The Party
You have arrived at my beginning and my end. My high and low tides. I am throwing a party for my family and friends. They all seem to be having a good time. My niece, Laurel is clucking over her new baby - her fourth. The woman is an incubator on legs. Her husband, Neil is over by the barbecue were the bulk of the men have gathered to talk sports and cars. Neil knows nothing about either. He is a computer geek but he does try. Laurel doesn't try. She never has. All she ever wanted out of life was a husband and lots of babies. It's a life beyond my realm of comprehension.
My older niece, Paula, is looking very bored, I'm delighted to see. She'd rather be off having adventures. Unmarried and I suspect a lesbian, she is a marine biologist of some note. She is here, I hope, simply out of respect for me. I'm flattered. When I die, almost everything will go to her. I fear that might be a waste. She will probably liquidate everything to cover the costs of her research. It will, however, infuriate the remainder of the family which pleases me.
My brother is dead. I'd like to say he'd had a good life before he dropped of a heart attack cutting the lawn, but I'm not sure he did. He found his daughter Laurel boring and yet couldn't understand his daughter Paula at all. William was a school teacher. It was thanks to his hard work that Laurel managed to graduate from highschool. Paula never needed help in school. She skipped two grades probably more a result of sheer hard work and bloody determination than brilliance. William to my knowledge only had one moment of carefree adventure. He paid dearly for it. That's what comes from having a conscience and no balls.
My sister-in-law, Agatha, is still alive. She is the one over there, dominating a group of women who are, under her command, setting up the luncheon. It's moments like this when I'm reminded of the important role of religion in our society. The moral code it installs with a hefty dose of guilt prevents bossy people like Agatha from being brutally murdered by her own kin. Agatha, was left with a beautiful house and a good pension plan having worked poor, stupid William into an early grave. Paula inherited her mother's grim determination but not her aggressiveness. Laurel inherited Agatha's stupidity and the programming to be just like her. Poor Neil.
A thunderous herd of great nieces, nephews and cousins, thankfully several times removed, are off playing in the scrub and sand dunes beyond the garden where I had the good sense to have, Earl, my long suffering cousin, set up games for them. Children are wonderful things - from a distance.
Earl is doing his best to see that things run smoothly. So far he's put the badminton net up twice, rescued little Amy, Laurel's second, from the gold fish pond and got the barbecue going. He is a good man. Earl never married, never dated, and never had sex with anyone but himself as far as I know. If he wasn't a Protestant, he'd have made a great priest. He is an elder in his church. It's one of those nondenominational churches where everyone is happy and helpful and a little confused about what it is they believe.
My family bought this rambling Queen Anne home on the coast of Newfoundland in the late 1960s. It has been a summer gathering place of the clan ever since. It's a beautiful home that sits on a bluff over the sea. It had once belonged to a wealthy sea merchant and had fallen into disrepair but my family had restored it and maintained it, so that it's a real jewel of a home. It's white clapped cedar with a widow's walk off the tower room, a porch that curves around two sides of the house and over looks the sea and lots of gingerbread trim. The fields around are covered in tall grass and wild flowers in the summer and beyond the split rail fence the land becomes scrub oak that touch the base of the mountain range a few miles inland. Below the bluff is a stone beach that curves into a narrow but deep harbour where we have a jetty and boathouse. An excellent salmon river runs through the property and it's not unusual to see moose, bear or even the occasional caribou. The sea cliffs are home to puffins, gammets, murres and gulls and exciting sightings of Pilot, Humpback, Fin and Killer whales were common. There are a hundred acres in all and I have hiked over every inch of it over the years and love each inch dearly. I have travelled the world but this is home. When I retired, I came to live here and although the winters are harsh, I have never regretted my decision. I make my way over to the refreshment table where Paula is standing nursing a beer and reach for straw for my can of iced tea.
“I don't like those straight straws,” I say to Paula. “I like the ones that bend. I like my life a bit kinky.”
Paula laughs and gives me a hug. “You are one neat lady.”
“And you hug like a bear trap. Let go. These bones are fragile. What do you do, wrestle sharks in your spare time?”
“Only when I can't find a giant squid to take on. Are you enjoying your birthday party?”
“Of course not. These things are hideous but necessary. Are you?” I ask suspiciously, hoping I hadn't misjudged my niece.
“I'm bored stiff.”
“Good. Misery loves company. I have hopes for Amy. Already, she has tried to catch a gold fish in her sock, has fallen out of the pear tree and has bit her cousin Arnold, who is a particularly nasty bit of goods. You must keep an eye on her for me.”
“Why can't you?” I see concern in Paula's blue eyes.
“Let's go for a walk down on the beach. The tide is on the turn and I have a long story I want to tell you. I do love the ocean.”
Paula smiled. “Me too.”
“Yes dear, but I like the top of it not the bottom.”
Paula laughs, links her arm in mine and we walk down to the beach. This is the story of my voyage. In looking back, I think I travelled on a number of ships. The first, was in letters.
Chapter One: Letters Across the Sea
We are the sea. There we evolved drifting along restless currents until we were washed onto up-heavals - hot rocks. The primeval sperm swimming in - land. We fought for survival. We still fight. The sea is within us now. Every cell and drop of blood contains the salt water of our existence. We ride the inner currents.
1939
1939. Three and nine are lucky numbers. Numerology. Mythology. Three represents interaction and communication - a neutrality of thought. Chamberlain's peace in our time. Nine is completion. The coming together of events. Fate. One is the individual. The Aggressor.
I was born in 1939. Just in time for the war. I lived through five years of air raids, death and hate. Of this, I remember nothing or nearly nothing. I remember the screams of the air raid sirens and the dampness of the bomb shelter. Wet dreams. Screams. Life - and death.
What I know of those years, I learned from the letters between my mother and aunt. Aunt Beth lived in the United States of America. She had married an oilman from California. My mother stayed in England and scandalized the family by running away with the milk man and marrying well below her station in life. She was in love with Errol Flynn in Robin Hood and Henry Fonda in Jezabel but it was Harry Cunningham who had delivered and so she had married him. My aunt and mother lived an ocean a part pulled by the tides of passion and fate, their lives followed separate currents.
Dear Beth,
I have lots of news. Harry has gone and joined the navy! I wasn't keen as there is talk of war but Harry said that Britain rules the waves. He feels there is more opportunity for him in the navy to learn some skills so that he can better care for baby and me. He might not come from a good background or have much education but he is a fine man. Baby is doing well. Harry said he will miss us both while he is away doing his training but you know men. They are not going to change or wash diapers or do two o'clock feedings. Harry is hoping he'll be stationed nearby as we are so close to the coast.
I just read that the Irish poet Yeats has died. Do you remember having to memorize the Fisherman in boarding school, Beth? I can still remember it. “Although you hide in the ebb and flow of the pale tide when the moon has set, the people of coming days will know about the casting out of my net -” It seems like the age we were born into is dying. God knows what sea our nets will be cast in. I bet you never thought you'd be living in California with an American husband. Fancy that! Old Mrs. Peerage said just the other day things haven't been the same since The Great War. Harry said not to worry about Hitler and Mussolini that they have enough to occupy themselves with in Europe.
Baby has just filled her diaper so I'll have to go. I hope all is well in America. Gladis at the pub said she had relatives in Arizonia. Do you know them? Their names are Roy and Irene Basincourt.
Love Vivian
Dear Vivian,
I'm so glad that Baby Jackie is doing well. Imagine her crawling already! That one will be a handful in a year or so. Fancy Harry being assigned to the HMS Hood. I was telling Peter that she is the pride of the Royal Navy. He'll be safe on her, I'm sure.
America is staying well out of all this, I'm glad to say. One World War was enough! Mind you, Peter is worried. Men understand these things better than us woman I suppose. He tells me that Hitler has gone into Czechoslovakia and that Mussolini is in Albania. Where is Albania?
Peter tells me that he read that we'll be using something called atomic energy to run cars in the future. He said that's not good news for the oil industry. The American, Enrico Fermi was at a physics conference and announced that some German called Otto Hahn has made some sort of atomic explosion. I hope Hitler doesn't find out about this but Peter said not to worry that Fermi believes it will be at least twenty years or so before this new energy has any practical use. I think it's made from rocks like coal. Such modern times we live in! I was just reading that the American aeroplane, the Yankee Clipper, is going to do regular flights across the Atlantic. You'd have to be very brave to do that! I can't see people using the service. It's only a few weeks by boat and far safer and more comfortable.
Have you seen the movie picture Stagecoach? It's a western with a new star called John Wayne. He's just what you'd imagine an American cowboy to be. Peter said that he's not really a new star that he's been in lots of movies before but I've never heard of him until now. And I think I would have!
Fancy you meeting up with Dale. You two were as thick as thieves when you were in your teens. I never could figure why you had a falling out. So she's not married and is in the RAF. Signal Corps didn't you write? Well, she was a smart one having lived so much on the continent. Her mother was French, wasn't she? Her father was with the Foreign Service, I think. Yes, I imagine she did look dashing in her uniform. She was striking even as a teen. Not beautiful by any means but she had a presence like that Wallis for who the King abdicated. Women in the armed forces, it's a changing world. Of course, they are not soldiers just support staff. I'm surprised that Baby Jackie took to her so well and didn't make strange. I never thought Dale was the maternal type but still waters run deep.
I'm going to send you some of these new “nylons”. They look just like silk stockings but they are so much cheaper. We'll all look top drawer!
Do take care,
Love Beth
So this is my early life. It's two dimensional on bits of folded paper yet between the lines run deep currents of change. I fill my diaper, cry when my daddy leaves, play with Dale, unaware that I am now flotsam on the sea of life. My father was a sailor. My mother wrote. Here is what she wrote.
Dear Beth,
Your letter was just filled with interesting news. With having a baby I'm afraid I haven't been keeping up on things. Also Harry is home at the moment on leave and you know how demanding men are.
Fancy the Daughters of the American Constitution, (are they like the Women's Institute?) Not allowing the opera singer Marian Anderson to sing at Constitutional Hall just because she is a darky. Harry loves American jazz. He is a big fan of Duke Ellington. Harry says that colour doesn't matter. They are men just like him. I suppose he is right. I can't say for sure I've never met one.
And Peter is taking you to the New York World's Fair! How exciting! The King is going you know. I would love to see New York. How lucky you are but what a long train trip it will be!
Thank you for sending the beautiful clothes for Jackie. Money is so tight at the moment and the economy so bad. The government insists we are coming out of this depression but I don't see it. At least Peter is in a business that is growing. He is a real American go-getter, Harry said. I was reading your letter to him about how Peter has formed his own drilling company and is looking for oil in Texas. I wonder if he'll find any there.
Jackie is crawling and is into everything! She is trying to stand now. She'll be walking soon. She doesn't want to be carried. She wants to be getting into things. What a child!
All our love,
Vivian
Dear Vivian,
Just a small note from New York. As you can tell from the letter head, we are staying at the Ritz! Peter's company is paying for it because he is here on business for a few days. We've been on Broadway and gone up the Empire State Building. I was ever so scared. We also saw them working on the new Rockefeller Centre. Unfortunately, we'll have left New York before it officially opens.
There has been a big Nazi rally at Madison Square Gardens. Some 20,000 Americans were there. It makes me ashamed. It's this Jewish thing, I'm afraid. They are trying to get out of Europe and we can only take so many. It's not like this is their country. Even Cuba has sent a boat load of them packing this week. There were 907 Jews on board, 400 women and children. But like us, Cuba can't take anymore. Peter said that some have committed suicide when they found out their ship was going to be sent back to Europe. I feels sorry for them but what can one do? They are Europeans and they'll just have to make their peace with Hitler.
Have you seen Gone with the Wind? You must! It stars Clark Gable, Olivia D'Havilland, Leslie Howard and Vivian Leigh. It's simply wonderful! Even Peter liked it and usually he only wants to see a western. Mind you, it was based around the civil war and men like that sort of thing. I'm going to enclose a few pound notes so that you and Harry can have a night out and see the flick.
Imagine Jackie walking already. She is very advanced for her age. So sorry she is going to have a bit of a scar on her forehead from falling on the fire grate. At least there was no real damage to her head. And yes, let's hope it knocked some sense in to her and she slows down a bit.
All the best from New York City!
Beth
I'm the bastard. The unwanted child. The odd number out. I was born on the sixth of June, but my birthday was always celebrated on September 6 th , so that my parents could say I was a honeymoon baby. In the fission and fusion of birth, I loss four months of my existence. I explode onto the world respectable if four months old. The neighbours thought me very advanced for my age.
My parents grow poorer. My aunt richer. The tides of life move on. Their high watermarks recorded in neat boarding school script, folded, stamped and shipped across increasingly troubled waters.
Dear Beth,
Today Britain and France have declared war on Germany. God help us! But something had to be done. This Hitler and his mate Mussolini are simply bullies. Harry is at sea. I don't know where. Loose lips sink ships so we can't talk about his work at sea. I hope he is all right. I know mommy and daddy felt I could do much better than Harry but he has treated me right. And with me in the family way, Harry felt it was only proper we get married. By going to stay with his parents up in Liverpool, I think we managed to avoid any talk. It was hard enough the way mommy and daddy carried on about what a disgrace I was for getting in a family way and with a man they felt was common.
At least you married well which must please them even if you did marry an American. I'm so glad to hear about Peter's promotion. It was very kind of Peter to offer Harry a job in California. Maybe when this war is over, we'll immigrate, although, I'd worry about leaving mommy and daddy behind. They are getting older. Not that they particularly want to see Harry and me. The neighbours might ask embarrassing questions. Fortunately, they are far enough out in the country that their area should not be a target if there is bombing. While, Harry is at sea, Jackie and I are moving to London. Dale has a family home there that she said we could use. Her parents are currently in Hong Kong with the Foreign Service. It will certainly help us financially. I'm going to be the house keeper so I'll be earning a little bit and getting room and board. Dale is gone again. Naturally, I have no idea where. She looked thinner and so stressed. I guess we all are. I'll send you my new address as soon as I can.
Love Beth
Dear Vivian,
Peter said it's a good thing that you are getting out of Liverpool. Ports are always major targets in a war. London is a port too, I know, but you are not so close to the docks so that is good. This sounds like a good arrangement and it was kind of Dale. Mind you, her family can afford it! Still, I hate to think that my sister has to work. You are so brave. It's that stiff upper lip that the British have in the rough times that is helping you get through this difficult time.
Peter's company has just signed a huge deal with King Ibn Saud. (what a name!) It's quite the coup for America as Italy, Britain, France and Japan were all making offers. Our offer really was not as good but King Saud decided to sign an oil concession for the whole of Saudi Arabia to Standard Oil because he felt that America was the only country that didn't have a political agenda.
President Roosevelt has said that America will stay neutral in this war. The American people just want no part of it. Are you sure you and baby wouldn't be safer here? I know you are concerned about the trip over, but who knows what will happen with this war. I mean, what if it's terrible like The Great War? You know you are welcome here.
Love,
Beth
PS Use some of the money I've enclosed to see Mr. Smith Goes to Washington with Jimmy Stewart. It's ever so funny.
1940
We are at war - again. A baby, I float blissfully on an emotional sea of chaos. The sea churns and heaves throwing humanity, morality, and dignity on the rocks. We have come from the sea and have spread onto the earth and into the sky. Sharks. Hunting in packs. Killing for territory. We follow our natural instincts to flee or fight. My mother and I flee. We run to the bomb shelter in the street. In the morning, the kids collect the empty gun casing of brass. I'm given some. They are bright and shiny and rattle. War is fascinating.
Dear Beth,
I'm afraid there is no good news. No one can seem to stop the Germans although the Fins are putting up a strong resistance. Poor buggers. Dale was home on leave for a few weeks. She had broken her arm. She said she fell down a flight of stairs but I think there might be more to the story than that. We had a good time taking Jackie for a stroll in the park or going to the cinema. It's nice to snatch moments away from the war.
Mom and dad are doing okay. They have extended their garden and are selling their extra vegetables to the neighbours. You know what organizers and hard workers they are.
I got a letter from Harry. The first in several months. It's only a page, Harry isn't much of a writer, and some of that was blacked out by sensors. He said he is fine and enjoying the navy and not to worry. It's hard not to though.
Jackie is well and I get extra ration coupons because of the baby. It's still hard to manage, but we do. She's into everything now. What a handful!
I guess these must be stressful times for the oil industry. Poor Peter. Still, it's wonderful news that he has hit oil several times now and is doing so well. You are the lucky ones, but I know Peter and you have worked hard for your success. As always, thank you for helping me out. You and Peter are wonderful. It's a lot more than I can expect from Mom and Dad who can barely be civil to me and totally ignore Jackie.
Love Always, Vivian
Dear Vivian,
I've just seen Henry Fonda in Grapes of Wrath. It's ever so good. You must try to see it. I thought a night out would do Peter good. He has so much strain at work. He is now a vice-president in charge of exploration so he is often away. So we have that in common, we are both work-widows.
Peter is so upset because Phillip Nowlan has had a stroke and died. He was the creator of that Buck Rodgers series. Peter is such a fan! He believes that we will have rockets someday and live on other planets. Men can believe in the silliest of things. I told him, we can't even manage our own world, we hardly need more. My sympathies are with Mrs. Nowlan who is left with TEN children! Can you imagine?
Try not to worry. President Roosevelt has sent his undersecretary of state, Phillip Summer Welles, to try and sort out the mess in Europe and make peace. With a little American know-how, I'm sure this can all be resolved.
I do wish I could see little Jackie. Image having a niece I have never seen. It doesn't look like Peter and I are going to be blessed with children. He had scarlet fever very badly as a boy and they say now that can effect a man. Miss you. Please be careful,
Love Beth
Dear Beth,
Things go from bad to worse here. The brave Fins have fallen at last to German forces and so has Scandinavia. They say it will be the Low Countries next. Hitler means to control the world. Still, I feel better now we have Winston Churchill as Prime Minister. I liked Neville Chamberlain, but he simply wasn't up to war time leadership. Mind you, Churchill's first speech in parliament was not very optimistic. He said he “had nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.” I've had enough of those already.
Baby has a dreadful cold. Coal and oil are restricted so the house has to be kept cool and it's so damp here. The weather is as bad as the news. It's hard to find a good doctor. Naturally, most of our medical people are caring for the soldiers which is only right. Mrs. Millet, who lives two doors down, her husband is an Admiral, said that TB is spreading again. One more worry.
Love and hugs, Vivian
PS I have sent a scribble that Jackie did with some crayons that Dale had given her. Do you think she'll be one of those abstract artists when she grows up?
Dear Beth,
I haven't heard from you in quite a while. The mail is getting so unreliable with the German U-boats prowling the North Atlantic. This has been an awful week with the fall of France. But Churchill has managed to make a victory out of a defeat at Dunkirk. He got our boys out. Any boat that could make the crossing brought our soldiers home. Britain stands alone now.
I was listening to Churchill on the radio. He is defiant and so must we be. He said “we shall fight on the landing ground, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills, we shall never surrender.”
I have not heard from Dale in months but on her last leave she showed my where the family hunting rifles were stored and how to load and fire them. We've formed a woman's axillary and we've been training. If worst comes to worst, we mean to stand by our men and fight for Britain.
Last week, a German recon plane was shot down and the pilot parachuted out. The women on the block where he landed gave chase. He tried to hide but they found him and damn near killed him. The home guard had to rescue him. As he was taken away, the women stood in the street and sang We're Gonna Hang Out the Washing On the Siegfried Line.
Don't worry about us. There will always be a Britain.
Love Vivian
PS I got a military post card from Harry. He's okay.
Dear Vivian,
I did answer your last letter. I suppose it has been lost at sea. Peter and I went to a Glen Miller show the other night and danced until I thought my feet would fall off. I feel guilty when I say things like that with you caught up in the war. I so wish you had come to the USA last year. I don't think it would be safe to try now.
