Spirit Me Away

by Aaron Paul Lazar

“Perfect,” Elsbeth said. “Can you sing ‘Edelweiss’?”

  Valerie grinned. “You’ve got it.”

  We both loved the movie and had gone to see it at the cinema several times, at the dollar matinee, of course. It had come out four years earlier, but they kept offering it at the local theaters because everyone, from kids to grandmothers, loved it so much. Who didn’t love Julie Andrews, the dashing Captain von Trapp, and his adorable brood of kids?

  Wiley helped out around the apartment until he could find a job to earn some money. He washed dishes, swabbed the floors, and even did our laundry. I glanced into the living room, where he and Lana sat together on the couch, holding hands and looking deeply into each other’s eyes. Elsbeth continued to bustle around the kitchen, flashing smiles at me over her shoulder. She looked radiant, and I had a sudden vision of her in the future, cooking for me and our little one.

  My wife had found a part-time position with Admissions in the Conservatory, and I earned some extra cash working in the Conservatory library. Valerie got a full time job at a donut shop on Mass Ave. The manager, a bold young man of twenty-three, paid her cash under the table since she had no identification or social security card. It was against the law, but he needed help, and she needed money.

  I made up the work in Music Theory I’d missed while dealing with the kidnappings, and had actually pulled up my grade. I’d been lucky to earn a C, but realized that there was more to life than grades and let it go. At this point, I was just happy to pass the class when it ended in the fourth week of July. I’d also given piano lessons to beginners for the summer and brought in a few dollars to help with the rent.

  Elsbeth rubbed her hands over the apron she wore around her waist. She smiled at me again, a secret-sweet glowing smile that had to do with her impending motherhood. She’d started to show a little bit.

  Earlier in the day, she’d visited the public market and bought a netted bag of onions, two purple eggplants, a bag of new red potatoes, eight pieces of flounder, dill greens, peaches, and some apple cider. The aromas were tantalizing.

  “Almost ready. Wanna set the table?”

  I smiled, pulled myself from my reverie, and began to set out the plates and silverware. It would be nice tonight. The whole gang was home for a change, and we’d all be able to eat together.

  Everyone gathered when the fish was laid onto its platter with fresh dill and lemon slices. Wiley, Lana, Byron, Valerie, and Porter settled into their chairs and started passing food around. Elsbeth and I ferried the dishes from the stove to the table and filled everyone’s glasses with ice and water.

  The conversation was lively with everyday topics of music, local news, and politics. We purposely avoided the subject of kidnapping, white slavers, rape, and war.

  Porter filled us in on the diner’s progress. “The drywall’s going up Monday. We’re shooting for a grand opening Labor Day weekend.”

  Valerie poured herself another glass of water and beamed at him. “That’s gonna feel really good, isn’t it? Everyone’s missed the diner so much. Especially me. I’d die for a cup of your dad’s coffee, Porter.”

  I tried not to smile when Elsbeth spooned out the Postum into seven cups. She added boiling water and handed them out one by one. We dove into the dessert of peach shortcake and vanilla bean ice cream. Wiley rolled his eyes with appreciation and gobbled it all down like a hungry basset hound.

  I scooped my last bite of the warm dessert and sighed. “Elsbeth, you outdid yourself, honey. That was fantastic.”

  Murmurs of agreement floated around the table.

  Wiley licked his fingers and reached for another helping of dessert. “Yeah. Wow. You sure as hell can cook, Miss Elsbeth.”

  I wanted to unbuckle my belt, but resisted. I didn’t want to embarrass my wife after all the work she’d gone through. She detested that man-habit with a passion.

  She blushed, pushed a braid back from her shoulder, and smiled. “Thanks. Now, who wants more Postum?”

  No one said a word.

  Valerie jumped up. “I’ll get it, Elsbeth. You tell them about our idea.” She winked at my wife and exchanged an excited, conspiratorial look.

  Porter stood and started to gather dirty dishes. “What idea?”

  Elsbeth took a deep breath and smiled. “Woodstock. Valerie and I still want to go.”

  My heart fell to my feet, and my face tightened to a mask. “Alone?”

