In the Shadow of the Cypress (6 page)

Since I presumed it would take some months to track down the proper academic assistance to initiate the work of translation, I agreed with Mr. O’Flynn’s decision to place the artifacts out of harm’s way. However, I encouraged him to consider writing down the location of the hiding place, and placing the envelope in the custody of a trusted third party like a bank or a law office. If something untoward should suddenly happen, the document would be the only way to recover the artifacts. O’Flynn listened politely to the suggestion, as he always did, but I got the definite impression that he had no intention whatsoever of following my advice. This realization led me to harbor a nagging suspicion that I would probably never see those artifacts again.

The following weeks were marked by more unseasonable weather that, though not as severe as the last storms, kept the harbor closed and business generally buttoned down all over Monterey. Only those people bent on serious errands bothered to leave the shelter of their homes, and so I was mildly surprised late one drenching afternoon when there came a knocking at my front door. I answered to discover the oilskinned figure of Mr. O’Flynn standing in the downpour. I invited him to enter, which he did, but he also apologized that he could only stay for a few moments.

As usual O’Flynn came right to the point, but now he seemed slightly uneasy and embarrassed. He talked rather quickly and refrained from eye contact lasting more than two seconds. He announced right off that he’d come out to give personal notice of his departure to all his fine employers. He said he was leaving town to take on more serious and lucrative
work now that he was completely recovered from his injury.

I noticed that O’Flynn fidgeted with his hands as he informed me that he would soon be back to work for the railroad up north. In an attempt at affable informality, he justified his choice by bragging that being a road foreman, working the long rails out in the countryside, was a “right-soft berth.” He seemed happy to recall with some degree of sarcasm that “way out on the line” a “family man” might enjoy domestic tranquillity, unfettered conversation with friends, relative safety, and “right-fine” victuals served without complaints. In spite of all this nonsense, I knew the crux of O’Flynn’s reckoning. Like any man in his position, a fat pay packet every two weeks beckoned like an irresistible muse. I imagined this fortunate circumstance would go a long way toward making his wife happy, whether he was at home or not.

As surprised as I was, I hadn’t for a moment forgotten his discovery, or our mutual involvement in its fate. I tried to interject a question concerning its future, but O’Flynn shook his head and insisted we could attend to that matter later. At the moment he pleaded more urgent matters elsewhere. Despite my serious concerns, I saw no reason not to wish him the very best of good fortune in his future endeavors. O’Flynn smiled and thanked me heartily, but upon departing he reminded me that Wednesday would be his last day at Hopkins, and if possible he wished to settle up his wages at that time. I happily agreed and he thanked me again with a handshake. Before I could discover anything further, O’Flynn quickly departed into failing light and pelting rain.

The last time I ever saw Mr. O’Flynn was that following Wednesday at the laboratory. I had especially brought along some of the photographs to show him in the privacy of my
office, but he seemed only partially interested. In fact, I noticed that he appeared slightly agitated and distracted. When I asked what was disturbing him, he threw up his hands and shook his copper mane with an irritated exclamation. “Ach! But it’s the same as before.” Then he leaned closer and confided to me that he was positive the Chinese were still dogging his heels. He had twice caught sight of his shadows where they had no business being. He swore he didn’t know how, but he alleged the Chinese elders knew, or at least suspected something. O’Flynn even said that he was fairly sure someone had very carefully searched his cottage when he and his wife were away. He warned me that their obstinate suspicions might soon spread out to include me, especially since they would know of our past associations.

In that vein I asked about the artifacts and his plans for them. Mr. O’Flynn flatly declared they were well hidden and beyond all discovery by the Chinese, or anyone else for that matter. The question must have acted like salt in a wound, for O’Flynn became agitated and stated that as far as he was concerned, “those bloody stones can stay hidden until Satan comes up for trial, or until some cunning fellow shows me how to profit from their retrieval.” Then he softened his words and once again showed himself concerned with my particular situation. “But if I were a clever gentleman like you, Professor, I’d see to the safety of those papers of yours. Those rubbings and photographs are the only proof you have that such articles rightly exist at all. And mark me when I tell you that those courteous Chinese elders across the way are the canniest lot of old badgers on God’s earth; you can take my word for that. And, if you can help it, never but never get between them and something they want. No matter what’s thought of them hereabouts, I can tell you
those people can skin you alive with such agility that you won’t even know your hide is missing till you shuck off your pants for a bath.”

