He can take in his beak
Enough for a week,
But I’m damned if I see how the helican.” ’
When no one could identify the poet, Scott said triumphantly: ‘Dixon Lanier Merritt, and no one has ever been able to tell me who he was. If you can find out, write to me.’
When his visitors had studied the ungainly birds close up, he invited them to join him in a crowded office containing a big white cotton screen on which he showed a film clip of pelicans diving into the water to catch fish. ‘The cormorant is known as the world’s premier fisherman among birds,’ Scott said as the lights were lowered, ‘but bird for bird, the pelican catches far more fish. Let’s watch how he does it. First, at normal speed. See, he comes in just as you and I would if we had wings. Belly parallel to the water, head pointed down so that the eyes can patrol the waters below, then a bend forward into a diving posture, and with all parts of the body under control, a headfirst dive into the water.’ He ran the film again showing an apparently routine dive: ‘But wait! Did you catch what looked like a blur right at the end? Let’s take another look at that,’ and with the film running in very slow motion Andy and the others witnessed a maneuver they could not believe. About two feet off the water, at the end of a powerful flight and with his prodigious beak about to smash into the waves to spear the target fish, the pelican turned over on his back so that he could dive down into the water upside down.
‘Yes,’ Scott said as he showed the slow motion three more times, ‘this amazing bird, big and clumsy on land, can flip completely over at the most powerful point of his flight and hit the water upside down.’
‘Why does he do it?’
‘We’ve speculated and found no explanation. I believe it’s so that his eyes, in this critical final second when seeing beneath the water is all-important, can have an unobstructed view. But you’ve seen for yourselves. He really does turn upside down at eighty miles an hour.’
‘Has that speed been checked? By radar gun?’
‘I’m just guessing. It looks like eighty, could be forty. But for a bird that size it’s awesome.’
The woman who had asked questions on the bus directed the next query not to Scott but to Judge Noble: ‘Is this the miracle you told us about?’ and he answered: ‘No, it’s much bigger.’ Scott called to his wife: ‘Gloria, let’s move the feeding up a bit so we can take our visitors out now.’ When his wife appeared with a huge canvas shopping bag over her left shoulder, Scott himself led the way down a boardwalk that had been specially constructed for his mechanical chair, and the group went down to the white-sand beach.
When they arrived there, they saw two or three birds pecking at invisible goodies, but within fifteen seconds of the arrival of the big shopping bag, visible to birds for miles, the pelicans began to stream in, scores of healthy creatures flapping their big wings and landing in a cloud of sand close to the intruders. Before the first morsel of fish could be thrown out by Mrs. Scott, more than a hundred noisy pelicans had arrived, darkening the white sands and attracting observers in the surrounding condominiums.
When Mrs. Scott started throwing out bits of fish, two male helpers from the sanctuary did the same from less conspicuous containers, and soon the beach in front of the sanctuary was covered with birds while the sands in front of the condominiums were also well populated. Scott said: ‘Experts have tried to count a flock like this. They come up with something like a hundred and fifty pelicans, two hundred gulls.’
Suddenly he cried to the two helpers: ‘Over there! The one with the broken wing.’ The men threw down their feeding bags and dashed into the midst of the birds, focusing on a crippled bird who could not escape capture. Bringing him back to the spectators, they showed how some accident had broken the pelican’s left wing so badly that flight was impossible. ‘He’s one for the pens,’ Scott said. ‘The vets may be able to mend that one, but I doubt it.’
One of the Palms people, an elderly woman named Mrs. Goldbaum, asked in a whisper: ‘Mr. Scott, this is truly a wonder. Would I be allowed to move out among the birds? I might never again have a chance like this.’ He motioned to his wife: ‘Gloria, please take her out,’ and the two women, one so young and fresh, the other so old and wasted, moved slowly out into the middle of the pelicans. The birds edged away, of course, but not to any great distance, and when Mrs. Scott signaled for one of the helpers to fetch a stool, old Mrs. Goldbaum sat in the middle of a hundred pelicans, luring the birds to her with a few bits of fish until the bolder ones were eating from her fingertips.
