Whatever anybody says, there’s no denying I watched after my old man. He looked great. Silk knot straightened. Goatee and moustache sharply trimmed, the silver hiding under the barber’s dye.
“The tan jacket,” I suggested when he thumbed through his closet. The half-full flask was already in its pocket – just enough to get him where he needed to be, not so much he got lost.
It was a big day in the life of my father, Dr. Lawrence Matthews. It was my 21st birthday.
He grabbed his keys and walked out without a word.
At the office, nervous Ruth peeked over her shoulder, ready to jump should something charge down the hall.
“Better get a move on, Lawrence,” she said.
I settled in at the drafting table, straddling the stool to watch the dance floor.
“Relax girl,” I said with eyes squinted. Ruth was a lot. Heavy make-up, huge gold rings that dangled from stretched earlobes, a chain around her neck with dark-rimmed glasses that bounced on her ample chest, a dress so tight each step threatened to burst the seams.
She waddled down the hall, shaking her head and muttering middle-class obscenities.
My father was Senior Geologist. He found things others couldn’t see. Long-buried things. He found oil the only way he knew how, by losing himself in the past. He had a time machine.
You need keys to time-travel. A map of carbon data to find where the tea was perfectly steeped. A second one, contours of million-year-old beach sands. A third, the final piece of the puzzle: the traps where oil seeped in but couldn’t escape. Find the perfect combination, claim the prize. Misinterpret and play the fool. Again.
He pulled out a folder marked Deep Cameron Play, gathered his precious maps, and followed Ruth. On his way, he stole a glance at the drafting table where all his ideas were born. The empty stool swiveled to a stop.
The conference room was one of few places that had windows. They afforded an unimpeded view of the multi-level garage across the street. While I settled guru-style in the corner, Dad laid out his maps at the center of the table.
The boss, Orso, breezed in, noisy as always. He took the seat at the far end, four chairs away.
“One more time, Matthews. Got investors coming today. I need you sharp.”
“I’m ready,” said Dad, “but why investors? This is a great prospect.”
“Look, I know you think so, but to tell you the truth, I’m not convinced.” Orso pushed back and crossed his arms. “You’re two for the last six inside the biggest field in the basin. Now you want to pitch a wildcat?”
“The shallow play is mature. Nibble around the edges, you get dry holes. We’ve got to open it up.”
“Yep. And that’s just what we’re doing. Today, you’re gonna sell this turkey.”
“But…”
“Larry.” Orso only pretended to be on familiar terms when he pitied a mark in his sights. “You gotta admit, I gave you time. But it’s put-up or shut up, and I can’t pull the trigger by myself.”
I hated the greasy bastard.
“Mr. Orso, big risks make for big payoffs. We can keep this basin going for years with a new trend.”
Orso walked to the window and leaned close, the only way to see the skyline.
“You were big-time, Larry. Found huge reserves in the Gulf. I hired you because you had a name. All those papers about Pleistocene gas plays. Once upon a time, everybody knew you.”
I raised a foot as if to kick him in the ass. My father’s expression didn’t change. I thought of a news story, one about a window giving way, and wondered if any passers-by would be hurt.
Orso pointed to the top of the tallest of the high-rises.
“That’s where you used to be. With the big boys. That’s where I’m headed. Not sure you’re going to get me there, though. What happened to you? Can’t even work a third-rate play in offshore Croatia.”
“I made the Cameron what it is,” said Dad. “It’s given us a decent living.”
“Old news. You still have the name, though. So, tell you what you’re going to do. When these guys come in, you’ll turn on the charm and sell them like your job depends on it.”
Dad felt in his breast pocket. It was waiting for him.
Whenever my father showed a prospect, he gathered his audience close and hunched over the map, spread like a willing lover.
“See this,” he’d say in a tone so low the voyeurs would have to lean in.
He showed them the sinuous sands. How the settling basin slid one body over another. How the pressure grew. The heat intensified. How the oil squeezed from the Earth and rose until it couldn’t go further. Until the reservoir nearly burst. Just waiting for a drill bit to penetrate the perfect spot and find that sweet release.