There has been some disturbing news our side of the ocean too. Leon Trotsky was axed to death in Mexico probably at the order of Stalin. And America is quite concerned that Japan has joined with the Azis and has invaded Indochina. The world has gone mad! The USA has been training pilots and building up its military. What else can we do? War is all around us and we must be prepared.
I've sent some clothes for Jackie and some money for you. I wish I could have been there to see her first tooth or hear her say her first word. Harry is missing the best part of fatherhood.
Please, please be careful, Love Beth
Dear Beth,
This has been a very bad month. Do you remember learning in school that Friday the 13 th was considered unlucky because that was the day that the French king killed all the Knights Temper? Well, the 13 th was a horrific day here. I was notified by the embassy that Dale's parents are missing and assumed dead. Her father as you recall, had been posted to Hong Kong but there is fear that the Japanese might move into the area so all nonessential personal were evacuated. Their plane left for Singapore on the fourth (another unlucky number at least according to the Chinese) and has not been heard from since.
No one knows, or at least no one is saying, where Dale is. Even the embassy can't find out. Last time Dale was here, she told me she had made me her next of kin should anything happen to her. So the embassy has come to me. I have no idea what I am supposed to do. I notified the family lawyers and have tried to contact Dale through the RAF but I keep getting stonewalled. Today, I'm going to the Red Cross to see if there is anything they can do. I'm so worried about Dale. I haven't heard a thing from her since well before Dunkirk.
The Luftwaffe are conducting an aerial biltz of Britain at the moment. Liverpool and London have been particularly hard hit. We all have black out curtains over our windows and you are in big trouble with the Air Raid Warden if they are not draw tight enough and show a crack of light. There are no street or sign lights on and only essential vehicles can be on the road at night. Their head lights are blacked out except for just a small hole that they can use to see by if they must. All of Britain is in darkness so that the German planes will find it harder to find their targets. Mind you, bloody Ireland has its lights blazing to help Gerry locate us. They say German sailors walk around openly in Ireland on leave.
One never knows if there will be any power or water in the morning. I have a supply of candles and buckets of waters ready because diapers must be washed whether there is a bloody war on or not.
I keep a bag of essentials packed by the door and as soon as the sirens go in the evening, I grab Jackie and run out to the neighbourhood bomb shelter on the street. At least, I don't have to use the Underground. They say it's horrible down there.
Jackie's first word was “raid.” Isn't that awful? I suppose she has heard us yell it when the sirens start.
I'm so scared and so tired but trying to be brave. I'm helping out at a convalescence hospital. We all have to do our part for the war. I take Jackie and the men talk to me about their families back home. Some of them are missing limbs or are so badly scared. It's so sad.
Mom and dad are doing fine. They are miles away from any bombing. They sometimes lose their power but they have the fireplace and candles so they can manage. Their cottage is small so it's easily heated. Thank you for the money you sent me. It has made all the difference.
Love Vivian
Dear Vivian,
I can hardly believe how horrible it has become there. You are so brave. I am sending Jackie a “teddy bear” which is a stuffed toy bear named after the President Roosevelt. Children love them. Jackie can take it to the shelter with her. There is also a little package for you with nylons and chocolate as I understand you can trade these for extra ration coupons. I've also sent some money.
The American author Scotts Fitzerald has died. You remember I sent one of his books to you, The Great Gatsby. Everything is changing. Even here. Peter feels we can stay out of the war with luck but I think it's only a matter of time before we too are at war. I don't feel right standing by while Britain stands alone against the Nazis.
I'm praying for God to keep you and Jackie safe,
Love Beth
I do not remember not feeling safe. My mother was there. Nights in the bomb shelter were part of my existence like the wail of the sirens and the wet. I endured - happily.
People are different surfaces - weathered by the seas of life. Some erode, pit and fall - easily. Others are harder and develop a patina - enhanced beauty. I'm too young to be etched and carved. I simply exist. Flotsam.
My paper white life continues.
1941
Dear Vivian,
Peter and I have just been listening to President Roosevelt's Fireside Chat on the radio. Peter felt that The President was taking us down the path to war. I hope that isn't the case, but I am so glad that we are now openly supporting the British in their struggle. President Roosevelt said that America must build an “arsenal of democracy” to send to those “on the front line of the democracy battle.” I hope it makes a difference. Like Peter, Joe Kennedy, the former American ambassador to Britain, is all against it though. He said we should build up an arsenal but so that no country would dare to attack the USA.
Last night, we went to the moving pictures and saw Katherine Hepburn in The Philadelphia Story. It was simply wonderful. You must see it. I'm a big Katherine Hepburn fan. Peter, is more the Mae West type, of course. He is always quoting her when I try to get him to put away his things. “Marriage is a great institution, but I'm not ready for an institution yet.” Men! The news reel before the show had a section on Marlene Dietrich who had been asked by Germany to return home and make films for them. I'm glad to say her answer was a resounding no. The audience applauded.
Fancy our Jackie walking all ready. You will have to be careful that she doesn't get away from you. I've enclosed a child's harness and leather line. They are quite popular here. It allows the child some freedom rather than being dragged along by their hand and yet they can't escape when your back is turned. I've also enclosed a few things for you.
I've been cleaning house today as I'm helping out at the Red Cross rolling bandages tomorrow. I've got the radio on and I've been singing away as I hoover with Artie Shaw's Stardust, Miller's Chattanooga Choo Choo and Guy Lombardo's The Band Played On. Aren't I daft?
Peter has become a fan of a new sound called Rock and Roll. Its sung by someone called Billie Holiday. Have you heard of him?
Please be careful. I know Jackie is very young but are you sure you shouldn't look into having her evacuated to a family in Wales? I pray for you nightly,
Love Beth
PS Peter said we might get a television !
Dear Beth,
Thank you as always for your support and gifts. I don't know how Jackie and I would have managed without you and Peter. You have been so kind to us. Mom and dad don't have much to do with me and are not supportive as you know. They didn't approve of Harry, or me getting in the family way. I did get another military post card from Harry but it had been so badly censored that I couldn't make much sense of it. At least I know he is all right.
This year, Britain has started to strike back at Germany. There has been no invasion of Britain and we are certainly ready for them if they try! We've taken back Tobruk from Italy and the Axis is doing well in North Africa. The German Rommel has been sent to Tripoli to try and regain a German foothold in Africa but the British line will hold, I'm sure. Yugoslavia and Bulgaria have fallen to the Nazi's but it's only a matter of time now before we have Hitler on the run. He's over extended himself. Even his own people are turning against him. As you recall they tried to blow him up last year. Well, now a plane crash landed in Scotland and who should be aboard but Hitler's mate Rudolf Hess. The rumour is that he was on the way to Britain to try and sue for peace.
The raids continue but we've so far got off pretty lightly in our area. The poor East End has been devastated. The King and Queen have really set an example for us all. When ask if the Royal Family would leave England for safety, the Queen responded that the children would not leave without her and she would not leave without the King and the King would never leave England.
Did you read To the Lighthouse? Well, Virginia Woofe drowned herself this week. What a waste of talent, but she was never very stable was she? I think she'd had a nervous breakdown before. She had some problems “relating to men”, if you know what I mean and society can be very judgmental about such issues.
Jackie sends her love to her Uncle Peter and Aunty Beth in America as do I,
Love Vivian
Oh God Beth!
I've had a letter from the war office. Harry is missing and presumed dead. What will Jackie and I do? I can't cope with the bombings, the loneliness, the rationing, worrying about mom and dad, Dale missing and her parents probably dead and now this. What will happen to us?
The Hood went after the Bismark. The Bismark was the new, massive destroyer of the Nazi navy and its pride and joy. It was imperative that it was sunk as it could do terrible damage to the British fleet. The papers said the Hood took a hit to its magazine and it was all over in seconds. Only three sailors survived. Why couldn't one of them have been Harry?
We got her though. The Bismark was limping back to French waters for repairs and the British navy threw everything they had at her. I'm glad of that. At least Harry's death wasn't in vain. I know they were young men just like my Harry, but I can't help being glad that we sunk the bastards.
Please pray for Harry,
Love Vivian
Dear Vivian,
You are not to worry. Peter said as soon as this war is over, we'll bring you out to the USA and help you to start a new life here. In the meantime, we'll do all we can for you. It's the least we can do.
I know you and Harry got off to a bad start, but I believe he loved you very much. He might not have had the education or background that we had, but he was a good man and he would have worked hard to care for you and Jackie. In America, you'll find, it's not a man's background that matters but his successes. God bless his soul.
Peter said, that you have managed so well over the last two years of war. That really you have been a widow all along. So he knows that you will carry on just as strong as you have been. Naturally, you are grieving and our hearts go out to you. Poor Jackie will never have known her father. Once you are here in the USA, Peter and I will do our best to fill that gap in Jackie's life.
Peter has gone to see the Brown Bomber, Joe Louis, in his latest price fight. Peter said he's a natural, but I don't care for boxing. When he gets back we'll go see Orson Welles, Citizen Kane. They say it's excellent. Rudolph Hearst actually tried to stop the film because he thought it was too much like him. If the shoe fits, as mom used to say.
Peter said that Negroes can ride in the first class section of trains now. He hasn't seen any doing so though. They just don't have the money. Our minister believes we are all equal and is very involved in what is called the civil rights movement to help the Negroes. I don't know how I feel about this. I don't know any and so it's hard to judge. Still, it does seem right, doesn't it?
Our thoughts and hearts are with you. Be brave. Everything will be okay down the road. It's good to know that the tide of war is starting to change even at such a high cost.
Love Beth
Oh Beth,
I had such an awful shock last week when I went to the convalescent home where I volunteer. Coming on top of Harry's death last month, I just broke down. The staff was wonderful to me though and took care of Jackie while the counsellor talked to me. The home is an old estate that has been lent by Lord Perry to the government for injured soldiers. The main building, where I work, is all men but the game keeper's cottage houses a small group of women. They are mostly nurses and drivers. As I was sitting with Jackie in the garden having a bit of lunch who should I see being walked by a nurse but Dale. I hardly recognized her. Her hair has started to go white at the temples and she was gaunt.
I just went to pieces. It was poor, little Jackie who went and got the Sister to help me. Mommy sick, she told them. Oh Beth, Dale's been working with the French Underground for MI6. You know she had dual citizenship. The Nazis caught her and did the most horrible things to her. They had her for almost a month before the French Resistance got her out.
I haven't gone to see her yet. I'm just not up to it and doctor said that she is not ready yet for visitors. I told the doctor that Dale's parents are missing and presumed dead. He said there was no need to tell her. That she had enough to deal with already.
The war news continues to be good. The Allies have taken Damascus from the Vichy forces although the cost was high. Jerry has now invaded Russia, which we all feel will be the nail in their coffin. Look what happened to Napoleon. Surely, Hitler realizes he can't fight on all fronts? We are starting to hear rumours about the Jews in Germany having to wear a yellow Star of David. It centres them out, of course, and they are being beaten and their property vandalized. I'm sorry now that we didn't allow more to immigrate before the war.
I've enclosed a drawing of our house that Jackie has done for you. It looks like it has been blown up but I assure you it hasn't. She does like to scribble. And she is very proud of the results. She is only two.
I sent some nylons and chocolate on to mom and dad. They won't trade with it but mom likes to look posh in her nylons when she goes to church and they both enjoy the treat of a bite of chocolate at night with their cuppa. Once again, thanks for all you do for us. It makes such a difference in our lives.
I have to go. I can see the barrage balloons going up so the sirens will be going off soon. The balloons act like a wall and a number of German bombers have been brought down with them. The home guard also has gunners on the roofs of factories. These are tough times but Churchill and the King have been steadfast and although we all have our weak moments, we know that Britain will survive and Hitler will be defeated.
Love Vivian
Dear Vivian,
How awful about Dale. One knows this sort of thing goes on but it's still a shock to hear of a woman involved in this sort of horror. She must be very, very brave.
Peter and I have had a few disagreements about America's neutrality. I know you feel that your forces are making slow progress and that Hitler will eventually be defeated but at what cost? I feel the USA should be there helping to defeat the greatest evil the world has seen. There are many Americans, however, who admire the efficiency of the Nazi government and business.
Peter does not support the Nazi's, but he doesn't want war either. He was very upset when Roosevelt and Churchill signed the Atlantic Charter to defeat the Nazis. He feels that America will be in this war soon. I can't see how we can continue to ignore what is going on. Nor are we neutrals anymore. Several of our ships have been hit while carrying arms and supplies to Britain.
We plan to see Humphey Bogart in The Maltese Falcon this weekend. Peter does enjoy a good mystery.
God save us one and all! The radio just announced that the Japs have bombed Pearl Harbour and our fleet is in ruins! How could this have happened?
I have to go and listen to the radio. There is a little something in this letter for you and Jackie. I'll send a package later this month. Let mom know that I have sent a birthday card to dad in case it doesn't make it.
Love Beth
I'm two - two dimensional. Glimpses of me on aging paper. The number two made with sticks has two angles. When I am three I will have three angles and so on. When I am three, I will not be three dimensional. I am trapped between the lines with my mother and Dale. Dale. Fate.
When I was two I scribbled. I ran to get help. Flight. Of war I knew nothing. It flies over me, drops around me, shakes the ground below me but I am unaware. I am only two and I do not have to wear a yellow star.
1942
Dear Beth,
Jackie and I are just back from visiting Dale at the Convalescent Home. The doctors say it will be months before she will be discharged. Part of this is her delicate health but part, I am sure, has to do with her work and keeping her isolated as much as possible.
Nurse is pleased that Dale recognizes me and plays happily with Jackie. Dale is still not talking very much but she reacts to what I tell her. If she is startled by a sudden movement or noise she cringes and wants to go back to her room, but she is eating better and Nurse said she has gained two pounds.
She and Jackie seem to have developed their own form of communication. They play hide and seek around the lawn furniture or Dale makes dandelion chains that Jackie wears and then pulls apart. I take my copy of Children's Fairy Tales and read them a story before we leave each day. Dale seems to enjoy it as much as Jackie. It's so upsetting to see Dale like this. She was always so bright and confident. Damn this war!
Still I suppose I shouldn't complain. The papers are saying that the German, Reinhard Heydrich, has come up with what he calls the “Final Solution” for the Jews. If the stories are true it amounts to genocide. Some say thousands of Jews have been killed but that is hard to believe. There must be some truth in it though for they call Heydrich the Hangman of Europe.
The radio has just announced that like Hong Kong, Singapore has fallen to the Japanese. The Americans just can't seem to stop their advancement.
I'm afraid this isn't a very positive letter but I want you to know that we are all resolute here and standing behind our King and Prime Minister. We mean to win this war. We must. Good must triumph over the evil of the Nazis.
Thank you for the wonderful package you sent. When one arrives, Jackie claps her hands and squeals “Kissmas!” I don't know how we'd manage without you.
Ironically, Mom and Dad are thriving. The war has given them a whole new focus on life. I think they both were not ready to retire from teaching. Mom has organized a Victory Garden on the village square and has teams of villagers who come to put in a few hours each day. Dad, of course, oversees the garden and Mom makes sure the produce is shared fairly among everyone who has helped.
I have a little garden too that I have planted in the backyard. It provides us with some fresh potatoes and tomatoes in season and I keep the carrots in sand for winter and can the beets. There is an old apple tree as well in the back yard. They are rather wormy, but I cut off the good stuff and make apple sauce to can. One has to be resourceful.
My neighbour, was given two turkeys that she has been raising. She'd named them Hitler and Mussolini. Someone strangled Mussolini the other night. Fortunately, whoever did it was kind enough to leave the remains. I helped Edith pluck and gut him and we've made a big pot of stew with the meat and some of my vegetables, so we'll eat well this week!
Jackie loves the pretty sweater you sent her. Thank you. We don't get many new things here.
Love Vivian
Today
I have spoken of these letters as I walk with Paula along the beach. It's not a tamed southern beach. It's a rugged, rocky coast swept by the wind and the cold waves of the Atlantic. Tide pools harbour jelly fish, star fish and sea weed. Here and there a broken lobster trap lies beached among the rocks. Course grass and summer wild flowers cling to the cliffs above and sea gulls cry as they glide across the blue sky heading out to sea. One of the many things I like about Paula is that she is a good listener.
“How about we sit here for a bit and enjoy the view. There is lots of time before the tide changes.”
By this she means she has noticed that I am tiring and is allowing me a rest without losing face.
“What a good idea.”
“Why are you telling me all this, Aunt Jackie?”
“First, because you listen and don't interrupt too often. Second, you are my favourite.” I hold up my hand to stop her protests. “I know I shouldn't have favourites but I do. Frankly, I find the family deathly dull and predictable. But you were different. I knew the day you got lost in the storm sewer looking for buried treasure that you were going to march to your own drummer.”
Paula laughs. “I had to. No one wanted to march anywhere near me by the time they pulled me out of the sewer system.”
I wrinkle my nose in remembrance. “You stunk. Third, I might be going away. I'm thinking of doing a Bobo Baggins and going on a great adventure at the end of my days.”
My niece reaches out and takes my hand. She doesn't look at me. She looks out at the sea. “Why?”
“I'm dying. I can't maintain this big rambling house anymore as much as I love it here.”
The hand squeezes mine. No protests. No lies. No patronizing. That's another reason for liking this woman. She can look Fate in the eye and not blink. “What can I do to help you?”
“You can listen to my story. I have a need to leave no secrets behind. I have been the keeper of many secrets. Now it's time to let go of them. Can you stay on here for a few weeks? I have much to say.”
“For you, of course. I'll make arrangements tonight. I have a few more weeks of holidays and there is no reason why I can't prepare my lectures here.”
“Thank you.” I look down the beach and get up as quickly as I dare. I do not like to seem weak and coming along the beach was Paula's cousin, Douglas. I'll be damned if I'll let him see me struggling to my feet. Douglas had married Mary, Beth and Peter's grandchild by their daughter Jill. Douglas is a Director of Education for Halloworth County and much older than Mary who must have been looking for a father figure. Even in shorts and a hideous Hawaiian shirt, he couldn't help looking like a pompous ass. “Here comes trouble. Douglas follows me around like a mother hen. He is hoping to inherit this place. He needs to sell it to pay off his debts.”
“Will he get it?”
“Not a chance. I have left almost everything to you. I suppose you'll sell it and use the money for research?”
“Me? No. No, I would never sell this place. This home by the sea is what I have always dreamed about. I love this place. Thank you, Aunt Jackie.”
I'm hugged and it feels warm and inviting and very sincere. I'm more pleased than I care to admit by this. I love this place too. It has been my refuge over the years. Now it will be Paula's.
“Aunt Jackie, there you are. Paula what were you thinking of dragging Auntie all the way down here?”
I feel Paula bristle. Not because Douglas is an insufferable ass, but because she doesn't like me treated like a helpless old lady. “Actually, Aunt Jackie dragged me. She felt like a walk.”
Douglas looks at me with fake concern. It's the look he has perfected for naughty school children who have bucked against his system. “Now Aunt Jackie, you are not as young as you used to be. Paula shouldn't have allowed you to walk so far.” He takes my arm to help me along on the walk back.
I pull my arm free. “I can walk just fine. It's not me that has high blood pressure and clogged arteries.”
Douglas blushes. He doesn't like the implied criticism. Paula laughs. She thinks I'm a shit disturber. I am now. I haven't always been. The three of us walk back together. Paula talks about her work on deep sea currents which I find quite fascinating. Douglas looks bored. Like many educators, he knows a lot about education and precious little about anything else.
He and Mary live in a big house in an up-scale subdivision. They have twin girls, Faye and Beth, both who suffer from depression, I'm told. How can you be twelve and depressed with the wonders of life? It doesn't seem possible to me. But then, their mother Mary has tried to kill herself twice on pills. This I can understand. She is after all married to Douglas- the- pompous- ass. They also sired Arnold-the-revolting. He is their youngest. Thank God Mary got her tubes tied. The next one out might have been the Anti-Christ.
