by LEE OLDS
“If only I could once meet her,” Hans’d say to Jennifer when in fact June’d been in his store several times though that’d been sometime prior.
“No,” said Jennifer, “you wouldn’t like her. It wouldn’t work. Can’t we be just like we are?”
What else could Hans say? He’d felt her trembling just when she’d thought her mother might’ve followed her and been outside. It was all the emotional burden she could handle just not to be discovered. The suspicious ever vigilant June knew she’d been up to something but so far hadn’t been able to catch her at it. But to reveal her feelings, she felt’d be suicide. And, of course, it turned out her premonitions were right.
“So?” Said Hammond.
All I said was that she wasn’t at the reading and that was why. Her friend Marcus was. Jennifer’d made him promise to tell her all about it when he got back. It’s tough living on a subliminal basis but that’s all some people have. Remember all of us aren’t so fortunate so as to be able to express our wishes. There are people out there ready to cut you down if you do, free country or not.
When Hartwig and Sandy showed up for instance, the mother and Gloria were already seated. While Sylvia might’ve expected as much she had no idea her son and the concupiscent socialite were about to run off to Europe together. Gloria hadn’t either at that juncture. So you see, despite this unwonted appearance, the mother and Gloria felt there was still hope to bring her son around.
The lights were dimmed, the espresso machine whirred and the poets began reading as the crowd appertained to silence. The bad paintings on the walls were displayed as reminders of what not to be in so many words. And many of them weren’t. Believe it or not some of the poets were actually good. One mother got up and hit it on the mark. She had the crowd clapping with her fin de siècle sentiments while several comics had them cheering. It was good entertainment but what else is poetry, any poetry when it comes right down to it. You’re apprised of what’s been (in life) and consequently what to expect and this applies to death – about which there’s really no mystery, as the great poets have been able to convey.
Among others I recognized Stich, the contractor, though I’d never seen him before. This was mostly from his size though Hartwig’s description of the man had been accurate. He was a big floppy tennis player. His wife, Julia, Marcus’s half-sister stood beside him. She had the tyke, Tod, settled comfortably in her backpack carrier. As they sat at a table (somebody made way for the mother) she removed the child, who by then could walk and cradled it on her lap.
“Not whining this time?” Said Hammond.
“Not whining,” I replied. “June might’ve been there but this was no church. The one year old was sincerely entertained.”
Marcus nodded to her and made a childish sign with his fingers at his nephew in law. The tiny blue-eyed baby waved with his mother’s assistance showing his little burgeoning teeth. So you see those gatherings weren’t all war as poets tend to engage in. They were also where people could get together and share their emotions much like the encounter groups of old had once been, although we no longer have them.
When several times June hopped tables to talk to Sylvia and I noticed the troubled look creep across Sandy’s face like a shadow across a plain I could only too well envision the entire evening as it exploded but it didn’t. Hartwig didn’t miss a move. He turned to Sandy and said something; then laughed it off. He hadn’t once gone over to speak to his mother or June. I did notice that.
“You’re kidding?”
“No, he didn’t say a word to his own mother. He obviously still hadn’t forgiven her for the night at the opera and felt it was still too sore a subject for Sandy to handle. Then that told you something else, didn’t it?”
“What was that?” Said Hammond.
“If he was in essence giving up his mother, which is what he seemed to be doing, it must’ve been for something. That told you right there or at least it did to me he had long range plans for his girlfriend … he might’ve even loved her, who knows … whether he ever spoke to his mother again or not.”
When I noticed a surprised and wary look of Gloria’s as she turned to face the door I followed her line of vision and guess who’d popped in, Johansson. And with him was Larsen of all people, his boss at the pottery factory who’d fired him. The Swede who’d been born in the old country appreciated gatherings like this. They were in his bones, but him and Johansson together? The young man had exchanged his typical baseball hat for a sailor’s cap. The new article was still part of his craziness evidently even though we heard his father’d gotten him in the merchant marine and he was soon to ship out. No merchant seamen wore sailor’s caps. Gloria said something to her escort as she looked Johansson’s way, obviously pointing him out. And the Swede, he just smiled like a big happy clown. He knew he’d been defeated. If not by Hartwig then the man next to her perhaps, dressed all up in a suit, costume (as he called it) he might wear twice a year. On Christmas and at one of his friend’s weddings.
Just before he was to perform, Hartwig rose to go to the men’s and Gloria followed him. The two met in the hallway all friendly at first.
“How nice you look in your new suit,” she told him. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in it before.”
“Yes, it is nice, isn’t it? It’s from Brooks Brothers. And how ravishing you look my dear as always. I’m sure you’re getting along with my mother,” he added dryly. “And I see the sport you’re with, I must say it’s an advance from the newspaper man.”
“Yes,” she said looking him straight in the eye, “who’s sure more of a help than you. And you’d better not wait too long.” She scolded him. For some reason he got very angry.
“And you,” he said out of a clear blue sky, “you’d better not catch AIDs.” With a look of utter disgust she turned around and left him. Maybe he wanted it that way, thinking it’d make it easier on her.
“Did he really say that?” Said Hammond.