When he leaned back that day, the men loosened their ties and removed their jackets. The women wet their lips and tugged their hair. The Norwegian in charge scribbled notes and fondled her pen.
“Let’s get this going,” she said. “But we put up the money, we call the shots. Work out the details with our geologist. We take it from there.”
Orso agreed, happy to watch the peep show and get paid for it.
Dad finished the flask at work and somehow found his way home. He sipped at his sixth Glenlivet when Anastasia called. He shouldn’t have answered.
Anastasia didn’t like him. He divorced our mother when she was six. He paid support – he wasn’t a deadbeat. Went to her birthdays, most of the time. Had her every other weekend as work allowed, which didn’t after a few months. She was better off with her mother anyway. He went to high school graduation. Even visited her college once until she dropped out when her mother got sick.
Dad had the speaker on and couldn’t figure out how to turn it off.
“Anastasia.” He got her name out but couldn’t come up with anything else.
“Are you…? Dear God, can’t you be sober tonight of all nights?”
“I only had a couple, sweetie. What you need?”
“I don’t need anything. I called to tell you about Mom.”
“No, you never do. Nobody needs anything from me.” He looked at me doing pushups and dropped the phone.
She heard him curse.
“Is someone there? Do you have me on speaker? For God’s sake, what’s wrong with you?” she shouted. “Can’t you just shut up and listen for once.”
“What’d your mother tell you now?” His voice drifted across the room while he searched for the lost phone.
“I’m only gonna say this once because technically you’re my father and happened to marry my mother.” She waited to make sure he wasn’t still mumbling.
“Mom died.”
His head dropped, and he closed his eyes.
“Look, I don’t expect you at the funeral. Just thought you should know.” Getting no reply, she continued, “I don’t even know why I try.”
“Ana…” Lawrence pulled himself up and murmured, “I’m here.”
He looked around. The empty room rang in silence.
The funeral came three days later. Dad arrived early as always. He wore his dark blue suit with an understated tie. Shoes polished to glass. A handkerchief peeked out of his coat pocket. He carried himself well, amazing considering the last few days. The chapel was packed, but he spied Anastasia near the front of the receiving line. I stood at the pulpit, my hands wrapped around the sides.
Anastasia always stood out. She wore a bright purple blouse with scarlet hair. Dad shook his head. A young woman placed her hand on his arm.
“You’re Nassie’s father.” He tensed. He didn’t like meeting new people. Truth be told, he didn’t like people.
“Yes,” he breathed. She was so short, he swayed back to get her in view. “You’re a friend… of Anastasia’s?”
“Ana-?” Her eyes went wide, and then she smiled. “Nassie is a very good friend.” She took him by the elbow. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I came to see about my daughter.”
“Of course, let me take you.” She guided him through the crowd of mostly youngsters, all dressed like college kids on the back row of an early morning lecture. They talked like they were in a bar.
The woman led him behind Anastasia who was as loud as anyone. She stood by a table with pictures and a silver urn. She hugged a much older woman. He glimpsed a medical tag under her jacket.
His guide interrupted them gently. “Nassie, look who’s here.”
Anastasia turned and their eyes locked. “Dad… Lawrence, you didn’t need to…”
“I wanted to pay respects. After all, she was the mother of my children.”
Anastasia’s eyes were at first deep blue, the color of a summer ocean, wide and moist with a mixture of pain and surprise and maybe a tiny ray of hope. In a flash they changed. Her pupils narrowed, each iris streaked with icy blue and green crystals that converged into daggers. He looked for shelter. I took his shoulder.
“I see you’re busy. We’ll talk later.”
“Joy, would you find Lawrence a place? The family rows are full.” She glanced to her father. “You know Mom. She made family wherever she went.”
Joy led him to a quiet pew halfway to the back and murmured apologies on Nassie’s behalf.
“I never liked that nickname,” he growled. “It’s unladylike.”
“Do you even know her?” she started but changed course. “It’s just what everybody calls her. Look, I’ll sit here, so you won’t be by yourself.”