Theirs's is a facade of the perfect family but you don't have to scratch very deep to find the truth. Douglas has cheated on his wife for years and their house has a second mortgage. Douglas is counting on my money, poor bugger. We return to the party.
At the end of the day, it took a considerable amount of time to sweep the family remains from the house. Those with children left early enough. Agatha held on ordering the few remaining about. Earl, God bless him, stayed on to tidy for an hour or so. And Douglas held on to the bitter end not wanting to go before Paula did. I finally had to tell him that Paula was stopping over. He left with a scowl and a sigh of relief from me.
Letters. They are the foundation of my existence. They record the emotional tides and under currants that swirled around my early childhood. It's late now and I'm tired. Paula has made me a cup of tea and brought a few home-made short bread for me to nibble on before bed. Laurel made the short breads I'm relieved to say. It means she is good for something other than breeding. Paula sits at the desk, glasses on reading the letters I have told her about. She is one of those women who look sexy in glasses. It's that androgynous look that seems to be very appealing to many people.
1943
Dear Vivian,
Despite the war, I am on top of the world! Peter and I went to a gospel meeting on the weekend. It had the most profound effect on both of us. I have always felt disconnected to my faith. Mom and Dad would take us to Sunday school and then to the church service but I always felt I was looking on not participating.
The Anglican service is beautiful but it's more of a play or pageant than it's a process to get close to God. This Baptist gospel meeting had nothing to do with pomp and ceremony and everything to do with accepting one's sins, asking forgiveness and stepping up to be a warrior in Jesus's army. I have to admit both Peter and I felt a little uncomfortable at first with the out pouring of emotion and the openness of the testimonies. But soon the music and sermons reached our hearts and we found we were standing praising the Lord as tears rolled down our faces.
Oh Vivian, it's so wonderful to be filled with the Holy Spirit and to be challenged to do his good work. Vivian, I really want you to have the same experience. I'm sending you a box of sermons and I hope you will read them. Are you taking Jackie to Sunday school? It's so important to reach the children with God's Word.
I pray each night now for the Holy Spirit to enter the souls of these mad men who keep this horrible war going. More rationing here has been announced. As well as restrictions on coffee and sugar we now are to be limited to the amount of canned goods we can buy and only three pairs of shoes a year! Peter took the car and went around the stores buying all the canned goods he could before the restrictions come on. Fortunately, we have the money to do that. I know everything in England has been rationed for years now. I don't know how you do it.
Good and bad news on the American front. The meeting between Roosevelt and Churchill in Casablanca seemed to have done some good. Roosevelt told Churchill what we thought had to be done and he will have to tow the line if he wants American money and aid. The USAAF has been bombing German ports while the RAF flies inland to attack Germany.
At last we are having some victory out in the east as well and have the Japs on the run. We've kicked them out of the Solomons and just this month we sank a convoy of ten warships, fifty-five fighter planes and twelve transports. The news reel said 15,000 Japs died. That helps make up for Pearl Harbour.
Did you hear Leslie Howard was killed? Do you remember he played Ashley in Gone With the Wind? His plane was shot down by the Germans in Europe. Some say he was there as a spy. You know he had been a soldier in WW1. His parents were Hungarian or something. I read that's how he learned to act, it was part of his therapy to get over shell shock.
Vivian, are you sure you are doing the right thing having Dale at the house? I know it's her home but she isn't very mentally stable now is she? And what is this about her having a baby? You never told me she was pregnant! Who's the father? Is she married? These are truly horrible times. I pray for you all every day.
Love Beth
Dear Beth,
As I have told you in other letters that I'm not sure you have got, I do respect your religious belief but it's not mine. The war has changed attitudes greatly here. I know America is at war too, but you don't have bombs raining down on you every night. You are not without water, heat and lights sometimes for days on end. You don't have to see neighbourhoods in ruins or realize that familiar faces are gone.
We live for the each and we are resolute and pragmatic. It's not God who will save us from the Nazis but our own blood and tears. I'm sorry if that view offends you but I live in a very different world than you do.
I have not asked Dale how she got pregnant. It happened while she was overseas. I know she had a very hard time when she found out she was expecting. I suspect she might have been raped while she was held by the Nazis. After William was born she did not want anything to do with him. So I named him and have taken him on as my own. He calls me mom and Jackie accepts him as her brother. Paula never mentions that the child is hers. The doctor tells me this is called denial. It doesn't matter. We are all getting on quite well.
The war goes on and on and we are so tired but progress is being made. The Germans have lost Stalingrad to the Russians who have also lifted the German siege of Leningrad. We have heard terrible things have happened in the Warsaw ghetto were thousands of Jews have been killed or have starved to death after fighting the Germans for as long as they could. Still, we have taken back some of the Sicilian islands and that pompous ass Mussolini has been deposed.
Dale is very upset about the news that Jean Moulin who headed the French underground has died after being tortured by the Gestapo. What makes it worse is that he was betrayed by one of his own. I think Dale might have known him. Dale is out rebuilding the fence that got blow down by the bomb that hit the street behind us. It's her way of dealing with things when she is upset. She needs to be by herself and working at something until she can come to terms with what is bothering her. She'll be in soon for her tea though so I must go.
All the best,
Vivian
This is how I learned that my brother was not my brother. I'm short and my hair curly and naturally red although my hair dresser has to maintain that condition now. William was tall, blue eyed and blond haired. Ironically, he was the perfect example of the Aryan race. Paula too is like her father, broad shouldered, fair and with remarkable blue eyes. William never knew that Dale was his mother. Neither did Paula until this weekend.
I do not sleep well. It's not the cancer. I have never slept well. I enjoy being awake and enjoying life, so I have never found sleep restful. I need rest now though and so I go to bed early even if it's only to toss and turn. Sometimes, I get up and look out my window. I enjoy the play of moonlight on the ocean. That was how I came to see Paula pacing back and forth on the grass talking on her cell phone. All praise to the nature gods, particularly the stormy ones that forced me to replace the old windows. The new window frame rose easily and without a sound. Of course, I eavesdropped. How could I have heard if I hadn't? It's a deplorable practice but such a useful one.
“Cate darling, I know I had promised that we'd take a holiday this year but Aunt Jackie needs me. Yes, it's important. She's dying. No, I'm not okay. You know how fond I am of the old bugger. She has things she needs to share about the family.
“I wish you were here too. I need you and I wish you could met Aunt Jackie. She's a hoot. I have so much to tell you and so much that I have learned today that has really left me reeling. You know my aunt, she never pulls her punches.”
I close the window and I admit I smiled smugly as I got back in bed. The next morning, I found Paula sitting on the porch continuing to read the letters. She has made us a light breakfast of bagels with cream cheese and coffee. I had warned her that I was revealing secrets that could be painful and upsetting. When she got to the letter about William the tears rolled down her face. I gave her a coffee that was strong and sweet and held her other hand while she drank slowly looking out to sea. Like her grandmother, Paula needs to internalize things before she can speak of them . Our genes are part of the eternal sea within us. One generation washing over into the next and so on. Paula is much like Dale.
I keep my eyes on the sea too. I'm watching a fishing boat deploy its nets. I'm about to do the same, figuratively speaking anyway. “I think it would be a wonderful idea if Cate came and stayed up here with us, don't you?” The hand I'm still holding jerks free as Paula jumps in surprise and turns to look at me. The dregs of her coffee ends up in her lap. “That is the name of your partner isn't it?”
I look at her then and realize that my poor niece looks somewhat like a cartoon racoon sitting on the lid of a garbage can as it looks down a shot gun barrel. “Oh dear. Have I given you one too many shocks this morning?” I ask innocently, handing her a napkin. “Having Cate here, you know, might be a good thing while you are dealing with all this.”
“How?” Paula's eyes darked as realization sinks in. “You listened to my conversation last night. Aunt Jackie that's eavesdropping!”
“Of course it is, dear. More coffee? At my age, I can't waste the time and energy on squirrelling out the truth.” I laugh because of the conflicting emotions I see racing over Paula's face. “I find that a very good excuse. It was much harder to justify snooping when I was younger.”
Paula laughs. I laugh too and the tension of the morning evaporates somewhat.
“Tell me about Cate. How long have you two been together?”
“Nine years.”
I turn and swat my niece's shoulder playfully. “How dare you keep a secret like that from me all these years.”
“Aunt Jackie, being a lesbian is something that you are very cautious about revealing.”
“Fiddlesticks! In my day one had to be cautious. Today, one just needs to be bold. Now you have come out to me, it will be much easier from now on. How did you meet? What does she do?”
Paula leans back in her seat and smiles. Once the dam is breached, of course, the waters of pent-up emotion comes pouring out.
“Her name is Cate Morrow. She's a few years younger than me. She was in the navy and is a deep sea diver and photographer. I hired her on my first research assignment and well, we've been together ever since. She's wonderful, Aunt Jackie. We just get on really well together and I know I can count on her. She's caring, supportive, and loyal.”
I frown. “You make her sound like a Golden Retriever. Does she have courage and a good sense of humour when the going gets tough? Does she live life to the full and never regrets her mistakes or brags about her triumphs? Does she vote with her head and yet protests with her heart? And does she stand up to you when you are wrong and beside you when you are in trouble?”
Paula laughs. “I think so.”
“Think?”
“I know so.”
“Then give me that phone of yours so I can talk to her.”
Paula hands the phone over and I nod my pleasure. Cate must have some of the characteristics I admire or Paula wouldn't have had the confidence to allow me to phone. “Number?”
“Speed dial by pressing one.”
I do so while Paula hovers expectantly. Cate she might trust, me she doesn't. I think I have told you that Paula is no one's fool. I'm not to be trusted.
“Hello. Cate? Ah good. I'm Jackie Cunningham. I'm on my niece's cell phone no doubt giving myself a brain tumour.
“She's fine. She is right here beside me wiping coffee off her lap. I might have surprised her a bit by suggesting that she invite her partner to stay with us. Can you come? Of course, Paula thinks it's a good idea. Why wouldn't she? Can you cook? It would be handy. Paula cooks!” I look at my niece with interest. “Now that is a fact that she has never revealed to me. How soon can you get here? Oh very well.” I hand the phone to Paula. “She wants to confirm the invitation with you.”
Pauls snatches the phone back. “Hi, Love. Yes, she is.” Paula pulls a face at me. I suspect I have been described in a rather rude manner. “I need you Babe, if you can get away. Yes, it seems I have been outed by my aunt. The little turd eavesdropped on our call last night. No, she doesn't have any scruples.” Another look.
I smile. “I gave up my scruples with my virginity years ago. It's made for a far more interesting life.”
Paula rolls her eyes. “Oh she's that alright. Can you come? Great. Bring food and beer. Love you. Bye.”
“See how easy that was.”
“Aunt Jackie, you are not to go around outing me to the world, do you understand.”
“Of course I understand, Paula. I'm just not sure I'm going to obey. Dear me, another cup of coffee spilt. You aren't having a good morning are you?”
I pick up a bunch of letters before they become coffee soaked. Letters. They are life lines to the past.
Dear Beth,
I'm so sick of war! I said to Peter the other night that it's like God has forsaken us. Peter understood what I meant even though I did sound like Doubting Thomas. It's just disrupted so much of our lives. There was a news reel at the movie house the other night showing last month's meeting in Tehran of Stalin, Roosevelt and Churchill. They are very strange comrades in arms aren't they? Peter feels that Roosevelt and Churchill have made friends with the devil but with MacArthur in the South Pacific and Ike in Europe, I'm sure the USA will soon have this war over. God is on our side after all.
We saw Jane Russel in The Outlaw at the pictures. Peter rather fancies her. Men! We haven't been going to many moving pictures lately as so many of the big directors are making public relations films for the war effort. I've enclosed a copy of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Cunningham. It's a good read and motivating too. In American anyone can work hard and make a success of themselves.
Jackie really must be a handful. I can't imagine having raised a baby in a bomb shelter. I bet you were beside yourself when you found her in your make-up as I know you've had to hoard these simple luxuries. I've added a small make-up case to the box I've sent you to make up for Jackie's mischief. William seems to be a quiet, well behaved child. You do wonder about his blood though and how he might turn out with a German for a father and a mother who is, well, not natural. Neither Peter nor I are happy with you working for this woman. We look forward to the end of the war when you can move to America. You are brave but I suppose war, like you have had to live through, has meant a lot of compromises.
Along that line, I do have some big news, Vivian. Peter and I have taken the first steps in adopting two children. Naturally, we are doing it through the Church as we want children that we know have come from good backgrounds. The pastor explained to us that soldiers leaving to go over seas sometimes get involved with girls who should know better. The Church takes these illegitimate babies away from these unfit mother's and finds good Christian homes for them. We hope to have our babies by spring. Peter has asked for a boy and a girl. It's unlikely that we'll be able to get twins so I imagine we'll adopt one and then another as the babies become available. Wish us luck!
I hope this letter and package gets through okay.
God bless you and Jackie,
Love Vivian
1944
Dear Beth,
Sorry I am so long in writing. These have not been easy days. Jackie and William are doing well. Beth, William is just as much my child as Jackie and just as deeply loved. In the same vein, please do not call Dale unnatural again. She is an intelligent, charming woman who has risked her life for her country. If there were more woman with the character and backbone of Dale, we'd be much better off. She has been wonderful to us in providing an income and home for us. She has never treated me as a servant but always as a friend. Yes, I have ended up raising William too but I don't mind at all. It means Jackie is not an only child and I feel I am doing my part for the war effort raising the child of a war hero. From now on, I must insist that you accept William as my child and no one else's.
Dale took us on the train for an outing in the Lake District just to get away from the war for a few weeks. It was wonderful. We weren't far away from Mom and Dad but they still haven't forgiven me for marrying a working class guy and want nothing to do with Jackie. As for William, they maintain an icy silence. I think they have got it into their heads that he is my child and that I am a very loose woman. There is no point in visiting them. They probably wouldn't let me across the doorstep. Especially now that the King himself has visited their community Victory gardens. There will be no living with them.
It's so silly. Dale's family tree is ever so aristocratic and wealthy but she never puts on airs. She's like Peter that way. She believes that everyone has to make their own way in life and that pride shouldn't come from who your family are but who you are. Our holiday was a bit of a celebration. Dale too was honoured by the King. We got to go to Buckingham Palace. I sat with the children while she was given her medal for bravery. I was ever so proud. After there was a reception for the families and Dale introduced me to the King and Queen and I shook their hands. The Queen expressed her condolences at the loss of my husband and reassured me that England will soon win this war. It was a thrilling day.
Dale is back at work with the air force. I'm not sure what it's she does but it's good that she is feeling so much better. Her recovery strangely enough coincided with an incendiary bomb coming through our roof. Luckily for us, it didn't go off or the house would have burned down around us. It was just lying on the floor in the dining room. Dale made sure that we were all safely out of the house and then she went back in and carefully lifted the bomb up with a big shovel and carried it out into the backyard until someone could come and take it away. It was like a light went on in her and she took charge. The doctor feels there will be some things she will never be able to face about her ordeal but she is very much like her old self again.
Jackie and William send their love,
Love Vivian
Dear Beth,
I did get the parcel you sent although several months later and looking rather water stained. The book was slightly mouldy but still readable. Thanks. The make-up was all right because it was in a sealed box. Thanks so much. We are on such strict rations. It makes it so hard at times and your little gifts do brighten our lives.
A Norwegian couple and their baby have moved in down the street. They sailed their little sail boat across the channel to escape and had some terrible experiences. They came for dinner the other night and were telling Dale and I the most scary things. It seem one of Hitler's gang, a man name Borman, is trying to create a super race of Germans who are all tall, blond and blue eyed. Hitler, you know, is trying to “purify” the German race. The Odlers were telling us that at least 200,000 children with the so called perfect Aryan characteristics have been forcibly taken from Norwegian, Polish and Czechoslovakian families to be raised as Germans. And in German, itself, unmarried girls with the right traits are encouraged to get in a family way. The expectant mothers are cared for by some organization called the Fountain of Life and their babies are raised in special state homes. Could it be true? It sounds so monstrous.
Dale believes that it's true and this is just the tip of the horrors that are yet to be revealed. She said the average German soldier is as good as our boys but they have no idea what the SS is up to. She said that she's heard of a prison camp called Auschwitz were they keep Jews. She said they have forced labour and death squads and that there is probably more than one of these prisons. But Dale hates the SS. She has reason to.
Enough of this depressing talk. We are bombing Germany more and more often. The tide of war has changed. It can't last much longer. Spring is almost here and already the daffodils are starting to pop up in the grass. Dale has made a swing in the old apple tree for Jackie and she said once the weather is good that she'll see if she can't find us some second hand bicycles.
I hope all is well there,
Love Jackie, William and Vivian
Dear Vivien,
I'm sorry if our attitude towards Dale offends you. I know she has been very good to you but then she is getting a nanny for her child and a housekeeper for next to nothing. The bible makes it quite clear that Dale's sort are an abomination before God. We simply could not have anything to do with her. I feel sorry for her. She is just not right in her head. You make sure that you and Jackie lock your doors at night.
MacArthur is really starting to get the Japs on the run. You can say what you want but it's going to take good American know how to win this war. We're going to get rid of the Japs and then come over there and finish Hilter off. I see De Gaulle has been made the General of the Free French forces. Peter has no time for him. He thinks he's all talk and no action. Still we need the French on our side if there is to be an invasion of Europe. Peter fears Stalin though. He feels that he could be a greater threat in the long run than Hilter. Stalin's a communist, you know. Peter explained that they don't believe in free enterprise so they will have to be against the American way. How can you be against working hard and getting rich in a God fearing country?
The Negroes got the right to vote in Texas this spring. I don't know how that is going to work out. I mean they don't have much education or interest in the government so how can they vote with any sort of informed manner. Peter feels it's only fair as they have been soldiers. They still can't vote in Mississippi and I doubt if they ever will.
Peter and I went to see Bing Crosby in Going My Way. It was ever so good. You must see it some night.
God bless you, Jackie and William
Love Beth
PS How amazing that daffodils are still managing to pop up with all the bombing. God takes care of His little wonders, doesn't he?
Today
Cate arrived that evening. I met her at the car with a big hug and kiss while Paula stood behind looking embarrassed and awkward. My arm wrapped around Cate, I give Paula a look. “Forgive her Cate for not greeting you properly. She obviously loves you very much, but she is still struggling with being outed by her old aunt. Paula, do get Cate's duffle bag from the back seat. Did you have a good trip? Come, you must see the house. I've left it to Paula, you know.”
Paula, gets the bags and follows along behind all tongue tied and bothered. I must say that Cate thinks on her feet much better than Paula. She chats away to me.
“Paula told me that you were a force to be reckoned with and she was right. Stop picking on my partner. She is really quite comfortable in our relationship. She is just afraid to tell you off because she loves you.”
“Do you think so?” I pull back to look at my niece who seems to have gone, if possible, an even deeper shade of red. “Well that might be. I certainly will exploit that rather admirable trait. ”
Cate Morrow is about as different from Paula as it's possible to be. She is short and wirier with dark brunette hair, an outgoing personality and a good sense of humour. We hit it off immediately. Cate makes garlic bread in my bread maker and Paula makes spaghetti. I set the table on the porch overlooking the ocean. Dinner is a merry affair as Cate put Paula at ease by relating adventures they had shared at sea.
“So as the two of us were swimming for shore, this two metre black-tipped shark swam right between us. Paula was totally unaware that I'd been cut off and kept on swimming for shore while the shark circled around me. The local Tahitians had taught me to curl into a ball if a shark is nearby. They will go for legs and arms because they are bite size, but if you curl into a ball you are too big to bite and they are less likely to attack. So that is what I did. It was hard though to keep my snorkel above water and stay facing the shark while making myself as round as possible. I kept floating over on my side. The shark kept making smaller and smaller circles and its fins were down which is never a good sign.
