(2012) The Court's Expert

by Richard Isham

  “Believe me, it’s not that at all. I truly admire your grit and self-reliance. It’s just that two cars traveling together may have a better chance, and the company of a friend out there in the muck might be a relief; what do you think?”

  “You have a point. Okay, it’s a deal, I’ll see you back here at 7:30, and we’ll discuss our plans.”

  Separating and walking to their respective work areas, Martorano reached his classroom with a few minutes to spare. Several students had already arrived, and more were walking into the room. This was gratifying to the “professor” because it would have been simple enough and seemed rather sensible for students to decide it was too dangerous to make the trip to campus in such weather conditions, thereby skipping today’s class entirely.

  Nonetheless, the class session was well attended, and every student appeared. Treacherous natural conditions tended to bring out the best in people, Martorano reflected. The class went briskly but did not break up until 7:45. Everyone disbursed quickly, and once Martorano was aware of the time, he nearly sprinted back to the cafeteria. He arrived just in time to see Maria putting on her jacket and picking up her books as though to leave. He rushed up to her and apologized for his tardiness. Maria’s expression of apprehension quickly faded, and she flashed her broadest smile.

  “I … I was afraid you might have forgotten …?”

  “I’m so sorry. The class lasted longer than I ever imagined. But I got here as quickly as possible,” he offered, still gasping following his dash from the classroom. “I think we’re both lucky even to have found the cafeteria. The fog tonight is terrible.”

  “You’re right, I’m afraid. I’ve been watching the fog since we separated this afternoon. It’s really ugly tonight. I don’t know how we’re going to make it home safely.” Maria’s countenance fell, and her gaze darted from Martorano to the floor.

  Martorano took this as a challenge. After all, he had been cast as the hero-protector character in this story and must now live up to his persona. He offered her a chair, and they sat down. He seemed engrossed in thought and then outlined a solution.

  “Look, I wouldn’t take these odds in Vegas where only money is involved, and I sure as hell won’t roll the dice with our lives at stake. We’re going to stay put tonight and make the trip tomorrow. It’s Saturday anyway, so no school. There’s a couch in the professor’s office where you can sleep, and I have camping gear in my truck that will work just fine for me. I sleep in my truck a lot it seems, and it’s quite comfortable, really!”

  “Oh, I just couldn’t do that,” Maria protested unconvincingly. “My parents would never understand, much less agree to it.”

  “Let’s find a telephone right now, and I’ll explain how safe this arrangement will be. Once they hear you’ll be warm and safe on campus, they’ll be grateful you’re not trying to make it home in this ugly pea soup. C’mon, we’ll find a phone in the quad, I’m pretty sure.”

  Maria knew exactly where the public telephone was, since she had already used it to call her parents twice today. She knew they would be worried sick over her travel home, even if her guardian angel was following in the next vehicle behind or leading the way. Everyone knew taking unnecessary chances in the fog was crazy. She led Martorano to the phone and then placed a call to her parents. She explained the foggy conditions. They understood very well since they could not see a thing at home in Tulare. As she explained the plan for bunking down on campus, she could sense eyebrows arching at the other end of the line. Truly, there was no better alternative, and her parents had great confidence in Martorano. Finally, her father asked if Martorano was present and able to talk with him. Maria handed him the receiver and whispered that her father wished to speak to him.

  What seemed to be a very short conversation ensued, and it ended with Maria gaining her father’s permission to stay the night in the professor’s office on his couch. It was understood, of course, that Martorano would sleep in his truck as he said he would. Maria was to call when she awoke in the morning, and further plans would be discussed. If necessary, the pair would stay in Fresno until noon or so and depart when conditions were optimal for the one-hour (in good weather conditions) trip home. Even at that time, it was assumed that the two would drive their vehicles together to Tulare.

