Ch 1 - Athlios
Darkness reigned supreme, but not inert. Within
it there was something alive, something bloodthirsty,
about to reveal itself. One could not have a clear idea of
what it was, but the outlines were visible, forming a
distorted, monstrous image of what was there. At last,
the creature left its dark cloak, not slowly, but rather at
high speed, advancing furiously into the lit part of the
forest. Here its nature was already much clearer,
although I refused to believe I was actually seeing it. In a
single bound, the reptile displayed its entire body,
including its lethal claws, before nothing else was
visible.
The lights then came on in the Repertory Theatre
of Athlios University, bringing me back to reality. All
around me could be heard the loud yawning of those
who had fallen asleep during the lecture and who did not
care that this became a known fact. As the small bright
spots in the corners of my vision faded, so did my
dreams. I had been here for a few months, and most of
my initial excitement was gone the very first time we
went on an expedition led by the local expert. He was
now taking the stage, imagining he was doing a splendid
job.
Fixing his gaze on several faces, searching the
eyes of these young people for a spark of interest, the
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speaker, Anthony Lane, went through all the occupied
seats, finding nothing after all. In an act of desperation,
he typed commands into the computers within his reach
on the screens set up high above his head, visible to
everyone in the audience. His lean body moved nimbly
between one machine and the next, even though the long
grey hair touching his shoulders was out of keeping with
the agile way he paced the stage. His hands, already
showing the dried, almost scaly skin of the elderly, were
slowly deforming with the cruel effect of arthritis; and
yet they were furiously typing on the keyboards in front
of him. As he had told me earlier, he highly valued
presenting the evidence in a lecture right away, as this
prevented the audience from losing interest. Following
this mantra, his controls now transmitted to the screens a
video, where a stealthy creature could be seen running
across a meadow and climbing a nearby tree in seconds.
The lighting was so dim and the colors so muted that
identifying the creature was impossible. Even so,
Anthony Lane kept that file as what he called "the
greatest proof that life forms thought extinct still
thrived". At this presentation, some around me held back
their laughter and from the seats behind me, I heard
Than's voice say, "The old man is going senile…" I
could not understand the reason for such incredulity,
even though I did not have the powers that Dr. Lane had
to see through the mist of these images and affirm that it
was a dinosaur. Perhaps because of the deep appreciation
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that I felt for the old man, which added to my fascination
with prehistory and mystery in general — something we
had in common — it was easier for me to have an almost
blind faith in his theories.
What had then been prepared to be a motivating
conclusion to the lecture ended up being this:
— As once said by a scientist, young people are
drawn to dinosaurs because the power of these beings
resembles the invincibility they believe their parents
possess. This is why I turn to you — the younger
generation, which has not yet developed prejudices and
craves knowledge. I propose an investigation at the
places where these animals have been seen to finally
answer this question! Those of you who have this same
dream, come to me and we will realize this dream
together!
I could imagine the triumphant music playing in
his mind, imagining a crowd of followers, all thinking as
he did. The audience slowly dispersed, no one even
looking at the poor man they had just laughed at, much
less coming on stage to volunteer for the expedition.
From behind the drapes then emerged a figure
never related to Lane's. Jacob Keene, the man now
approaching the center stage, taught biomedical
engineering at the university and was extremely popular
among the students for the charisma with which he
captivated his classes, always eager for the Professor's
lessons. Add to this his great interest in always making
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his classes interactive, his clever jokes, and a house big
enough to frequently throw pool parties, and you had a
master whose fame Anthony Lane could only envy. This
latter behavior on Keene's part had gotten him into
trouble in the past, as such parties were somewhat
unethical, with the dean, Frederick Frost, recommending
his dismissal several times. The repercussions among the
students, however, left the dean's hands tied, with
protests, acts of vandalism, and even direct threats to his
family if the case went forward. He thus enjoyed such
security as to be almost untouchable; which pleased him,
looking brazenly at the dean and smiling wryly when he
met him in the corridors. Such protection was threatened
only by the chance that some student might discover his
secret — Jacob Keene was a loyal follower of Dr. Lane
and was as enthusiastic about every discovery as much
as I was or even more so. Our meetings were held
secretly in a laboratory away from prying eyes that
might reveal to others that the famous Dr. Keene
believed what the "old weirdo" preached. This
laboratory, already so short of space because of the large
number of specimens in jars or simply thrown around
without even a label, was also suffering from my
belongings, coming in like a daily tide from the next
room, the only thing I could call home. I was quite
content with the space that Lane himself had built me
when I became a sort of ward to him; I didn't think I
would even have that when I left Castlemaine, in Ireland.
