“Christian, I can’t,” she whispered sadly. “Not here. Not like this. I can’t make love to you. Not now.”
“But … I’m not …”
Then what is it he seeks?
And Kathy realized that what he sought was not sexual satisfaction, rather something more … a desire to crawl into her. Cold, contemplating the death of mind and body, he looked to the warmth and safety of her womb.
“My love,” Kathy began rubbing his arms, trying to bring him comfort, “oh, my love, I would protect you if I could.”
With a deep sigh, he buried his head in her neck. “I love you,” he whispered.
The ease with which he spoke the words convinced her. He loved her spirit, her essence, had given her his soul.
Nothing else was said between them for a long while. Only the wind gave sound.
At some point in the night, they moved away from the rock, walking a bit, the wind dying back, watching the horizon in the dark.
“Christian, how long will this night last?”
“It might be a long one.”
“Do you think we’ll make it? Are we going to die?”
“Is there death?” He stood nearby in the darkness, his arms around his body, his eyes looking up into the sky and the millions upon millions of stars. “Lama Loden once told me that coarse impermanence—death—does exist, but its causes can be researched. Confronted. Even though we don’t want to die, we can prepare for it and be less frightened by the process. But while the ‘mere self’ or ‘mere I’ is produced from matter and may travel from one lifetime to another, consciousness is an entity of luminosity and knowing. It can only be produced from another moment of luminosity. Consciousness is a continuum without beginning or end. Without death.”
Kathy leaned against him. “Can you imagine nonexistence? Try to turn off your ‘self.’ Try to snuff out your own tiny light. There really is no way for your consciousness to die. Your lama is right. We may lose the body, but never the soul. And tonight, if we should die, it’ll be alright. If this body dies, it’ll be like we just keep on tripping.”
When he spoke next, there was a smile in his voice. “Want to be lovers next time around?”
“Yes,” she grinned with him in the darkness. “Just make it in a warmer place.”
“How much warmer than Hawaii?”
The night wore at them. Kathy managed to settle into fitful, dream-laced hallucinogenic naps. But when Christian moved, or when her own dreams pushed her, she stirred, searching the Eastern horizon.
Finally, Christian touched her shoulder. “Look.”
Kathy lifted her head. The first glowing suggestion of color lightened the sky. The earth began to change. With the light came color and shape, shadow and hue. Space filled itself with changing form. Creation. A bright red ember rose over the crest of the crater, and as if by magic, the cold and wind were cast away. The promise of a tropical day once more filled them. Christian jumped up, light on his feet, threw his T-shirt to the rock, and removed his sandals. Facing the sun, he began an asana, the Salutation to the Sun, stretching his arms up and arching his back.
Kathy watched, unable to move. The outline of his body glowed, his brown skin was taut and controlled, his movement an act of humility. Suddenly, she wanted to cry.
Beauty, humility, love—all in one man.
Christian turned back to her, pulled her from where she rested on the ground, and wrapping his arms around her, brushed away her tears. “We’ll never see a sunrise like this again. Tell me why you’re crying.”
“Because you’re beautiful.”
“I got pretty far out there last night. You took me in.”
“You said you loved me.”
“I do.”
“I’m crying because I love you, too.”
“Can I move into the cabin?”
“I’ve been waiting for two nights.”
“I didn’t want just your nights, lady,” her face was between his hands. “I wanted your days, too. I wanted this feeling between us. I knew—since L.A.—knew you were special. You were made for me. We’re perfect for one another.”
Living in the cottage with Christian was the closest she would ever come to paradise. Each day, they walked naked or half-clad through the jungle, made love when the moment struck, swam in the river or at the beach, breathed deeply scented air, played in sunlight and moonglow. The basket on the small chest was filled with fresh fruits and vegetables from the garden, and there was always hash for the pipe. Not once was business ever mentioned.
But the day came when Kathy knew she had to make a decision. Danny was expecting her, and once again, she’d stayed longer on a vacation than she should have.
“Christian,” she told him haltingly, “I promised my partner I’d give him a break before school starts for him. I need to leave soon.”
“You have a partner?”
“His name’s Danny. He’s a great guy. You’ll love him.”
“Give up the business and live with me. Here.”
“Are you serious? How would you work?”
“I’ll commute. I think I could set my trip up so that it carries itself.”
Kathy felt the trap—waiting on the island for a man to return. Like Julie had waited for Bob all those months. What would she do? Have a child to fill her time like the other women? A child with Christian. The idea lured her. A little boy with long blond hair and those eyes.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” His voice was suddenly grave, humble again. “Say you’ll stay.”
“I want to … but …” What would she do for money? Ask Christian every time she wanted something? The thought embarrassed her. Like panhandling. She was certain she couldn’t do that again, either.
“Christian, is this … real? How can something like this last forever? Certainly, you know that this business takes a lot of personal energy. You have to do it—no one can do it for you—or you’ll lose it.”
Christian considered her words. “Then Berkeley. We could be together there. I have a house.”