“I was really getting worried when I heard all this splashing and yelling and the shark suddenly shot off. I looked to shore and there was Paula down the beach doing this bazaar dance in the water to try to distract the shark. I headed for shore as quickly as I good. I don't know if the shark would have attacked. They rarely do, but I was sure glad to get to shore. Well, except for the embarrassment of having to admit that I was with the woman who appeared to be having a fit of some sort in the water.”
“Hey, I was saving your life,” Paula protests with a laugh, giving Cate a playful swat.
Cate leaned over and kissed Paula's ear. “My hero. Although it really did look like you were disco dancing with the fishes.”
We laugh. The food has been good. Who would have known that Paula could cook? We've had one too many beers. The hour is getting late for me. I excuse myself before I am called on to help with the dishes. Old age has a few rewards. I'm not expected to do chores. And were before my family used to say I was nuts, now they say I'm going senile. It's one of those win/win situations that administrators and government officials are always talking about.
I lie in bed, sleep eluding me as usual. I can hear Paula talking to Cate although I can't hear what they are saying. I had been ordered not to eavesdrop. I saw no reason to disregard this command so I am being good. They talk late into the night. I suppose that Paula is telling Cate about my illness, her inheritance and of course the letters.
Dear Beth,
So many people have TB. It's spreading like wild-fire through the population because we spend so much time close together in damp bomb shelters. Dale torn down part of the old carriage house and used the brick to build a bomb shelter for us in the back yard. She didn't want the children or I exposed to any infections in the street bomb shelters. The Germans have a new trick up their sleeves. It's called a rocket. The V1 and the V2. They are unmanned bombs that are aimed at Britain and when they run out of fuel they drop. Fortunately, the local wind pattern tends to push the ones that come this direction to the east and they land in the park. I've watched a few go over as unlike the night raids they can come at any time of the day or night.
Dale left a few weeks ago and I haven't heard from her. I don't know where or what she is up to, but she did tell me that she'd be safe and not to worry that this war will be over soon. Jackie has made you a card for your birthday. William helped by scribbling on the back. I've enclosed too some pictures of us all dressed for Easter.
I haven't heard from you in weeks. I hope you are all well. Have you heard anything about the adoption yet?
Love Jackie, William and Vivien
PS June 6 th . D-Day! We've landed! Early word is that there is slow advancement on all fronts. Only the Canadians have made their landing goals and are advancing inland but Churchill has been on the radio and has said that the invasion of Europe by Allied forces has been a success!
Dear Vivien,
I told you that the Americans would get the job done! We've secured France and now we are bombing mainland Japan softening them up before the invasion. I heard on the radio that American troops have marched through Paris. Naturally, the French are so grateful that the Americans have liberated them. The Russians are advancing on the German's northern frontier. Peter is still very concerned about that. But he knows that the Yanks will take German before the Reds can.
But the biggest news is that we have our babies. My what a handful they are! Mary is nearly six months old and Earl is only eight weeks. They are both beautiful. They might have started out life on the wrong side of the blanket but God has seen fit to give them a second chance. After all, children are innocent of sin. Peter and I will make sure they get a good Christian upbringing and the best of everything that money can buy. Oh, Vivien, I can't tell you how tired I am and how happy!
Hopefully, you and the children will be able to join us soon. Peter will see that you get a good job in an office until you can find a fine Christian man to marry. There will be lots coming home looking for a wife. I can't wait for this war to be over and for us all to be together again.
God bless, Beth
I wake to find the house empty but a fresh pot of coffee is waiting for me in the kitchen and a bagel with pineapple cream cheese on it sits on the table for me covered with a piece of saran wrap. I love being spoilt. I take my breakfast out on to the porch. Down the beach, I can see Paula and Cate walking hand in hand. They stop, turn and kiss and for a minute become one in a deep embrace. I have not forgotten love. I have had my magical moments and refuse to allow myself regrets. I hope it works out well for these two. This old house by the sea needs to be filled again with love and laughter. Somehow over the years I have shrunk and the house has got too big for me. Damn old house!
I pick up the letters marked 1944. Paula has been reading them to Cate, I think. They are the written testament of a tidal surge that swept through our society and changed everything.
Dear Vivien,
I don't know how you managed raising two children in war torn London. I have the best of everything and Mary and Earl are running me ragged. Peter has put an ad in the paper for a house keeper and nanny. There are a lot of young Negro women whose husbands are overseas who are looking for work and I'm sure we'll find someone suitable. She won't live in, of course. Peter will give her a small travel allowance on top of her salary and she can take a bus from the black township and be here within an hour.
Mary is so cute. She can't walk yet, but she gets what she wants by pointing and screaming at the top of her lungs. Peter calls her daddy's little girl and tells me she is just as beautiful as me. Earl is a contented little baby. Peter is waiting for him to be big enough to be his son and play baseball and hunt and do all the other things that men do. I told him he will have to wait a few years yet.
The news in Europe continues to be good. The Yanks have pushed into Germany now and the Reich seems to be crumbling in on itself. Did you hear that some of the generals tried to blow up Hitler? They are like rats turning on each other. There's even rumours that Hitler has had Rommel killed because he feared he knew about the plot to kill him. FDR and Churchill have met here to talk what to do about the Japs. Now we've won the war for you in Europe it's time for Britain to help out in the South Pacific. MacArthur is in the Philippines and we have the Japs on the run. FDR has won the election again and with Truman as his Vice-president I don't see how we can go wrong. It will be all over soon and you and the children can immigrate to America. Peter has promised me my own car when the war is over. I've been taking driving lessons.
God bless you and the children,
Love Beth.
Dear Beth,
I am feeling rather down today. I heard on the wireless a few weeks back a report that Glenn Miller's plane was missing. He took off from here to do a USO tour to France and never made it. Today they reported that he is presumed dead. Yes, the war is coming to an end but at what cost. So many of our cities are in rubble and thousands of our young men dead or wounded. Countries have disappeared and a way of life has gone forever.
I have been reading about the liberation of Auschwitz. Those poor, poor people. I remember Dale mentioning that there were death camps but I had no idea that Hitler was murdering Jews, gypsies, Poles, even the handicapped. This is a blood stain on all of us. We did nothing. And have we learned anything? No. There was Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin gloating over the spoils of the Reich while they get their revenge by bombing Dresden flat. It just all sickens me.
It's been several months since I have heard from Dale. I fear for her and miss her. So do the children. They include her in their prayers every night. Beyond that we just go on struggling from day to day and hoping that we'll live to see the end of this terrible time.
I think it's wonderful that you can afford a nanny and a second car. There are so many opportunities in America. The US has certainly become a world leader now. Britain is nearly bankrupt having stood alone now in two great wars. The US has had the advantage of not having been bombed and also coming into the war late.
Thank you for the bibles you sent the children. We will keep them safe until they are old enough to read them and take them to church.
Love Vivien
Dear Vivien,
Peter has brought me an Eisenhower blouse which is cut like the great man's military jacket. It's very fashionable and of course patriotic. We have the Stars and Stripes proudly flying from our house. I might have been born English but I'm proud to be an American now. When you get here, Peter will help you become American citizens too.
I was sitting hear listening to the radio humming along to Bing Crosby singing Swinging on a Star and Bing and the Andrew Sisters singing Don't Fence Me In. Agnes, that's our black nanny, likes that Ella Fitzgerald. Peter likes her song I'm Make Believing but I don't allow Peter or the girl to play that sort of music when the children are around. I think it rather degenerate for young minds. Our minister agrees. He doesn't like this new Rock and Roll either.
Anyway, what I meant to write before I got off topic was that the announcer came on to say that the Marines have raised the Stars and Stripes over Iwo Jima. We are within striking distance of the Japs now. This war will be over soon. I think I'll make a special meal for Peter (he loves his steak) and then have him take me to the movies tonight to celebrate. I've been wanting to see Rita Hayworth in Tonight and Every Night.
Mommy has sent some beautiful hand knit blankets for the children. They are a real keepsake. I wish she and daddy treated you better. It's not Christian to be so unforgiving. I have told them in letters that here in America any white is respected regardless of his birth as long as he works hard for success and is a proud American. Your Harry, had he lived, would have done well here. The war has disrupted so many lives.
I pray for you and the children every night and have asked my prayer group to pray for you too. Continue to be safe and brave knowing that the war will soon be won and we'll all be together again.
Love Beth
While I read, Paula and Cate had wandered back looking sheepish as only young love can. I have sent them off to buy lobster down at the wharf and fresh bread from the bakery. This will provide me with a lovely dinner tonight and give me the opportunity to do some snooping. I make no excuses. I didn't get to be an award winning war correspondent by reading Emily Post. I'm a degenerate, sneaky, old coot and proud of it.
Cate's duffle bag is locked. Smart woman. I could tell she'd sized me up as soon as she laid eyes on me. Paula's has put all her clothes neatly away. The poor thing is a slave to order. She folds her uddies for God's sakes! French cut though, one pair black and silky so there is hope. I find the letter in a side pocket of her suitcase that she has put away on the floor of the closet. The letter is dated over a year ago and is just filled with good stuff. It's almost too hot to hold. Well, fingered too. She probably masturbated after. I know I might have too.
Dear Paula,
The night's are so long without you. I need your warmth beside me. I need to feel your sex on my lips after we have made passionate love. I want to kiss your breasts and spoon close to you while you sleep. I stand at the window and know that this moonlight shines on you as it does me while you are away. Are you looking at the moon too? Do you ache with need as I do?
Scott has been asking when you'll be back. He's afraid you won't be there to see him play in the big game. He's been practising his slap-shot and wants desperately for you to be there when he shoots the winning goal. I've reassured him that you'll be at the rink for the game come hell or high water.
I have got our bedroom painted while you've been gone and I think you'll like it. The colours we picked look great.
Sweetheart, feel my hands on you. Feel my tongue seeking those places that only I touch. You are loved. Come home to me as soon as you can. I miss you.
Love always, Cate
I feel myself smiling like the cat who has got the canary. Don't you just love knowing? I put everything back neatly and treat myself to a lie down for a bit. I have pain now and I tire easily. The girls return laughing and fill the house with life. This old house has been sadly lacking in energy for many years. Paula and Cate will recharge it.
We have morning coffee on the veranda enjoying the warmth of the sun modified by the salty breeze off the ocean. Life is good.
“I think it would be a fine idea if we went to town this morning, ladies. I've had a nap and feel quite up to tackling some errands. And while I'm out I want to get each of you a special present.”
Cate reaches over and places her strong hand on my arm. “Aunt Jackie, we don't need gifts. It's just wonderful to be welcome here and spend some time with you.”
I pat her hand and smile. “You are such a nice woman but you should know I don't give gifts. I give presents with which to bribe people.”
Paula scowls. “Don't even try it, Aunt Jackie. Cate and I will not put up with any of your nonsense.”
“I'm an old woman who is dying and my last wishes should be respected.”
Paula leans forward and looks me in the eye. “You are an old bat, who is capable of stooping to almost anything to get her way. And I don't believe for a minute that you are about to pop off anytime soon.”
“Paula!”
“Don't be taken in Cate. You don't know her as well as I do.”
I smile. “You are quite right to be suspicious Paula. One should never take anything on face value. So it's settled then. As soon as you two get the cups washed, we'll head into town.”
Cate laughs and I laugh with her. Paula shakes her head but she is smiling. We head into town an hour later and I direct them to Joey Wilson's Toyota dealership.
“Why are we here?” Paula asks, as we pull into the yard.
“I'm going to buy a truck.”
“Do you have a license?”
“I'm sure I did at one time or other. Besides everyone knows me here so why would they ask to see my license?”
Paula and Cate look at each other.
“Your aunt is a very, scary person.”
Paula sighs as she helps me out of the SUV. “She does have a way of making the most outrages statements sound perfectly logical.”
I feel the need to assert my authority and swat my niece lightly as I respond sharply. “Don't talk about me like I'm not here. I am not crazy or eccentric I'm simply bloody minded and absolutely determined to have my own way.” The girls follow in my wake meekly as is right and proper for the occasion.
Cate hurries forward to open the door for me and I sail in like the Queen Mary on a fair tide. A weasel of a salesperson scampers forward to assist.
“I won't buy anything from you so don't waste your time. I want to see Joey. Tell him Jackie Cunningham is here and I want to buy a truck from him.”
“Yes Mrs. Cunningham. I'll go get him.” The poor man seems to rear on his hind legs before scurrying off. I smile with delight.
Paula pokes me. “You're a tyrant. I'm surprised the town hasn't run you out on a rail.”
“They try now and again but they are by enlarge nice, gentle folk and they have no chance against the forces of evil I can evoke.” My niece and her girlfriend don't know whether to laugh or hide in embarrassment when they are with me in public.
Joey Wilson comes waddling out of his office, the girth of his middle only surpassed by the width of his smile.
“Ms. Cunningham! Wonderful to see you. I understand you want to buy a truck.”
“Yes, please. Now I've done my research so you don't need to do your sales pitch. I have a list of specifications here. I want the Toyota Tundra, as it was truck of the year, with a standard bed and an extended cab. The V8 engine, please, with the four wheel drive option, air, cd player, the cargo door, cellular phone, clock, GPS and fog lights. Oh and the heavy duty bumpers and a tow hook.”
Joey blinks rapidly and looks at Paula and Cate as if to verify that I'm sane. They look back with fixed smiles as if they knew all along that was what I wanted. Good women.
“That's a lot of truck, Ms. Cunningham. Are you sure you want something that big?”
“Positive. In fact, I want two. One in silver and one in gold.” I hold up my hand for silence before either the girls or Joey can start babbling. I hate babble. “My niece and her partner are taking me to run some errands and to have lunch. Can you see to the paper work so I can come back to sign the cheque this afternoon?”
“Sure thing.”
Fat and all smiles, Joey looks like the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland. I refrain from yelling ‘Off with his head!” although the temptation is great. “Good. Come along ladies. We have things to do.”
Paula waits until we are in the SUV before erupting.
“Shit! What do you think you are doing, Aunt Jackie? You just outed us to the damn town! That was not your right. You are way out of line. And you'd better explain those two trucks as well. I am so angry I'm going to take you home before I do something I'll regret. Cate and I are leaving.”
“You are quite right, Paula, on all accounts. I did out you. I had no right. I'm out of line. And the trucks are for you and Cate. You will need them as part of my master plan. I understand why you are angry. You are much like me in your independence - except you lack my money and total disregard for the world's opinion. I have some errands to run and then let's have brunch while I lay out my master plan. If you still want to leave I'll understand. I won't allow it, but I will understand.”
Silence. There seems to be some sort of silent communication going on between Paula and Cate while I wait looking my most innocent. Finally, Paula starts the SUV and heads into town. I try my best not to smile in victory as I'd rather not be murdered.
Errands run, we end up at the Fisherman's Hook for brunch. Cate and Paula have salad and fresh salmon. I have Newfoundland steak and eggs. That's fried baloney, two eggs over easy, hash browns and thick home-made bread, toasted and served with lots of butter and home-made preserves. I love this island!
Paula looks at my meal in horror. “I can't imagine why your arteries haven't clogged up and strangled you years ago.”
“Don't nag me, Paula. The doctor has made me give up excessive amounts of alcohol and smoking and the only sex I'm getting is with myself. Cholesterol is my last vice and I mean to indulge in it whenever I want. More coffee?”
It's Cate who brings us around to the issue at hand.
“Aunt Jackie, you have behaved very badly today and put Paula in a very awkward spot. We are not comfortable coming out for a number of reasons. Lesbians have to be able to trust each other and their friends not to betray them. What you did was wrong. Nor can we accept cars from you. It's very generous but our affection can't be bought.”
I smiled delightedly. “Well spoken. Paula, you are a lucky woman to have caught this one. But I think you'll see after I explain my master plan that I have done Paula a favour. She has now avoided that awkward stage where everyone whispers behind your back about what you are and the tiresome process of coming out. Of course, there is Scott to consider, but if he is to be any man at all, then he can't be ashamed of the two of you.”
Jaws drop open and eyes get round. Damn, don't you love dropping bombshells like that?
“H...How did you know about Scott?”
I pull myself up and look at the two of them with as much dignity as I can manage. “I have been retired for a number of years, but let's not forget that I was a investigative journalist of some renowned.”
“She snooped.”
“I investigated. How old is Scott? I'm quite looking forward to spoiling him.”
Cate's jaw tightens. “He's nine. I met his father while in the armed service. We were only married a few years just long enough to have Scott. Scott's father is black. His amily immigrated from Kenya to Canada as a child.”
“Wonderful! A little colour in the family will do us all good. I do hope his grandparents are Massai. I wrote an article on the Massai once. Wonderfully rich culture. Where is he now?”
It's Paula who answers. Cate is looking a bit pale and drained after her answer.
“He spends a month with his father and grandparents each summer in Montreal. We'll pick him up in a few weeks.”
“He's going to love it here.”
“What?”
I fidget a bit in my seat, playing with my fork nervously. This is the difficult part. I simply detest feeling vulnerable.
“I'm not well.” I talk to the remains of my lunch. I can't bring myself to meet their eyes. “I do not anticipate dying soon as the cancer is advancing slowly. I will die however in the next few years. I know that and I accept it. What I can't accept is losing my independence. I refuse to go into one of those continuous care units with all those old folks. Yet, I'm hitting the point where I can no longer live alone. I need you.” There it was said. I count the seconds waiting for a reply.
“Just exactly what do you want from us, Aunt Jackie?”
I grit my teeth and meet their eyes. “I want you to move to the house now. I've given it some thought and I think it will be relatively easy to create a flat by separating the guest bedroom, bathroom and the summer lounge from the rest of the house. I can have a small kitchenette put in the lounge and use it as a living area. There's already a side door. That will give us both privacy and a space of our own.”
Paula and Cate look at each other. More silent communication.
Paula sighs. “You could move close to us. It's a good hour's drive from our jobs out here.”
“That's why the trucks. The weather can be unpredictable. I feel I'd owe you that. Paula, this is my home. I want to stay here.”
“There's Scott to consider. He has friends and belongs to a hockey league. I can't ask Cate to up root him and move him out here.”
“Cate?”
“Aunt Jackie, this is really a surprise. I think you need to give Paula and me time to talk it over and decide. And I'd want to talk to Scott too.”
I nod and try to control my impatience. “I must insist that you take the trucks regardless. Even if you are only going to visit me when you can, you will need decent transportation.”
“Aunt Jackie, we can't...”
I smile and hold up my hand for silence. “Humour the old lady on this one, Paula. I've had a hard day and I need to feel some small satisfaction.”
Paula takes my hand and squeezes it before letting go. “Thank you for the trucks. It's a wonderful bribe even if it's not going to influence our decision. It's sure to cause all sorts of jealousy and trouble in the family and I know you'll enjoy that immensely if nothing else.”
“Yes, I will. Shall we go and finalize the deal on those truck orders then?”
Letters. They are little windows into the secrets of other people's lives. We are outsiders looking in with curious eyes and the thrill of anticipation.
Dear Beth,
Dale is back! She has been acting as a liaison officer between the French and the Allied forces. It's wonderful to have her home again. Events are moving so fast now. I read with shock in the papers about President Roosevelt's death. He was a fine man and a good leader in terrible times. I'm sure though that the nation will be okay under Harry Truman. He's certainly stepped into big shoes.
Dale tells me the war is over but the scars will be there for many years to come. Mussolini and his girlfriend have been hung and Hitler and his woman have committed suicide but the damage they have done to the lives of the people of Europe will last generations. The stories about the Nazi death camps are just too horrible to comprehend. Dale believes that Fascism might have been defeated but that already Communism in Russia is rising to take its place. I hope she is wrong. Europe can't survive another war.
The children are doing fine. I've enclosed a note from Jackie and a scribble from William thanking you for the lovely sweaters you sent them. Thanks from me too for the nylons and chocolate. It's so lovely to be spoilt.