I slipped in first and took a seat. Dad settled beside me and looked her over. Pretty. Younger than Anastasia. Tiny, barely over 5 feet. She wore a skin-tight blue dress that accentuated full breasts almost out of place on such a small body. Her hair was deep brown, almost as dark as her skin, which glowed with a sheen in the overly warm chapel. Her bright red lips framed a warm smile. There was something else, a roundness to her belly that matched her breasts but was out of place with her thin limbs.
He nodded his head slightly and said, “Thank you, Joy. Pleasure to meet you. I’m fine by myself.”
She smiled and backed out. “Okay, see you later.” She disappeared in a sea of strangers.
It wasn’t till the service started, a guitar and harp duet with poetry readings, that he saw her again. She sat in the front row and leaned into Anastasia whose arm was around her shoulder. Anastasia touched her fingers to the girl’s chin and pulled her face up for a kiss.
Dad rolled his eyes.
“Good for you, Sis,” I said. A smallish figure stood by Anastasia’s shoulder. “Who’s the boy behind her?”
After the service, when the guests filed out, leaving Anastasia and Joy talking to the funeral director, Dad made another attempt.
Anastasia did a great job of anything but looking his way. He broke in.
“I want to apologize for the other night.”
“Yeah, I’m used to it.”
“No,” he insisted. “It won’t happen again.”
“I don’t care if you get wasted. None of my business. I wasn’t even talking about that. You think it’s all about you. Just, sometimes it’s not.”
“Look, let me make it up. I want to talk. Really talk.”
“I don’t know. There’s so much to do. Aunt Lena insists on burying her by the old church. She hasn’t seen us in a year. And I still have to find a place to live.” She slumped back in a pew.
“We’d love a bite to eat,” said Joy. “Come on, Nassie. Grab your coat. Nothing else to do tonight.”
Dad’s eyes widened. “I meant me and Anastasia.”
“Everybody’s exhausted, but nobody needs to go home hungry. I know just the place.” Joy tugged on Nassie.
Lawrence stammered. “But, I thought… Ana…”
“Is hungry, Mr. Matthews. Me too, now I’m eating for two. You can ride with us.”
“Dr. Matthews,” said Dad. He eyed her stomach and shook his head. “I really have other…”
Anastasia interrupted. “Well, if you have some time, there is something.”
Anastasia moved in the next week. Joy drove the U-Haul. Dad and I watched her back it down the drive.
“She’s had practice,” he mumbled.
Neither he nor Anastasia found much time to talk, so one night we took a drive. I took shotgun, as always. He tossed a fifth of Scotch in my lap. We wound up at his office, late. The lobby guard knew the routine, knew what was under the overcoat he carried in mid-May, knew he’d have to check on him before the early birds began to show. Let him through.
Dad pinned his maps to the wall of his private office. Door locked. Dead quiet. He took a few sips of courage and stared at the contoured string of sandy pearls hung before him.
* * *
It’s always the same. Lawrence plunges through the cold waters of the Adriatic to the seabed 300 feet below. At the bottom, he continues to sink, pushing sediments out of the way. A thousand feet, still in the Holocene. Two thousand feet and 100,000 years. Three thousand feet and into Late Pleistocene. He slides backwards through time as easy as setting a watch. Seven thousand feet, nearly a million years. Ten thousand, almost home.
A blinding blue sky breaks above. A glorious sea spreads out below. From his vantage as a descending angel, he sees a far-away river delta churn out its heavy load on a never-ending conveyor to the deep. He sees barrier islands. Waves crash on their shores, reworking the sands, purifying them, until they’re ready.
Inland, beyond the brush, he spies a thin smoke column. A fire wards off the elements. Early humans. Before the mistakes, before the worries, before sapiens dumped all their crap on the world.
His favorite place draws him in – the pristine beach he always chooses to visit. Surrounded by a world of mammoths, giant wolves and sabre-tooth cats but void of modern man. Except for one.
Lawrence can’t contain his excitement. He clasps me by my shoulders. Grins in my face. Shouts his exuberance over how well I look. How fine of a man I turned out to be. We walk together along the shore of the sparkling sea.
Out of breath, he settles on the sand and gazes at the water.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s lonely,” I say.
