“That Chan guy,” I say. “He really liked her, right?”
“They were crazy in love. I felt that, you know—I actually felt what she felt. He risked his life to save her, but she died anyway. No wonder he never recovered.”
I don’t really want to know, but I can’t help myself. “What happened to him?”
“Some say Chan left his soul down here, with Albita. He got out okay, but couldn’t forgive himself for her death.”
“Why not?” I say, my voice rising. “It was her decision to swim. He told her to stay! He told her to wait for him! Why didn’t she just do what we agreed?”
I realize suddenly that I’m pounding the ground, splashing both of us with water. A feeling of almost overwhelming desperation grips me.
Ixchel seems deep in thought. “How amazing … You and me, visited by Chan and Albita.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I say, but it’s a halfhearted objection.
I know what I felt.
Ixchel doesn’t seem remotely thrown by the experience. She actually seems pleased. I’m still reeling from feelings of grief that aren’t even really mine.
Or maybe they are. Because I keep thinking back to Camila, and how I couldn’t save her.
“You know, Josh … this could mean …” Ixchel grips my arm urgently. “You know the way out of here! Chan found another way, through the underground river. Can you remember how?”
Ixchel is right. I can see it all clearly in my memory. The cave with the lake. The tunnel. The narrow gap, the left fork in the underground river, the journey to the cenote.
I turn to Ixchel. “We have to go back to the cave with the helictites. There’s a tricky climb—you’ll have to climb up over me. And—it’s not an easy swim. Long. Dark. Scary.”
“But you know the way?” Ixchel says, hopeful.
I nod. “Yeah. I think I do.”
We make our way back to the helictite cave. Beyond that, we find the second tunnel. We don’t even need to discuss it—we both recognize the route.
“This is going to work,” Ixchel says, almost to herself.
I’m silent, thinking about the underground swim. Without light, I can’t see how I would find that narrow opening in the rock. But I won’t do what Chan, my dream-self, did: I won’t leave Ixchel behind.
And then the solution comes to me. My pace quickens.
“You’re right, you know,” I tell Ixchel. “It really is.”
We reach the wall with the ledge. Just as in the dream, I use Ixchel’s shoulders to give me a lift, then hang from my fingers as she climbs up my legs and over my back. It’s not so easy for me as it is in the dream—the first couple of times I can’t take her weight and we both fall to the ground. The mistake we’re making is that I lose it the second that Ixchel grabs my ankles and puts all of her weight on me. The third time, I don’t just hold on by my hands but brace my shoulders and arms on the ledge too. Ixchel takes a running jump to reach my ankles. Once she’s grabbed hold, I groan loudly, straining with the sensation of my knee joints stretching. I breathe in staccato, shallow gasps, holding my shoulders firmly in position as Ixchel climbs along my back.
Just like Chan and Albita, we turn and sit on the ledge for a few minutes, to recover. I recognize suddenly that this is real. I’m visiting a place I only know from a dream—and it’s real.
Ixchel and I steal a glance at each other. I can’t help wondering—is she thinking what I’m thinking? Is she remembering the dream? It’s confusing. In that moment, dream and reality collide.
And Ixchel doesn’t kiss my cheek.
The flashlight is down to a feeble point, no better than a match.
“Why didn’t I pack batteries?” mutters Ixchel.
I’ve figured this one out. From my jeans pocket, I bring out my dad’s iPod. Ixchel watches, at first bemused and then impressed as I switch it on, choose a playlist, and change the setting so that the backlight on the LCD screen stays on.
“What d’you know?” I say. “Now it’s a flashlight.”
I take the Ziploc bag with the Adapter from my other pocket. I make Ixchel use her gas mask while I open the Ziploc bag for just a second and place the iPod and my cell phone inside the clear plastic.
“And now,” I say, smiling, “it’s a waterproof flashlight.”
Ixchel gazes at me. Behind her eyes, something is different. “Well. That’s actually pretty good.”
I want to reply with a flip comment, but my mouth is suddenly dry. I can’t say a word. Instead, I turn away, feeling my cheeks flush. I place Ixchel’s Ek Naab phone in the Ziploc bag too, after which nothing else fits.