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I have always loved working with animals, and in Dr.
Lane's words about why young people feel such an
attraction to dinosaurs, I found myself to be a classic
case of such truth, with the caveat that such animals
sometimes seemed to be more benevolent than my father
even could be. I worked in parks and zoos for the sole
purpose of learning and having a closer picture to pass
on to my painting canvases.
I remembered all this historical background as I
watched the methodical steps Keene took toward the
center of the stage and the extra chair always left as an
invitation for him to come forward at the end of each
speech and lend his ears to the whining of the aging
scientist. I then moved from my seat and came to the
first row, right in front of the stage, to listen to the
dialogue that was to follow. The scene before me was
frankly comical, with Lane sitting hunched over, wearing
a full suit to try to impart some respect to his words,
disregarding how his locks contrasted with such style. At
the other end of the spectrum, Keene sat upright,
perfectly shaved and combed, which gave him a pleasant
image, even if his outfit consisted only of a pair of jeans
and the cheapest shirt and shoes he had found. His
British culture was probably a factor in shaping such
behavioral traits, while I supported my mentor by also
allowing my red hair to grow abundantly. Before the
usual complaints began, Keene started with his
prejudices about young people:
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— You know you'll never get anything out of
those clowns, don't you, Anthony?
— Don't be so negative, Jacob — Lane returned.
— Remember that Roy Chapman Andrews was 25 when
he went on his first scientific expedition to study reptiles.
— And that was in 1909. This was another
generation, one that had not had their minds consumed
by electronic devices. — After a few seconds of silence,
Lane thought of a suitable answer:
— And since no rule is without its respective
exceptions, yours is the victim of one of the cruelest.
Half of our team is made up of two excellent young
people. — With a puzzled expression, Keene looked
down at me and, turning again to Lane, questioned him:
— Okay, of course, Kevin is going with us, but
who else do you intend to take?
— Come on, kid, you'll see, it's a surprise. I'm
afraid it will be quite a surprise for me too if everything
goes as planned, — Anthony Lane said, laughing.
At that moment, I stood up and walked toward
the laboratory, as I didn't want to sound intrusive in this
matter. Even though I thought I already knew who Lane's
"surprise" was about. I had often been the listener for his
ramblings, and I doubted very much that he could bring
her into the research team, but I would love to see him
try. In the meantime, all I cared about was making a
painting predicting what we might discover on the
island. Unfortunately, from several previous expeditions,
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we had obtained little and had not brought back any
video, photographs, or organic material of any creature.
Still, our expeditions were periodic and always
acclaimed by the dean, who kept Anthony Lane as a
researcher for the University, even though we had no
concrete results. Frederick Frost continued to do this out
of his great passion for cryptozoology, which also led
him to organize the lectures for Lane and jeopardize the
grades of those who refused to attend them, but now we
saw small signs on his face, traces of frustration, that
perhaps indicated the end of a lifestyle for Lane himself
and me. Thus, we found ourselves on what was perhaps
the very last expedition, but also an extremely promising
one, the account having been given by a respectable
eyewitness. A certain Mr. Muinepe, from the island of
New Britain, had called Dr. Lane, claiming to have seen
on a nearby island a fearsome animal, similar to a turkey,
but eleven feet long and with large claws. This seemed
absurd to us, but to Muinepe´s culture, this creature
called Kaiaimunu was quite real and even feared. The
description of the animal, together with the identification
of the witness led us to conclude that the cryptid was
indeed a dinosaur; a survivor of the famous K-T event,
which occurred when a large meteor hit the Gulf of
Mexico some 65 million years ago. With such a
compelling story, it was easy to get the financial backing
of the dean and we would leave in a week; far beyond
the time needed to make preparations, but enough to
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make it to summer vacation, freeing Jacob Keene from
giving any explanations to the students.