Love Vivien
Dear Aunty Beth,
Hello. I'm Jackie. I'm wearing the sweater you bought me and so is William. Thank you and God bless.
Love Jackie.
Dear Vivien,
It's been a busy summer with the children. And I'm long overdue getting a letter off to you. Mary and Earl take so much of my time. Peter and I had them both Christened last month. It was a lovely service and we had all our friends back for a barbecue in the backyard. A barbecue is when you cook steaks over a charcoal fire. It's a very American thing to do in the summer time. We also had salads and rolls. No alcohol of course. Peter and I don't drink now. But I made a nice fruit punch.
Uncle Sam has dropped something called the A bomb on those damn Japs and they have surrendered. At last we do have peace in our time! Peter and I have been busy because we mean to keep our promises to you and get you out of that unhealthy situation. Peter has managed to get you on a ship to American in six months' time. You and Jackie can stay with us (William too if you decide to bring him) until you get established. Peter will find you a clerical job at work but I'm sure it's only a matter of time before you find a nice young man and remarry. Vivien, America has so much to offer. You will love it here. It will be a new start for you. I'm really looking forward to bringing you to our church and introducing you to our friends. It will be so nice to have family here.
Do say yes. Everything is ready for you,
Love Beth
Dear Beth,
You are a good sister and I know you want only the best for me. I will never be able to repay you for your letters and gifts during the war years. It made all the difference. I can't thank you enough for your generous offer but I have to turn you down. I'm staying here with Dale and the children. We are a family of sorts now. It's hard for me to explain to you, Beth, because your reality has been so different than mine. I do drink. I've even been known to smoke. My faith in God has been shaken by the things I have endured and seen.
We might emigrate at some point but Dale is needed here yet. The world is changing and no one really knows how all the pieces will fall into place after all this upset. The A bomb and the rise of communism have changed the whole political face but behind the facade history seems to repeat itself. Dale tells me that the partition of Korean can only lead to trouble. She feels you can't divide a people and expect them to be happy about it. She tells me the same mistake is being made in a place called Vietnam.
She has been working with French and British representatives monitoring the formation of the Arab League. Dale feels that if a Jewish state is formed in Palestine that it will lead to all sorts of trouble down the road. Britain is not in favour of this solution but something has to be done with the Jews as no one wants them. America interests are putting a lot of pressure on Britain to support the idea.
It looks like De Gaulle will become the next president of France. Dale doesn't like him but feels he is the best chose at the moment as he is seen as quite the hero in France and will be able to unite the people.
Beth, you and I will always be close because we are sisters. I will never forget the understanding and support you showed me when I ran off and married Harry and during the horrible years of the war. My life is going in a very different direction than yours but I hope and pray that we will always be close.
Love Vivien
So that was that. My mother made the choice to stay with Dale. Were they a lesbian couple? I suppose so although I have no proof. No letters. Nor can I ever remember them touching each other or giving any indication that they were close. But we all lived together happily as a family. I open the last letter in the war years' bundle.
Dear Vivien,
I am shocked and hurt by your decision and I have to tell you that Peter is very angry. I cannot condone the unnatural and unhealthy life that you have chosen. I ask you to reconsider this decision. You always did rush into things without properly thinking them out.
Look at your situation objectively for heaven's sakes, Vivien. You are a young widow with no financial means or skills. You have your own child and are for reasons beyond my imagination also raising some Nazi's bastard as your own even though his mother is wealthy enough to provide for him. You are virtually living as a servant and nanny for a woman who is mental disturbed and perverted. What sort of environment is this for Jackie to grow up in?
I am returning all your letters. I have offered what support I can to you as a sister should but I'm not willing to continue to do so if you decide to continue down this slippery slope. I do try to be a good Christian woman and I will forgive and welcome you with open arms if you chose to turn away from this life you have picked.
In the meantime, Peter tells me that we will use the ship tickets to bring mom and dad to America. I'm sure they will love it here as the warm climate will be good for mom's rheumatism and dad can keep a garden all year round.
May God help you to find a better way. I will keep you in my prayers,
Beth
So Aunt Beth dropped a bomb almost as big as Uncle Sam's. I didn't find these letters until after my mother and Dale were dead. I wish I had known. I would have given mom a big hug and told her how proud I was of her decision. I might have been raised in an unorthodox family but I have no regrets. I don't believe in regrets and I don't think my mother did either.
Chapter Two Pictures in Black and White
When you are five you see everything in terms of black and white. There is good and bad and if you forget your mother reminds you.
We stayed in England until spring 1947. It was the year that Princess Elizabeth married Prince Philip. We were still under rations and the Princess had to save her ration coupons to buy the material for her wedding dress. Still it was a fairy tale ending to the dark years of the war. The young exiled Greek Prince fought bravely in the Royal Navy and then fell in love with the Princess Royal. Did he really love her? Or did he love who she was? Hard to say. The Tides of fate had brought them together, with their Uncle Mountbatten's help. Their marriage was meant to be.
It's the black and white photo that has fallen from the pile that reminded me of this. It's of us sitting in a row at a dinner table. The dinner table is in the community hall because it's a neighbourhood party to celebrate the Princess's marriage. All over England, people were enjoying the wedding with parties. Dale is at the end still wearing her uniform, a row of medals on her chest. She smiles at the camera, but her eyes are cautious. I'm eight and I sit in the crook of her arm. Holding up proudly the brass piggy bank that I have been given. It's in the shape of the coronation crown. Little did we know that the young Princess would be Queen in just a few years. William sits to my other side looking shy and turning his head towards my mother for reassurance. Vivien, my mom, is laughing and looking proudly at the three of us.
It's a moment in time but one that I will not forget. We all stood and toasted our King who had brought us through the war years so courageously even if he hadn't been trained for the job. Long live the King! Long live England! After dinner, one of the women from down the street played the piano that her two boys had pushed in from another room. She used to have four sons and a husband but two of her sons and her husband all died at sea during the war. We sang all the war-time, patriotic songs . Bless ‘Em All, Land of Hope and Glory, You'll Never Walk Alone, The White Cliffs of Dover. I sing a few lines and I hear in my memory the voices of our neighbours joining in. There'll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover tomorrow, just you wait and see. There'll be love and laughter, and peace ever after, tomorrow when the world is free.
I look at the picture again in my hand. Behind us, the windows are boarded up, the leadlight gone. Outside half the street was still in rubble from a hit by a V2 bomb in the last few weeks of the war. We sang God Save The King at the end. As we packed up to return to our homes or to stay with family or friends if our homes were gone, people could be heard singing We'll Meet Again. We'll meet again, don't know where, don't know when... Tears roll down my face.
Several days have passed. Paula and Cate have yet to make a decision. I am leaving them alone as much as possible, letting them be masters of the house. I'm showing them that I won't be a meddling, old busybody if they live here. I'm never a busybody. I'm just meddling, determined and controversial and have no intention of changing my ways. There is no reason why they can't learn that later. I have complete faith that the magic of the place will win them over if I keep a low profile.
So I'm up in the attic sorting, organizing and labelling photos. I want my life and possessions all organized and neat before I go. I don't care what they do with my things. Once I'm gone, as amazing as it seems to me, life will go on. The only thing one can take into death is one's own life and I mean to do that. I have given away my cars, furniture and my house. My papers I burnt after writing and publishing my memoirs. Unlike many of my colleagues, it's all there in the book. No polish or tidying of facts for me. It's there in all its honesty and rawness. When the book came out several people tried to sue but lost. I only ever wrote the documented truth. I did so remembering that the pen is more powerful than the sword. As my editor poetically told me my ink ran like blood. In my defence, I was just as brutally honest about myself as others.
The photo. That day sticks in my mind. I'd eaten too much, got over excited and tired and puked before going to bed. Mom had cleaned me up and tucked me in again, but I'd stayed awake for some time after that with a sore tummy. I stole down the stairs to get my piggy bank and so overheard mom and Dale talking.
“Vivien how would you feel about emigrating?”
“Where to?”
“I've had a good job offer in Canada. I'd like to accept but I won't go without you and the children.”
“Canada. Oh Dale! We'll get to see the Mounties and maybe a bear!”
I hear laughter. Then silence. After a while I hear Dale's voice again. It's rough with emotion.
“Once we are in Canada we could say we are sisters. It would be easier then.”
So Dale became my aunt and Canada became my new nation. Oh Canada, my home and native land... The memories are all there inside the picture. It recorded the currents of change that moved us like flotsam and jetsam through life. We think we are in charge of our destiny, but really we simply react to the shifting tides. My tides took me across the ocean to a new country.
I lift another picture. Here I am with William aboard the ship that took us to Canada. There were few ships after the war and air flights were rare and expensive. We were on a cargo ship that had five first class cabins. We had to sit at the Captain's table each night. This was boring for William and me as we had to behave. During the day, William and I got to bounce on the massive canvases that covered the cargo holes. The wind would catch them and they would blow up like balloons for us children to jump up and down on. The picture is of me holding William as we bounce to the movement of the sea and wind. Mom took the picture while Dale stood by protectively.
“Aunt Jackie? Are you up there?”
“Found guilty,” I call back. I hear the pad of feet on the attic stairs and Paula appears.
“What are you doing up here?”
“Sorting out my life. Bringing order to chaos. A butterfly flapped its wings once across the other side of the world and so my life happened. Quite extraordinary that, isn't it?”
Paula laughs. “I think the theory refers to weather. A rather larger concept than one individual, even one with as big an ego as yours.”
I am obliged to rear up on my hind legs, figuratively speaking, and protest. “I'm not the least bit conceited. I simply know what I can do well and nothing else matters.”
Paula smiles. “No ego in that statement at all.” And we both laugh.
“Aunt Jackie, Cate and I have been talking about this idea of yours. We've talked it over with Scott too. We think it's doable although we plan to keep our town house in the city and rent it. Scott knows the kids on the local hockey team here from tournaments and he says they are okay. We've been to the local school and talked to the principal and teachers. The school seems progressive and has good standards. Cate was pleased that there were some kids of colour at the school so Scott won't feel singled out. Cate's also talked to her ex and he's happy enough with the move as long as Scott continues to spend part of the summer with him.”
My heart is beating hard and I feel my lip tremble. My voice though is calm and practical when it comes out. “Good. That's settled. Now leave me to my work but don't forget to call me for dinner.”
Paula gives me a quick hug and disappears down the narrow stairs. She is not fooled by my bravado, but she allows me my dignity. I'm thankful for that. I need to cry.
I allow myself a few minutes of weakness before sniffing back the relief and pulling another photo from the frame. We were in Canada and I was nine. It was 1948. We lived in Ottawa and Dale was working with the RCMP. The Mounties. She was not a police officer. She worked as a civilian in security. She doesn't talk about her work. Mom went back to school. She was training to be an elementary teacher. William was in school too, but several grades behind me. William worried about school but got okay marks. I didn't worry at all and got excellent marks. The photo was taken in the back yard while we were building a snow man. Mom was holding up William to put the carrot nose on. His face was twisted with concentration because he wanted to do it right. I wasn't in the photo. I was on Dale's shoulders. I was allowed to take the picture with Dale's new Kodiak Duo Six-20 because William got to put on the nose. The photo was a bit lopsided and blurry.
This picture was really a flood gate that would slowly be opened over the years. I loved my Aunty Dale. I resented her closeness to my mother who always seemed to be taking Dale away from me. Mom didn't approve of the fact that Dale favoured me. They argued about Dale letting me use the camera because she allowed William to put on the carrot nose. I liked that Dale loved me best.
I flip through an old album looking for a picture. It's one that mom took of Dale and I sitting on the step of a small cottage we rented one summer. I'm ten. We had never been in cottage country before that summer. Our first night, Dale had built a bonfire down by the river and sharpened some sticks that she had gathered. We roasted marsh mellows over the embers. Dale roasted hers golden brown and shared them with mom. William and I created fire balls that had to be blown out and the melted marsh mellow eaten with a blackened crust.
“Listen!” whispered my mother in fear. “There is something out there in the trees! Oh Dale! It might be a bear!” Mom gathered us children up and hurried us off into the cabin, letting the screen door slam behind her and then dropping the hook in place. In her panic to save us, she'd locked Dale on the outside.
The rustle got closer. We heard an animal sniffing around the cabin. Mom held us two children close in the corner. A shadow back lit by the bonfire rose up against the opposite wall as a dark form placed its front paws on the screen door and looked in. My heart pounded wildly in my chest. I knew we were all going to be eaten alive by some wild animal.
Then I heard Dale laugh. She clapped her hands.
“Shoo, get out of here, you little beggar!”
The shadow dropped and the creature vanished into the night.
“Are you going to let me in or do I have to stand on guard all night?”
“Has it gone?”
“Yes.”
“What was it?”
“A racoon.”
“Dale! I didn't get to see it. I've never seen a raccoon before.”
“Serves you right for being such a chicken,” Dale laughed smiling at my mom. “Why don't you put the kettle on for tea while I get the fire out. I think the kids might need a game of Snakes and Ladders before bed after that scare.”
“Dale?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
I looked on with eyes filled with worship. Dale was my hero.
“Dinner!” The call brings me back from my memories.
“I'm coming.” I place the picture back in its spot and close the album. I've been told by a number of women that they never knew they were lesbians until they were adults and suddenly had this revelation. I don't believe in revelations. People just live in denial until they can't do so any longer. I have always looked reality square in the face. I never believed in Santa Claus and I always knew I was a lesbian. I didn't always have a word for it and I tried for a while to conform, but I always knew what I was. I love women and my first love was Dale.
I climb down the stairs carefully. Now is not the time for me to be breaking bones. Then head through to the kitchen where we eat most nights. It's a lovely room with big windows overlooking the meadows that catch the late afternoon sun. Paula has made a chowder and baked fresh bread. At this rate, I will have no trouble putting some weight on my sad-sake bones. I will go from looking like a smelt to Moby Dick before the year was up.
There is no ceremony on nights like this. Cate dishes up and we all chuck into the food like starving refugees.
Paula looks up from her plate. “I bet those photos are bringing back a lot of memories, Aunt Jackie.”
“They are. I was thinking about my first love.”
“Who was that?” Cate asks.
“Paula's grandmother Dale.”
Paula chokes on a piece of fish and Cate is obliged to thump her back a few times and pour her a drink of water.
“Please tell me this isn't another skeleton in the family closet,” she gasps. “I mean, I know you weren't related by blood but she did raise you.”
“Really Paula you can be such a little, old lady. No, I didn't sleep with your grandmother. She wouldn't have me.”
Cate started laughing and can't stop until she got the hiccups. Paula blushes a bright red. With her blue eyes and platinum blond hair she looks a bit like one of those old celluloid Kewpie-dolls they handed out as prizes at fairs.
Naturally, I say what is on my mind. “With all that blush in your cheeks you look like a Kewpie doll.”
Cate is laughing and hiccuping. Paula glares at me and then at Cate. “If anyone calls me that again, their cold, dead body will be floating out to sea on the next tide.”
I wink at Cate who is trying her best to get her laughter and hiccups under control. Decorum will clearly not be a major component of our evening meals.
The following day, I walk down the dirt road to my friend's house. Dr. Edith Parlow lives only about a half mile away, but I'm tired by the time I arrive. Edith meets me at the door.
“Come on in and have a mug up,” she calls. That is Newfie for afternoon coffee and I'm more than ready. Edith is taking freshly baked cinnamon rolls out of the oven as I slip on to a kitchen chair with relief.
“Please tell me that some of those are for me. We've been friends for so long and I'd hate to have to be physical to get a few.”
Edith laughs. “I made them especially for you. I know your weaknesses.”
“Not all of them, I hope!”
“All of them. That's why my hair is white.”
“And here I thought it was because you were seventy-two.”
Edith and her husband retired to The Island ten years ago around the time that I had. Her husband Jeff was from Newfoundland and worked for the CBC. Why do so many Newfies work for the CBC? She'd met him at a party in Montreal. Media parties being what they are, she met him again several hours later in emergency to have a rather large splinter removed from his ass. She tells me it was love at first sight. I never saw Jeffery's tush but I'm assuming it must have been quite magnificent for Edith was a good catch.
Jeff and I got on like a house on fire. He would have made a much better brother than William. I think I was as upset as Edith when he dropped dead of an aneurism three years ago while watching TV. I suspect this happens frequently to people addicted to reality shows. It's the strain of actually trying to find anything remotely close to reality in them. I had warned him.
Edith is sliding several hot rolls onto my plate before pouring me a mug of coffee. “So how did the yearly family gathering go?”
“The usual mayhem. You should have been there to see.”
“Not on your life! Jeff and I went to one and I said never again. If I wanted to deal with a mass of dysfunctional people and their offspring, I could have studied psychiatry. I noted that a few have stayed over.”
“I asked Paula to stay and to invite her partner Cate Morrow to join us.”
“Ho,ho! So you were right about your niece's orientation. And how did you manage to get her to come out?”
“Eavesdropped and read a private letter,” I confess as I munch contentedly on a bun. Thank God there is nothing wrong with my stomach!
Edith shakes her head in disbelief. “If this is the way you treat family I would hated to be an enemy.”
“There are still a few alive, but they are not enjoying it.” I take a sip of coffee and move on to my second cinnamon bun.
“How can you eat what you do and always be as skinny as a beanpole?”
Edith is built like an over ripe pear. She is always on a diet to no avail.
“I'm dying of cancer.”
“Okay, now you have an excuse, but what about the first sixty odd years?”
I shrug. “It's either a tape worm or my metabolism has always been on over drive.”
Edith sighs. “Well, if you go first, please leave me your metabolism.”
“Okay. I told Paula about her grandmother.”
“All of it?”
“No, not yet. But I mean to. I have asked Paula and Cate to come and live with me.”
Edith smiles and reaches out and pats my arm. “It's for the best.”
It was Edith who sat me down and told me bluntly that I wouldn't be able to cope by myself much longer. I fought this advice through the autumn, but last winter made me realize that she was right.
“I hate this.”
“I know.” She pats my hand again and wisely changes the subject. “So tell me about Cate.”
“She's a deep sea diver and photographer. That's how she met Paula. Paula hired Cate for a study she was working on to do with deep sea currents. Cate used to be in the navy. She married a Canadian originally from Kenya and has a son, Scott.”
“How is the rest of the family taking all this?”
“They don't know yet. They'll acted politically correct about the lesbianism and the kid of colour but among themselves they will be scandalized. You know what right-wing pea brains they all are. Of course, what is really going to make the fur fly is that I'm leaving almost everything to Paula. The family knows I'm well off and have been sucking up to me for years no matter how rude I am to them. Wait until they find out that I'm not just well off but filthy rich and have left it all to my queer niece. They'll wet themselves.”
Edith shakes her head and smiles. “You are really looking forward to the fireworks aren't you?”
“Oh definitely! But I will ease the blow by setting up educational trust funds for the offspring that have been spawned. And although it hurts me to do so I will get Mary and Doug out of debt and give an equal amount to Paula's mother. I don't care a hoot about them, but I don't want them bleeding Paula dry.”
“That seems like the right thing to do.”
“Is it? I might have to reconsider then.”
Edith and I fill in the afternoon with good talk and then I make my way back to my place after a nice hug. I have thought of making a pass for Edith now her husband is dead, but I fear that she doesn't swing both ways. I don't want to cause any awkwardness between us. Besides, Edith has several children living overseas and spends time with them so her life is pretty full already.
What if Kathy was still here? The though comes unannounced and catches me flat footed. I lean on the fence letting my eyes feast on the drifts of wild flowers that abound in Newfoundland during the summer. Red wild roses along the fence line, white Bunchberry in the shade of the rock, Hawkweed forming a yellow carpet, wild Daisies and masses of pink and purple Lupines. Even in the ditch beside me the Showy Lady Slippers were enjoying the moist, rich ground. Nowhere else have I ever seen such an abundance of natural beauty than here on the west coast of Newfoundland.