  Returning to the cafeteria, they each had a bowl of meatball soup and some French bread to carry them through the night. They picked up their gear, and Martorano ushered Maria to her lodging for the evening. Once inside the office, he opened the couch into a daybed and made it up using sheets and blankets stored in a closet. Maria was amazed at the ease with which Martorano handled the bedding and made things ready for her. She momentarily thought about making light conversation about her mother tucking her into bed as a child but thought better of it. She did, nonetheless, make a comment that would change her life forever.

  “Mr. Martorano—”

  “Please call me Larry,” he interrupted.

  “Ah, very well,” she continued, “Larry, you’ve never talked about your family and Mrs. Martorano.”

  Without warning, his countenance froze suddenly, and he desperately began looking for a place to hide. He turned his face away from Maria, trying to prevent her from seeing the tears that were forming in the corners of both eyes. No use, the ruse did not work; there was no place to hide, and Maria took both of his hands ever so tenderly in hers.

  “Did I say something wrong?” she asked, sensing a possible trespass and not wanting to disappoint her hero.

  “No, no, no,” yet the tears gushed as never before in all his life.

  What seemed forever was really only about five minutes of upheaval, and Larry slowly regained his composure to a degree that permitted his chest cavity to relax and allowed him to speak again.

  “I’m very sorry,” he said. “This has never happened to me before. I certainly didn’t mean to upset you. You are such an angel, you know.”

  “I hardly think so, since I seem to have caused you all this grief,” she whispered in stunned awe. “Please, I don’t want to irritate you in any way. You are being so kind to me—really,” she added, almost pleading.

  “We have been very kind to one another. And now I realize there is a huge kindness you can do for me.” An uncontrollable hiccup punctuated the moment. “Please hear my answer to your question,” he said, still bleary eyed and disheveled.

  “If I’ve opened up something that I have no business hearing about, please tell me. You are entitled to your privacy, and these must be some very personal issues. But if talking about it would help, I’m not going anywhere tonight,” she whispered, gently and sincerely.

  Their eyes locked in a soulful gaze that transcended time and space, crystal blue meeting limpid brown. Deep meaningful communication signaled without verbal exchange. Larry sighed heavily, found the professor’s desk chair, seated himself, and rolled it alongside the couch where Maria now sat propped against a pillow.

  “This may take some time,” he volunteered with a heavy sigh.

  “I’m ready, and there’s no hurry,” she reassured him.

  “Where do I start? Okay, the beginning of this story takes place in Italy. My grandfather and one of his brothers decided to come to the New World to make their fortunes. And they did one hell of a great job. They were farmers, but the political system was tight in the old country, and the idea of unlimited resources with huge opportunities across the Atlantic was an irresistible magnet. They settled in the southeastern United States. Then my grandfather saved enough money to move to Los Angeles, where he farmed very successfully on hundreds of acres that later became new cities and suburbs. My father sold much of the family real estate to developers, and with the money he received, he had to decide what to do next. He knew about the San Joaquin Valley and saw it as a kind of last frontier, so he reinvested in many thousands of acres here. Lots of other farmers did the same thing. Orange growers moved to Tulare County where for a time Exeter, California, had more millionaires
per capita than Beverly Hills.

  “Our family didn’t grow citrus but most everything else, from cotton to grapes to row crops, you name it. We even tried some specialties or exotics until we learned the limits of the climate in the Valley. Almost anything grows here. My father kept his ties to the LA area and when it was time, I went to the University of Southern California to get my college degree. There were some agriculture courses, but the business school is what got my attention. I graduated with friendships that have lasted the rest of my life. That’s where I met my wife,” he said, starting to show some animation finally.

