Dangerous by Default

6. The shaker

Caine Blue listened carefully to the sound of dripping water as he descended the uneven stone steps into the shadows. Navigating through the darkness with sound and touch, he was acutely aware that to slip would mean to plummet and probably die.

Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be he hummed aloud, filling the cavernous hall with his crackly baritone. The Shaker hymnals of his childhood always seemed to appear in his mind when he found himself confronted by physical danger. Perhaps it was his mother, Sister Erma, knocking on his door from the great Shaker Village in the sky. He continued to sing.

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

'Twill be in the valley of love and delight, holding the final syllable of de-light until his breath ran out.

Where was just the right place for him? Was it down there, in the muck? In the black depth of obscurity, and stillness? There was a time when that could have been his fate. He had certainly spent enough of his life tip-toeing on the edge of recklessness. Shooting himself in the arm during an exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C., for instance. That was reckless.

Or was it up there? The thinning daylight streamed in through the cracks of the hatchway above him like fingers. Up there was Mina. If they were lucky, they'd be joined soon by another little Mina Blue. A sliver of a feeling unsettled his blood. It was a feeling he had trouble naming at first, partly because it had been so long since he last felt it, and partly because his reason for feeling it was so new. Caine was feeling fear. He'd better take his time on the steps. People were counting on him to be safe.

'Tis a gift to be simple

'Tis a gift to be freeeeee! Caine's voice reverberated in the cavernous passageway, shattering into a thousand replications. The last shards of light fell away, and soon Caine found himself at the bottom of the staircase in total darkness.

He clicked on the flashlight secured to his head strap and was greeted by a coral reef of decades-faded spray paint arcing the walls with glyphs and signs. Signs of crossings, escape routes, directions to find safety. When the police come a-raiding, the gays go escaping. That was the beauty of the San Francisco underground. The tunnels available to whomever needed them most. For most of the last century it was gay men and transgender women escaping the psychotic boots and billyclubs of the San Francisco police. Today, Caine used the tunnels for his own secret purpose. Tomorrow, these hallowed passageways might be needed by someone new.

Caine hopped the final step towards a circular hole in the center of the floor. Beside it a rope ladder lay neatly folded. Black with grime, Caine hoped the ladder would still hold his weight. As he plunged down the final stretch below, the sound of rushing water grew louder, as did the smell.

Near the bottom of the ladder, the stench was overwhelming. A dry heave danced on the back of his throat. Smells good he forced himself to think. Caine relaxed his mind and the smell transformed. It became sweet, base, like the body smell of a lover. Caine took a deep breath. Shaker ingenuity at work he thought. The Shakers were revered for their furniture, for the cleverness of their woodworking tools. But he knew that they were a people whose gifts were sublimely misunderstood. Their real technology was mental. He was so often asked in interviews "After the death of your mother, why did you run away from the Hancock Village? Why did you abandon the community that found you and raised you?" I didn't run away! But how could he explain his reason? I expanded. 'Tis a gift to know where you ought to be.'

Caine arrived at last at the edge of a flowing river of sewage. He located a vertical metal shaft that fell from the arched brick ceiling straight down into the liquid. Just below the surface, it attached into a small but powerful machine. His machine. He gave the metal object a hard kick with his desert boots, splashing the oily liquid onto his ankles. The machine was stuck, just as he feared.