Kathy. She taught me that I could love again. She encouraged me to trust. To lower the wall that I had put up between me and the world. She patiently healed the wound in my heart and soul and then she took me for her lover. I thought we would grow old together. I never made enough room in my life for her. She never came first like she should have. But unlike Sue, she left me intact. No festering wounds. No fear of love. Just a deep sorrow that I hadn't got it right after all and could have given her so much more.
Kathy and I should be walking hand in hand now. Laughing and sharing and not focussing on the limited time we had left together. We should have got old together. Mellowed into our golden years. Life never plays fair.
That night, I show Paula and Cate a picture of Dale. She is wearing jumpers and sitting on one of the RCMP horses at their stables in Ottawa. Mom is up behind her. I don't know who took the picture. Dale liked to go to the stables to ride and had special permission to do so. The picture was taken in 1950. I'm now twelve years old. I wasn't at the stables that day. Both William and I took riding lessons at another stable. We weren't allowed to ride the RCMP horses. I was a competent rider. William was a good rider. He was patient and loved animals. After we rode, we'd each have to walk and groom our horses. I saw it as a chore. William saw it as a pleasure.
“Your grandmother was granted a lot of privileges because of her work.”
“What did she do? I mean other than work with the RCMP.”
I shrug. “I really don't know. Dale had a way with codes, languages, maths. She saw patterns easily. She worked for intelligence but doing what I don't know. Canada has never been a big player on the world stage.”
Cate pokes Paula playfully. “She was a spy!”
I laugh. “It was the 1950s. The beginning of the Cold War. Everyone that was anyone in government and industry was spying on someone. Moa Tse-Tung had Chiang Kai-Shek on the run and China was going communist. Vietnam was divided and unhappy. They were fighting to get the French out of there. The iron curtain had dropped over Russia and its satellite countries. And for the first time communist forces were fighting Americans in Korea. Things were pretty rocky then.”
“I still think she was a spy.”
“All I can tell you is that Dale knew and associated with a lot of movers and shakers. We had a new Cadillac. The first car to have a one piece windshield. Mom and Dale flew to New York to see the new Broadway play South Pacific by Rodgers and Hammerstein. They were there when the UN was officially moved to New York. It was unheard of in those days to fly somewhere for the week. Dale had power and she had money. We weren't rich then, but we were certainly comfortable. I remember William and I were the envy of the school ground because Dale had flown us all out to California to see Disneyland one summer. We toured all around and saw Hollywood and the redwoods. One day, in San Francisco, we were introduced to Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon. I had no idea who they were, but I could tell that mom and Dale respected them.”
“Were you jealous for Dale and your mom's close relationship?” Cate asked with a smile.
“Of course I was! I always wanted to be with Dale. Doing what Dale was doing. But, I was starting to learn to play the game by then. I was going through my girly stage and wanted to marry Chuck Yeager and become a jet pilot. He'd become my hero when he broke the sound barrier a few years before.”
“You were always ahead of your time,” Paula smiles.
“Nonsense! It's just that world is such a big and clumsy object, it has trouble keeping up with the times. You'd think the fact I wanted to be a test pilot with Yeager and not an air force wife would have sent me a big hint.”
We laugh. All lesbians have gone through that stage, knowing in their hearts they are different but living in denial.
Paula leans back in her chair deep in thought. “I was in my early teens when I developed a crush on a female teacher. Boys asked me out, but I never enjoyed the dates. There was just something missing. I didn't know about lesbians then, but I did know about fags - gay guys. Gradually, it hit me that there were gay women too and I was one of them. What about you, Cate?”
“I lived in total denial until I married. Then I knew it was all wrong. I thought myself a liberated woman not realizing that it wasn't liberation I sought, but the freedom to be a lesbian. When I had sex with my husband I felt trapped and dirty. I hated being pregnant. I wanted a child but not all the female crap that went with it. The marriage failed because of me. Finally, I just had to be honest and say it was not for me. I was worried about coming out to my ex. I was afraid he'd object to joint custody if I did. I think gradually he just came to realize. I guess we function on that old military attitude of don't ask, don't tell.”
I wake early in the morning from an erotic dream. I have dreamt of that one night. That perfect night when the sex was everything it should be and the high and release was unimaginable. We all have those special nights. The ones that set the bar that we find it hard to reach ever again.
I turn on the light and reach for the picture that I had taken from an album earlier in the evening. It's a picture of Sue Lyon and myself in Vietnam. We are leaning against a M113 APC or Armoured Personnel Carrier. The M113 and us are splattered with mud and our khaki outfits are stained with sweat and blood. We'd managed to get to the action. We'd bribed our way aboard the APC and ridden to the front replacing two of the crew who Sue had got drunk and left in a local whore house.
That was Sue. She had no borders and was totally without fear. We'd got ourselves caught in an offensive and had seen firsthand what battle was like. I'd come back shaken and grateful to be alive. Sue had come back cocky and elated with the film she'd managed to get. I had my story. It was about the insufferable heat inside an APC. The smell of carbon, dust and blood. The stench of burning metal, oil and human flesh. My story would be about the bravery of doing one's duty when surrounded by pain, death and destruction. War had left me horrified. I was just glad that I'd got my job done and not run in fear or wet my pants. Sue had filmed it differently. Through her lense it would be about giving the enemy hell. It would be about brave Americans who gave their lives for freedom. It would be about the blood lust of battle.
It was that night that the sex had been so good. We'd gone back to the hotel used by journalists and I'd stood in the shower until my skin was tender, washing away the dirt and stench of war, but not the memories no matter how hard I scrubbed. When I came out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, Sue handed me a Scotch and then disappeared to clean up herself.
Even with the window air conditioner, an unreliable luxury, it was still hot and sticky. I lay on the bed naked and sipped at my drink. My hand still shook. I had got to the bottom of my glass and had just got up for a refill when Sue came out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam. She was tall, lean and naked, her short, dark hair ruffled with a good towelling. I lifted the glass to my lips and took a deep drink. Then walked over to Sue and kissed her letting the warm fire of the Scotch pass from my mouth to hers. It was an old trick, but one that always excited Sue. Sue needed to be more than close. She needed, demanded, to be part of her lover in any way she could.
We kissed and a dam of emotion broke. Our mouths sought each other hungrily over and over again. I wrapped my arms and legs around my lover humping my sex against her warm, wet flesh. I was out of control with need and so was Sue. We made it too the bed and Sue was on me. Sue was always on me. I was young and passive, she experienced and aggressive. My legs wrapped around her ass and my hips heaving up to meet her as I took everything that she gave me over and over until the two of us lay wet and exhausted on rumpled sheets. It had been an explosion of desire. Base, urgent and wild. It was some of the best sex I have ever had. Battle lust.
A timid knock at the door.
“Aunt Jackie? Are you okay? You slept in?”
“I'm fine. I'll be down in a minute. I was just masturbating.”
“Shit! Get up, you old liar.”
Young people think they are the only ones with passion.
I was born to be an investigative journalist or a snoop if you want to be more accurate. Dale naturally was my first in-depth study. Had I been able to publish I'd have won a Pulitzer. At the time I was only twelve. Dale was away as she often was and mom had gone next door to a baby shower. William and I were allowed to stay alone for a few hours.
I left William watching Dragnet on the television and tiptoed into Dale's den. The den was off limits. Even Mom asked of it was okay when she wanted to clean the room. I sat in awe in Dale's wood, swivel chair behind her big desk and started opening draws. Most of the material was mostly math and things of little interest to me.
I hit pay dirt in the bottom drawer. Dale's service revolver, a 38/200 Enfield #2, lay on the bottom of the shelf and behind it was a single but bulky file folder. The file was on a German SS officer named Kurt Schwartz. He'd held the rank of Sturmbannfuhrer or a major and had served as an interrogation officer in France. Realizing that the war was not going well for the Fuhrer, in late 1944, he'd managed to get aboard a ship bound for Greenland while he was on leave in Germany. From there, he'd made his way to Iceland and was suspected of now living under an assumed identity in Canada. So that's why Dale had wanted to take the job in Canada. She was hunting him. I was thrilled. I put everything back just as I found it and was back watching the Red Skeleton Show with William by the time Mom returned. I remember that day well. I was wearing a white blouse with lace trim on the collar, a black felt skirt with a pink poodle on it and white socks with white and black saddle shoes. I thought I was quite pretty and grown up.
In that same year, 1951, I had started to keep a journal of events both in my life and in the world. I have continued to do so all my life. They are all stored on a bookcase in the attic. 1951 set a pattern that would repeat itself over and over again. The war was over and the Cold War was heating up. We were in Korea and the Red Chinese had moved into the North. We fought Commies for the first time.
Truman had appointed his golden boy, Eisenhower to head the NATO forces and would fire MacArthur, who was head of the US forces in Korea, for being an arrogant bastard. The Yanks would test a nuclear bomb in the Nevada desert that shook the windows in Los Vegas, but the radiation that drifted over the Eastern Seaboard, the scientists thought, probably was below any danger level. And of course, the Rosenbergs were found guilty of espionage for trying to sell the US research on the atomic bomb to the USSR. It was headlines in the newspapers. They were to get the death penalty. I was all agog. Youth loves violence because they have no idea what it means. Who would Bugs Bunny be without Elmer Fod to beat up?
I can remember my mother discussing the Rosenburg case with Dale.
“It's simply horrible the way the war continues on. I know they are traitors, but I hate to see this sort of thing in the newspapers. Weren't the Nuremberg Trails enough?”
Dale's response was uncharacteristically harsh. “It's never enough! Not until every Nazi bastard and traitor has suffered as much as those that fell into their hands.”
“Dale, I didn't mean...”
“It's okay. Sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that. Look, see here, this news will be far more important to us in the long run. Some religious fanatic belonging to the Crusaders of Islam has shot and killed the Iranian Premier because of his pro-west stand. I had hoped when the Shah of Iran married the daughter of that rebel chieftain that we'd have some stability in the Middle East. I'm very afraid we are not far off a war in that area.”
“Oh Dale! Let's get this Korean thing over before we start yet another war.”
“I'm afraid it can't be helped. Many parts of the world have been destabilized in the World Wars. Korean, the Baltic, Africa, Vietnam, Taiwan, we'll be stamping out fires for years to come.”
Dale would have made a good journalist. She had insight. But, she was also scared. Deeply and completely emotionally scared. It coloured her whole world view.
I have my shower, dress and pick up a handful of photos to share with the girls. I head down stairs following the aroma of coffee. I find Paula and Cate already at their breakfast on the veranda overlooking the ocean.
“Good morning. I just need to do my drugs and get a mug of Java and I'll join you if you don't mind. We need to scheme.”
I return with a mug of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. The breeze off the ocean ruffles my hair and the sun warms my skin. Life is good if short for me.
“Ah, life is good! Let's scheme.”
Paula looks over in disapproval.
“Cate and I do not scheme, Aunt Jackie. We plan carefully, keeping in mind that we have a child to raise.”
I look at Cate and smile. “You mustn't let the old stodge take the fun out of life for you and Scott. I love Paula, but there is no changing the fact that her father had about as much imagination as a barnacle. I'm afraid a bit of that dull stability rubbed off on her.”
“Aunt Jackie! You are talking about my father. Do you mind.”
“No, I don't mind at all. I rather enjoy speaking ill of the dead. He was my brother and I loved him but really, Paula, you know as well as I do that stimulating company he wasn't.”
“He was a good man and a kind and caring father.”
“My point exactly! Did he gamble, drink heavily, get into duals or run around behind your mother's back all the time? No. In fact, he didn't even cheat at cards.”
“Most people would consider those excellent traits.”
“Most people watch television every night and consider bridge fun.”
Cate laughed. “You're wasting your time, Paula. The more you argue with her the more outrages she gets.”
I change the subject just to be annoying. “I was just reading about a Swedish study last night that found that women over 70 are having better sex than ever before. I was quite buoyed by the research. There is still a chance that I can die of a gun shot after a wonderful orgasm with someone else's lover. She'd have to be a younger woman though. Wrinkles are a turn off.”
Paula rolls her eyes and picks up the bread and butter knife. “If you make a pass at Cate, I'll use you for bait.”
Cate is laughing so hard that I'm afraid she will get the hiccups again. I always feel a day started with outrages stupidity can't go wrong.
Pictures they tell stories and tales. They rarely tell the whole truth. The photo I'm thinking about was taken in our kitchen. It was 1953 and I'm 14. In the background, I can see the stainless steel coffee pot with its little glass bubble top in the lid. Even now I can hear the bubbling sound as the coffee shot up to wash over the grains. My mother has the best of everything in the kitchen. Dale spoiled her. For her birthday, Dale bought her a Studebaker because the ad said we had to be “the suburban family on wheels” William took the photo with mother's Kodak Brownie Holiday camera. He was tense trying hard to get the perfect shot so it's slightly blurred because his hands were shaking. Dale and mother are sitting at the green Formica table their coffee cups in front of them. I'm leaning against the counter with an expression on my face that would indicate that I was at least suffering from a serious case of haemorrhoids. I'm not. I'm simply a teenager going through my intensely remorse stage. I wear black - leotards, turtle neck sweater and beret. My hair is long and straight. I think I'm part of the Beat Generation when in fact I'm simply a copycat observer.
I worshiped Albert Schweitzer for giving up a promising musical career to work as a doctor in Africa. Materialism is a sin. I read Adous Huxley and Jack Kerouac, play bongos and listened to jazz and the blues. I write dramatic, bad poetry and would smoke marijuana and drink cheap wine if I only knew where to get some. My mother was worried about me, but Dale told her that being an anti-conformist was a form of conformity. I clicked my fingers in the Beatnik applause at this and Dale laughed. She understood that I'm learning, thinking and growing intellectually if erratically. My mother just saw a rebellious teen heading for trouble.
During this time in my life, my mother and I fight a lot. She was so square, man. I love Marlon Brando and James Dean. I love the abstract art of Jackson Pollock. I research Buddhism and Taoism. I want to move to New York, strip off the layers of materialism and find myself naked and true in my beliefs.
My mother thought I was a difficult child. She loved Marilyn Monroe in Niagara. Her art was paint by numbers. She went to church most Sundays and tried to make William and me go too. She told me I was not going to live in New York until I have completed university and could support myself. We were the opposite ends of the universe.
My mother looked worried. “Really Dale, you only have to look at the world - that terrible storm in Britain and the horrible flooding in the Netherlands - maybe God is trying to tell us something about the way the world is going. At least that's what Rev. Wilson said in church this morning.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Well, not really. It does sound so like my sister, Beth. God forbid!” They laugh. I hadn't met my aunt or family. They lived in the USA and had nothing to do with us. Mother and Dale didn't realize that I knew why, but of course I did. Children know a lot more than adults realize. We have big ears and we snoop, or at least I did. I knew Dale got The Ladder in the mail. It was a newsletter for lesbians. Dale was careful to burn it after she and mom had read it. I was careful to make sure I read it before it was burnt. I hear mom's voice again in my mind.
“Still it's hard not to worry after going through the war.”
Dale shrugs. “I think the fear of the atomic bomb will keep nations in control this time. Placing the Shah back on the throne in Iran will stabilize that area of the world, at least for a short time. Korea is winding down into a costly stalemate and now that Stalin is dead, we might see more stability in the USSR.”
“Hillary climbed Everest,” William piped in, trying to show he was well informed too. Dale ignored him, but my mother gave him a smile and some encouragement.
“He did and that was an amazing feat. It's nice to see man using his talents in a positive manner.”
I decided to show off too. “It's not like Hillery did anything useful. Not like Sulk coming up with a polio vaccine.” I know that would get Dale and mother's attention. They worried about us getting polio. It was the AIDS of the 1950s. A girl down the street from us got it and almost died. After that, she was crippled and had trouble talking.
“Both are achievements,” my mother stated firmly. “You two children are going to have an oral dose of the polio vaccine at school next term. It's nothing to worry about. They put it on a sugar cube for you to eat.”
“Better than a needle,” William observed.
It was at that time that Dale and I were at our closest. We discussed issues, debated. She took me to lectures and to the art gallery while mom took William to his hockey practice. He was on a team, but he wasn't very good. He had good skills, but he was too timid to take the initiative. That was the story of William's life.
This was also the time when Dale and I had THE fight. Although Dale occasionally corrected me if I got too cocky, she had never shown anger. During the fight, she was angry.
We were in the car, Dale's Corvette. It was a new model that year and sporty for its time, but hardly the unique vehicle it will become.
“Mother is such a square. She's always the party pooper. How did I ever end up with her as a mother?”
“That will do! Your mother is a wonderful person.”
“Dale, she is the original wet rag!”
“That's Aunt Dale to you. Don't get saucy. You should damn well appreciate everything your mother has done for you. She raised you and William through the war years alone and she was there for me. I will not hear anything said against her. She doesn't need to dress in the latest fads or talk in slang. She's the real thing. If you turn out as strong and as true as your mother, young lady, you'll be a credit to yourself and this world. Now be quiet. I've heard enough from you for the time being.”
The words were like swords to my heart. Dale loved my mother more than she loved me. I never stopped loving Dale, but I never completely trusted her again. Her loyalty was to another. We never talked about my mother again for years. Too many years. Instead, I got interested in boys.
My thoughts of time past are interrupted by Paula's voice. “Aunt Jackie, you're daydreaming. Cate wants to know if you'll have another coffee.”
“Yes, please Cate and could you bring the bottle of brandy too?”
“Brandy! Aunt Jackie it's eight in the morning.”
“Yes, but it's very good for shock and I have more to tell you.”
Cate disappears and returns with coffees and the brandy. Such a sensible girl, Cate. I pour a jigger of brandy into my coffee and take a deep sip. “Ahhh, that helps.”
Pictures. They lie. They are reality staged and framed and are, therefore, only part of the story. Sometimes though, they have an uncanny way of revealing too much of the truth. I look at the photo in my hand. It was one of the early coloured photos. The blues and greens have faded and what remains are the orange and red heat of passion. The picture is of my brother, William the Boring. It's 1968 and it was the one moment in his life when he dared to be bold.
It started boring enough. William had signed up for a two week course on teaching slow learners.
The course was in California where I happened to be living at the time. William was staying in cabins at the resort where the conference was taking place. Have you ever noticed that conferences never happen in industrial towns but only in glamorous cities or beautiful resorts? Makes you wonder how many people attend the conferences.
Personally, I always avoid them. Why pay money to hear someone else's views when you can think for yourself or buy the book. Conferences, like committees, are for people who think and live linear lives. Two dimensionality is absolutely essential for today's corporate world. That wasn't the case in my youth when individuality was still praised and not looked on as breaking the ranks. William was ahead of his time. He'd have done very well in a conform or die society. He did not do well in a do your own things society.
I digress. The photograph. I took it with my Brownie Instamatic. I found it strange that William chose to stay at the resort and not with me. Agatha controlled the money in his household and she was tight as bark to a tree. She still had books of those silly stamps that you got at the grocery store in the 1950s and used to buy gifts. I have no idea what she was saving them for, but I'm assuming she either couldn't bear to part with them or thought if she collected enough, she'd be able to buy a partnership in the grocery store. I'm off topic again. It's the right of the senior generation to wander down memory lane in an erratic and halting manner. I offer no apology. I'm dying you know. What a wonderful excuse that is! Dying is so liberating.
I can't abide secrets although I have kept a lot. It's fine for me to be the keeper of secrets, but I will not tolerate anyone having a secret from me. I showed up at the resort. Found out what cabin William and “his wife” were staying in and knocked on the door.
“Jackie! What are you doing here?”
“William! What are YOU doing here?” I mimicked and pushed my way in.
It was then that I took the photo. William standing there looking like the boob he was and sitting on the bed behind him a lovely, young woman feigning total innocence.
“Jackie what are you doing? I want that photograph.”
“I'm here visiting my brother and of course, you can have the photo. ( William was too trusting to realize I'd make a copy. ) I only took it because I'm a bugger. “Why don't you introduce me and then we can all have lunch together.”
