CHAPTER 43
July 25, 1977
Chad arrived at JFK, anticipating his mother’s bright, beaming face. Only his father’s emotionless face waited as he walked out from customs into the terminal. He looked back and forth, trying to locate his mother. She really isn’t here. A cocktail of anger mixed with dejection besieged him. He took a deep breath and briskly walked toward his father. Chad extended his right hand and muttered, “Hi.”
Patrick ignored the outstretched hand. He grabbed Chad with a crushing embrace. As far as Chad could remember, it was the first time his father had ever given him an unsolicited hug.
“Mom? Where’s Mom?” Chad asked briskly.
“I asked her to stay home, Chad. I wanted to spend some time with you first. Your mother agreed. She thought it would be appropriate … positive.”
“Sure.” Chad took several very slow breaths and forced his anger back down to its hiding place in the pit of his stomach. In dead silence, they walked down the endless airport walkways, collected his luggage, and headed toward the huge glass doors to exit the airport. A wave of hot air embraced them as the doors opened. Chad stood for a moment, took in the New York air, and listened for the sounds of the world’s greatest city; America had welcomed him home.
They walked down a long row of oversized American cars, ‘Yankee-tanks,’ as Simon used to call them. When Patrick stopped at an unfamiliar car and unlocked the trunk, Chad remarked, “What’s this? A Merc, no less. What happened to your addiction to Cadillacs?”
“Time for a change. Give Mercedes a try – give those Germans a chance to impress me.”
“Didn’t think you’d ever forgive them. You like it?”
Patrick lifted one side of his lip. “The jury is still out.”
As they put their seatbelts on, Patrick glanced at his son. Chad felt that the look was an effort to peer into his heart, and it caused him to squirm. He felt like a twelve-year-old caught stealing candy hidden in the pantry. He looked the other way.
Patrick backed his new Mercedes out of its parking place and pointed it toward the parking lot exit. The car moved slowly forward. “A nice, smooth, proud hum, don’t you think?”
Chad nodded.
Patrick sighed and offered a feeble smile, “There are some things I want … things I need to say.” He paused, leaving an uncomfortable silence.
Chad glanced at his father’s sharp blue eyes: so charming and enticing when his father wanted them to be, and so cold and superior all the other times. He did not care what his dad wanted those eyes to convey at that moment.
His father finally continued, “Do you remember when we used to go to the football games? Those Yale vs. Harvard games? Do you remember how old you were that first game we went to?”
“I don’t know. I was four, maybe five. It was freezing, and I hated it. You pulled your big coat around me and started talking about when you played in the game in nineteen-whenever.”
His dad laughed. Forty-seven, 1947 – the eight and a half minutes I played in the fourth quarter, the last game of my senior year. I’m still proud of that. Those were good times, going to the games with you. You caught on to the game quickly. Every year, you asked me when Harvard would be playing Yale. We looked forward to it.”
“Yeah.”
“Chad, that became one of the highlights of the year for me, sharing the experience of that game, that event, with you.”
“Yeah.”
“I miss those times we shared, the relationship, the bond we had.”
Chad stared out the passenger window
His dad asked, “Do you remember the last time we went to that game together?”
“No,” Chad said, though he remembered well. It was 1968. He had just turned thirteen. It was the year his dad had left a bruise on his face – three times. It was also the year his father made his first of three failed attempts to be elected to the state senate.
“It was 1968. You must remember that game. Harvard came back from twenty-two points down. It was the game when they scored two touchdowns in the last minute to tie Yale. Still a classic game for the ages. Surely you remember that game?”
Chad nodded and said, “Sure.”
“That year, I got so busy. I’m sorry for that. I miss those times we had together.” The car pulled onto the Nassau Expressway, accelerated smoothly and confidently joining lesser cars, embarrassed as the Mercedes glided effortlessly by. “Do you remember when you were eleven, and we were at Hilton Head? I had just taught you the butterfly. You were bobbing up and down across the water like a young and proud dolphin.”