“It’s your home.”
“Some home.”
“Sit with me. Look at that water, Cameron. So clear you can see right through it.”
“One day I’m going to walk into it and disappear,” I say.
“Why would you want to do that? Everything you need is here. It’s paradise.”
“It’s been 21 years,” I say.
“I meant to say something on your birthday. Things got busy”
He sweeps his fingers through the sand and finds what he’s looking for. He takes a sip and stares into the bottle. He could see right through it.
“I’m here now.”
“You remember the boy at the funeral?” I ask.
Nothing.
“He was there again when Ana came home. Didn’t you see him? He was in the truck right by her.”
He closes his eyes.
“He looked so familiar,” I say. “Not yet a teenager. Looked like any kid. Except he wore this fedora. A real by-God fedora. And he moved like a dancer. No slouching. Stuck by her every step. She’d go in the house. He’d go in the house. She sat down. He sat next to her. The thing is, she wasn’t watching after him. It was the other way around.”
Lawrence studies the bottle. “One of these days, I’m going to walk into it and disappear,” he says.
“Guys like me can’t just ask a stranger their name,” I say, “so I sidled up and waited. They didn’t talk, but every once in a while, she’d glance at the boy. He’d nod, and Anastasia would crack a smile. When she got up to fetch the last of her rainbow scarves, I straight-out asked him who he was. He looked at me. Right straight in the eyes. Like nobody looks at me, not even you. He said, I been figuring on who you are too. Then I got it. I’m you, man.”
“There’s only one you, son. You’re seeing things,” says Dad, without a trace of irony.
“He said we met a long time ago. He said, You wouldn’t remember ‘cause Dad was drunk.”
“Don’t believe what you can’t remember.”
“Can’t remember, Pop? Or won’t?”
Lawrence slugs a swallow and checks the bottle. Still some left.
“He said Anastasia found you. Said Mama threw you out. Said you were crying like a baby. Little Ana put her arms around you and said everything was okay. You know what you said?”
He wraps one arm around his head and begins rocking. He holds tight to what’s in the other hand.
“You asked why she was still there. Said you didn’t know why she was alive, and your son was dead. You said God thought you didn’t need a son so maybe you didn’t need her either.”
“I didn’t say that. He’s lying. He’s just some kid messing with your mind.”
Lawrence flops backwards. He drains the last dusky drops. It seems to wash over him like a dark wave. He closes his eyes.
“Please Pop, don’t take me there…”
“You never opened your eyes,” he mumbles. “A doctor laid a cold stethoscope over your tiny heart and said there’s nothing. Anastasia came a minute later. They worked hard over her. Injections. Oxygen. Massaged her skin till it turned pink. All the while, you lay in that dark corner, motionless, waiting for somebody to carry you away forever, deep in the bowels of the beast.”
Just before he passes out, I manage to blurt out the truth.
“You’re full of shit. I saw the same room through Mama’s eyes. You weren’t even there.”
* * *
After a couple of months, the jack-up rig neared completion in its Croatian shipyard. Dad arranged to man the exploratory hole as an observer. Meantime, he stayed late at the office.
On the last night, he drove home, exhausted. I rode beside him and, as always, reminded him of red lights and stop signs. As usual, he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Anastasia, who apparently never slept, shouted something unintelligible when the front door closed. He headed to the kitchen. Joy was at the kitchen table, filling the cubby with her swollen body. Lawrence scoffed and padded by. Even at this hour, his hair was combed and his tie pulled tight.
She looked up from a magazine, “Hi-ii.”
She could make the shortest of words into two syllables, three if she was in a cheery mood.
“Lawrence, you need to slow down. These late nights are gonna catch up to you.”
“Somebody has to work.” He dug around, found a beer and poured it in a mug. He peered at her and then tilted it up. When he lowered the glass, she was still there.
“Huh, too bad.”
“What’s too bad? I’m the wrong shade for your taste? Maybe the wrong equipment.”
“You’re attractive. Just not what I hoped for.”
She twisted and the table bumped backwards. “What was your hope? A son?”
“That’d be a start.”
