She looked at her watch and stood. "I've got to pick up Thea. The time got away from me."
She left abruptly, parting with words that embarrassed her as soon as they were out of her mouth: "Thank you for introducing me to the ecstasy of hot malasadas."
She found a parking place almost in front of the Y, which was unexpected. Thea wouldn't be out of her lesson for fifteen minutes, more likely twenty; it was too hot to stay in the car. She crossed the street to Iolani Palace, the parklike grounds had become one of her favorite haunts.
Paul Hollowell was on her mind. She thought about her parting words and flinched. Someone else might have thought she was coming on to him, but he had only nodded, there had been no quick rejoinder, no quick picking up on the obvious sexual overtones. The grass was wet and overgrown around the little bandstand; her sandals were wet, bits of grass flecked on her feet. Two middleaged women wearing tourist tags on their dresses approached. Another time she would have struck up a conversation. Now she moved away before they were within speaking distance and walked toward the deep shade of a great tree on the opposite lawn, where she stopped before a small hillock enclosed by a low wrought iron fence, a royal grave she had never noticed before. "Kapu" the sign on the fence said, the Hawaiian word for forbidden, taboo, banned. She thought: It is kapu to tread on this land where kings lie buried. It is kapu to disturb the sleep of the dead. It is kapu to break your marriage vows. She had promised for better or for worse, in sickness and in health and she had broken the promise and she would be punished, she had to be punished.
A hot wind rustled through the thick leaves that sheltered the graves, and suddenly she felt afraid—for herself, and for Thea. Thea is fine, she reassured herself as she hurried back in a quick walk-run, cutting across the great lawn, perspiring in the afternoon heat. She reached the gate across from the YWCA in time to see Thea emerge from a car and run into the building. The driver of the car was Alex Hollowell.
Karin pulled back, out of sight. The heat seemed to close in. She leaned against the post, made herself breathe deeply to calm down. By the time Thea emerged from the Y, Karin was doubleparked in front of the building, waiting for her.
"Have you been here long?" Thea asked, breathlessly. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright.
"Not long," Karin answered.
It wasn't until after dinner, when Karin got up to make herself a cup of instant coffee, that Thea asked, "What do you think of Alex's dad?"
Karin took her time. "I think he is very . . . nice, very solid and . . . square."
Thea giggled.
"I'm not mocking him, Thea. Square isn't necessarily bad."
"But he is square, Karin. A true straight-arrow. You should hear the things he does."
"You mean the things he is making Alex do? Like working in his boat shop?"
Thea sulked. "He doesn't care about Alex. He only cares about boats and sailing."
Karin sat down across from Thea, stirred her coffee. "I didn't get that impression. He was working at the carnival today because he is trying to be a good father."
"Well it's a little late, don't you think?" Thea came back sharply, echoing Alex's anger. "You can't try to be a good father, you just are. I guess I'm spoiled, because my father really was a good father."
"Is, dear," Karin corrected her, "your father is a good father."
Thea's expression froze. "It's just that . . ." she began, stumbling, "he can't speak . . . he was so eloquent and now he can't. . ."
"He may not be able to speak yet," Karin told her, "but he can communicate. They've devised this special machine with electrodes that. . ."
"Stop it," Thea raised her voice, putting her hands over her ears, "I don't want to hear about any machine . . . it's horrible, horrible. . ."
Karin moved to put her arms around her, to calm her. "All right, dear, it's all right. We won't talk about it, not now."
"I'm going out with Alex again," Thea blurted. Karin flinched, understanding that Thea was pressing an advantage.
"Maybe we could talk about that later, too," she said.
"No," Thea answered, committing herself, "I want to talk about it now. I didn't go to my dance lesson, I was with Alex. I lied to you and I don't want to, I can't lie to you. Please, Karin, please trust me and say it's all right for me to see him again."