  Elsbeth saw my eyes harden and visibly flinched.

  I’d be damned if I let her attend another rock concert or festival alone. To her dismay, I still walked her to work and back every day, and woke to dreams of Nate snatching her out of our bed.

  “No, honey.” She shot me a reprimanding look. “Of course not. We want everyone to go. The whole gang.”

  Lana uttered a throaty laugh and stretched her hand toward Wiley. “That could be a gas, baby.”

  Wiley’s face turned deep red, but he took her hand and squeezed it. Elsbeth was sure that they’d fallen for each other and wondered when they’d both admit it.

  Valerie returned to the table with the Postum and teakettle. “My friend at work’s selling me his van. I’m getting it really cheap, for sixty-five bucks. It’s so cool, it’s painted psychedelic colors and it has shag rugs in the back with cute little curtains.”

  “Really?” I looked hard at Valerie. “Does it run? Is it mechanically sound?”

  She laughed. “Of course it does, silly. He drives it to work every day. He even put a new water pump in it for me. The tires aren’t great, but I won’t have to worry about that ‘til winter.”

  Porter looked jealous. “How can you register it, Valerie? Did you think of that?”

  She grimaced as if it were a pesky detail, then batted her eyes at him. “Well, now, honey. How about we put it in your name?”

  Porter flushed with pleasure, lowering his eyes. It was the first time she’d called him honey, at least in front of us. He stuttered. “Well, uh. Okay. If you want to.”

  Elsbeth grinned. “Great. Then it’s all set. We can borrow camping gear from my friend at the office. She’s got a big tent, a camp stove, a cooler, the works! I took over for her shifts for the last three Saturdays, so she’s happy to lend the stuff to us to pay me back.”

  I felt cornered, and I didn’t like it. I wasn’t too keen on joining masses of thronging hippies in a far away field in New York, but I didn’t want to be the one to throw a wet blanket on the party, either.

  Elsbeth looked at me with a challenge in her eyes. “Gus? Are you in?”

  Aw, the heck with it.

  I nodded slowly. “Sure. Sounds like fun, sweetie. Long as you’re still feeling okay.”

  She laughed her tinkling wind-chime laugh. “Oh, Gus. I’m just pregnant, I’m not sick. For heaven’s sakes.”

  I laughed, too. I knew I worried too much, and wondered if it would be a perpetual condition ‘til the day I died.

  “Okay, then. Let’s do it. It’s high time we had a vacation, anyway.”

  Chapter 57

  We piled into Valerie’s van on Thursday morning, August 14th. Covered with fluorescent orange, yellow, and lime green drawings, it sported swirling words spelling “Free Love,” “Peace” and “End the War.” We took turns driving. By the time we’d joined the traffic jam on Route 17B, I was at the wheel. We crawled along at thirty-five mph for the last hour.

  At two in the afternoon, we finally reached the country roads leading to Max Yasgur’s farm in Bethel, New York. Hundreds of cars, vans, and motorcycles were abandoned in the middle of the road, completely blocking the way. Hordes of hippies emerged from psychedelic vans like ours and streamed toward the farm. We parked the van in a field near a white farmhouse, gathered our camping stuff, and started to walk.

  “Elsbeth?” I said.

  We followed the surging crowd side by side.

  Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “Yes, honey?”

  “Aren’t we a full day early? Why are there so many people h
ere already?”

  She bobbed her head enthusiastically. “Yup, we are early. And look at the crowds, Gus. This is a real happening, isn’t it? The music doesn’t start until tomorrow night around five. Can you believe how many folks are here already?”

  She and Valerie exchanged glances and laughed out loud. Their excited giggles bordered on hysteria. “It’s fantastic,” Valerie shouted. She twirled, spread her arms wide, and smiled up at the sky.

  It was good to see her so happy. She hadn’t remembered any more about her tortured past—even the trauma of the abduction hadn’t shaken loose any more memories. But sometimes, I thought it was a good thing. So far, most of what had come back to her had been awful.

  Porter and I carried the heavy cooler. We walked for an hour, then paused for a break. I wiped the perspiration from my brow and looked back over the road we’d just traveled. I calculated that we’d walked about three miles. The road and crowds in the distance seemed to go on for at least several more miles.