Her name was Rose Johnston. Her real name, not William's johnston which he should have kept in his pants if he wasn't going to use a condom. I liked her. What an improvement on Agatha. Unfortunately, the affair didn't last long enough for Agatha to find out. Rose Johnston discovered that William was not an exciting, rich, older man but a henpecked, middle class guy with a domineering bitch of a wife. Wisely, she forgot about him and got on with her life. The story.
William had showed up at my door three months after the conference in Vancouver.
“Rose is pregnant. What the hell am I going to do. Agatha will kill me.”
“Hi, William, come in. I take it you want a drink.”
“Yes. A double.”
“Radical man.”
“Jackie! This is no time for flippancy, what the hell am I going to do?”
“You mean what am I going to do, don't you?”
“Jackie, I need advice.”
“Divorce Agatha and become a man.”
“Jackie, I don't need any of your hippie ideas. I'm a family man, a respected man in the community. I have a baby and another on the way. I'm not divorcing Agatha.”
“Here's your drink. You'll need money. How much can you come up with?”
“A few thousand.”
I laugh. “You have a man account. Every man I know has an account that his wife knows nothing about. Good on you, you old bastard.”
William blushes. “Jackie!”
“Its okay, William. I'll see to it.”
I take out two photos and slide the first across the table to Paula. I give Cate a quick look as a heads up. Cate gets a worried frown. She can undoubtedly hear the whistle of a missile honing in on her partner. Boom! Emotional blow. Collateral damage expected.
“Normally, I'm the picture of discretion when it comes to other people's affairs. Glass houses and all that. In this case, however, the principal party having passed on to a happy hunting ground and there being some consequences of a long term duration, I felt it only right that you should know.”
Paula has that blank look of someone who simply doesn't get it. I wait, giving her brain cells sometime to get themselves around a startling and bewildering topic. I sip my coffee and enjoy the view. The seagulls were heading out to sea. Although, fall is on its way, it will be a nice day. The ocean is being gentle, rolling ashore and spreading across the pebble beach in fans of froth. Ocean and sky meet at an infinite point. The distance and its promised adventure calls to me even now.
“My father had an affair with this woman?”
“Bingo! I was very proud of him. It was his one moment of rebellion. Her name was Rose Johnston. I liked her.” I repeated, in case Paula had not taken it all in. “I don't want you to get your hopes up and think your father was a philanderer. It was an early mid-life crisis. I think he cared for Rose very much. She was, of course, the younger woman. Your father, however, chose to stay with your mother and raise his family. I doubt if he had any regrets about his decision. Agatha wouldn't have let him.”
“Jackie, you are not being funny. You are being cruel!” Cate is angry.
I sigh, pick up the brandy bottle and tip a healthy portion into Paula's coffee. “I realize perfectly well, that the truth can hurt. I made a career of it as a journalist. But as I told you at the off set, there were consequences and so it's best that the truth come out, however painful.”
“My father had an affair with this woman.”
“Paula, you are being repetitive. Would a slap on the back get your record needle moving again?”
“How? When”
“The usual way, Paula, don't be dense. I believe she was a student teacher when they met and William her practicum instructor or whatever they call it. It lasted about a year. Your father got her pregnant.”
“What?”
“Pregnant. I know this is not a danger for lesbians, but I'm sure you've heard of the concept.”
Cate, took Paula's hand. “Enough, Jackie. Start from the beginning and tell us the whole story.”
I think back.
Rose Johnston had opened her apartment door as soon as I knocked. I'd phoned ahead and she was waiting for me.
“Come in,” she said, opening the door wide. I slipped out of my leather, peasant saddles. My ragged bell bottoms made a swishing sound as I bare footed it into a living room decorated in bean bag chairs and antiwar posters. A lava lamp sits on a wicker storage box. I couldn't image William in there. How could he sit in a bean bag chair in a three piece suit? I had no problem. My loose Indian shirt suited the moment. I slouched into the bean bag and accept a drink of cheap wine.
“Thanks.”
“Willy didn't have the balls to come?”
“I wouldn't let him. What would be the point of an emotional scene? He wanted to. We had quite the argument. He sees himself running away from his responsibilities and living the bohemian life. Can you see William doing that?”
Rose laughs. “I think of him as the stable, older man.”
“Well, older anyway.”
“So what do I do now?”
“You go on with your life as planned.”
“With a baby?”
“William is not a total jerk. He plans to support you and the baby until you can find a teaching job and then he'll continue to provide child support until the baby turns twenty-one. He truly cares about you and this baby.”
“Then why didn't he come?”
“I explained to him, as I'm going to explain to you, that it would be very unfair to you. You're young, you have your life ahead of you. Your generation is different from Williams and mine. Do you really want to be saddled with a baby and a grown up child with mega guilt issues? Because that is what William would be? Nor would you have any security, believe me, Agatha will take him to the cleaners. When she's finished with him in divorce court all he'll have to bring to you is his dirty undies. Do yourself a favour and kiss William off.”
“I thought I loved him.”
“You thought Santa Claus was real too, at one time.”
Rose smiles weakly. “Willy's financial support takes a lot of the worry away but there is still the social stigma. Who will hire a teacher who is in the family way with an illegitimate child? I'm in an awful fix.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out an antique ring set in a blue velvet box. “This had belonged to our mother. William was going to give it to you. He said that you made his soul fly. I'm impressed. I have never seen William's soul even try to get off the ground before.”
“I guess there is no point in taking it now. Why did you bring it?”
“First, because you can honestly wear it as a token of William's love for you both. Second, because you are about to become a young widow. Your American husband of a few months, died in Vietnam before he even knew he was to be a father. Here is a photo of him. Ironically, his name was William. Billy Carmichael. He was from California. Joined up to get an education. He had no family and was a ward of the state. I knew him briefly. He lay bleeding beside me as I crouched behind a turned over jeep. We'd been ambushed. He told me, before he died, that he hated to die a forgotten nobody. I told him I wouldn't allow that to happen. Now I can keep that promise. Billy Carmichael lived so that he could give you and your baby a name and a past you could be proud of having.”
“Proud? It's a lie.”
“Life is a lie. Don't let false nobility stand in the way of doing the right thing. By wearing this ring, you are accepting that your baby was conceived in love and your relationship with William had meaning. By taking the name Carmichael you ensure that a young soldier's memory lives on. By living the lie, you protect yourself and your baby from any sort of silly, social distain. Yes, it's a lie, but it's a lie for the greater good of a lot of people. I knew Billy only a few minutes, but I promised him his memory would live on. You can do this for me, or Billy, or William or your baby, but please do it.
“I know William's heart. He loves you. I want him to get a chance, however indirectly, to help you and the baby. I like you and I want you to enjoy being a mother and a teacher. Take the ring. Take Billy's photo and information. Let's make a bad situation into a good one.”
“You are quite the bullshitter, Jackie.”
“I'm a realist and I call it like it is.”
“Did you really argue with William? Did he really want me to have this ring or is he buying me off?”
“William loves you, trust me on that.”
Rose took the box and lifted the rings from it, she slipped them on her finger. “This is not how I ever thought it would be.”
“The tide of life is a series of surprises some of them marvellous and a lot nasty shocks. That makes it both challenging and interesting. William did have one request if you'll grant it. He'd like me to be the baby's godmother and guardian if anything was to happen to you.”
Rose sits looking at the rings on her hand. There is silence. Then she looks up at me. “Would you be a good parent?”
I answer honestly. “Unconventional, but caring and reliable.”
“I wish I could thank Billy.”
“Keep his memory alive. That will be thanks enough.”
Rose nodded sadly. She didn't feel the need to thank William. I was glad. William had acted like a spineless asshole.
Tears were running down Cate's face. Paula looked pale, but she has enough sense to call my bluff.
“How much of what you told Rose was true?”
“The part about Billy. I bought the rings at a pawn shop. I gave Rose the two thousand that William had managed to come up with and then I sent her support cheques for the next eighteen years.”
“You supported her?”
“Yes.”
“Why only eighteen years?”
“She died of ovarian cancer in 1983.”
“That poor woman!” Cate sobs. “What happened to the baby?”
“Adam? He came to live with me.”
“My God! How emotionally damaged is he?” Paula demands half in fun.
“Funny. He's fine. I saw to it that he got the education that Billy never got the chance to have. He's a Captain in the navy.” I push the second photo across the table. It shows a man who looks remarkably like Dale - tall, blond, blue eyes. It's a military photo. He stands in his uniform, stern faced with the Canadian flag draped in the background. He's a stunner if I do say so myself and I do. “He looks a lot like Dale and ironically got the backbone and courage from her that William lacked.”
Paula takes the photo and looks at it for a long time. Cate looks over her shoulder.
“You can tell your related, Lover.”
Paula nods. “Does Adam know who his father really is?”
“Yes. He thinks, Billy Carmichael was his step father and in a way he was. He uses the name Carmichael.”
Cate sighs and wipes away her tears and tries to smile at Paula. “How about that, Lover, you have a half-brother. You always wanted a brother.”
Paula looks troubled. “How could my father do that?”
“Don't judge, Paula. Life happens. Most of us try to do our best, but we have weaknesses and we make mistakes. William wasn't proud of that time in his life. I kept him informed about Rose and Adam. He cared, but he cared for his wife and you two children too.”
“Everything you told Rose was a lie.”
“Pretty much. I don't feel the least bit bad about that. It gave her some dignity, security and a reason to go on. She became a very independent and happy woman. I don't think she had many regrets.”
“She must have been terrified leaving Adam in your care.”
“Sarcasm again. We became the best of friends. Actually, more than friends.”
“Of shit.”
“That's another story. Your father met Adam once or twice. Adam couldn't come to his funeral as he was serving overseas at the time. Probably just as well, actually. Agatha would have had a fit.”
Rose Carmichael. I don't think of her as Johnston. That woman was before my time. To me, she was Rose Carmichael. Billy's widow. In a way, I slept with both Rose and Billy. I'm probably the closest thing Billy got to an affair. He was the closest I got to loving a man. I gave Rose closure with my lies and security with my bank roll. She returned the favour by saving my soul. But that was a long way down the road, after Vietnam.
It's November of 1967. I'd just been assigned again to Vietnam as a war correspondent. I was one of the few women there. I was 28 years old and I'd proven I'd got what it takes. I'd done two other tours of ‘Nam, covered the antiwar protesters, lived in Haight-Ashbury, wrote articles on the Cuban Missile Crisis and covered Expo 67, the World's Fair in Canada. Now I was back in ‘Nam. General Westmoreland had just announced to the journalists that he was ‘absolutely certain that whereas in 1965 the enemy was winning, today he is certainly losing.'
You wouldn't have known it by me. I'd seen enough to be convinced that the US hadn't got a chance in Vietnam. I didn't leave the hotel much anymore. I suffered greatly from the aftermath of an abuse relationship and from a bad experience I'd had back in January of that year. Battle shock. That's not to say I wasn't informed. I knew where to be and when. I had the best network of any journalist in the country. Street children. They fed me with information and I saw that their bellies were full.
Battle shock. I'd been following a lead I'd picked up from a kid whose father was from a village in an area heavily infiltrated with Viet Cong. I'd hitched a ride in a jeep with a young private who didn't know any better than to give rides to journalists. He thought if he did me a favour I'd do him when we got back. It wasn't going to happen, but I let him think it was. I was covering Operation Cedar Falls. My objective was to make contact with the 11 th Armoured Cavalry and ARVN who were fighting the Viet Cong in an area that was called The Iron Triangle.
Half way there, we met up with a small convoy that was taking supplies up to the 25 th infantry and followed along behind. A few miles later, the Viet Cong ambushed us. A landmine sent the truck in front of us flying into pieces and our jeep rolled. I woke up lying half in and half out of a rice paddy. The private who had been driving was huddled behind the over turned jeep. I crawled up to join him making sure that I kept out of the line of fire.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Bruised and scrapped but nothing bad. You?”
The private moved his arm awkwardly. At first, I thought his arm was broken. Then I saw he was using it to hold his guts in.
“Shit. Here, let me help you. You'd better lie down until a medic can get to you. I can hear ‘copters. Helps on the way.”
“You remember what I told you about joining up to get an education. To make something of myself?”
“Yeah, I remember, Billy.”
“Nobody back home respects us or believes in what we're doing here. I hate that. I don't want to die a forgotten nobody.”
I've been busy trying to staunch the blood and cover Billy's guts up with bandages from the jeep's first aid kit. I give Billy some pain pills and water. My hands are covered with blood and shaking.
“You're not going to die. I'll see to that. You hear that? Our ‘copters are giving Charlie hell now. We'll be able to medivac you out of here soon.”
“You won't forget me?”
I stop what I'm doing and look Billy straight in the eye. “You have my word that I'll get you home. I'll tell your story and I won't ever forget you.”
“All right then,” Billy smiles. A few minutes later, he was dead.
I did three tours in ‘Nam. I saw a lot of dead and wounded. Billy was the only one I watched die. He's buried in Arlington. I saw to that, taking him home as I promised. His head stone reads, Pvt. William Carmichael 1948 – 1967. We will always remember you as a fine soldier, and a man who would have been a wonderful husband and father. Jackie, Rose, and Adam .
Cate has taken Paula for a walk along the beach. They hold hands as they walk over the stony shore just above the frothy edge of the waves. The sky is soft blue and sea gulls cry on the wind. It's a pretty picture, but I suspect the conversation is about what a bugger I am. All families have skeletons in their closet. I'm sure ours are no different from anyone else's. We have held our secrets close though and now it's time to air them.
I sleep for a bit and feel better. When I wake, Cate and Paula are back and working at weeding the kitchen garden. I have let it go to seed as I'm not up to gardening anymore. Cate wants to get it all cleared and some sea weed dug in to act as a good mulch and fertilizer. Then it will be all ready to turn over in the spring. Tonight, we'll go over the plans for making a separate apartment for me. I use the opportunity while they are busy to go upstairs and get Dale's revolver from my bottom drawer. Leaving the house, I make my way along the top of the cliff enjoying the sea breezes and the rich fall colours that are starting to tint the sedges and grass. The air is fresh and clean. Once, I've reached the highest point, I sit on a bench that I have there and look out to sea. My life was spent travelling the world on assignment. Like the old Chinese curse, I lived in interesting times. I do not see that as a curse, but as a blessing. Life was hard but wonderful.
I take the revolver out and look at it. It id Dale's 38/200 Enfield. Mother had died suddenly of a stroke. She didn't live to see the millennium. She did live long enough to see all her dreams come true. My mother died happy still very much in love and with children she admired and grandchildren she adored. Dale died here. She knew she was dying of cancer and she picked her time and place using the Enfield to end her life. The note she wrote was brief and clear.
Thanks to your mother and our children, I have had a wonderful life. I don't want to be a burden and I don't want to lose my independence. I'm ready. The time is right. Remember your mother and me. We loved you. Dale
Someday, I will come up here like Dale did and use the Enfield to end my life as well. I will have no regrets. The time will be right. But as much as this is a beautiful day to die, I'm not ready to go yet. I want to leave things in order. I want to finish my story and close the book on my life myself.
“Aunt Jackie?”
“Oh hello, Paula. I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't hear you come.”
“What are you doing with that gun?”
“It's Dale's. It's the gun she killed herself with - right here actually.”
Dale comes and sits beside me and takes the gun gently from my hands.
“It's not loaded.”
“Why did you bring it here?”
“Because someday, I will load it, Paula, and come here. It's a good spot.”
“No! I don't want you to die.” Her voice cracks with emotion.
I laugh and wrap my arm around her. “I am dying and I won't allow your silly sentimentality to prevent me from picking my own time and place. Do you think I'd be happy wasting away with the family vultures around the bed? No.” I take the gun back from her and stick it in my bag. “It won't be soon. I'm not ready yet.”
“Good. Neither am I.”
We look out to sea. Each of us with our own thoughts. Our souls united by the desire to seek an infinite horizon. Each of us is flotsam and flotsam, our fates ruled by the sea of life.
It was 1957, at least in my head. I was eighteen and heading off to university. Mother was a nervous wreck. She didn't trust me. I couldn't say I blamed her. I had certainly sowed some wild oats in high school. High school. Sock hops, making out in the Bug, football games, burger joints, how many people can you fit in a telephone booth, cream soda, milk shakes in cold, wet metal containers so thick the straw stood up in them, drive- ins. Making out again. The parking spots. Making out again. Then there were hot rods, street races, brill cream, nylons with seams, garter belts, tight blue jeans and Capri pants. I let guys get to second base but no one scored. It wasn't that I was saving myself for marriage. I just didn't like sex with guys that much. Physically it felt good. Emotionally, it just didn't work for me. I still wanted Dale.
The fifties. I bring my high school yearbooks and some albums downstairs to show Cate and Paula after we have talked about the plans for my apartment. Cate and Paula get comfortable on the couch after pulling up an easy chair for me. We laugh and drink bottled beer.
“So mom always gave my ten cents to call home if I was in trouble. I never quite got that because the only time a girl was likely to get in trouble was on lover's lane and there weren't any phone booths there.”
“So what did you do?”
“Fell back on the old stand by and kicked him in the nuts. We had patient leather, pointy- toed shoes then with little bows and high heels. You couldn't run, but you sure could fight dirty.”
The girls laugh. “You didn't really, did you Aunt Jackie?”
“Kick men in the balls? Of course. That's why God put them out front. Men got the strength, but women got the target. Can you think of any other reason for evolution to leave them dangling there? It's a hell of a design flaw otherwise. Of course, you couldn't wear shoes at the high school dances. The gym floors were all wood and the leather sole shoes we wore left black streaks that sent the coaches absolutely ballistic. So we had sock hops. Mind you, after a few hours of the jitterbug, they probably should have called it sock stinks.”
“I can't imagine, Granny Vi and Great Aunt Dale calmly letting you date.”
“Calm? Good Lord no. I always got the lecture from mother about how nice girls don't kiss on the first date. And she's clip out articles from the Anne Landers' advice column in the newspaper on how to behave on a date for me. Dale was more direct. ‘Be home at eleven with everything intact.' She never said what would happen if I didn't, but I got the feeling that it ran towards extreme violence so I never pushed the boundaries - well at least not in those days.”
Cate points to a photo of me all dressed up in a skirt, blouse and cardigan with patient leather high heels, white gloves and a small hat.
“I can hardly believe it's you!”
“It was a day my mother had dragged me to church. I was raised Church of England you know although it didn't really take. I think a state religion is a fine concept. I let the Queen do all my praying for me.”
Cate chuckles. “I suspect not even the Queen's influence could get you into heaven.”
I show mock indignation. “I have never sinned. It's hardly my fault if the Ten Commandments are totally unrealistic and so I was forced to reject them.”
I have the two of them laughing now. That's good. Paula had been quiet since she found me on the bluff. It's a good thing she did really. It will give her time to come to terms with my death. As liberating as death is, the details can be quite tedious. One would think it very easy to pass on, but really the paper work and decisions!
Paula takes a closer look at the photo. “Gloves and a hat? You went all out.”
“Paula it was the 50s. Females didn't go to social engagements without gloves and a hat, certainly not to church. I find the fuss over women wearing the hijab rather hypocritical since it wasn't so long ago that our own society expected women to cover their heads.”
“It was a social thing not a religious thing though,” Paula points out.
“Not in church it wasn't. In fact, there are still churches where women would be expected to cover up. I'm all for liberating the repressed, especially women, but surely there are more important issues. Speaking of more important issues, that's a photo of Dick Little. He was the captain of the football team. Despite his name, what a magnificent body he had! He had a wonder gift of the gab too. No brain, mind you. I think he went into politics and did quite well.”
“Aunt Jackie you are bullshitting. What was it really like when you grew up?” Paula asks.