  “Anna, Anna, you know, pronounced the Russian way rather than in American English,. It’s a Russian name . Her ancestors left the old country just before the Bolshevik Revolution. They were aristocrats and Anna was in the USC School of Music when I met her. She was studying to be a concert pianist, very talented, but I took her away from all that. We were married right after graduation in a fabulous celebration in San Marino, you know, near Pasadena. Her folks could not have been nicer to me, and it didn’t take long for us to start our own family. We had two sons and two daughters and then called it quits for growing the family any more. We could not have been happier, although Anna was never big on coming to the Valley to see what made our livelihood. I didn’t mind, since I was so pleased with what she was building at home. She was a wonderful mother, and the kids responded appropriately; I mean, we had our challenges, but they all made it to adulthood in good shape.

  “Then suddenly …” his voice throttled down to a whisper. First, he filled his lungs and then heaved a long and heavy sigh, “Anna was killed in a botched holdup attempt.”

  Larry lost it entirely this time, making his earlier gut-wrenching tear liberation look like an early-season practice session. Now he verged on equaling the roar of the Kings River coursing through its namesake canyon in the Sierra Nevadas during spring runoff, a seeming inexhaustible source of water flow from a heavy snow pack accumulated during a very wet winter. His body shook and convulsed uncontrollably in a manner suggestive of the shaking of the massive granite walls of the Kings Canyon during runoffs. Maria gently surrounded his quaking upper body with her arms and welcomed his tormented head to her bosom. She began a rocking motion that seemed to comfort Larry immensely, and he slowly regained control of his breathing pattern. Impulsively, he embraced the source of his succor, and the couple remained locked in a silent swaying dance still seated on the day bed. Time and space were forgotten.

  What followed was an eruption of mysterious but powerful longings—each one’s need for contact and love from another. The couple in locked embrace tumbled onto the bed, and their closeness transformed to erotic exploration of the mate’s body contours. Outer garments were shed and then under ones, too. Emotions took flight, naturally and dazzlingly so. It was a conjugal and spiritual union of two mortals thirsting for deep emotional contract from one another, each bringing vastly different experiences to the exhilarating and fateful encounter, transforming them forever.

  The lovers were left exhausted and breathing heavily but liberated, each feeling a togetherness eradicating any lingering sense of emptiness from grief or loneliness. Breathing patterns relaxed. Larry found serenity in a way that had been unavailable to him for many years. For Maria, she felt sensations never experienced. Larry fell asleep in her arms, and she did her utmost to cover them both with the blankets before snuggling into his furry chest, cherishing her feeling of exquisite liberation and happiness.

  Maria slept peacefully, although she awoke frequently to take her bearings and pinch herself to see if this was only a dream. As the hours slipped away, she was willing to believe that she had fallen in love for the first time in her short life. Things would never be the same for her in any relationship. She began to wonder, then worry, that Larry would resent what happened, as it all originated with his willingness to share his deep emotions and open his soul so fully to her.

  She was still pondering the unanswerable question of why God made life so blessed and yet difficult to live, when opaque shades of daylight made their way into the room. Larry’s body gave a heave, and his breathing pattern changed again. He was waking. Would he be angry when he got his bearings and remembered what happened? Maria’s body began to tremble. Then the silence was broken.

  “You are so beautiful, angelina mia,” he whispered in even tones. He was anything but angry, maybe even amorous. Maria reached self-consciously for her blouse and once adequately covered placed her lips on his ear and kissed him tenderly.

  “I hope you’re not—”

  “No, no words” he encouraged, “and don’t be silly, I’m not upset. How could I be? But I had no business losing control like I did. I don’t know what I might say to make it right with you,” he added, delicately choosing his words. “My God, I had a lot buried inside, and I had no right to unleash all of that on you. If only I had known where our conversation might have led. It’s unfair to put such a load on you. And you were so gracious. You really are an angel, for certain.”

  “I’m a big girl and have no regrets. Your life has been so full and rich compared to mine that seems so simple. If I was of any help to you last night, all the better.”

  “You’ll never know how much you helped me, and I’ll never forget that, no matter what lies ahead,” he said, fixing his gaze upon her beautiful face. “If La Virgen de Guadalupe has a twin, I’ve just slept with her. You are woman, saint and angel all wrapped into one.”