Karin stirred her coffee. "I'm glad you told me, Thea. I do trust you—it's Alex I don't really trust. . . and it's not just the pot or the fact that he was driving today when he wasn't supposed to be. Let me try to explain." She paused, paced a few times around the room. "I think you probably know that it wouldn't have been possible to be a student at Berkeley in these past years without coming into contact with a joint or two . . ." Thea met her eyes, nodded. "I'm not of that generation that believes that a few tokes leads to heroin addiction." They managed to laugh a little. "But I also know, from experience, that a person who is going through a hard time emotionally can go a little crazy if she gets hold of some powerful stuff . . . strong pot, or one of the mind-bending drugs. Do you know anything about them?"
Thea gave her a "Do you think I'm a baby?" look, and Karin answered by stroking her hair.
"Okay," Karin went on, "I'm asking you not to do any experimenting at all right now. Nada. Things have been tough for you these past months."
"The shrink says I'm doing well, considering," Thea spoke up. "He says if I wasn't doing so well I wouldn't be working so hard to make good grades, and getting everything lined up for Stanford."
"That's right," Karin told her, approvingly, "and I'm so proud of you I could pop. But please, try to understand. I don't think Alex is a good person for you to be with . . . I think he's on a fast track, and I know he messes around with dope."
"He doesn't 'mess around with dope,'" Thea said, her voice petulant. "Besides, you met his dad, I don't know if he told you about the rules he made, or how well Alex has kept them. I think he deserves another chance."
Karin relented. "You have a point. I suppose . . . if you promise me you won't try anything again—not even pot, I'll go along with your seeing Alex."
Thea wrapped her arms around Karin's neck and hugged her, saying, "Thank you, thank you, I love you," then almost ran into the wall in her hurry to get to the telephone.
Karin walked to the lanai, looked out over the city. The lights were coming on, she could see Waikiki glittering against the purple of the night sky. Don't pull the strings too tight, Thea's therapist had told her, but he didn't say how tight was too tight. Karin sighed. She would have to find something to occupy her, now that the carnival was over. Otherwise she was going to go bananas, worrying.
"You look wonderful," she said, squeezing his hand across the table, "Just . . . wonderful."
"So do you," Dan told her. "What are you doing out here, besides babysitting Thea?"
"What am I doing?" Karin repeated. "If you mean how often do I get to have dinner beachside at the Royal Hawaiian with a handsome young marine, the answer is not nearly often enough."
The tight grin broadened into a smile. "Ah, there it is," she said, "now you look like my Danny." She saw she had embarrassed him, so she rushed on. "You want to know what I do, okay—lately I've been spending quite a lot of time learning about Hawaiian lore at the Bishop Museum, which is a wonderful place. And I've been trying to make myself knowledgeable on the subject of contemporary Hawaiian art. Does that answer your question?"
The setting sun was casting long, silver-pink shadows on the ocean. They watched a lone surfer catch the crest of a wave and ride it in, sending out flickers of light as he moved across the cool pink froth. "God," he said, "this has got to be the most beautiful place on earth . . . Mr. Egon said it was, and he was right."
"Is that why you wanted to come here to dinner?" she asked, allowing herself a small smile. "Mr. Egon suggested the Royal Hawaiian?"
"No . . . yes, I mean, he talked about it a lot. About coming here at sunset, and the rest of us, we always said if we ever got here . . ."
&n
bsp; "I'm glad we did. It is a beautiful place, looking down Waikiki beach, yet out of the tourist crush."
"And elegant," Dan added, "I think even Dad would like it. He may get here, too, you know. I spent the last couple of days with him—with them, I should say. I get the feeling Mrs. McCord is there a lot. Aunt Faith told me that as soon as Dad was able to move his hands, they've been in overdrive—teams, hell, whole platoons—of people doing all these things. Physical therapists work on his muscles, keeping the joints moving. Speech therapists now . . . I talked to the doctors, and they said that it looks for certain like he'll regain some use of his voluntary muscles. They think he'll be able to talk again, but they don't know how much . . . so he may sound funny, and he probably won't be able to walk, which means a wheelchair. It's going to be a long, long haul, any way you look at it."
Karin nodded. It had been explained to her, in detail. Kit made sure she knew everything that was going on. Well, almost everything, she thought.
The waiter delivered their entrees and Dan pushed himself back from the table so he could look at it. "Food," he said.
