and stepped onto her balcony as several neighbors emerged to watch the silent symphony. She wondered if they were as tired and worried as she felt. But the faces she could observe were carefully composed. It was the Mexican way, to hide deep emotions behind politeness and gentle voices and the mask of indifference.

  Her ability to enjoy the sunset was tainted by a day filled with unanswered questions. Such as, why did she feel so reluctant to marry Enrique? She had passed a dozen election billboards today. All of them smiled down at her. Reminding her that the clock was ticking. Telling her that she should be standing there beside him. Offering her people a better tomorrow.

  She entered her apartment and prepared a salad with sliced avocado. She ate standing at the balcony. Dusk faded with desert swiftness. The chapel bell rang, and she decided that she did not want to go this evening. Instead she put away her dishes and brought her Bible out onto the balcony. She read a passage and she prayed, then she stopped when the children exited the chapel. She waited and she watched, and she realized she was hoping to catch a glimpse of Simon.

  She sighed her way off the balcony and through her apartment and down the stairs and across the plaza and through the orphanage gates. Juan broke off from his soccer match to race over and say, “Simon played football with us. I won. He went back into his classroom. He has not come out.”

  “Not even to eat?”

  “I went over and told him it was time for dinner. I do not know if he even saw me.”

  “Well, he’ll certainly see me now.” When Juan started to follow, she said, “No, you stay here.”

  “But I want to watch you argue.”

  “We’re not going to argue, and you are an imp. Now go play.”

  She entered the mess hall and greeted the cook, who responded to her request for a plate of food with a knowing smile. “He is so very handsome, this Yanqui, no?”

  “Not you too. I get enough of this from Juan.”

  The cook was a kindly woman who had six children of her own and played grandmother to the entire orphanage. “You do not have enough on your plate, flirting with Enrique? Why must you claim two of them?”

  “I am claiming nothing. I am going to make him eat. And you are worse than the children.”

  “And you are not fooling anyone.” She piled food onto the tin plate and cro
oned, “Simon, my darling boy, you must keep up your strength for the love.”

  “I am never speaking to you again. Now give me the plate.” The cook’s laughter was far too high pitched for her huge size, and it chased Sofia across the courtyard.

  But what she saw as she entered the classroom erased all her exasperation. Simon leaned over the front table. His hands were balled into fists. His shoulders were hunched, and his hair draped down over his forehead. His work was spread out everywhere. The blackboard was one massive scrawl of calculations. Pages were taped to the walls. The apparatus was dismantled and covered most of the table. But he was not looking at any of that. He was studying Harold’s book.

  “I’ve brought you food.” She turned on the lights by the doorway. “Juan says you’ve been working all day.”

  “Except for a football match this afternoon. Me against all the kids.” He eased his shoulders and his neck, then seated himself behind the teacher’s desk. “I’m starving.”

  “I imagine so. You remind me so much of Vasquez. He wouldn’t eat unless I ordered him to take a break.”

  “Pedro said you never went to his house.”

  “He came here. At least every other day. He visited with Harold and he went to chapel and he helped out. We became his family.” She hesitated, then asked, “Do you have family waiting for you back home?”

  “My parents are gone. I have an aunt somewhere. But I haven’t seen her since I was a kid.”

  The toneless way he spoke reminded her of children she had known in the state orphanages, who had learned the safest way to live was by stamping down hard on all emotions. He ate with a remarkable delicacy, his attention drifting back to Harold’s book. Was he truly changing as Pedro predicted, or was it just her own growing affection for him? An affection she could no longer deny. “Have Harold’s teachings helped you?”

  “Helped and challenged both.” He turned a page. “I’m still trying to make sense of this goal business.”

  “He makes everyone do it. Even Enrique.”

  Simon laughed. “No way.”

  “Enrique had his secretary write the goals out for him.” She heard him laugh again and wished she could share the humor. Instead of thinking that it was just like the mayor. She knew he found such probings to be extremely unwelcome, even when they came from a trusted friend, even when the questions were meant to help, even when—

  She pushed it away. “Why did you go to MIT?”

  “Because I could. They offered to pay. I went.”

  “Why electrical engineering?”

  “It came naturally. That and an old fear. As a kid I was afraid of the dark.” He looked at her. “What tops your list of goals?”

  The intensity of his gaze caught her unaware. “I want to help orphans throughout all Mexico.” She had not shared that with anyone, not even Pedro.

  Simon gave a slow nod. “That’s a beautiful purpose for your life.”

  “Thank you, Simon.”

  “Marrying Enrique would probably help make that possible.”

  “It would.” She wet her lips, tasting the dust and the chalk and the night. “But I wonder . . .”

  “What?”

  She rose from the table, amazed at herself. She had been about to confess the impossible to this man. How she wondered if this goal was worth giving up on the secret yearning for true love. “Good night, Simon. It’s late, and we both need our rest.”

  Pedro was waiting for her as she approached the front gates. He often hung around at the end of a long day, checking on things, talking with Harold, helping to bed down the children. He had always taken his strength from this place. It was his character to support others. He would make a perfect orphanage director. The children already loved him.