  “You must still be trapped in your emotional grief over …” Maria was just beginning to form her thoughts when Larry reached for her arms and gently removed the blouse, exposing the full beauty of her torso and Greek-goddess breasts. He took her into his arms once again and held her close for many moments. Her head was swimming, but she did not resist. Indeed, she made valuable contributions to the ensuing act of love that Larry orchestrated masterfully, now liberated from the burdens of his tragic past. Again, they experienced the heaving, exhilaration beyond measure and joyous exhaustion before they were left lying side by side, waiting to recover normal pulse rates and some sense of reality, whatever that was.

  May the fog never lift, he silently intoned to the pagan god of the weather.

  Had Larry been a bit more pious, he might have heard the heavenly response: No dice, pal!

  He turned on his side to face Maria. “On the chance that we won’t be able to stay here forever, you might be interested to know there’s a small shower in the bathroom,” pointing to a door at the end of the bed. “You’re welcome to have the first shower while I gather up the linens and straighten things up a bit.”

  Maria was convinced and moved sprightly from the bed toward the bathroom, exposing the remainder of her now uncovered and uncommonly exquisite anatomy. Larry feasted on the graceful lines and beauty of her rump and legs. A finer piece of living human sculpture had not been created, he concluded. She disappeared like the angel she was, and Larry turned his attention to the mundane details of putting the office back in its proper order.

  Ten minutes later, Maria emerged from the bathroom with a towel hugging her very accepting body. She found her purse that contained some necessaries, including fresh underwear. A commuting college coed never knew when such things would be needed. Some deodorant and a comb surrendered to her from the bag, and Maria returned to the bathroom to use the mirror on the medicine cabinet. Another five minutes and Maria entered the office smiling and signaled Larry that he was free to take a shower now.

  Larry made directly for the shower, failing to close the door to the bathroom. Maria smiled wistfully and closed it after he was inside the miniature shower stall humming something she assumed was an aria from a Puccini opera. The opportunity for a musical discussion had not yet presented itself, but Maria knew a thing or two about classical music and really loved opera. Madame Butterfly, as chance would have it, was her favorite among the few that she was familiar with. She was hearing an aria from La Boheme as it turned out but
could not place it. There were so many wonderful scores that it was almost impossible to become acquainted with each one. That was, on the other hand, one of the intrigues of becoming an opera lover: so many scores, so little time. Over a lifetime, there would always be another score to study and appreciate.

  Larry came out of the bathroom fully dressed, but Maria could not figure out how that happened. Maybe she had been daydreaming while he was busy dressing. Anyway, he suggested they go to the cafeteria for breakfast and make plans for the drive to Tulare (for Maria) and on to Tipton (for himself). It was a deal, Maria agreed, chattering as they secured the office, but only if she could buy the meal. Larry demurred good naturedly enough all the way to the service counter.

  “In these parts of California,” Larry offered as an aficionado, “huevos rancheros are a safe bet.”

  “That’s my favorite breakfast,” Maria answered, “although I’ve never eaten them here. Actually, I’ve never been on campus this early in the morning.” As she looked toward Larry, she realized he was gazing out the window.

  “What are you seeing out there?” she asked.

  “It may be wishful thinking, but I believe the fog is lifting earlier than usual; although the way I feel now, that would be a disappointment.” Sure enough, a patch of blue sky and high clouds showed through the mist. Then it struck him. Clouds above the fog could foreshadow a storm system moving into the area. Still, this was good news because driving in a rainstorm was usually preferable to the fog. Visibility was always improved unless the storm was a gusher with downpours that exceeded the capacity of the vehicle’s windshield wipers to shed the flood of a squall.

  They took their meals on trays to a table and sat across from one another. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” Larry offered, “you navigated me through a dangerous passage of my past, and for that I’ll be eternally grateful, Maria.”