  Some groups were laden with supplies, like ours. Others walked blithely along with nothing in hand. I hoped there would be food for sale for those slackers.

  I looked up when two army helicopters buzzed overhead, then checked Porter to be sure he didn’t freak out.

  Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to notice. The man was so in love with Valerie, it seemed to distract him from his traumas.

  I hoped I was right.

  We heard they’d be bringing in the musical talent with helicopters, too. I imagined it would be the only way to get the acts through the crowds.

  “My feet hurt,” Lana said, leaning on Wiley. She slipped off a shoe and massaged her foot. The girl had been carrying four aluminum camp chairs and her backpack. True to form, she wore patent leather pointy shoes, an oversized tie-dyed tee shirt tied in a knot at her waist, and fringed jean shorts. Her hair was braided in two sleek, black plaits. She’d plucked wild daisies from the roadside and had slipped one into each pigtail.

  “We’re almost there, sweetie,” Elsbeth said, nodding to Lana. She shifted her backpack filled with paper goods and cookware, and moved the Coleman stove from her right to left side.

  Valerie carried sleeping bags and Wiley balanced the heavy canvas tent on his shoulder. Byron had draped himself with plastic ponchos and towels, and pulled a small wagon loaded with eight gallons of water and more sleeping bags piled on top. We each carried a backpack with our own personal items. I had a sneaking suspicion that I’d be glad I packed extra food in mine, and that we, at least, would be prepared for four days of meals.

  Valerie and Elsbeth walked together now, leading the way. They both wore long, flowered dresses, garlands of hand-twisted field daisies and buttercups in their hair, and tinted granny glasses. When we reached the farm and moved through the open fields, I realized no one was taking tickets. How could they? The crowds poured onto the property from everywhere, and I figured it would be impossible to set up a gate. This concert was going to be open to the world.

  We tripped along the muddy field, looking for a spot to pitch our tent. Wiley was the one who staked a claim on a hill where we could see the distant stage. It was perfect.

  We set up the tent with a lot of fumbling and laughter. Finally, the thing stayed up, and we laid out our sleeping bags and personal items inside. The scent of hashish and marijuana wafted toward us, cloying to our hair and clothes.

  Crowds of stoned kids stumbled and danced past our campsite. With red eyes, they smiled freely, their words peppered with “Heavy,” and “Peace, man,” as they sashayed along and leaned on each other’s shoulders.

  A man and woman made love on the blanket beside our tent, with barely a thin blanket to hide them. Seven young women stripped off their shirts and began to dance braless in a hedonistic circle around a small campfire next to our campsite. Wiley stared at them, openmouthed. Porter and I exchanged surprised glances, then busied ourselves with the campsite before we got in trouble.

  A pond shimmered in the distance, filled with nude bathers cavorting in the water. I surveyed the crowded hillside, watching long lines of people who continued to swarm onto the property. Beyond the stage was a line of blue portable johns. A long line waited in front of each of the plastic latrines. The woods seemed closer. I looked toward the trees and decided I’d rather find a quiet spot in there than use the smelly plastic huts.

  “Isn’t it exciting?” Elsbeth said, leaning on my shoulder. She slipped an arm around my waist.

  I’d taken off my shirt and wore only cutoff chinos. Although clouds threatened from the north, I was sweltering after setting up camp.

  A gray-bearded man in his sixties came by with a wheelbarrow full of trinkets. He held up strings of beads. “Just three bucks each,” he called. “Love beads. C’mon man, buy some for your lady.”

  Elsbeth looked at me with doe eyes, smiling sweetly. “I love the orange ones, honey.”

  I smiled indulgently. “Why don’t you pick out a couple?”

  She poured through the strands and selected two necklaces of blue and orange. Slipping the blue beads over my head, she donned the orange string.

  By the time Friday evening arrived, drugs were being openly bought and sold.

  “Mescaline, only a buck,” a hawker yelled from his spot beside the tent set up as a hospital.