Karin laughed. "Yes, I think so."
"I mean real food," he answered, moving his face directly over the plate so he could breathe it in. "Ahhhh," he murmured, "heaven."
"Thea felt so badly about not being able to join us for dinner that she made you a special dessert. Wait till you see it," she told him. "Then you'll know what heaven, tropical style, is."
"You mean she's graduated from carrot cake?" he asked, taking his first big bite of steak.
"I can only tell you this much—it has papaya and pineapple and coconut in it, and orchids floating on top, and you will never be the same again after you've had some."
"Sounds like sex," Dan said, glancing up mischievously to see if he had shocked her.
"I'm not even going to respond to that," she told him, making a show of stifling a smile, "other than to say I wonder what else they've taught you in the Marines."
"What they've taught me," he said, suddenly serious, "is that a human being is as strong as he wants to be, that with the help of his buddies he can accomplish whatever he sets out to accomplish."
The light was gone now, only the tops of the waves gleamed white in the moonlight as they broke. They watched the froth wash up on the beach, causing those few people still walking along the edge of the water to scurry. The waiter lifted the hurricane lamp to light the candle, asked if everything was all right, and Dan answered solemnly, "Everything is just fine, thank you." He said to Karin, "Dad taught me some things, even if I didn't know it . . . like how to answer a waiter."
"I'll bet your Dad taught you a lot of things, and I think you have probably taught him a thing or two as well. He must have felt proud of you—seeing you like this, so . . . solid."
He poured the last of the split of wine they had shared into her glass. "He said he was . . . through that little machine he uses that translates from Morse code. Here, let me show you." He fished in his wallet and took out a piece of typing paper which had been carefully folded. On it was written: "I was wrong and you were right. You make a helluva Marine."
Karin pressed the paper to her lips and closed her eyes. "Oh Danny," was all she could think to say. She knew that Philip didn't believe he had been wrong, but he could say it for his son. Thank you, Philip, she thought.
"I've been wondering about Mrs. McCord," Dan said, "I mean, why is she doing all this for Dad? I know she's mongo rich, and I know she's a really good friend of you and May. But it seems, well . . . strange."
"You're right, it would seem strange, I guess, if you didn't know Kit. Partly she's doing it for me. She's been like a fairy godmother to me, I respect her and care for her as much as if she were my . . . well, my 'real' mother."
"I can relate to that," he answered.
A wave of warmth washed over her. "Good," she said, "I'm glad."
"Mrs. McCord said you were coming back for a visit pretty soon."
"As soon as May returns from Japan, to stay with Thea. Then we'll be going back for good in September, when Thea goes off to college."
Dan finished the last of his steak, pushed back his chair, and pulled a small cigar out of his pocket, making a show of lighting it, and took a long puff. "I don't know," he said, leaning back in his chair. "If I was you, I think I'd just hang out here on this beach for the rest of my life."
"Tell you what, fella," she came back, "when you come back from Vietnam, no matter where I am, I'll meet you here at sunset, for dinner."
"You got yourself a date, lady," he answered, holding her chair out for her.
Alex's car was in the driveway when they came back, that was the first thing that was wrong. Thea was supposed to have been at an honors banquet, and Alex was not invited. The carport lights were out, that was the second thing. Thea was expecting them, she should have turned the lights on.
"Something's wrong," she said, holding tightly to Dan's arm as they hurried down the steep drive. "Listen."
It was a strange sound, muffled, bleating. A warm wind blew against her face. She shivered. Then a scream broke the surface calm, long and sustained. Dan broke loose, slammed through the back door, running toward the scream. Karin stumbled, something tore at her leg, she pulled herself up, arrived inside in time to see Dan struggling to pull Thea off the railing, onto the lanai. Alex was clinging to her legs, his head down as if to ward off her blows. She was biting and kicking and screaming at them, her eyes wild.
"It's me, Thea," Dan shouted at her. "Look, I'm here, it's okay, it's me, Daniel." He had her now, clamped safely in his arms. "Let go," he told Alex, but Alex seemed not to hear. "I said let her go," Dan repeated.
