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

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

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

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.

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:

— 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,

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

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

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.

— 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.

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.

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