  She tensed as Pedro fell into step beside her. She could hear all his unspoken questions. Why was she so interested in Simon? Did he represent a threat to Enrique in her heart? Was she ever going to accept Enrique’s offer of marriage? What was she waiting for? What did she want? She knew all the questions. And had answers for none of them.

  But she was wrong. Pedro surprised her by asking, “What happened between Simon and Vasquez?”

  She stopped. “Why are you asking me that?”

  Pedro turned and looked back at the classroom where the lone light cast the empty courtyard in a dusky glow. “I like him.”

  The simple words made her eyes burn. “I like him too.”

  “He carries burdens. That much is clear. And I think he has known his share of hard days. But he listens to Harold. He thinks.” Pedro shrugged. “I asked him to pray with me.”

  “I did also. What did he say to you?”

  “He thanked me.” Pedro’s teeth flashed in the gloom. “It was the nicest turndown I have ever received.”

  “He was reading Harold’s book when I brought him dinner.”

  “Then he is still asking questions, no?” Pedro’s smile flashed in the night. “Harold believes Simon is moving in the right direction, and all he needs is a little more time.”

  “Harold can predict when a man will give his life to Jesus?”

  “I am thinking, with this one, maybe yes.”

  The burning behind her eyes only grew worse. “What happened between Simon and Armando was very bad.”

  He replied easily, “Who has not fallen short in the eyes of God and man?”

  Sofia studied her brother. “You have been thinking about this.”

  “What I have been thinking, sister, is that Harold is right. And for this I am happy that Simon will be staying here for a few more days.”

  Chapter 23

  When Simon woke the next morning, the eastern horizon held the first faint wash of dawn. He lay and recalled the previous day and felt anew the strength of their invitation. Beckoning to him, enticing him. To join with them in renewing his life through the eternal.

  When the morning bell rang, he left the classroom and joined the flow into the chapel. He did not see Sofia, which saddened him. It was silly to hope for anything between them, really. Her engagement to Enrique was only a matter of time. The two of them would make a beautiful couple and accomplish great things. Mexico needed them. Which only made his longing worse. As though he looked beyond Sofia to the man he was, and the changes he needed to make to deserve the love of someone like her.

  Pedro and Harold joined him for a silent breakfast, then followed him back across the courtyard. As they entered the classroom, Simon said, “I have a problem. Actually, two. The first is with the components. Like I told you yesterday, some got fried in our little outing, and I can’t afford to replace them.”

  “We’re looking at money coming in from the lanterns you helped us with.” Pedro pushed himself up onto the window ledge. “A church group in Texas has offered to buy the entire load. I’ll drive the van up tomorrow.”

  Harold settled into the chair behind the desk. “Let’s see if the Ojinaga shop can meet your requirements and how much they cost. If we can handle it, we’ll put it down as an investment.”

  Beyond the easy camaraderie, Simon heard the message that he was accepted. One of them. He swallowed hard. “The second problem is with the science.”

  Harold nodded. “With the control of power through the apparatus.”

  “Right. I assumed the answer would be found in the connection of frequencies that Vasquez listed on his sheets. I mean, we all heard the harmonics before the power surge.”

  “Like heaven sang for us.” Pedro nodded.

  “But something tells me I’m looking at it all wrong. Like I need to rethink the whole frequency equation.”

  “As though your question is right, but the perspective is wrong,” Harold suggested.

  “Exactly.”

  “Sometimes the direct approach is the wrong approach. Back at the beginning of the Apollo program, the number-
one problem we faced was heat control. Most scientists assumed astronauts would either freeze in space and cook on reentry. Hull temperatures during the capsule’s descent would exceed a thousand degrees. Hot enough to melt iron. Which meant we had to wait until some new technology was invented or a new material could be found, one that absorbed heat and would not melt.”

  Harold stretched out his long legs. Holding no airs. Needing no spotlight. “I wasn’t the smartest guy on the block. And I won’t say God reached down and handed me the answer. But what I will say is this. My faith gave me the ability to take a step back. I was able to detach myself from the stresses and the problems and look at the situation from a different perspective.”

  Pedro’s smile resurfaced. “Now you sound like the professor.”

  Simon had been thinking the same thing. It seemed as though Vasquez was standing in the corner, smiling in approval. For Vasquez, faith had been a significant part of everything.

  Harold went on, “One day I was turning a chicken on a barbecue spit, when it hit me. If turning the bird on a spit can evenly distribute the heat, why can’t we do the same thing with a spaceship? And that’s exactly what we did.”

  Pedro said, “They even named it after Harold.”

  The two men shared a smile. “Not exactly.”

  “They called it the barbecue roll,” Pedro said.

  “What I’m saying is this. Sometimes the riddle is bigger than our limited knowledge. You’ve got to tune into the right frequency. And by that I mean prayer.”

  Simon was still mulling that over when Juan bounced through the doorway. “The mayor is on Harold’s phone for Pedro. He says it is urgent.”

  Pedro was gone less than five minutes. When he returned, it was to inform Simon, “We must go. Enrique wishes to speak with us both. Immediately.”

  As they were leaving, Harold said, “Just one thing. I heard from my friend at NASA, the hedge fund investor. He’ll be down this way in three days and wants to see the device for himself.”