The Distant Shore (Stone Trilogy)

by Mariam Kobras

  Her parents, that was harder. Jon never left her side while they waited for their transportion, and even though her father was civil enough, promising they would be back for the wedding, she could see that it was said with reservation.

  Lucia took her hand and assured her all would be well, but Olaf glowered at his wife, and she fell silent again.

  Naomi could have sworn she heard Jon mumble “Bastard!” as her father got into the plane, but couldn’t be sure so she let it rest.

  How much things were going to change became crystal clear when Sal said he would be leaving shortly to meet the movie people and also, with a doubtful glance at Naomi, start working on a tour for next summer, if she and Jon were okay with that.

  Naomi, a bright gleam in her eyes, nodded. She wanted a tour. She wanted to get out into the world again. She wanted to fly and live in the music. And she wanted to work with Jon on the soundtrack, despite her fear of having to deliver lyrics on demand again. Yes, she wanted it.

  He had presented it to her so circumspectly after her parents had left, the excitement over the project wearing off fast with the realization that it would take him back to Los Angeles a lot sooner than he had ever imagined, and he had no idea how she would react. But there had been no reluctance in her response. She wanted to write for him. About returning to California she had said nothing.

  When he asked her where there might be room for a studio, she only shrugged.

  “Come with me,” she said, and led him to the elevator and then all the way up to the attic. It was cavernous and dusty, with a few pieces of furniture stacked in one corner, lit by a few small windows but otherwise gloomy and very quiet.

  “Have fun,” he heard the echo of her voice in the large, empty space.“Play to your heart’s content. Tell me what else you want.”

  “A nice smooth table,” came his instant reply. “Large enough, the right height, sturdy, made from the finest wood.”

  “Jon.” She had wandered away to open one of the pigeonhole windows. “You are so crazy. In fact, you are the craziest bastard in the whole wide world.”

  “Why would you say such a mean thing, my little beast?”

  He had discovered the light switch and turned it on. A single, tired bulb lit up in response. “I’m a man who needs a lot of inspiration, is all. And I’m lucky, because I know where to go for inspiration.”

  He heard her soft laughter drift across the huge room, elusive as a fairy tinkle. She came back and put her arms around him, fitting her body to his, and listened as he told her about the work they would soon be doing.

  “What book is this movie based on? You didn’t say.”

  They returned to the apartment where she made coffee for him. It had become a ritual, a simple domestic task that brought them back to the basic reality of life.

  He told her it was something or other about Captain Ahab and a wife of his, a love story he thought, he had no idea, and neither had Russ or Sal.

  Naomi looked at him disdainfully. She put down the tin of coffee and went over to her bookshelf to take out a thick volume.

  “Here, you illiterate punk.” She dropped it into his hands. “It’s one of the most beautiful books ever written. It’s sad and happy and it does tell a great love story, but it’s much more than that. And you’re telling me you are going to write the music for that movie? But Jon, that’s wonderful! I’ll have to tell Solveigh right away. She’ll love it. And I promise, you’ll like the book.”

  He was skeptical, but he spent the rest of the afternoon on the couch reading.

  “You know,” Jon said much later, scandalized, “they eat their dead friend. This is gruesome.”

  It made Naomi smile. “Wouldn’t you do everything to survive if you were shipwrecked in a little boat with a dead body and not much else?”

  There was no swift reply. She turned to face him. “If you weren’t prepared to save your own life, how far would you go to save mine?”

  He did not respond.

  “Tell me, how far would you go? Would you make me eat human flesh to save my life? What would you do?”

  “And what would you do?” he asked back. “Have you asked yourself?”

  “Sure!” This was easy. “We read that book years ago, Solveigh, the others, and I, and we had that discussion way back then.” A flutter of her hands. “They were a little taken aback at my reaction. I told them that if I were in that situation with the one I loved, I would force-feed him if necessary. I said I would probably cut out pieces of myself to keep him alive.”