“You might want to get to know your daughter. I’m proud to know her.”
“You’re just proud you found a roof over your head.” For all his meticulous elegance, his words could be inelegantly ugly.
“Talk to Nassie. Maybe it’s time you learned a few things.”
“Sounds vaguely like a threat.”
“Only if you’re threatened by your grandchild.”
“My grandchild? It’s your baby. You get knocked up and expect your bleeding-heart girlfriend to get her daddy to pay for it? You got nerve. I gotta give you that.”
“I’ve tried to be nice, but you’re just an asshole. I’m done.” She struggled to get up but her belly fought the table. “For once in your life, Lawrence Matthews, give your daughter some of your time. She deserves better, but you’re all she’s got for a father.”
“What do you know about fathers? Do you even know who the father is?”
“He’s black. He’s anonymous. Just like we wanted it,” said Joy. She swept past him, brushing him out of the way like an annoying piece of trash.
“She didn’t want you to know because you didn’t care,” she said. “But I’m telling you for the baby’s sake. I’m not the mother.”
He leaned back like a boxer avoiding a punch.
“Surprised?” said Joy. “Nassie asked me to carry it so we’d both be part of this child.”
“Wait, Anastasia is the…” he sputtered, but Joy disappeared down the hall.
Dad likes to say birthing an oil well is like birthing a child. The rig settles into place, its legs jacked up underneath it. The spud bit penetrates the seabed with a lot of fanfare and excitement. Then, it’s a slow grind to see it through to the end. Tests are run. Special treatments applied. After months of hard labor, the time comes to bring out the experts. Except this time, Dad was relegated to onlooker when the company sold its stake to the Europeans.
The roughnecks tripped out the long pipe string in preparation for the geophysical logs. Truth time. Dad paced the doghouse. The crew threw chains and tightened clamps around the pipe joints. Twisted them loose. Stacked them on end while a derrickman wrestled them into their slots high above. He loved this part, watching the half trapeze artist – half cowboy that leaned out to lasso the next joint and wrangle it in place. It never got old.
During the night, a winter squall sprang out of the north like a madwoman. Not severe enough to stop the cogs of an oil rig, but enough to ground the copters. The geophysical crew arrived by water. Their trailer, complete with computers and diagnostic tools, waited for them.
Dad was confident, Orso be damned. He knew that basin better than anyone. He had squeezed production out of it for two decades, but it was dying. If there was a future, it would be deeper, waiting on the shores of a Pleistocene sea.
Dad wandered to the galley.
“Matthews,” said the toolpusher on his way back to the drill floor. “You got a call from your daughter. It’s important. Use the satellite phone.”
Dad considered what important meant. The baby wasn’t due for another month. Joy had blood pressure issues, but nothing worrisome. The timing would work out well. Decisions made in plenty of time, good or bad. Everybody but the drill crew could go home.
After 25 minutes, the call connected.
“Anastasia?” His daughter’s hello sounded faint and scared.
“Daddy, can you come home?”
“We’re logging tonight. I’ll be back in three days at the most.”
“I want you home, Daddy.” Her voice trembled. “We’re at the hospital. I’m scared.”
“Honey, doctors deliver babies all the time. Look, it’s hectic here.”
The other end of the line was silent. The wind picked up, sheets of rain mixed with sleet slammed into the metal walls outside.
“Anastasia, are you still there?”
“We’ll be fine. You do what you have to do. I don’t know why I called.”
“Honey, that’s not fair. It’s not like I can drop everything, catch a cab, and be there in a few minutes. You don’t need me.”
She interrupted him. “I gotta go, Lawrence. The doctor just came in.”
The dead quiet was too loud to miss this time. He slumped against the desk. The technician at the control board spoke up.
“You’re Matthews, right?”
Lawrence nodded.
“Daniel Orso left a message. Said for you to call when the pay log’s printed.” His voice was kind. He motioned to one of the monitors.
“They start in ten minutes.”
“Yeah, time’s up, isn’t it?” said Dad. He pulled on his hard hat.
He slipped to the substructure. Below the cabins. Below the equipment. Behind the pipe racks and mud tanks. Down where nobody goes because there’s nothing good to see. I waited for him there.