I smiled and thanked Mr. O’Flynn for his timely advice. I then asked where he might be found if I should discover something important about the artifacts. O’Flynn thought for a moment and said I should place a notice in the Railroad News. It would eventually catch up to him anywhere he was.

In conclusion I thanked Mr. O’Flynn for his years of hard work and dedication on Hopkins’s behalf. O’Flynn somehow managed a modest blush, and with many thanks in return he signed the receipt for his wages. Then we shook hands and he departed.

As an aside, I ultimately acted upon Mr. O’Flynn’s admonition about the existing evidence and decided to secure my notes, the rubbings, and the photographs in a proper fashion. I sorted the material down into three complete packages, each carefully pressed and secured between folds of unbleached linen and boxed in a cedar packing case that would stand up to the rigors of transport and storage. The first I posted to a colleague at Stanford to hold in trust for me. The second I prepared for eventual shipment east to Harvard University, where I was reliably given to understand the esteemed Professor J. L. Andeborg still held tenure in early Asian languages and texts. Once I had written to him to get his approval, I would ship the materials back east for his opinion. The last package was for myself, and therefore the most complete. Nonetheless, I chose to side with caution. I took the other parcels and temporarily deposited them in the property vault at the Bank of Salinas, where I knew they would be safe until I could turn my attention to their future.

———

B
ETWEEN THE END OF
M
ARCH
and early April of ’06 the increasingly angry spates of stormy weather were sometimes interspersed with curious and unexplainable periods of dead calm, clear skies, and motionless, millpond conditions upon the bay. In fact, it was very early in the morning, perhaps five o’clock, on just such a motionless day that two of my graduate students drew my attention to the stillness of the water. Classes for some students had been called at that difficult hour to facilitate collecting specimens in the rock pools and traps with the outgoing tide. However, the tide seemed to be going out at an unusually accelerated pace.

I had gone outside to stand with my students and noticed at once that even the birds and animals seemed to be holding their tongues. All the seagulls had departed, and the sea lions were mute for once. But even with all that, I was still quite amazed to witness every boat from the various Chinese fishing villages loaded to the gunwales with men, women, and children. They were simply floating about the glassy bay without apparent destination or purpose.

From the sounds that traveled to us from across the still water, it appeared they had also taken along their dogs, geese, piglets, and God knows what else. I took note that the bay had become so still, in fact, that there ceased to be even the smallest ripple breaking along the surf line. I must confess that I found the unnatural quiet and apparent motionlessness palpably disturbing, almost to the point of vertigo; it was as though the whole planet had stopped moving, and now waited in hushed anticipation for some great and climactic event.

And then it happened. Just as my students and I turned
to go back up to the laboratory, the three of us were violently tripped off balance and thrown to the earth by a tremendous shaking of the ground. I’d experienced several small earthquakes before, but nothing of that intensity or tenacity. The brutal tremors continued unabated for at least twenty of the longest seconds I have ever experienced. The disorienting momentum was sharply accompanied by the familiar signature of shattering glass. Instantly my mind’s eye foresaw crashing laboratory cradles cluttered with beakers and test tubes, overturned aquariums, and hazardous shards of laboratory glass liberally distributed everywhere. Hardest of all to dismiss were the distressed and frightened pleas for assistance, and the screams of the students still trapped within the laboratory. And then abruptly, in a nerve-wrenching instant, the quake ceased. And again it was still, motionless, and even more frightening.