  Her coffee cup was empty, so she got up for a refill. Jon watched her walk past him and return to her desk.

  She shrugged a little. “And if the situation was hopeless, the dead body completely eaten and no water left at all, then what? Would you be able to kill your beloved, to save her from suffering a slow, gruesome death?”

  “You aren’t serious, are you? This is strictly academic?” There was, well hidden beneath her sweet face, a steely core that scared him.

  “Well, obviously it is, since there’s plenty of food and drink in the fridge, and Andrea would never let us go hungry, and we aren’t sitting in a tiny boat right now. But, you haven’t told me what you would do. Eat or not eat? Kill or not kill?”

  As if to underline her words, she popped a chocolate cookie in her mouth.

  “Really, Naomi.” He looked at her full of incredulity and a good measure of disgust.

  “What? You brought it up, now finish the thought.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Jon said, deeply uncomfortable. “I don’t want to even think about such things.”

  He fell silent for a while, staring out at the rain.

  Naomi returned to her writing, amused by his reticence. “You see, that’s the difference between men and women. Women are simply more romantic. At least in thought, we would willingly give our life for the one we love. You guys, you can’t even theorize about such a thing.”

  “Oh, but that’s a totally different discussion!” There was relief in his voice. “Giving my life for you or making you eat the most disgusting stuff to ensure your survival is easy. But killing you to spare you suffering…” He shook his head. “I would not give up hope until the very end. I would never give up hope.” His tone took on a new quality. “I didn’t give up hope, ever. Even in my darkest hours, when you seemed as lost as the drowned sun, there was always the dream of hope, the faintest flicker, and the belief that fate could not be that cruel. And when I felt all hope had gone, there would come a moment when it crept back in like a hurt little mouse lying on my doorstep. I refused to believe it was all gone; that would have been lethal. And see where it has gotten me. No, my love, no mercy killings. Not for me, not for you.”

  Jon regarded her back and bent head, the way she did not react to his words. “And you? What about your hope?”

  For the longest time there was no answer, and he began to think that she was so deep in her lyrics that she had not even heard, so he picked up the book again, stretched out on the couch, and resumed his reading. He thought the story was romantic, liberating, and sometimes even funny, but also disturbing and stark, full of harsh weather, with many difficult partings and lost loves. It was a lot more than he had expected, and he could see a theme for the music shaping from the atmosphere of the book. The ocean, ever present, the loneliness, the many wonderful characters living and breathing in it, and the growth and liberation of the heroine would be wonderful to put into a soundtrack.

  “None.” Naomi’s voice came across the room, so low he almost didn’t hear it. He hadn’t realized how deeply his words had touched her until she spoke. The book sank from his hands as he waited for her to go on, but nothing else came.

  “Naomi?”

  “Hope was not in my dictionary.” There was a bitter undertone in her hushed words, the sadness and withdrawal back in the set of her body.

  “Baby…”

  “Don’t.” She rose and swiftly walked to the door.

 
“Don’t go!” he called, but the door fell shut and she was gone.

  It took him a moment to decide what to do before he went in search of her.

  Solveigh was in the lobby chatting with Russ, but Naomi was nowhere to be seen.

  Solveigh only shrugged. Naomi had walked out with Sal a moment ago, and they had taken the van.

  Russ tore his attention away from Solveigh. “Let’s have a beer and talk about that movie. They’ll show up at some point, and then you can find out where they were.” A malicious twinkle appeared in his dark blue eyes. “And what they did.”

  Jon was on the point of walking out, but Russ held on to his sleeve.

  “Jon, don’t be a fool. Stay here.”

  Solveigh leaned on the counter. “You shouldn’t be so anxious. Naomi doesn’t even register the existence of other men.”

  Her blouse was cut low and loose and showed her cleavage nicely as she bent forward to put some pens in order. Russ looked in appreciation, and Jon’s sense of humor returned to a degree seeing his friend so besotted.