“Berkeley, then,” Kathy said uncomfortably. “But I’ve got to leave in the next day or so. I’ve got responsibilities.”
He shook his head. “There’s something you’re not saying. What is it? I don’t want secrets between us.”
“Not a secret, but I … I need to think about what to do about my business. We can’t both be dealing out of your house. Customers, mixing people, you knowing my trip, me knowing yours … possible complications with the Heat …”
They were on the path toward Keith’s house, holding hands as they walked. He stopped. “Give up your business. Let me take care of you.”
“You said you didn’t want secrets. You’re right, there should be nothing but honesty between us. The truth is that I just need to think about things,” she tried explaining. “I need to consider what to do about my independence.”
Kathy watched as he slowly considered what she was saying. She could see that he’d expected something else, was used to taking care of women.
Finally, he answered, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t real.”
“Are you going to be okay with going back to the mainland? Are you ready?”
“You’re right about that, too. I should see what’s going on with my trip. Dharma was thinking of leaving in the next day or so. We can fly back together.”
On the day they were ready to leave, suitcases packed, Dharma came to the cottage and asked if she’d carry back a pound of Afghani.
“You’re less likely to get searched,” he reasoned.
Although Kathy wanted to be with Christian on the long flight back, she decided not to complain. She’d sit alone and hold.
“Okay. I’ll hand carry it in my purse.”
Her sense of petty annoyance grew as menses began, bringing with it a sore and aching body. In the airport store, she bought a small box of pads and threw the box into her oversized purse.
The plan
e that was to take them from Maui to Honolulu arrived an hour and a half late, and upon landing in Honolulu, they found that the connecting flight to San Francisco was being held for them. Scheduled passengers were asked to depart first and quickly make their way to the main terminal.
Running, they followed the signs to the gate. Dharma came to an abrupt stop just before entering the final corridor.
“We’ll go first, Kathy,” he told her. “Give it a minute, then come aboard. It’ll be okay to sit together once you make it on.”
Before she could answer, Dharma and Christian were off racing down the corridor.
Damn. I don’t like rushing into things when I’m carrying. And a goddamned pound. Not enough to put me away for a long time, but a complicated, expensive mess with possible jail time if I have a problem.
Quickly, she took the corridor toward the gate. Christian and Dharma were stopped at the desk. Outside the huge glass window, she could see the jet, heard the roar of the engines as fuel burned, the plane waiting for them.
We’re just going make it, she thought, picking up speed.
At the desk ahead, Christian’s face telegraphed a warning, his eyes large with worry. Then the sign next to the desk registered: All handbags and carry on luggage required to stop for agricultural inspection before boarding.
Her mind exploded! If she turned back or hesitated for an instant, she’d miss the plane. The agricultural attendant’s eyes were full on her own, waiting, his face friendly. Kathy plunged. Without breaking her stride, she raced up to him, implying by her movements that she was desperately late.
“My connection was held up,” she mumbled, breathing hard.
“Just open your handbag, Miss. We’ll get you through.”
Kathy pulled open the woven bag, praying. Sitting on top of everything was the small box of pads she’d purchased at the Maui airport. Coloring slightly, the guard touched nothing, and only nodded her through. Shaking from adrenaline, she handed her ticket to the agent at the gangway, boarded, and took a seat next to Christian in the half-filled plane. Fiercely angry, she turned toward the two men.
“I could have been searched!” she spat between clenched teeth, her voice low, eyes glaring.
As she said the words, she knew this was not supposed to be her role. A woman wasn’t supposed to get angry. A woman was the spiritual mother. The source of peace. She didn’t put out any bad vibes. Accepted whatever came to her. Even when she gave birth alone because her old man was enjoying himself on the other side of the globe.
But Kathy was really pissed and getting angrier as she thought of what was expected of her.
Fuck that bullshit! she cried silently.
Christian looked at her sheepishly, truly surprised. “I didn’t know. It’s my first time here.”
“Both of you walked right through without a search.”
For the first time in days, Kathy entered the real world and took off the rose-colored glasses. How could she have put herself in this position? Yes, she loved Christian, but he wouldn’t have done the jail time. She was ultimately responsible for her own choices. Furious with herself, she found she was breathing deeply, drained by anger, and knowing she’d never be so stupid as to let that airport shuffle happen again.
“Kathy,” Christian whispered, speaking close to her ear, “I’m really sorry. Is everything alright?”
“I’m sorry, too, Christian,” she said taking another deep breath. “Sorry for my anger. I … could have handled that better. I was just really shaken. If he’d reached down, moved things around … searched …”
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “With us?”
“Yes,” she answered and forced a smile. “Everything’s clear now.”
JOE O’BRIAN
EUREKA, CALIFORNIA
OCTOBER 1968
The temperature was in the high seventies when Joe O’Brian left his office on Berkeley’s south side at midmorning and paused to rethink his schedule. He had a meeting at noon, so, yes, there was time enough to check through Vital Statistics for the information he needed.