Upon regaining our feet, we three immediately went about searching for those people who had cried out for help. Thankfully, there were few injuries requiring serious attention, and the cries for help were coming from people who were trapped by jammed doors or upended equipment. The physical damage to the laboratory itself was not quite as bad as my fears and ears had led me to expect. Most of the broken glass had come from the many windows and dry aquariums stacked for storage, though we did part with a fair inventory of expensive and necessary laboratory glassware. I gauged that replacing all the broken windows would require more labor than all the other repairs.

On one of my trips escorting dazed students out of the building, I happened to look back toward the bay momentarily, and there I spied a curious sight. The water, which had been glass-smooth but moments before, now rippled out in all
directions without the benefit of wind or swell. The moving water appeared similar to the effects of a large pebble tossed into a still pool. And out of the silence emerged a sound I shall never forget. It was the broad release of laughter, both joyful and nervous, coming from the villagers on board the fishing junks. I found this fascinating, and ten minutes later I took the opportunity to look out over the bay once more. I was pleased, if somewhat confused, to find the sea conditions had returned to normal and that all the boats had safely returned to the beach with their precious cargo of children and livestock. I have since been plagued with the nagging suspicion that the Chinese knew what was about to happen long before it occurred, and trusted their safety afloat better than they did ashore.

As we went about our search and recovery, my students and I were relieved to discover that aside from a few cases of shock and disorientation, the injuries suffered were indeed minor. I only wish I could say the Almighty had been as kind to the rest of northern California.

With the telegraph wires down, and rail travel at a standstill, it took days for us to discover the terrible scope of the tragedies inflicted upon San Francisco, San Jose, and numerous smaller towns. Even Salinas, which is far closer to home, had its whole main street reduced to smoldering piles of broken masonry in just moments. I was later informed that the parcels I had placed in the bank there were destroyed in the subsequent decimation.

Perhaps it was because Pacific Grove rests upon an extensive granite shelf, or because the town is mostly of newer timber-frame construction and therefore more flexible, but in general the community suffered only modest structural damage. In many cases little was really noticeable beyond drifting porch
pillars, toppled garden walls and arbors, or doorjambs and window frames skewed out of all true alignment.

At every church in town, the bewildered population expressed prayerful gratitude for its survival. And afterward many people noted that, aside from the shared demolition of window glass, storage jars, household crockery, and mantel-ensconced family treasures, the overall destruction in Pacific Grove and Monterey was mercifully kept at a minimum. Indeed, coastal communities like Santa Cruz fared far worse.

Barring the loss of a score of roof tiles, a half-collapsed rose arbor over the walk, and a few shattered potted plants, my own little cottage was where I had left it, more or less. However, I soon discovered that the homey interior of my quaint residence had been transformed into a chaotic mound of collapsed bookshelves, scattered books and papers, broken crockery, dinner dishes, and shattered lamps; in short, an unqualified disaster that took many weeks to sort out. Nonetheless, my first obligation was to help get Hopkins Laboratory back in working order, and for a while that hobbled all other priorities.

In the long, distressing weeks following the earthquake, Monterey County experienced a noteworthy increase in population. The influx consisted of shocked and jaded refugees from the more heavily damaged areas to the north. They came to seek shelter with parents, siblings, cousins, distant relatives, or just friends. Some arrived in tatters, friendless and alone, and just camped out where they could.

My friend Mr. Henry Kent owns the Mammoth Livery Stables. When I mentioned all the sad-boned strangers in town, Henry shrugged with Christian resignation and told me he was presently supporting seven heartbroken relatives, late of Hollister and San Jose, at his own house. He said they had all lost
their homes and intended to move to someplace safer like Pacific Grove or Monterey.

In that same vein Mr. Tuttle informed me that since the disaster, a general indulgence in mercenary practices had taken hold, and property values had climbed rather considerably. I now believe it was this situation, coupled with traditional racial bias, that caused further hard feelings in the community. It also brought to the fore a renewal of serious interest on the part of the Southern Pacific Railroad and the Pacific Improvement Company (owners of the El Carmelo Hotel and other lucrative commercial properties) to increase the value of their estate holdings by manipulating which land leases, whether commercial or domestic, they would continue to service, and which they would terminate to facilitate their own future development.