Chad looked over at his father, studying his face. What does he want? Why the hell doesn’t he just shut up? Damn him! He shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “What’s your point, Dad? Why are you going on about this?”
Patrick ignored the question. “Then you disappeared. You were gone. My life stood still. I thought I would die. I couldn’t find you anywhere. You’d disappeared. Then I saw you, forty yards away, crying on the beach.”
“Yeah. I remember. You screamed at me. You screamed, ‘How could you do that to me?’ Then you shook me.”
“I thought I’d lost you. I was scared. I was angry … with myself. I’m so sorry I said that. I should have hugged you for a very long time and kept my mouth shut.”
“Are you trying to soothe your conscience, Dad? I don’t think there’s any point. How is Mom? Really, why didn’t she come?”
“Chad, the point is, we were close before that. We were father and son up until ... I don’t know … when you turned twelve or thirteen. After that, you seemed to pull away.”
“Screw this, Dad! You want me to apologize for being a teenager? Screw that! You’re the one that pulled away, became an ass, and got too busy. You treated me like crap. What was I supposed to do?”
“I know, Chad.” He paused, and tears welled up in his eyes. “I know that’s true. I just … I didn’t know how to be a father. Things were fine when you were a youngster. It was easy. Then ... well, things changed. I know they’re supposed to change, but I couldn’t change with it, with you. It was me, not knowing how to be a father, the father of a teenager. You’re right. I did pull away. I wish to God, I wish …” His father stopped. Patrick glanced at Chad, who was staring out his window. “We have lost so many years, and I missed my chance to be a father. I failed you, Chad. I’m sorry those years are gone—”
“Yeah, forever.”
“Forever. I can’t change it, but I ask that you would forgive me.”
Chad said nothing.
His father went on. “You are an adult now, and you can choose if you want me in your life or not. I expect you to choose, and I will respect your decision.”
Chad remained silent.
“Now, I want to say two things, and then I’ll stop blubbering. First, I am so very proud of you … so proud of what you have done with your life this past year. I could have never found the courage to do what you have done – to face the things you have. I am proud you are my son.”
Chad watched the New York skyline fade into the distance and muttered, “Whatever.”
“The other thing I want to say is that even though those years are gone, I would like us to build something for the future. I want to be your father – not the father of a child, a teenager, but the father of a young man. I want to be here to listen, to love, to offer support, give advice – when you might ask for it. And … and I want to go with you to another Harvard-Yale game sometime, share that experience again as father and son enjoying life together. I will leave it at that.”
“You rest your case, eh?”
Patrick nodded, smiled, and wiped a lone tear that had escaped and was trickling down his right cheek.
As they pulled into the driveway of his childhood home, Chad looked at his dad and said, “Maybe you could come to the Oklahoma-Texas game this year. That is a wild experience.”
“I would very much like that. I would quite enj
oy watching my son the cheerleader.”
“No, we can sit together. I’m through with cheerleading. It’s time to focus on bigger things than throwing girls around in the air.”
EPILOGUE
April 23, 1978
Chad stuffed two letters in his back pocket. His pace quickened as he headed to The Library.
The Professor quickly interpreted his excitement as he burst through the door. “Is it that a letter has arrived?”
“Two.”
“Well done, well done. I will leave you to read them. Bud or Coors today?”
“Bud, thanks. And, Professor you have one as well. I want you to … yes, to read the letters to me.”
“Are you sure, Chadwick? Surely you’d prefer privacy.”
“No. I want you to read them. I prefer to hear them.”
“Very well. It shall be an honor. I believe the occasion calls for a glass of fine Chianti.”
Chad retreated to the attic, and The Professor soon joined him with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. As he filled Chad’s glass, he said, “Now, are you very sure you prefer that I—”
“Yes. I’d prefer you to read them.”