  Dozens of people had been treated for cut feet because of the broken glass and cans littering the ground. Rumors exploded around the camp about the bad purple acid and the birth of a baby. There was a special tent set up in the distance for kids on bad trips, called the “Freak Out Tent.” Warnings had passed through the crowds about watermelon and Koolaid being handed out for free that was supposedly laced with brown acid—the bad stuff.

  Richie Havens started the show with a selection of familiar songs. He sang his own version of “Hey Jude” and “Strawberry Fields Forever” and three hours later, ended with “Freedom.” Although we really couldn’t see the performers, the speakers sent waves of sound over the hills for miles.

  Valerie, Porter, Lana, Wiley, and even Byron had been experimenting with the free flowing drugs and alcohol passing from hand to hand. Elsbeth resisted, but there was a look in her eyes that told me she wished she wasn’t pregnant so she could try them. She inhaled the aromas greedily and reached for a bottle of wine just as a clap of thunder rolled in the distance.

  “Honey? Don’t you think that might be bad for the baby?” I said, trying not to sound too judgmental.

  Her eyes widened and she put a protective hand over her abdomen. “Oh, Lord, Gus. Do you think so?”

  “I don’t know. I just heard something about it a while back.” I put my arm around her shoulders and nuzzled her ear.

  Fat rain drops had begun to fall from the sky. My friends reached for their ponchos, pulled them over their heads, and continued to party in the rain.

  “Maybe I’d best keep to all natural stuff, no alcohol. It’s probably safer for the baby.”

  “Good. I won’t drink either. It’ll make it easier for you.”

  “Thanks.” She put both arms around my neck, lifted her face to mine, and kissed me softly. Rain splashed on our faces. “Mr. LeGarde, what say we go to bed early, before these goons invade the tent?”

  I grinned and carried her into the tent to the sounds of Joan Baez singing, “We Shall Overcome.”

  Chapter 58

  Our plan failed. The thunderstorm let loose with fury and the entire clan clamored into the tent just as I lowered Elsbeth onto our double sleeping bag.

  “Bloody weather,” Byron yelled, shaking off the rain. He shrugged out of his poncho and hooked it onto the side of the tent, where it dripped onto the canvas floor.

  Lana and Wiley laughed and scurried to their corner. They grabbed a towel and began to dry off. Valerie and Porter plopped onto the foot of our sleeping bag. She curled onto his lap and he encircled her with his arms. I still couldn’t believe that the helicopters and thunder hadn’t set him off. There was something abou
t the gentle love in Valerie’s fragile heart that seemed to reach deep into his tortured soul and mend it, stitch by stitch. And there was that tortured heart under her sweet façade, too. The girl had been through hell and back, and yet she showed little bitterness for the train wreck that was her life. Something told me that in time, with friends to help and love them, with the new virtue they found in their pure love, they would be okay.

  I hoped I was right.

  Before we had a chance to protest, four young girls poked their heads into the tent and begged to come inside. “It’s pouring out here. Can we please come in?”

  Valerie answered for all of us, gesturing them inside with a wide sweep of her arm “Of course! Come on in, girls.”

  Another three followed, and then another, until the entire tent was packed with dripping hippies.

  I couldn’t help but think of all these young girls and how some of them could have been kidnapped by that bunch of villains who stole and sold young girls to the highest bidders back in Boston and across the eastern seaboard. I still couldn’t believe it was real.

  How did people like that live with themselves? If you could even call them people. More like fiends on Earth. I was just glad that the Boston ring had been caught, and that many tentacles around the world had been implicated and were now being prosecuted.

  It was all thanks to Wiley, really. He’d been the key.

  For three hours it poured outside the tent and our space was not our own. Finally, when the rain stopped, our guests wandered out to the sloshy, muddy fields to find their way back to their own camps. We fell asleep in the damp flannel of our sleeping bags.

  On Saturday morning I woke to the sound of Byron unzipping the tent door. He carried a mug of tea in his hands and slumped down beside us with a mournful look on his face.

  I tried to slide out of the sleeping bag without waking Elsbeth, but she moaned and started to stretch.

  “Byron? Buddy? What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  He set the tea down on the floor of the tent and looked up at us with a miserable expression. “I just saw someone die.”