“Yes, he did, but he didn’t mean it. As callous as he was sometimes, Hartwig wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”
When his turn came he certainly played magnificently, a little Beethoven, several cantatas by Bach and a piece by Albinoni that I’d never heard before, an Italian jewel. And there he was, his long nails plucking the strings, fingers thumping the sound box and his neck craned about the throat, blue eyes looking out from under his lanky blond hair that had swept across his face. Do you think the women didn’t like that? You should’ve heard the titters. Why I’ll bet for a moment there he could’ve had any one of them
He didn’t, of course. After playing several encores he packed his guitar into its case, hugged Mercer and thanked him for the evening. With the handle in one hand, Sandy’s in the other, along with the large crowd he exited. The clear night appeared to be lit by distant sparklers, which, of course, were stars. It’d been so warm the café’d opened all its windows. There’d been patrons standing in the street who’d come to listen but couldn’t be accommodated inside.
Although the group of us bade Hartwig and Sandy goodnight, she looked upon us as casual acquaintances of his who’d never gotten to know him very well. Certainly not as well as she had. She definitely didn’t know we knew about the trip nor that we’d put him up to it. As to Hartwig’s mother and her party it went off in the other direction as though two shooting stars had repelled one another. Hartwig and his mother could’ve been Mars and Juno. They hadn’t spoken although he said a few words to June who at that time was still his friend.
Chapter Seventeen
Summer had very nearly come to its end. Hartwig and Sandy, who was in an ecstatic mood that had her running about the beach community saying ‘good bye’ to everyone, were making last minute preparations for their departure, which was to be on a Wednesday. Hartwig had locked up his houseboat but entrusted the key to a neighbor in case his bilge pumps failed and undue leakage might cause it to sink. That’d certainly be a catastrophic event to return from Europe t
o. Or would if it he had her in tow by that time. An excuse to move into the beach house permanently. Nevertheless those things (houseboats) aren’t like your house or mine, which are on land. Like boats docked at our piers such as those around us they need constant surveillance just to prevent an untoward occurrence like that. Like yours for instance, the Family Happiness, how’d you like it to sink when you were home or at work? Of course, you have insurance but… That’s one of the hazards of living on the water and I suppose one might say one of its charms for it’s like life personified, a constant risk.
Hartwig’d driven his clunker full of things he would need – guitar, books, clothes, sundries, notebook, etc. – along with his dog over to the beach. Benji was to take care of the three dogs in their absence.
“Just … just make sure you feed them this time,” his mother apprised her tall offspring who was rapidly becoming a man. Then she went up to him and hugged him a thing she’d seldom done since he was older and crinkling the corners of her eyes with a gush of tears she added, “Oh, I’m so happy. He’s such a fine man. And remember no wild parties this time.” She appeared pathetic though it’s certainly easier to show affection towards a loved one when you’re in love.
The boy knew, of course, she meant Hartwig but could hardly believe his ears. And though he liked Hartwig he really didn’t care one way or the other since he’d been exposed to her boyfriends before, who she’d taken abroad and where were they now? Contacting her for money most likely. Nonetheless he maintained. He and Marcus, who’d spent the night there, were driving the couple to the airport early in the morning.
“Just make sure I drive,” Benji informed his mother for he was emphatic about that role in his life now and leaning more and more towards the sport itself, race car driving. He had a few plans about that he hadn’t yet revealed to his mother, so he had to be nice to her.
After hosting a barbecue for their friends several nights before they were to leave the two were to spend the last night alone, packing loose ends, making last minute calls before dining at the Sand Piper and turning in for a good night’s sleep. Sandy’d booked a flight on one of those mammoth jets, which stand as tall as a five-story building and come equipped with small state rooms like a first class hotel.
“You’re kidding, said Hammond. “Why I’ve never even been on one of those. Like so many of our new perks I’ve only heard of them. That’s all.”
“No, it’s true,” I said. They have showers kitchens, large screen TVs, everything. Home gratification for every second of your life. Sandy really did have money, wasn’t afraid to spend it and that’s when you see it come out when you’re traveling.”
The barbecue went well. Everyone got drunk. The dogs behaved themselves this time and coupled with the loud music, classical, of course, the peals of laughter and gaiety flowed off the deck to intermingle with the soughing of the ocean fifty yards across the beach. We, of course, were over in Sausalito when all this was going on. We hadn’t been invited, which in fact fit the socialite’s role for us in her life. Hers and Hartwig’s now. We didn’t expect to be seeing much of him either if he was up to what we thought he was.
We still saw Gloria around for several nights for even though she’d moved to the city, she claimed she missed Sausalito. We thought nothing of it for as you know our little town can have a nostalgic effect on you. I’m sure she expected to see Hartwig though she wasn’t going to make a point of it for as far as she knew, though he’d sold it, he was still living on his boat and eventually he’d have to return home to his mother (and her) in the city. And if the boat was locked up he’d be at the beach. So what? She no more feared the rich simpleton than the man in the moon. Especially from what Sylvia’d told her of the woman. When you do have acute intelligence you tend to laud it over people in a competitive situation. At least some persons do. None of us was about to tell her the real truth. That’d be sacrilege worse than Salman Rushdie’s. All I can say is Gloria looked quite angry but not unduly unhappy and we assumed she had a right to be after what Hartwig’d said to her.