"Daniel?" Thea said in a thin, high voice. "Daniel?"
"I'm here," he told her, "Karin's here. You're safe now."
Karin pulled her into her arms while Dan tried to extricate Alex. "Let go of her," he shouted into his ear. "We've got her now, we'll take care of her."
Alex tightened his grip.
"You son of a bitch let go or I'm going to rip your goddamned arm off," Dan said. A loud, brittle crack sounded, and a wail. "Goddamn you," Dan said, kicking him away, "I'm going to break every fucking bone in your fucking body . . ."
Thea stiffened, screamed one long, thin note that seemed to shatter the darkness and then she slumped in Karin's arms.
"Dan," Karin ordered sharply, "bring her here, inside. Sit here with her, on the sofa."
He did as she told him, holding his sister firmly and stroking her arm, talking quietly to her to calm her, while Karin knelt beside Alex.
He was rolled into a ball in a corner of the lanai, clutching his arm and whimpering.
"What did you give her?" Karin demanded, her voice urgent. "I want to know exactly what you gave her."
He tried to look at her but his eyes wouldn't focus. "Hurts," was all he could say, "arm . . . hurts."
"Acid," Dan said, not varying the tone of his voice so he would not set Thea off again. "He's loaded on something else, but I'm pretty sure he's given her LSD. She freaked."
Karin didn't ask him how he knew, it was all she could do to keep her hands steady so she could dial Paul Hollowell's number.
TWENTY-EIGHT
THE COTTAGE IS filled with ribbons and shredded bits of packing material and tissue paper—we are awash in a sea of tissue paper, pink and white and silver, packed in and about all of the wedding gifts that we are to take with us. Annie has packed our dresses, even, in tissue paper, so they won't wrinkle. My blue lace, her "slinky green" as she calls it, a brazen, backless creation that will doubtless set her poor mother to grinding her teeth. Annie has moved in with me, for "the duration," as she puts it.
May and Hayes are to be married this coming Saturday, in a weather-worn little green and white church that sits all done above the sea not far from May's place, and looks as if it might have been plucked off the coast of Maine, steeple and all. It is a New England church, built by sailing men out of Glouc
ester and New Bedford and Nantucket, high and narrow and straight, with polished pews made of koa wood and tall gothic windows tilted open to catch the sea breeze. Nowhere else in the Islands can you see the historical juxtaposition so clearly as in the churches built by the stem, New England missionaries and attended by the soft, lyric Hawaiians. It is Abigail's church. One of her myriad nephews built a ramp so I could go to services with her. After the ceremony there will be a luau at the compound, on the grassy enclosure next to the beach.
Yesterday, I read again May's journal from China. "It is over now," she wrote from Hong Kong. "With the help of my two extraordinary aunts—Rose in China, Kit in America—I have learned who I am.
"I am Wing Mei-jin, I am May Reade, and soon I will be May Reade Diehl. One person, American and Chinese, at peace with herself.
"That is what is so wonderful—this great calmness that has invaded my body, as if suddenly I am possessed. Hayes says that he can tell the difference. He says that if someone could X-ray my soul, the dark spots would be gone.
"It was not just discovering that the woman who gave me life is very human, and very good, and never meant me harm. It was meeting Rose, and being drawn into her magnetic circle, it was traveling through China with Xue Lian, who told me when she left that she will always be my friend, even if we should never meet again. And it was seeing Hayes standing there, waiting outside the Barrier Gate in Macao when I came out of China. I knew then, when I saw him towering above everybody else, squinting to try to get a glimpse of me, and not recognizing me at all, sitting in the Family's cart. No barriers are left for me, I know where I belong—with Hayes, with my family back home. And someday soon, I hope, Rose will be part of that family.
"I am not certain that Liao Ch'ing-Ling ever will be, I think that seeing me again might be too painful for her. She has spent so many years forcing her life into narrow channels, I think she will not allow herself to open up again. It does not hurt me to say that. All the mystery is gone, I know what she looks like and how she lives and something of how she thinks. All the blanks are filled in. She leads such a simple life in her little village, her only pleasures are her books.
Gift of the Golden Mountain Page 42