Driving toward Oakland, Joe once again considered the upcoming noon meeting and felt the uneasiness return. Mr. Toffler had a special case for Joe—kidnapping. John Toffler wanted his six-year-old son kidnapped in an ugly child custody suit and had given him a laundry list of the mother’s abuses. Investigators were often asked to take such cases. Bread-and-butter work, one associate had called it. Joe thought about the money and wrestled with his conscience. When did a wrong make a right? More, he still hadn’t been able to verify the recommendation Mr. Toffler had given him. Intuition told him the case was bad news. Uncomfortable, he glanced in the rearview mirror. A white four-door sedan turned the corner just behind him.
For eight weeks now, he’d been tailed on and off—sometimes to his amusement, sometimes to his annoyance. At the moment, Joe was tired of it. In his line of work, he needed a certain amount of privacy, even secrecy—especially today, in his meeting with Mr. Toffler. His mind darted quickly back and forth through new thoughts. Just who was this Toffler dude, anyway?
Heat’s on. Bremer’s making good his word to get even.
“Why, Joe? For God’s sake, why?” Jennifer had cried angrily after the Jackson case. “We’re doing a nice, low-key job. We’re effective. Why’d you have to let Bremer bait you like that? You showed all your colors. Now that he knows you’re a threat to him, he’ll come after you. Not just you—us … and everyone we might try to help.”
“He knew anyway. He knew the moment he saw me at Lance’s table that he’d been played.”
“You didn’t need to sit at that table.”
“Jen, there’s something about this man,” Joe had told her, his forehead creased with concern. “He’s different. Even for a nark. He plays mean, and he plays for vengeance. He’s driven by something, but I don’t know what is it.”
“You knew that. Even before the court date.”
“But I had no real idea. You should have seen him in that hallway.”
“And you had to come up against him?”
“No one else would. Everyone turned away. Afraid. I had to draw the line. Why should he be allowed to rant and vent his temper just because he has a badge? He’s a bully.”
“But, Joe, don’t you think defeating him at his own game is enough? He’d lost his case. Now you’ve made it personal. Is it Bremer you’re fighting? Or all he represents?”
Jennifer’s questions haunted him, especially now, with the white Ford following. Joe turned right, then left, right again, and right once more. Hanging back, about a block away, the car stuck with him, like a shark on the scent.
“And they’re using my tax money to spend time this way,” he mumbled. “That is, if I paid taxes. Not a cent until the war’s over. I’m not buying napalm today.”
On the corner ahead was a public phone in front of a grocery store. Impulsively, Joe pulled over to the curb. Things were too weird. He wasn’t taking the case. He got out, called, and left a message for Mr. Toffler.
Inside the grocery store, he bought a six-pack of beer. By the end of this day, he had a feeling he’d be ready for it. Grudgingly, he made a second phone call.
“Lance,” he said over the receiver, “I need to talk to you.”
“How about lunch? 1:00? I’ll be in the City for a meeting. Could you meet me at Perry’s on Union Street?”
Back in his car, Joe headed toward the Alameda County Courthouse to look through those records. Behind him, the white sedan followed with its two occupants.
“Something’s going on, Lance,” Joe said quietly, swirling ice cubes absently in a glass of Scotch. “I know Bremer’s up to something.”
“Because of the courtroom scene?”
Joe nodded. “I’ve got this funny feeling I’m being set up.”
“Why?”
“A few new clients coming out of the blue. Asking me to do illegal things.”
“S
uch as?”
“Kidnapping. Laundering money. One asked me to find him a pilot. Said we could make a lot of bucks. Winked at me.”
“Is that unusual?”
“What’s unusual is that I can’t verify their references. I think Bremer would go to those lengths to entrap me.”
Lance thought a moment. “Entrapment is one of his methods.”
“I’ve been followed off and on now for about eight weeks. Today, it was a white Ford sedan. Take a look at those two near the door.”
Feigning a stretch, Lance glanced sideways toward the door, then turned back toward Joe.
“You’re right. I know them. The one on the right—definitely BNE. Name’s Phillips. Feel flattered. He’s one of Bremer’s top boys. I think it safe to assume that his partner’s also BNE.”
Joe sipped from the glass. “What about you, Lance? Don’t you ever wonder if Bremer wants your hide?”
“C’mon. Me? Not a chance. He knows he can’t mess with me.”
“Do you really think it matters? If you know the law, you know you can still go to jail.”
“For what? What do you think he could do to me?”
To which Joe raised an eyebrow. “Set you up like everyone else. I’m telling you, the time will come when you aren’t going to be able to sit on that fence anymore.”
“What do you mean? What fence?” Lance asked, defensive now. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“Once, you might have chosen,” Joe answered, ruthlessly honest. “Once, a long time ago. That’s why you’re a defense attorney. But I’m telling you, things will escalate, and you’ll be forced to choose again, to take sides.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance told him gruffly.
Joe was amused. “You think you’re playing a gentlemen’s game. Bremer doesn’t care about the law. Just about making arrests. And vengeance.”
A Nation of Mystics_Book II_The Tribe Page 26