“Very well then. So this one is from Peter. Very good …
Dear Chad,
We were sorry you couldn’t make the wedding. What a way to start the New Year! It was simple, but special. Since you weren’t here, I debated who to have as best man. Of course, I first thought Simon would do it, but as I thought more and discussed it with Cindy, we both felt more and more that Dumisani was the one we wanted. He is (as I think you know) restricted to yet another township in the north. He came in the trunk of Roger’s car. To hell with apartheid, eh?
Chad groaned, and then chuckled. “Good God! Always having to make a statement. I think I preferred the apolitical Peter, back when he had no opinion about anything and certainly didn’t have to prove anything.”
“That is impressive and very nice indeed. I do like that. Yes, good for him.”
“Go on.”
He was quite pleased, I think. His family was at the wedding as well, a great treat for them, though I know they did feel out of place. But that is what we are fighting against, isn’t it?
“Geez! Can’t he just have a nice wedding without making a political statement? Glad I wasn’t there. Go on then.”
Unfortunately, many from the Vandy church refused to attend – most of them, in fact. But I understand their point of view. Roger preformed the ceremony, and Georg did help. I think he got a fair bit of flak for that. Simon gave a very special talk, which will stay with us. He spoke of his confidence our love would last and our marriage would bless others.
“I think I would have puked.”
“Now, Chadwick. Do not be so supercilious. It sounds wonderful. Uh, let’s see …
Sarah was, of course, beautiful as the maid of honor, truly lovely as you can imagine. She is doing well. I suppose you’ve heard from her. She said she would write you soon. She still writes often about you in the letters she sends to us. She finished her course and has a job as a legal assistant in a small law firm in Krugersdorp. She’s still living with her dad and sister, though I believe she did leave for a while. She’s talking about moving out again. She says she feels it’s time.
Chad let out a pained sigh. “It’s about time she moved on. What a foolish girl she is, Professor.” Chad stared out the window and let out another prolonged sigh.
The Professor respected his pensive moment and waited.
“Oh hell. Go on.”
We had a short honeymoon in Durban and camped out at Sadawna Bay – you remember, where the monkeys got into our tent and ate all our bread and broke all our eggs? That was a great trip, wasn’t it? It was very hot this time, and quite honestly, we were both ready to leave the sea, sand and heat behind. We then went to Victoria Falls and had a great week there before returning to the orphanage. We stayed at that same place you and I stayed. At first, I was a really apprehensive, but I think I excised some demons, and it was quite all right. In fact, it was wonderful. I think the reality of being married has begun to sink in. We are getting past the initial is-this-really-what-I-want phase to the this-is-the-best-thing-that-ever-happened-to-us phase.
“My God! I don’t think I can stand anymore.”
“No, Chadwick. That is love. Be happy for them. Good for Peter. Let’s see …”
As you know, we’re back at Bethel Mission. We both thought it would be for another month or two when we went back, but it is great here. I love it. Our plan now is to stay another six months at least. Then we are hoping to return to the States for a while and spend some time with my family. Perhaps you’ll still be around then?
The Professor stopped. He murmured inaudibly to himself and shook his head, then said, “My, my. Interesting. Chad, this is very … I am not sure …”
“Just get on with it. Nothing could be that bad,” Chad insisted.
The Professor tilted his head and gave a look that questioned if he was sure he should carry on reading.
Chad nodded yes.
I must to tell you this story, and you have to tell me what you think. After our honeymoon, we’d been back at the orphanage for about a month. Three men drove up and got out of their car. They were dressed in white shirts with black ties. Two were White, and one Black. Cindy and I were with the children, tending to our veggie garden. They walked toward us with kind of corny smiles. I thought they were going to try to sell us something.
