Discovery

by Steven Noordyke

                Nothing fascinated Joe Pulaski more than discovery.  He wanted to understand the minds and feelings of the people whose artifacts he was unearthing.  Joe spoke of nothing more.

                The Medieval castle perched atop the mountain and teeming with tourists seemed the perfect place to explore.  Joe woke at dawn, destined to be one of the masses.

                Pulaski pushed through the heat, passing a chatty group of Japanese umbrella-wielding tourists who vividly noted and promptly forgot the energetic American.  He stopped to take some snapshots of the view: the incredibly blue sea filled with large rocky incisors, the umbrella dotted beaches stretching endlessly, the hotel dominating this tourist hot-spot.

                By the afternoon the castle was a buzz.  No one really noticed the curious American climbing walls, inspecting the ramparts, or crawling into nearly every side-chamber.  This was not the typical tourist trail, but Joe was not the typical tourist.  To him, the building was alive—alive with the stories of those who once occupied it.  Pulaski was the one person who could hear the ancient voices, speaking to him through the rocks.

                “No, it’s OK,” an elderly German said as Joe squeezed past him on the narrow side-track, heading into the bramble-filled old cavalry parade grounds in the back.  The tiny entrance under the steps wasn’t on his pocket tourist map.  He slithered into the corridor just as a Canadian couple peeked into the courtyard, retreating at the mass of thorns confronting their next steps. 

The camcorder light wasn’t strong, but Joe could sense an incredible discovery.  His heart began to quicken.

Fifteen yards in, Pulaski made a sharp right into the blackness.  No one heard the splash.  All his life Joe Pulaski wanted to be a part of something great—a discovery.  Three hundred years later, he was.