Desert Night, Chapter 16
In the desert you can remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain.
- America, "Horse With No Name"
Chapter 16
Desert Life Flashing By
The desert-a patch of earth torrefied by the sun, then beaten and molded to keep sustaining life where logic dictates that none should exist.
We were now in the Tularosa Basin, the Sacramento Mountains to our left, the Oscura Mountains to our right, holding back the moisture like twin dams. Between us and them were seas of gleaming white gypsum sand dunes, rocky basins, stunted creosoto bushes, and spiky yucca trees that shot up from the otherwise flat landscape. Somewhere to our right, the Carrizozo Malpais, a lava flow of pitch black rock, stretched for miles. Beyond it was Holloman Air Force Base.
At first glance, it looked lifeless, yet a musician once sang that the desert is filled with 'plants and birds and rocks and things, sand and hills and rings.' I knew this desert well. I had lived here for many years working on the Starbright Project, and then on Project Quantum Leap. I knew how full of life the desert can be, if you knew where to look. Especially during this time, late winter, when the higher elevations got snow that melted and dripped down into this endorheic basin, where no water flowed out. As I held onto Araceli, I got to look at the scenery more.
Most people consider this to be a boring stretch of road, nothing to see, no curves, almost no traffic, where the speed limit is a surprisingly slow 55 mph. For me, it was enjoyably nostalgic.
Araceli turned out to really know how to ride. I half expected her to toss out some jujitsu motorcycling tricks just to show off, yet she continued onward gently, aware of my pain. She avoided bumps in the road, and every ten minutes she called back to make sure I was all right.
I really was helpless. I knew I had to ignore my pain and focus everything on getting her home safely and not involve her with the Mafia anymore. That was my ticket to Leap. Would my body still be injured in the next Leap? I didn't know, and Al gave me only vague answers. From them, I deduced that Ziggy wasn't sure either.
I prayed that Leaping meant jumping out of this pain. Perhaps while my body laid in limbo for weeks or months between Leaps, I could heal, or perhaps I would Leap back in with a perfectly healed body again. No one knew. This would be another discovery for the Project. And I was the unwitting guinea pig.
It was forty-four miles to Tularosa, where we stopped. It might seem odd to stop after less than an hour, but Araceli wanted to check my bandages. She took this whole 'taking care of me' thing seriously. Plus, it was another half hour to the next town.
Honestly, resting just ten minutes in Tularosa was helpful. I dreaded to think that our drive, which should only take three hours, would be extended by stopping in each town big enough to have a dive cafe. But at the same time... I was thankful for her company and tender touch.
#
Araceli carefully replaced the bloody bandages around Sam's arm. She was thankful that Sancho at least left his first aid kit and medication for her before disappearing. This stranger needed a hospital, a real nurse to care for wounds like this, but she supposed, for a wanted man like him, that was out of the question. At least, not until he got into Mexico.
"So," she said, trying to stay conversational, "you didn't really answer me last time, but what do I call you?"
He thought about it for a while.
"What, can't remember your name?" she teased.
"No," he said in a fluster, "I remember it, I just... just..."
She watched his face contort. He had a habit of looking off, staring intently at something invisible. What a mystery of a man!
#
"Sam," Al warned, "you can't give her your real name. What if she talks about you? What if the Mafia gets wind of your name? If they think the you of 1995 was somehow involved, this could seriously jeopardize your life, let alone whether or not you make that first Leap a few months from now."
Sam knew he was right. Although he missed being called by his own name, it was probably foolish to do so... especially here... especially at this time in history.
"My name is Theodore Nyt." He cringed a little as he said it. "Sam Beckett... is just someone I heard about, someone who lives around here. I didn't want to give you my real name, just in case."
"In case I was associated with the Mafia," she nodded, accepting that excuse. "So, is Sam Beckett a friend of yours?"
"No!" Al yelled. "You can't be associated with him... with you... with... you know what I mean!" he shouted in frustration.
"He's a scientist who works... somewhere in New Mexico." He almost said at Stallion's Gate, but that was too much information for someone like her. "Like I said, it's just someone I heard about." Even to himself, he did not sound convincing.
"Words," she whispered, then looked up to him with a beaming smile that hid a streak of sadness in her dark eyes. "'Words are all we have.'"
He nodded. "Samuel Beckett. 'Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence and nothingness.' Especially in this land of emptiness, words are stains, and even treacherous. If it had been you caught and not me, and if you said my name was Sam Beckett, the real Sam sitting somewhere in his laboratory could have been in danger."
"Good, Sam!" Al applauded. "Good, good."
"Don't worry, I wouldn't have said anything anyway, and I won't mention the poor sap who got named after an Irish playwright."
That made Al snort as he tried not to laugh. "Poor sap," he repeated.
"So, Theodore," she said, completely putting the matter of names behind her, "does the bandage feel okay? Not too tight?"
"Yeah, feels great."
"You don't sound convincing," she said, arms akimbo, challenging him to speak the truth for once.
"No, it really does," he assured. He realized he sounded depressed. Giving up his name was harder than he figured it should be. He had thought, in this land, a place that was home not too long ago in his mind, getting back his name would help him get a step closer to remembering his full identity. "Sorry, I... I've just got a lot on my mind."
"I bet! Well, if you're feeling better, you can do your thinking on the road."
They climbed back onto the Harley. Sam held around her skinny waist with one arm and tucked the other in safely so it was not jarred or received pressure from the wind as they sped down Highway 54. He blushed to lean into her so closely, becoming entangled with her sunflower perfume.
"Theodore," she called back, shouting over the rumble of the engine, "maybe once life settles down for you, you can look me up and I'll pay you back... you know, for the motel and the money... and this trip home."
He smiled at the thought, but he realized a sleezeball like Theodore Nyt should stay far away from a girl like her. "You don't owe me anything. Rescuing me, driving me home, taking care of me... if anything I owe you."
"Then maybe you can come back and treat me to a nice dinner." She laughed happily.
Sam smiled that she was enjoying herself. He squeezed her waist a little closer and leaned against her back.
This trip would be over far too soon.