For fifteen minutes or more she remained on her stool, conversing with her pelicans. When she finally signaled that she was ready to leave, the birds followed her back to the others.
On the ride home she sat next to Dr. Zorn and said: ‘One day like this is worth all the years we struggle to reach it, all the medicines, the operations, the nights without hope. Such a day, a hundred big birds coming to visit with you and eating from your fingers without biting you. I’m so glad you arranged this.’
That night, at about three in the morning, the signal bell at the watchman’s desk in Reception was activated, meaning that some resident was in trouble. Checking the source, the watchman found that it was Mrs. Goldbaum, who lived alone in a spacious apartment on the third floor. Her door had been left unlocked, and when he rushed in he saw Mrs. Goldbaum, dressed in her sleeping gown, lying dead on the floor. It looked as if she had suspected the approach of death and, after signaling for help, had unlatched the door so it would not have to be broken down to find her.
When Andy was summoned he found Scotch-taped to the inside of the door a check for ten thousand dollars made out to the Pelican Sanctuary and signed in a wavering hand ‘Rita Goldbaum.’
It was a paradox. One of the major reasons why couples moved into the Palms was to escape the tyranny of their adult children and the noisiness of their grandchildren. But the warmest and most rewarding days of the month came when some family with numerous grandchildren appeared for an informal reunion, and the chatter and laughter of children could again be heard. Then a sense of life throbbed through the place and the older people were reminded of what the grand march of life was: this endless cycle of the old growing older and their orderly replacement by the young. Such days gave the residents special joy.
Raúl Jiménez said: ‘The sound of children laughing is the echo of civilization,’ but his wife, Felicita, added: ‘And the wonderful part is that after dinner they go home.’
One couple had three charming granddaughters under the age of ten, and when they appeared with their two mothers, who looked like cover girls in their thirties, they were a quintet of beauties, with their lovely complexions and graceful manners. The residents enjoyed it when they visited, and some of the other grandmothers liked to stop by their table at dinner and compliment the little girls. ‘We wish you could be with us always,’ some of the women said, but the girls’ mothers, knowing what hellions their girls could be at home, replied: ‘We’re not sure you’d like it on a daily basis,’ and the girls’ grandmother, though she doted on them, had to agree.
Less pleasant was the visit of a man in his late forties. Lester Chubb was not married, at least not now, had no children of his own, and it was difficult to determine what he worked at, if he had a job at all. He came from Iowa to visit his widowed mother, and each appearance was something of a trial to both mother and son. It was believed by those who watched him that he visited only to keep in the good graces of his mother, who controlled the purse strings of the family. When Chubb was asked what he did, a question put to almost everyone at the Palms, he said that he looked after his mother’s interests, but she had already made it clear to friends that she had no financial interests in Iowa, that they were in the hands of a bank her husband had used in Chicago.
When, during one visit, Lester suggested rather strongly that his mother shift her account to an Iowa bank, she consulted with Senator Raborn, whom she regarded as a trustworthy conservat
ive: ‘One of my fears is that Lester—a fine boy, I’m proud of him—has never been good at handling his own accounts. Why would he do better with mine?’
When Raborn looked into the situation and asked a gentleman on the Senate banking committee to check into the two banks involved, his friend told him: ‘On a scale of one hundred, Chicago is about ninety-two, Iowa down around thirty-one,’ and he advised Mrs. Chubb to keep her money where it was. But after that rebuff, Lester did not come to visit anymore. His mother, fearing that her refusal had offended him, tried to appease him but he continued to sulk in Iowa and stayed away for an entire year.