They got closer, and I realized the Black guy looked familiar, though I didn’t know why. He looked at Cindy and gave a somewhat puzzled looked, then he looked at me. He tilted his head and smiled. Then I recognized him. Chad, it was Kebo! My stomach was sick. I was about to throw up or faint or both. I grabbed Cindy and pulled her to come away, but she wouldn’t budge. She just stood there looking at him. Then with a smile, he said, “I do believe I recognize these two faces. I did not expect this. This makes this visit even more difficult.” I could not speak or move by then. One of the White guys piped up and said they were from the Bethel Mission Headquarters, and this man had been a terrorist and recently repented to become a Christian. He’d requested to come to the Bethel Mission to ask forgiveness. Do you believe this? I didn’t.
Then Kebo spoke. “Yes, I remember. You are Peter, the American. I must ask, how is your friend? I must ask, did he live? His name was … was—”
“Chad,” I said.
“Oh yes! Is he …”
I nodded and told him you were fine and back in the States. He smiled and said he was very glad. Then he looked again at Cindy and said he couldn’t place her. I told him to leave her alone, that he didn’t know her. Cindy told him she was the one in the window that day.
His face changed, and his lips quivered. He said, “I have become a Christian. Your friends, they prayed … they prayed and their prayers never left me.” He went on about going to the Bethel Mission in Lupine and confessing or whatever. The White guys said he had changed, was a Christian, and would now work to bring peace and fight terrorism and talk about grace. What do you think? It still makes me sick to think about it. Just meeting him like that, I wanted to beat him to death with my shovel. I really believe I would have if Cindy and the children had not been there. Cindy says I must forgive. I do not argue with her anymore. I am still trying to understand how she can even want to forgive. She says it is because God forgives, because of ubantu.
Anyway, I thought you would want to hear this story. Please tell me what you think. Can you forgive the man who nearly murdered you? Maybe Cindy and Simon are right – that God’s forgiveness is unconditional, that no one is beyond the bounds of his love.
The Professor looked at Chad and waited.
Chad stared into space shaking his head. After several moments, he finally looked at The Professor and said, “I … well, that’s goddamn nonsense, Professor. The goddamn murderer asking forgiveness, like it’s nothing. He can go to Hell. He
should go to Hell. God had better not forgive him. What do you think?”
The Professor talked slowly, and as usual, his hands moved, but also slower, as if they could communicate as much understanding as his words. “Grace. Redemption. Forgiveness. There are mysteries we as human beings, must desire and pursue, even though we do not understand such things. Isaiah the prophet said ‘God’s way is not our way’, and —”
Chad interrupted. “Just answer the question. Would you forgive the bastard, the pig, the killer, the terrorist?”
“I could only ask that the Ground of Being would make me willing to be willing.”
“Whatever. Let’s go on. Finish his letter.”
Now here is some wild news for you. We are working hard to adopt two wonderful children – a boy and his sister, aged four and five. They are the kids Cindy stayed with the night after they first got to the orphanage, that night it happened. There are a lot of hoops to jump through and red tape to overcome. Roger has a lawyer and some church people helping us with the whole process and with finances. We hope it works out. Another big surprise, a bit of a shock – Cindy is pregnant! Sooner than expected, but there you go. I’m hoping she or he will be a redhead, a little troll doll.
Anyway, let us hear from you. Cindy sends her love. Go Sooners! What is that you all say? Boomer Sooner! Or was it Sooner Boomer? I still don’t know what that means anyway.
Chad blurted out, “Oh my God! Surely not. I don’t believe that. How about that?”
“It is truly superb.”
“I guess. I suppose.”
“Thank you for letting me share this letter with you. He is a very good person. He has indeed grown up.”
“I miss him, you know.”
“Yes, of course, and I do as well. You must tell him and his Cindy that they are to visit me when they come to Oklahoma.”
Chad spoke softly, speaking more to himself. “I’ve never hated and loved a friend like that. I’m sorry, I am, for treating him like I did sometimes. Of course, he had his days, so I don’t feel too awful bad. Okay, let’s read the next one.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you should—”
The Smoke That Thunders Page 33