  “Jon.” She took his arm and led him away into the dining room. “You may be a great singer, composer of the greatest love songs this side of the sun, but you are as stupid as any other guy about girls. I take it you had words and Naomi decided to take a break, and now you fear for life, love, and future. She’ll be back, and if she really gets fed up with you, let me tell you, it will be you who goes, not Naomi. She’ll never let go of this place.”

  Russ had followed them, listening to Solveigh’s speech in amusement.

  “Sit here.” She pulled out a chair. “Drink a brandy and smoke a cigar. Talk to Russ about your stupid movie or the tour or whatever it is you people talk about, and give it a rest.”

  Stunned, Jon sat in the indicated place and waited for her to go on. Solveigh brought over a bottle and three glasses and dropped down next to him. Russ stood beside them, curious what she would tell Jon next.

  “I’ve known Naomi for nearly all the time you haven’t. You still have the vision of that sweet, innocent young girl. But she’s been through a lot, not the least of which included raising your child by herself. And she has always, as long as I have known her, been a totally independent soul. Don’t destroy that by being dumb.”

  He hesitated for a moment before he reacted to her words. It was easy to find an answer, but he didn’t want to sound too possessive, too jealous, too needy.

  “You are one lucky person, Solveigh. You are the one I really envy, because I didn’t get the chance to be with her all that time. Believe me, it was not my decision, and I think you know it. So…” He was so close to confessing his innermost fears, but he broke off.

  “So,” Solveigh finished his sentence for him, totally unmoved, “so you live in constant fear of doing or saying something wrong and alienating Naomi again.”

  She poured liberal measures and pushed the glasses across the table. Russ sat down next to her, taking her hand in his and playing with her fingers. She gave him the sunniest smile, a vision of gold and rose and sparkling blue eyes.

  “So what was it you said that made her go out with Sal?” Russ’ eyes never left her.

  Jon was too confused to think up an excuse or a lie. “I told her I never gave up hope.”

  Solveigh’s attention turned to him, and it seemed as if the sun had turned from Russ to him. “Oh. What a wonderful, wonderful thing to say. No wonder you are such a success with the ladies.”

  “Well, I also asked her how she had fared, hope-wise.” Once said, it sounded childish and possessive.

  Solveigh again said, “Oh,” but this time with less zeal. “That must have been tough for her.” She saw the question in Jon’s face. “But you know she never talked about you, we never knew who Joshua’s father was. Naomi was always so self-contained and silent, a good and kind person, but she never talked about herself. We never knew what she did in her apartment down there when the shift was over. I recall she went to London last year to see a concert, and that was a major event…Oh!”

  Naomi had told him that Solveigh was smart.

  “She went to see you! Oh. And did you meet her there, then?” She looked expectantly at Jon, waiting for his answer.

  There was no elegant way to tell her the stupidity of the whole thing.

  “She…” he began, then started again, “I didn’t know she was there.”

  His hand gripped the glass tighter, the bourbon sloshing dangerously.

  “I should have felt her presence. I can’t understand why I didn’t see her. She should have stood out like a torch, a beacon, the sun itself, I don’t know. I should have noticed.”

  “Well.” Solveigh cleared her throat. “Here you have the difference between song and reality. It’s not important.”

  “Not important?” He couldn’t believe his ears, but she only shrugged.

  “Yes, totally unimportant. It finally made her tell Joshua who his father was. She gave way, you see. She knew he would never let it rest. It was rather clever. She turned it all over to you, so there could be no disappointment. If you did not react to Joshua, well, then nothing would have changed for her, and if you did, then all would be right.”

  She rose to greet some guests entering the hotel, but before she walked away, she said, “What you did, of course, is spectacular beyond imagining. Unheard of, like something out of a love story or a romantic song. If only for that, she would never leave you. No woman would. Let her have her beer with Sal and enjoy her evening, Mr. Pop Star.”