It was a different story when the four Lewandowski children and their spouses and children descended on the Palms. The two sons and their wives and the two daughters with their husbands, all in middle age, presented a portrait of America at its best. One son was a full professor at Caltech; his brother, CEO of a major industrial company. One of the daughters was a professor at Wisconsin; the other, vice president of a computer firm. The spouses also had equally impressive careers, and all eight served on the boards of various educational, cultural and community political organizations. The four couples had nine children among them, making a total of nineteen family members when all the Lewandowskis gathered for a reunion with Maxim and Hilga. No one at the Palms was surprised that the children’s behavior was exemplary.
There were other families whose children and grandchildren were pleasant to have around and whose presence enhanced the Palms in various ways, especially the Grigsby children, three of whom played musical instruments and gave informal concerts when they visited.
All in all, children and grandchildren, whether exceptional or not, were equally appreciated, even if they did remind residents of their own mortality. ‘Well be gone,’ Felicita Jiménez said one evening after her family of six had departed, ‘but the Palms will still be here, and other grandchildren will be visiting. It’s quite reassuring, when you think of it.’
When a daughter of one couple at the Palms was killed along with her husband in a helicopter crash, their three teenage children were taken in by their grandparents for temporary shelter. They were so endearing that several residents asked Mr. Krenek: ‘Why can’t they remain here during the rest of the school year?’ but he wisely said: ‘We’re not geared for that kind of occupancy, not even for the Garbers.’
The visiting of young people was therapeutic for the older residents, for it prevented them from focusing entirely on themselves, but not all the visits were salutary. During the spring the children of the dancing Mallorys visited the Palms twice, the son and his wife, the daughter and her husband, accompanied by their children in their twenties and thirties. Their visits were curious, for when they were at the table with the elder Mallorys they ate in almost total silence or conversed only in grunts, but when they were with other residents and their parents were not present, they asked probing questions about the elder Mallorys. Enough comments were made about this odd behavior that Ken Krenek went to Dr. Zorn with his fears: ‘Andy, I’ve watched that Mallory brood and what I see I do not like.’
‘What are they up to?’
‘I’m not sure. I’m judging only from the fact that they’re an ugly gang, those children, and they do not wish the old folks well.’
‘Ken, we don’t deal in vague suspicions around here. Anything specific?’
‘I work on the averages. They resemble some others I’ve watched. Believe me, they mean our Mallorys no good. Keep an eye on them.’
Thus alerted, Zorn did watch the Mallory brood and the more he saw of them on that first visit, the more he distrusted them. On their second visit they continued ignoring their parents while visiting various businesses in Tampa. What business dealings the group was involved with, Zorn could not ascertain, but when they left Florida, Andy went to Krenek: ‘Ken, I’m satisfied you guessed right on those creeps. But the mystery remains. How could two people as delightful as the Mallorys produce children and grandchildren who seem to be such perfect boors?’
‘They’re worse than boors, Andy. That crowd is evil. You can see it in their eyes. You and I ought to warn the Mallorys. They’ll defend them, of course, but we might get some clues.’
Zorn did not relish prying into residents’ affairs, but Krenek was so disturbed that against his better judgment he allowed the interview to occur. It took place on the veranda overlooking the pool, and at first Mr. Mallory acted as if he did not know what the administrators were hinting at. All he would admit was that the children did not like the Palms and felt that their parents were being cheated financially, but from time to time Mrs. Mallory did indicate that she could understand why Krenek was asking these discomfiting questions.
‘The children have never been close to their father,’ she said at one point, much to her husband’s irritation. ‘They seem to resent him, and they certainly don’t like me at all. It’s as if they think I come between them and their father. Under the circumstances I certainly do.’
‘Esther! They’re your children, too.’
‘Yes, and I’m not proud of them. They have none of our joy of life. They grew up to be, God alone knows how, mean-spirited people, and I’d be content if they stopped visiting us. They bring no joy.’
Mr. Mallory stared at his wife, unable to belive that she had spoken so frankly to strangers, but when he started to rebuke her, she said: ‘I think of Dr. Andy and Mr. Krenek as my children much more than I do those others. You’re the ones, you two, who give me comfort and consolation these days, and it grieves me to say so.’