“Yes indeed,” said Hammond. “That wasn’t too nice.”
The day before their departure, Sandy claimed she wanted time to herself. She visited her closest neighbors, walked down the beach with the dogs and sat with them for several hours on the spit that abutted the lagoon just out of beach house range. Was she thinking of the christening perhaps that had culminated on the bank directly opposite her in the other little town over there, Salinas. I imagine she was for she remembered virtually everything like an idiot savant though she had a difficult time expressing herself. Then like they say for those, who just before they die see their entire lives flash before them in full detail, her past must’ve overwhelmed her for one reason.
“Yes,” said Hammond like an overweening parent to a child.”
“What else other than all that she felt was about to drastically change because of the new romantic interest in her life which was obviously Hartwig. When you do enter the new you’re bound to reject a good part of your past and you have to be able to see it to do that.”
Around two in the afternoon she meandered back along the beach with the dogs, stooping now and then to pick up shells but only the perfect ones.
“Perfect ones?” Said Hammond.
“Yes,” I added, “whoever’s heard of saving a sand dollar with a piece out of it? That’d be like saving a cracked plate.”
She evidently had been ready to impress Hartwig with her collection but seeing him out on the deck drinking beer with some of his volleyball cronies, instead she went in the front door to avoid them, washed the sand dollars off in the sink, took a long bath and hopped into bed for a nap. As a consequence of this she awakened and appeared fully ready to go out as Hartwig was just bidding his friends farewell. What else should you be doing in a case like that when you’re to be gone two or three weeks, perhaps a month?
“You guys,” she addressed these rowdies, “take care of yourselves. And watch my son. We won’t be gone that long.” She seemed unsure of herself as she stood there in her yellow gingham dress with embroidered neck and sleeves. And as they exited the deck like so many cattle going through a chute she turned to Hartwig who stood very tanned in his blue boxer shorts and said,
“I’m ready,” with a mischievous look in her eyes. “Obviously you’re not. I’ll go on up to the Sand Piper and meet you there.”
“Why not?” Said a confident Hartwig as he pulled her to him squishing her dress. “I only have to shower and put something on.”
He watched her walk across the deck and on up the road. I imagine he was thinking he’d come into a very pretty package and the quarry was in the bag so to speak. And you know it would’ve been. It absolutely would’ve been if it weren’t for other people with their desires and emotions that don’t correspond with your own. But there always seem to be others for that’s what we call population and the reason we’re filling the earth. We cope with our conflicts and that’s what makes us human. Or so the great myth prevails.
After she left the beach house, Sandy walked along the creek trail, gathered a bunch of poppies, found no one on the bench in the cottonwood grove so she sat there like Heidi anticipating Hartwig’d come along, fetch her and they’d appear at the restaurant together. She, she claimed, knew his habits down to the split second and they’d only been together four months or so. To some couples, however, a lifetime.
Changing her mind, just before she was certain Hartwig’d pass through the grove she went on ahead anyhow. There were some friends she wanted to say goodbye to without him hanging over her shoulder and once he got there she knew that’d be impossible. Then she wanted to give Sammy the bartender the three perfect shells she’d found that afternoon on the beach as a going away present.
Matter of fact, the timing’d been so accurate Hartwig claimed he caught a whiff of her scent in the grove and it was with a devilish mood of his own he parted the willows and stepped onto the highway just down f
rom the restaurant. What he saw, of course, he knew wasn’t quite right but not just how. Then in another instant it made sense. Someone else’d driven all the way out there from Sausalito to bade him farewell and he was ready to shake the man’s hand and buy him a drink. Matter of fact Sandy was leaning on the car window of the old Mercedes and talking to the driver.
The car, which was parked in front of the Sand Piper with its motor running, spewing its foul exhaust he instantly recognized as Harper’s, the one I told you we called Dracula after his pageboy haircut, prominent teeth and the black suits he always seemed to prefer. Harper was one of the four that put up the money I was holding for the wager that’d all but been forgotten.
“Oh, oh,” Hammond exclaimed. “What’s he doing out there just now?”
“Nothing initially,” I said.
As far as Hartwig was concerned he’d probably come to the beach for a drink. Hartwig then was ready to go up to the car, shake the driver’s hand and invite him in for another though he must’ve somehow felt it odd Sandy’d stopped and was talking to him. They’d known each other from Sausalito so it wasn’t out of the question and to tell the truth he felt good about it. Good that Sandy’d get to know his friends a little better now that…
The three dogs, who’d followed Sandy, were sitting on the ground just outside the porch of the small bar upon the deck of which a group had gathered to watch the sunset. The days were rapidly becoming shorter. Sometimes the crowd, locals as they were called, might wait drinking and chatting for several hours for the golden orb to sink beneath the horizon. The wooded hills or sloping mountain behind them made the perfect backdrop for one of man’s most scenic spectacles.
