Let Them Look West

Chapter 1-4

Rob turned from the scenery outside the car to glance at his chauffeur. “So, this is a base of operations for state workers? Does the governor live here?”

Banks cleared his throat. “Yes and no. The camps operate as living quarters, storage, and motor pools for the State Corps. They rotate from place to place as needed for new restoration and renovation projects. The governor does the same. He doesn’t live here all year. Usually in the late summer and fall, when tourism starts to die down in Jackson, he stays here for a while. Typically, he resides at Camp Resolute, which is much closer to Mount Calvary. I think he likes to be close enough to see it, but that could just be my own attribution. It is, after all, his pet project.”

“But he is here now?” Rob asked.

Banks nodded. “You can speak to him in the morning I’m sure. He will be in meetings all evening though. Until then you will have time to get settled and get to know the place a little. Governor Alexander has someone tasked with showing you around and answering any questions you may have about Camp Hope, so you shouldn’t want for diversion or information today.”

Banks pulled the car into a parking space in a side lot to the right of the immense lodge building. He engaged the parking brake and exited the vehicle with some stiffness and a grunt. Rob clambered out also, stretching his limbs after all the sitting he had been doing that morning. He met Banks by the trunk to retrieve his carry-on.

A light dusting of brown pine needles blanketed the asphalt of the small lot where they had stopped. Banks gestured toward the large porch which wrapped around the bottom of the structure. “Unless you prefer bunking in one of the barracks with the corpsmen, the governor would be happy for you to stay in the lodge where the rooms are a bit more accommodating. They are usually reserved for state officials, representatives visiting on business, paying visitors and such. As a guest of Mr. Alexander you are entitled to all the privileges that come with that status. You should be quite comfortable.”

You should be comfortable. Rob was beginning to tire of these presumptions. He should find none of this surprising, however, after accepting the invitation to stay at Camp Hope at the governor’s behest. While following Banks to the front door of the lodge, he was reminded of the potential gravity of his decision to comply. Why had he so easily allowed this man to persuade him to come along? He could be relaxing in his own hotel room in Jackson at this very moment instead of walking into unknown circumstances at the governor’s mercy. This could be a form of manipulation to put him on his back foot. What would his editor say? His neck burned at the thought, and his carry-on bag increased in weight and pulled more heavily on his arm and shoulder. He nearly stumbled on the planks of the steps up to the porch, and he was acutely aware of every movement and potential misstep.

Banks gave him a curious glance over his shoulder upon hearing the clattering noise. “Watch your step, Mr. Coen,” he commented almost playfully.

Rob had noted that as they entered Camp Hope, Jordan Banks’ mood became lighter and brighter. They passed through heavy wooden doors into a massive entryway. The vaulted ceiling was probably thirty feet above them, and a giant chandelier made of antlers hung down from it. The walls and ceiling were made up of bronze-colored wooden paneling. The floor was smooth slate stone covered in some kind of semi-glossy protective enamel. Directly ahead on the far side of the room two stairways made of timber rested on either side of a second large doorway. They both led up to a balcony which ran around the upper reaches of the entry room, and he could see two doors into other areas of the second floor on the far wall above. The interior of the lodge had a musty, earthy smell, and the air was slightly too cold to be considered cozy.

“Let’s get you a room upstairs,” Banks uttered the words while crossing the room to a large, wooden, writing desk in the far left corner of the room. He passed to the other side and rifled in the drawers for a moment before extracting a sizeable book from inside. Banks retrieved a compact case from the pocket of his slacks and opened it over the desk. He gingerly removed a small set of reading glasses and put them on before flopping the leather-bound book open and leafing through the pages.

“Do you want things quiet or bright?” he asked, glancing up with an index finger pushed against the page so that the lowest segment of the digit jutted outward from the rest due to the pressure. His eyebrows were raised and knotted in the middle slightly and eyes squinted, no doubt holding the same strained formation used when he struggled through the spectacles to make out the small letters on the paper.

“What do you mean?” Rob asked a little apprehens-ively.

“We have two rooms open right now. One is closer to the back of the lodge, so it is quieter, but you won’t get as much light through the window, since it’s closer to the mountain. The other one’s closer to the front. There’s more light in the morning, but the crew get up early and there will be a lot of hustle and bustle and equipment noise.”

“I’ll take the front. I can sleep through anything,” Rob commented.

Banks made some notes in the ledger before returning it to the desk and then placed the glasses in the case and returned the case to his pocket. “Well, let’s get you situated.” He crossed the room to the farther stairway, which was on the right. Coen followed him, his footfalls joining in the chorus of rhythmic thudding impacts on the timber. The noise was so cutting in the calm of the entry room that it seemed as though the two of them deliberately struck the wood with some other purpose. Rob felt suddenly paranoid about the sound and in the next instant wondered why he had. He was lost drifting in the void outside the self of seconds before, wondering if he had split off into another version of reality. Banks glanced around the open expanse of the room as they ascended. Such useless coilings of thought strangulation were no doubt far from burdening his mind. Rob felt a faltering ambush of envy at the simplicity of his companion and then let it fall away.

They turned left at the top of the stairs and entered a door which was situated midway between the two flights and stepped into a long, carpeted corridor running crossways fifty or so feet to either side. Rob followed his guide to the right, and they reached a ninety degree turn to the left where the hallway ran approximately another hundred feet. Doors lined either side of the corridor at roughly the same interval as the rooms in a hotel.

Banks stopped at the second one on the right side and pushed the door open. “This is you right here,” he explained. “I’ll let you get settled and—oh shoot!” He patted his hip and breast pockets with open palms. “I forgot to get the key to your room. Ask me later and I’ll get it for you. My office is the door at the end of the hall. I’ll probably be there most of the evening. Once you have everything in order head down to the front again. Justine will give you a tour of the place.”

“The governor is here though, right?” Rob asked as Banks turned to head down the hallway to his office.

“Yes,” Banks answered, smiling with a touch of bewilderment. “You’ll see him in the morning. He’s very busy right now, but he made a point to carve some time out for you. He really is very pleased that you’ve come out. He likes to talk to people who are interested in his work.” He was trying to reassure his guest and had clearly noted that Rob had asked a similar question earlier.

Banks left him standing in the doorway of the empty room. Finally he was alone. Rob entered his quarters and closed the door behind him. The space was modest, not as cramped as he had expected, although rather sparse in amenities. To his left against the middle of the wall rested a double-sized bed with a roughly carved, wooden headboard and frame. A rather homey looking quilt lay draped over the spread. A nightstand of the same simple, wooden construction sat next to the head with a lamp, alarm clock, and book of some kind resting on top. Pale light beamed in from a wide window directly across from him, and heavy, green curtains hung so that they covered the outer edges. There was no television facing the foot of the bed like in most hotels, merely a cabinet with a box of tissues on one edge and a mirror on the wall above. A table and two chairs sat beneath the window, and beside them, along the wall from the cabinet, he spied a door into what was presumably the bathroom. The floor was hardwood-like but a number of thick rugs covered most of the surface. They bore simple geometric patterns of earthy hues. Rob stepped over to the bed where he set his carry-on and laptop bags and then continued to the window where he pulled the curtains back the rest of the way to see what was below his room.

All he observed outside were trees and the parking lot where Banks had left the town car. Two men in work clothes passed by after a moment, and a slight breeze stirred the pine needles sprinkled on the surface of the asphalt in small swirling eddies. Aside from those few bits of movement and the blankness of the gray sky, he saw nothing of interest and decided to go meet this person who would be giving him a tour. He turned the lock before he left and hoped that Banks would indeed be available to give him his key before too long.