by The Eurostar
Edulcore Cicciotto:
Mount Baker, 3,285 miles, USA.
We have just crossed the border, travelling through a virgin forest of spruce and other kinds of evergreen. Luxuriant, imposing, and humid.
It always rains. We are wet through.
We have walked for two days, after we left the canoe. Avoiding roads, choosing the wildest places, finally we have reached the U.S.
But now we have finished our provisions, and we can't reach La Perdita walking. On the other side of this mountain there is a medium-sized town, Bellingham, north of Seattle. There, we'll need to find food and maybe a car. We can't use trains or planes. We would be too easily seen.
But now, we must pass the mountain.
Turner had nothing to say all the day. I would ask him many questions, especially why he attacked me and my friends way back when we were travelling with the circus. We had just found a home there, finally belonging to something, after many days of running away from our many enemies. And the sense of peace and rest that the circus gave us was taken away all of a sudden by Turner.
I hated him, then. Now, I don't know. The revelation of him being a clone is... overwhelming. I could imagine how he could have felt when that was revealed to him. Yet, I still don't understand why he attacked us with such a rage. But I am not asking. I am beginning to understand him.
It's strange. I never have been a good judge of people. Many managers have stolen my money, back when I was an Olympic star, without me even noticing. Now it's different. It's like my instincts have changed. I feel... the world, I would say.
What I am saying? Maybe I have a fever. With all this rain.
We are out of the forest, we are at a height too high for trees. A big meadow extends in front of us, reaching the rocks and the glacier of the top of the mountain.
And there is a tent, a campfire, and a man waving to us.
I look at Turner. Without saying anything, he nods his head. So we go toward the man.
The man is Frank Line, ornithologist. He welcomed us with a pot of hot soup and a dry place to rest, his spare tent, where sometimes a colleague of his stays when he joins Line in his research.
He is studying the eagles of this place.
"The bald eagle?" I asked, proud of showing my few, recent notions on wild birds, due to Quantos' field guide.
"No, the golden eagle. Are you a bird watcher?"
"A novice," I responded.
After the dinner, the sun peeped out of the clouds. Turner had just got to bed, finally giving up to his fatigue.
I was looking at the setting sun, when I spotted a distant bird flying toward the east. "That's an eagle, Frank?"
"Where?"
"There." I pointed my index finger toward the right place in the sky.
He raised his binoculars. "I still can't see anything."
"It's there. I see it clearly."
He went to the tent, coming back with a long telescope. He settled it on a heavy tripod, and after a minute, he said, "Yes, it's there! But I can see it only at sixty enlargements! What kind of vision do you have?"
After the night came, we sit at the fireplace to talk. Frank was alone for more than a week and was happy to have someone to chat with.
He enquired about my place of origin, as my Italian accent is heavy. I explain that we are hikers, Turner is a friend of mine, burglars stole our backpacks days ago, and now we need to reach the next town.
He tells me about his life, his son, his ex-wife, his job as a researcher at the Seattle University and such.
Then I notice a small wooden crucifix hanging from his neck.
I hesitate, then ask, "Do you believe in God? I was thinking that biologists are all atheists." My last talk with Walker springs to mind.
He looks at me perplexed. "What makes you believe that? I was an atheist, and I came back to faith as I began to delve into nature. The might of creation for me is a proof of the existence of God."
"Ah, so you are a creationist. This explains..." I stop, because he is laughing madly.
I look at him, puzzled.
"No, I am not a creationist. I believe in evolution, and I believe in God, too, in our Lord Jesus Christ. Is that strange for you?"
"Actually, yes. A... friend..." The idea of calling Walker friend send chills along my spine. "...a friend of mine considered evolution a proof of the inexistence of God."
"I don't see why. I'm not sure, but I think in the Bible it says that the sun rotates around the Earth. Galileo was condemned for that, and we know that isn't true. On the side of evolution, we have fossils that tell us that many animals of the past, of millions of years ago, have become extinct, replaced by new ones."
"But it could have been God to have created things this way, as... as a challenge to our faith," I say.
He pauses for a minute. "Good point. But I have an objection: we are currently experiencing evolution. We have species of plants and fungi that didn't exist two centuries ago, and that have appeared to differentiate from older species, an occurrence quite common on small islands. Plus, there is human selection. From the wolves, man has selected all the races of dogs, small, big, heavy, light, long, short, et cetera, et cetera. The Dalmatian or the Welsh Corgi were not created by God. It's man that has chosen to reproduce some animals to propagate certain traits. Evolution just works the same way, except by natural selection. Not by man, but driven by adaptation to changing environment."
I don't know what to reply. But in the eyes of the man I see the passion for the natural world I am so attracted to now, and the genuine faith in God AND man that has driven me so far.
The dark castle of Machiavellism and selfishness that Walker built in my heart finally collapses under its unsustainable weight.
And although the sun has set two hours before, I see it at the end of my road.