When the conversation ended, with the administrators having learned nothing substantial about the Mallory children, Krenek accompanied Zorn back to the latter’s office: ‘Andy, what she said there at the end—you and I are her children—she looks to us for support—I’ve seen this happen before. We’re here. We’re available. We can make things easier for them if they run into trouble. It’s a dangerous development, so please, don’t either of us do anything to increase that kind of identification with us. The children could develop a real complaint against us and move their parents out, even charge us with exerting undue pressure.’
‘That sounds improbable.’
‘Damn it all, we had two cases with the former administrator. Heart as big as a pumpkin, he listened to every complaint and did side with the old folks against their children. When they died—the old folks, that is—the kids found their parents had left him something in their will, and they went to court and had it upset. A messy affair, but it did look as if he’d exercised undue influence at the end.’
‘You’re a very suspicious guy, Krenek.’
‘No. It’s just that I have a very sensitive nose for garbage.’
The week after the second Mallory intrusion, the Palms had a much different kind of visitor, who restored confidence in relationships between generations. Laura Oliphant’s niece, Mildred Oliphant, aged forty and unmarried like her aunt, flew down for a three-day vacation at Laura’s insistence. Despite the difference in their ages, the two women looked alike: medium height, sharp-featured, aggressive but loath to speak unless vitally interested in the problem at hand. The younger Ms. Oliphant worked as a computer expert on the staff at Duke University Press and was helping move that distinguished outfit from old-style publishing into the new electronic systems.
When Dr. Zorn and Krenek dined with the two women, the younger Ms. Oliphant spoke at length and with considerable ardor about how her aunt had taken her in when she was orphaned, seen her through puberty and high school, and sent her on to college: ‘If there is a living saint, it’s this woman sitting here. What a difficult time she had with me. I hated the world. Felt that my mother’s death was a personal affront to me. Despised my teachers when they wanted to help me. Aunt Laura, no wonder you turned gray prematurely.’
After the younger woman’s long explanation of how they survived, emotionally and financially, Laura finally spoke: ‘In the middle of the Sturm and Drang when I was fee
ling sorry for myself a thought flashed through my mind: “The job of parents is not to browbeat a child into the kind of adult they would prefer, but to give the rebellious one all the love in the world and the encouragement to become the kind of productive human being the child aspires to become.” Later, I phrased it more simply: “It isn’t Mildred’s obligation to make me happy. It’s her job to make herself productive, in whatever that might be.” ’ She smiled at Mildred, reached out and clasped her hand and said: ‘After that it was easy, for all I did was allow her to become a wonderful, mature, emotionally free human being.’
The following night the residents were assembled after dinner to hear Mildred give a forty-minute talk on how Duke University was now publishing its books, and almost every step in the new processes she described astonished her listeners, including Zorn and Krenek. She was an excellent speaker as she explained the miracles of desktop publishing in which the word processor made obsolete a half-dozen cumbersome machines.
As they left the session, Krenek asked Zorn: ‘Wasn’t she fascinating? She presented her ideas so clearly and interestingly.’ He added: ‘Wasn’t she a nice change after those horrible Mallory kids?’
And then a cloud momentarily dulled the shining impression the young Ms. Oliphant had made. The Duchess received a letter from a friend on the faculty at Duke that contained startling news:
I understand that Mildred Oliphant, one of the stars at Duke, spent some time with her aunt at your establishment. She’s notable here for having been the first unmarried woman to bear a child out of wedlock. She not only kept the little girl and reared her with no outside help, but proceeded rather promptly to have a little boy by the same process but not necessarily the same father. It raised an enormous stink, but that was at the beginning of the drive for women’s equality, and Duke was afraid to fire her, because of lawsuits and possible campus marches.
But even hurricanes quiet down after the big blow, and the same happened here. If you take the North Carolina triangle of Duke, North Carolina, and N.C. State, I suspect you’d be able to find several cases of faculty women who are unconventional mothers and nobody worries about it anymore.
Recessional: A Novel Page 19