Back in my simple room, I imagined this
majestic creature we were about to study up close and
felt immense gratitude for having found someone like
Anthony Lane, who had given me such an opportunity
and, above all, treated me like a son. Yes, we were
realizing a historical fact, while my master's colleagues
preferred to look through a microscope. In my mind, I
saw every little physical feature that the description led
us to imagine, and I wondered what habits our animals
would have. How had it managed to adapt to a world so
different from its own? I began to sketch on the canvas
the erratic traits of what a turkey-like dinosaur might
look like, and then I thought about its color pattern. We
live in an age of advanced technology when we
discovered that various species might have had vibrant
colors. Therefore, what patterns should such a survivor
have? It did not matter, even if my guesses were not
completely right, that painting meant a lot to me and
only death by starvation could prevent me from finishing
it. If so, the world would see the emergence of a
masterpiece, perhaps splattered with the droplets of my
last breath.
After hours of working, I heard some footsteps
creeping along — unmistakably, Dr. Lane's. Through my
peripheral vision, I saw him lean back against the door
frame and watch me for a few minutes, maintaining the
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same respectful silence that I had given him earlier. This,
by the way, is a gift I often find in scientists and artists
— the appreciation for rare moments of stillness; staring
out the car window for hours on end, and enhancing
one's personality with the simple act of thinking. It was
this same gift that now allowed us to dialogue without
exchanging a single word; we knew of each other's
presence and of the importance of that work for me, and
that was enough for us. With one last brushstroke, I
finished this extensive work and took a slower breath,
stepping back to get a general idea of the painting. I had
used all kinds of techniques and my knowledge of
dinosaurs, but every time I painted or sculpted one of
these animals, I felt frustrated. Noticing my dismayed
expression, Lane questioned me:
— What is it, my boy? Are you not happy with
the results of your work?
— It's not alive, Doctor. Do you understand what
it is like to wish to see the magnificence of these beings?
— I understand it damn well. It has been a long
time since I have experienced this feeling, but I can
assure you that this time things will be different. — Then
turning to another sketch, that of a large aquatic
carnivore with an oar-shaped tail, he concluded:
— Just don't expect to find predators on the
island. The report speaks only of a creature that fed on
the canopy.
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— But the witness was on a boat, right? What if
it is the case that he just didn't see anything else?
— Come on, Kevin, heavens forbid it, we are in
no condition to face predators.
— If you would allow me to take a means of
protection...
— But I won't! You know well that I don't allow
animals to be killed without a valid reason. Our species
has only existed for a few thousand years and what has
our "progress" achieved so far? I tell you — the
devastation of the environment and essential species.
Still saying this, he walked away to a coffee table and
took the phone off the hook.
Analyzing the argument he had just used, I
remembered other small discussions we had had — or
rather, occasions when he had raised his voice and I had
listened. At the end of each of these times, the words
"every living thing is essential" were recited to me, with
which I agreed, but this should not be the basis for
someone not to retaliate against an attack.
In any case, the expedition was going to take
place and he was now contacting the last member of our
team. As he was firmly attached to the past, the
telephone he now used was a customized retro model,
with a rotary dial system, as were the classics. The same
taste was reflected in the solid wood furniture that
surrounded it, the still functional record player in the
background, and even the old hand-cranked butter churn.
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Not even this setting relieved me, though, of the
complications of Dr. Lane's logic. How could he blame,
for instance, a castaway who is attacked by a tiger shark?
Even if he didn't do it openly, his reasoning admitted this
kind of concept. And what else, next? Was he going to
put the body of a murdered person in jail instead of the
murderer? As I was thinking about these questions, I
heard Lane's voice on the phone, in a timid tone, almost
ashamed to be calling. Then I remembered a convincing
argument — cases where people had died trying not to
harm an animal, but rather to save it or simply to admire
its beauty. The Doctor's voice had now become deeper
and more acidic; he was talking about cryptids — his
favorite subject — and yet he was doing so with a
certain amount of hatred on this call. I should have
remembered such cases beforehand so that I could rebut
Lane's statement, but I am afraid that even if I had, my
deep respect for anyone with grey hair would prevent me
from doing so. Not even the lack of conscience of some
species could be counted as a reason, as there were
recordings of sharks, rays, and dolphins asking humans
for help to free themselves from nets and harpoons. At
that moment, my thoughts were interrupted one last time
by the loud ringing of the phone back on the hook.
Anthony Lane had hung up and was now crying loudly,
sitting at the table.