“Hey Pop. Been too busy to think of me lately?”
He watched the dark water. White caps skittered across its surface, choppy and treacherous. Dirty icicles hung from the steel girders. Ubiquitous grease trapped in little droplets transformed them into ghastly fingers. Pointing where? To hell, maybe.
The first light of morning flushed the indigo from the sky. Replaced it with dull gray matching the steel. Cold wind wailed through the struts. The helicopters would be grounded another day.
“Supply boat leaves soon. Last one for a while,” I said. “Catch it, you’d be home tomorrow.”
The first of the logs would record the potential pay zone any moment. He listened for a cheer or a groan. Heard nothing but the wind and the generators’ drone.
“Or you could stay here. See what you find. My new home maybe. Whatcha think, Pop? Another decade to hide. Hell, pull this off, that Viking boss lady will hire you to work it for her. You could map it till the day you die. Come visit every time you think too hard on what you did.”
“What I didn’t do,” he said.
“Whoa, the man speaks. You got a bottle in that jacket?”
A metallic voice crackled on the loudspeaker. “Lawrence Matthews, report to the logging deck.”
“The boss is calling.”
He sighed.
“Nice chatting with you, Pop.”
The steps clanged under his boots. A couple of icicles broke free and stabbed the water.
“Where the hell you been?” The toolpusher was a small man with a loud voice. “Orso’s gonna have your head on a stick. That kid the Norwegian sent don’t know his ass from a dry hole. One minute we got a gusher, the next he’s cussing you. You better go calm him down. Then, call Orso.”
“When’s the supply boat leave?” asked Dad.
“They’re loading the last of the trash right now. Why? You ain’t thinking about leaving?”
“My daughter needs me, Robert.”
“Yeah, I heard. Look, even if you wanted to, it’s too dangerous. They won’t board crew tonight. We’ll get you home soon as we can.”
Robert walked away, yelling at a mechanic.
Dad jogged to the crane. He saw the net being lowered. Half-slid down the stairs. Let the railing slip through his hands. Landed with a thud. Kept moving. The top of the basket was even with the floor. He scrambled over the rail and flung himself. The netting caught his weight and swung out. He grabbed for a handhold, but the rope was slick. A black wave reached for him and punched him in the gut.
* * *
He stands but the frigid water rises around him. A white beach is a hundred feet away. Great hordes of prehistoric animals march past him on their way to the deep. A woolly mammoth trumpets a sorrowful lament. Giant sloths and cave hyenas, wolves and great cats, a massive rhino with a unicorn horn, a dwarf hippopotamus – all are swallowed, one by one by one. A family of Neanderthals passes nearby. A male with thick matted hair and staring blue eyes. A female with a small child. A wave knocks him over. Something lifts him, pushes him towards shore. He shakes the water from his face.
I’m with him now. His eyes are sad, as always. He says nothing.
Over the dull roar of the surf, a cry pierces the air. Something small lies on the sand. Each crashing wave rolls nearer. He stumbles through the foam and draws close. The air is freezing. The cries grow faint. A baby. An infant girl, naked and alone. He slogs toward the child, rushes to reach her before the ocean can. He wraps her in his arms. Gives her what little heat he has left.
He turns back to find me, but there is nothing but emptiness.
* * *
“Hold on!” Someone shouted. Lawrence curled his body around the infant to hold in the warmth. Hands reached for him, grabbing.
The supply boat captain cursed and ordered the crewmen to get him below.
“He won’t let go,” yelled one over the wind.
“Cut the goddamn rope before he freezes to death.”
The captain stomped to the bridge and yelled at the helmsman. “Take her home.”
A boy stood rock-steady at the stern, oblivious to the wild seas. He wore a white tee-shirt and a fedora. I watched him watching me for as long as I could until they were almost out of sight. Then, he bowed. Hat to chest. Right leg pulled back. Left hand extended. A slow and deep bow, so deep his head touched his knee. When he rose, he leaped and twirled and danced with the rhythm of the ocean, round and round the tossing deck until I could see him no more and I finally closed my eyes.