  The weather was miserable. Sal had no idea how she managed to find her way through the rain and darkness, let alone stay on the winding road without dropping into the fjord below. Her driving style didn’t exactly inspire confidence, either. Naomi took a last turn before they entered an unlighted gravel lane just as he was on the verge of asking her to let him out, saying he would gladly wait for her here in the cold, dark, rain. She stopped outside a house that had been hidden by the dense trees on the side of the hill.

  It would be only a moment, she said, jumping out of the van, and he could wait if he wanted, but Sal was too curious.

  She had brought him to a carpenter’s shop, and he watched from the entrance as she ordered a table, specifying in great detail the type of wood, the size and height, and while he smoked in the cold wind he allowed himself the luxury of staring at her, for once without Jon breathing down his neck.

  She wanted fries, she announced when they were back in the car, and there was really only one place to get them. Again she took them through the night, this time in a wild hurtle down the mountain.

  “You do know where you’re going, right?” His hands were clamped so tightly around his seat that they hurt.

  Naomi only laughed.

  By the time they reached the gas station where, she declared, they made the best fries within a hundred miles, Sal was shaking so badly he could hardly pick a cigarette out of the pack.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he muttered. “Do you want to kill yourself and take me with you? Just to piss off Jon?”

  She had been about to step inside but now whirled back, hair flying, and laughed again, the sound echoing over the open space.

  Sal’s breath caught at the sheer exuberance in her expression. He coughed, the smoke scratching in his throat, and waved her forward, too shaken by her loveliness to speak.

  “I’m in a really good mood,” Naomi said when they were back in the car, greasy paper cartons in their hands, “I’m not reckless. I’ve been driving along these roads for ages. I know every turn and pothole. Don’t be such a coward, Sal.”

  “And where does this sudden good mood come from?” The fries were indeed excellent, better than many he had eaten in the States.

  She shrugged. “No reason. Just happy with life, happy with the way things are going.”

  “Naomi.” His heart skipped every time he spoke her name. “Are you happy about the soundtrack, happy about the tour?”

  “Yes.” Careful not to
drop anything on her clothes, she squished more mayonnaise from the little plastic container onto her fries and licked her fingers. “I’m happy. A little scared that I won’t be able to deliver what Jon wants from me, but happy.”

  “But you know we’ll have to go back to LA, right?”

  Incredibly, she shrugged again. “Yes. I know. We’ll go.”

  Sal forgot the food in his hands. “Just like that? After all the pain and terror and misery and the hard times you made Jon go through, now you tell me you will go back?”

  “Do I have a choice?” Her voice took on a distant quality, and she turned her head away. “Do I have a choice, Sal?”

  “Of course you do.” His appetite had vanished. Sal placed the fries on the dashboard. “You don’t have to go anywhere, Naomi. You have a life here, you can stay right here, safe and secure and peaceful, and no one can make you go back if you don’t want to go.” And, after a moment: “And no one can force you to give up everything for his sake.”

  Naomi gave him a long, inscrutable look before she replied.

  “Sal,” she said very softly, “what in the world would I want in Halmar if Jon’s not here? I’m with you instead of him now because I needed to collect myself or go to pieces with the love I feel for him. I’ll never let go of him again. Never. We should never have parted in the first place, not for longer than an hour, not ever, and that’s why we’re going back now.”

  In the parking lot of the hotel, turning off the motor, she added, “And California? I’ll go to LA with him. I’d go anywhere on Earth with him. I’m not fond of LA, but if that’s where Jon needs to be, then it’s where I need to be too. It’s that easy.”

  “Where did you two run off to?” Russ asked when they entered, taking the burden from Jon.

  Sal sat down. “Oh, Naomi wanted to go see someone, and she wanted company. She told me the Master was busy reading and she didn’t want to disturb him. Said it was my job to escort her instead.”

  “So where did you go, love?” Jon asked, drawing her close.