I consider and then wrap it up in one sentence. “The 50s was the soil that fertilized a social revolution. They never saw it coming, but they should have. Joe McCarthy was still looking for commies under every rock although his days of influence were numbered. Moe Tse-Tung was Chairman of The People's Republic of China, but he lived like an emperor in the Forbidden City. Marilyn Monroe managed to go through two husbands, Joe DiMaggio and Arthur Miller. She should have tried to work things out with Miller. She was as bright and talented as him. But women then rarely got any credit for their brains.
“Ed Sullivan was on TV and thought Elvis a nice, decent boy, although, he refused to allow the cameras to film him below the waist line because his hips moved. Disneyland opened. Dale took us all on a family holiday to California to see it on a Boeing 707. It was really very exciting. I loved Frontier and Future Land. Of course, the future wasn't a bit like we imagined it would be. Billy Graham was packing them in with his back to the bible ideals. And the Edsel was the new car.”
Cate pulls a face. “You sound like a news reel.”
“But, I am! Journalism is in my blood. “You want to know about the culture, I suppose. Let's see My Fair Lady, The King and I and The Bridge Over The River Kwai were the big movies of the time as I recall. We were still jitterbugging. Truly the most fun way to dance that has ever been invented. Holly, of course, had been on the vanguard of Rock and Roll with songs like Peggy Sue. Elvis did Jailhouse Rock and Heartbreak Hotel. That song can still get my motor humming.”
“Aunt Jackie!”
“It's okay, Paula, I know you are very inhibited about sex. I'll say no more.” My niece rolls her eyes and Cate laughs and gives her a hug.
“Then there was the more conservative music. Nat King Cole's Mona Liza. God that man was good looking! Baxter's Unchained Melody, Tennessee Ernie Ford's Sixteen Tons and Que Sera, Sera by Doris Day. They were good, innocent songs that you could still dance to. Music is not written to dance to anymore. It's written to murder by.”
Paula looks wishful and stretches out on the couch putting her head on Cate's lap. “Sounds like a far simpler age.”
“No. No, it wasn't,” I say thoughtfully. “Our parents were trying to put the war years behind them. They wanted security and the rewards for which they had won the war. It was the beginning of materialism in the middle class of North America. They wanted children and they had them in droves. For the first time in history, the young were going to outnumbered the old. Hemingway won the Nobel Prize in literature for The Old Man and the Sea. The man against the elements theme of a former generation. But Lord of the Flies had also been published that showed man at his rawest and Tolkien had written Lord of the Rings helping establish fantasy as a whole new genre in literature.
“Einstein was dead, Churchill was out and although Kefauver had beat John F. Kennedy to run with Steven that year, everyone knew that the Kennedy's were waiting in the wings. Times were changing. Rose Parks refused to sit in the back of the bus and troops were sent to Little Rock to try and keep black students from attending the white high school. Martin Luther King emerged as a figure head of the Black American cause during the bus boycott. The Soviets had sent up Sputnik and the cold war was heating up. All the signs were there of a cultural revolution.”
“And you were there to record it all,” Paula smiled.
“I was. Damn the years to come were wonderful years for journalism.” I yawned. “Enough of this news reel. I'm off to bed. Don't make love on the couch it stains the covers.”
Paula throws a pillow at me as I retreated.
Of course, I don't sleep. It's easy to be brave and thumb one's nose at death in the daylight. It's so much harder at night to lie there feeling the pain grow as the nightmares gallop around you. I get up and amuse myself eavesdropping. Yes, I know I promised I wouldn't. I crossed my heart and hoped to die so we know what that promise was worth.
It's Paula's voice I hear. She sounds worried.
“Living here is going to be a little inconvenient for work, but I think the benefits far outweigh the disadvantages.”
“Your aunt is a riot,” Cate laughs.
“Aunt Jackie is the Anti-Christ never trust her for a minute,” sighs Paula with, I'm glad to say, some tenderness. I think she likes me too.
“So why are you looking so worried these days?”
“Work. I was talking to the Chairman of the Department last week. The university has greatly cut back on our budget and that's making the research we are doing on deep sea currents harder and harder. We need a ship of our own to really do meaningful work. Each season, we rent one and by the time we fix it up to make it usable, half the season is gone. We have to beg money from any source we can to keep going, but with hard economic times, the money is drying up.”
“No chance of affording a ship?”
Paula laughs. “Only if hell freezes over. My fear is that I'll have to look for a job at another university in order to continue my work. I might have to even move to the States. I have some friends at Woods Hole Oceanographic Institution who are doing similar work. They would probably be interested in letting me join their team, but then it would be their research goals not mine. I just don't want to disrupt our lives again and what would I do about Aunt Jackie? It's really playing on my mind.”
“Hey Lover, don't go borrowing trouble. We'll get through this year and see how things work out, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Come here.”
By the sounds of things, they were working up to ruining my seat covers after all so I head back to my bed. What would she do about Aunt Jackie indeed! I needed a plan. One of these days, I'll have to walk over to Edith's. She has her finger in a lot of pots in the area. She'd be a good place to start. Besides, she can drive for long periods of time while keeping her mind on what she is doing. That was a skill I never leaned and it showed in the number of tickets I'd paid over the years. I would phone her first thing in the morning, so she had lots of time to make cinnamon buns.
The following afternoon, I take the golf cart that Paula has bought me over to Edith's. It's second hand and has Property of Gulf Golf written on the side. I call my new wheels Vomit because it's a puke yellow and Gulf Golf sounds like someone with the heaves. Naturally, I don't tell Paula or Cate this. It was very nice of them, although, I'm sure they're main aim was to keep me out of their trucks. Frankly, bouncing down the dirt road in the cart was harder on my bones than the long walk. Still, I take some delight in using the cane that Paula wants me to carry when I'm out and about by myself to bulls eye all the mail boxes as I go along. Edith was leaning on the frame of the kitchen door, arms crossed. She gave me one of those doctor looks that lets you know that she thinks maybe you should be wearing Pampers on your head because your common sense is leaking out.
“Did I just observe you jostling with all the mail boxes along the road?”
“I understand that interfering with the mail is still a criminal offense. Damn! I still got what it takes,” I exclaim, waving my cane over my head.
Edith laughs. “Park your mighty stead, Lady Jackie, and come in to the castle for some refreshments.”
“Is that cinnamon buns, I smell?”
“Of course, I always hope they might sweeten you up and make you almost socialized.”
“No chance of that. Listen Edith, I need help.”
Edith spins in mock horror from where she stood at the counter putting icing on the buns and places her hand over her heart. “Don't tell me you're pregnant!”
“Only if God has been at it again.” I get my hand slapped away from the plate.
“Wait until I have the mug-up ready.”
I go and sit down. “I need a ship.”
“The Queen Elizabeth or are you willing to consider something a little smaller?”
“Ocean going, sturdy, reliable and a work horse.”
“There are a lot of big fishing vessels for sale at good prices. Some of the factory ones could certainly handle the ocean and heavy loads. Which country are you thinking of invading?”
“Paula needs a ship for her research.”
“So you've told her about the money have you?”
“No, not yet, but I will - soon. I have got to the part about Adam.”
“How did she take that?”
“The jury is still out. She took the sentence like a trooper, but hasn't indicated she'd like to serve anytime with Adam.”
Edith nodded. “She's probably a little jealous. She always thought she was the apple of your eye.”
“So she is. Does that make Adam the banana?”
Judith laughs. “You are so bad!”
The money. I have no positive proof of where it originally came, but I fear the worst. It was 1967, Canada's Centennial year. I'm visiting home before I leave for ‘Nam. It will be my second last tour of duty there as a journalist. I'm home trying to heal from a bad relationship. Another one.
It's a sultry Wednesday night in August. My family have owned this place in Newfoundland now for many years. We'd come here every summer and winter in Ottawa. I haven't been here in a few years, but nothing has changed except Mom and Dale have got older. The newspapers were full of the usual doom and gloom stories. Media was paranoia served up on a plate of half-truths. The cold war, Vietnam and the domino theory, civil unrest, the red peril, the yellow peril, the Berlin Wall, the list was ever ending. Mind you, at least there was an effort in those days to research and write the facts as we saw them. Today's news is little more than entertainment hype and propaganda made available to the media by government and special interest groups. There are very few investigative journalists left.
August 1967. Canada was enjoying its Centennial year and Quebec was showing off with its wonderful, white elephant Expo 67. In the US, tension between blacks and conservative white America was at an all-time high. Even though slow progress was being made, hadn't Thurgood Marshall become the first black to sit on the Supreme Court, activists like Stokely Carmichael were stirring the pot of discontent. I was there covering the story when he stated that ‘They taught us to kill (in ‘Nam). Now the struggle is in the streets of the United States.” Didn't that statement fall right into the wallets of the gun lobbyists not to mention empowering gangs? There were so many good intentions paving the road to hell in the 60s.
The paper that night was about the death of Brian Epstein manager of the Beatles. He'd over dosed on sleeping pills. The Beatles had only recently brought out their classic Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. For Brian, success was too much pressure and too much attention. Gambling and sleeping pills became his escape and finally the pills his ultimate end.
There was also a small article on page six. Above it was a grainy black and white picture of a middle aged, gaunt man.
Former Nazi Killed
Pembroke, Ontario. 9:10 EST Police were called by a cleaning lady, Mrs. Beatrice Deal, who found the body of her recluse employer dead in the living room of his home. The cleaning lady, Beatrice Deal, stated that she arrived Monday morning at nine o'clock having not seen her employer for several weeks as she and her family had been away on holiday. According to Deal, Karl Schmitt was ‘in the habit of going for long walks in the mornings during the time that I cleaned the house'. Deal, who knew her employer only as Karl Schmitt, let herself in and immediate noted a foul smell. Finding her employer ‘dead in a pool of dried blood', she left the house and returned home immediately to call the police.
Spokesmen for the RCMP and the OPP, are being very closed mouthed, but this reporter has ascertained from other sources that the dead man is actually former German SS officer, Kurt Schwartz, who is wanted for war crimes in France. A major in the SS, Schwartz was known for his ruthlessness in hunting down members of the French resistance. Although it hasn't been confirmed by the coroner, the cause of death is rumoured to be a bullet to the back of the head in an execution style killing. Schwartz seemed to have been dead for several weeks. When contacted by this reporter, the French Embassy stated that no one had yet tried to claim the reward money for information about Schwartz's identity and location, however, unofficial sources within the embassy have disclosed that over two million francs has been paid out.
Kurt Schwartz left a sizable fortune in French art and bank accounts. In the house, the police found over $250,000 in Canadian and American bank notes. If no heir is found who would wish to try and claim this estate, the money and art will be treated as property obtained illegally during war and turned over to the Association for Jewish Orphans.
At first, I was stunned. Dale had killed him. Then realization set in. Dale had spent the summer with us in Newfoundland. She couldn't have been the one who killed him. But someone had. Someone found out where he was living in an isolated home near Algonkian Park. Someone knew that the cleaning lady would be away. Someone who had made it her job to track down the man she hated and pass that information on.
Mother realized too. There was a strain in the house that August. Mother and Dale had always been close and comfortable with each other, but now their relationship seemed distant. Mother was clearly stressed. Dale was unusually quiet and calm.
One night, I overheard my mother talking to Dale. “I know you didn't do it, but you were involved. I know you needed to get even and I can't respect you for that.”
“He got what he deserved.”
“And now everyone has blood on their hands.”
“You don't understand. You weren't there.”
“No, I don't understand and I never will. Oh Dale, please put those years behind you.”
“How can I? It happened. I can't change the tides of fate.”
“But this is over, isn't it?”
“Yes. It's over.”
“I read about the reward. None of that money is ever to come into our home, nor is it to be spent on any of us. Never!”
“It wasn't about the money, you know that.”
“Never! Promise.”
“I promise.”
Two million francs. A lot of money in those days. Invested wisely, reinvested and never touched by the time Dale died, the money had grown to a staggering six and a half million dollars. It all went to me. I too have never touched it and the money has continued to grow. Even in the recession, I could still count on over eight million. Tainted money, I wanted no more part of it than my mother. Now I mean to use it for some good. It has piled up in the closet seeping out its blood-red horror long enough. It's time to launder it.
Chapter Three: Records of a Time
Days have past. Paula and Cate are both back at work so I have the days to myself. I have sorted out most of my earlier photos and have now started on several big boxes of record albums, tapes and documents I found in the attic. Carpenters are banging about down stairs creating a little haven for me. Paula keeps reassuring me that we will all have a wonderful time together. Ironic since I was the one who had to get on bended knee to sell her on the idea. She is still worried about catching me with the gun. She doesn't understand that I don't plan to take an easy way out. I love life and the challenges, good and bad, that it brings. I just want the right to decide when I'm ready and go on my terms. I refuse to linger.
Here is my diploma. It's a Bachelor of Arts degree in Journalism from Berkeley. I had an apartment on Haight. It was where the beat generation formed some sort of nucleus that would morph into the hippie movement and the Summer of Love. They were some of the best years of my life. Everything was intense, the political situation, the university courses and discussions, the drugs, the love and my opinions. Dale took to calling me a liberal red neck. Mother feared for my life when she wasn't plotting to throttle me herself.
I lean against the wall and think back. I'd taken to university life like a duck to water. After my first term, I'd headed back to Canada for Christmas and the New Year relatively the same person as I had left. Then things changed. I met Joanne.
In my mind, I find myself back in the warm, soupy smog of San Francisco. I was sitting in a small basement café soaking up the carbon emissions that roll down from street level and drinking an espresso while I read from Allen's New American Poetry.
A woman pulled out a stool opposite me and sat down.
“I'm female enough to cry because I'm moved by life and male enough to drive and fix my own car.”
“You are paraphrasing Hettie Jones,” I stated.
She smiled predatorily. “What direction does your car go?”
I looked her over. She was about my age but a lot worldlier. Not beautiful but her strong features worked well. She had a presence, a charisma.
“South,” I respond and closed my book. “I understand that America has a love affair with the car. I don't have a car, but I know how to drive - real well.”
She smiled. “Real well, you say. Read me some poetry.”
All so silly now but at the time we thought it very witty and sophisticated.
So another of life's currents picked me up and drifted me along. I called her Jo Jo. By the end of second term we were living together. Jo Jo was studying sociology and had a second career as an activist. She protested, sat in, burnt flags, walked in civil rights marches and wrote letters daily to her congressman. I lost count of the number of times I had to bail her out of jail. Each time, she'd have a good story and I'd write it up and submit it to weekly papers. Often they got published.
“We're a team, Cunningham. I get the stories, you write the stories. We're going to bring about social change.”
“That is what freedom of the press is all about,” I observed.
Jo Jo got serious. “There is no freedom of the press. The Man controls the media. Big, fat cat daddies who believe in the profit of war and keeping the blacks and women in their place for cheap labour. Only the leftist papers dare to print the truth.”
“The truth as they see it.”
“Come on Cunningham, you don't believe we should be in ‘Nam even as advisors. You're for desegregation and equal opportunities.”
“I am. I'm also a realist. I don't think we can fight communism with bullets. I don't believe in the draft and I fear it might come to that. That said, anyone who has the guts to put on a uniform and fight for their country has my respect. My fight is with government policy not the foot soldier.”
“How can you respect someone who kills innocent people for political gain?”
“How can you judge when you have never been on the line of fire?”
“I know. And desegregation? Equal opportunity? Are you a ‘realist' about those too?” She used her hands to put the word in quotation marks.
“No. But do you think forcing schools to except blacks will change views? It won't. What will happen is the private schools will expand as white America finds a way around desegregation. The public school system will become a dumping ground and education instead of improving for marginalised people will get worse. First, you have to change attitudes both white attitudes and black attitudes.”
“Attitudes haven't changed for a hundred years, Cunningham. Protests and force are the only way to bring about a social revolution.”
“Martin Luther Jr will bring change by peaceful protest. Malcolm X's message is true and strong but his words widen the wedge between people not close it.”
“You've sold out to The Man.”
“You are a fanatic and probably a pinky commie.”
We laughed. We argued a lot. Drank a lot. Smoked joints and screwed every chance we got. Life was good.
My thoughts return to the present. I'm sitting on the floor in the attic holding a 45 record of Elvis Presley's Jailhouse Rock. Yeah, we rocked and the jailhouse was a reality for many people then who dared to dance outside the social norms of American society. My mind drifts back.
I was arrested for the first time with Jo Jo for interfering with an officer. Jo Jo had made friends with two gay guys, Shawn and Eddie who lived around the corner from us above a store on Ashbury. Walking back from Buena Vista Park one day, hula hoop in one hand and Frisbee in the other, we came around the corner to see our friends about to be arrested by a cop.
“Go deep,” I barked at Jo Jo and she took off with a big grin on her face.
I dropped the hula hoop and winged the Frisbee so that it curved right towards the cop. Jo Jo was there and leapt for the catch bumping the cop off the sidewalk. The boys needed no coaching, they took off on a dead run.
“I'm so sorry,” cried Jo Jo, as she stood in the way of the cop going after the guys.
“Are you alright?” I asked jogging up to add to the wall of defence.
“Get outta my way!”
“Why?” I asked stepping in front of the cop as he pushed Jo Jo aside.
“You're interfering with an arrest.”
I look around making sure I stayed in front of the cop. “I don't see anyone. Do you, Jo Jo?”
“Nope, no one here but us.”
That's when we got arrested. Dragged down town to sit for hours at an end, the night court judge released us with only a stern warning. He didn't have enough evidence to prove we'd actually interfered with the arrest. We met up with Shawn and Eddie in The Beat Coffee House down the street from us later that night.
“Look, thanks. I thought for sure we were going to do time. The cop caught us holding hands.”
“Pervert,” I laughed. The others laugh too, but Eddie's laugh is forced. He wasn't very comfortable with his orientation. He still went home to his Ivy League family in Boston and pretended to be straight. Shawn ran away from home at 16. He was comfortable with who he was and generally the Beat Generation hadn't given him any grief. He'd found a home, of sorts, among the rest of us in the Haight-Ashbury area.
“You okay?” Jo Jo asked Eddie taking his hand.
“Yeah, I'm okay. It's just if I'd got arrested - my family - it would have been horrible.”
“It's over,” I stated.
“Yeah, and from now on Jackie and I are going to be your bitches. You need to go anywhere public, we'll tag along. That will make it easier for you and easier for us.”
“Great! That's great!” Eddie responded. We all smiled, but Eddie's was still forced. So that's how we became a foursome. It was a watershed day. We knew we were hated and we'd learned how to put up walls. I leaned back in my chair and took a sip of my wine. The music was soft and sad. Tommy Edwards singing Many a Tear Will Fall. Yeah, love was a game and there are clear winners and losers. I was to learn that.
Days have past and Edith and I had been busy checking out ships that might be suitable as a research vessel. Although we thought we'd be at it for months, surprisingly, we found one that we thought would do relatively quickly. She was a narrow, long ship in the design of WWII minesweeper. Used as a fishing and canning ship she was 180' long and 25' in the beam, drawing only 6'. Her twin diesel engines were in prime condition and the ships log indicated she could cruise nicely at 45 knots. The large holds once used for fish catches, cleaning and caning could be easily converted to use for storage and labs and she had six cabins as well as a crew dorm, full galley and well equipped bridge. On the down side, she was a rusty bucket from sitting neglected at dock in Halifax for several years and she stunk of fish. The fishing trade having gone belly up years ago, she was going cheap. At under half a million, I considered her a real steal.
Edith accused me of settling on her because of her name, Eurybia. Eurybia was an ancient Greek sea-goddess of the tides of the sea and her children were the winds and the stars. Edith was probably right. Fortunately for Paula, she also happened to be quite suitable. I figured if I invested another half million, I could get the Eurybia shipshape and hire a decent crew. Then with the correct sponsorship and most of the rest of the money to establish and run a research centre, Paula's research could go on indefinitely. Damn, if I'd any idea that spending blood money was so much fun, I'd have started years ago.
That night, I lay out my short range plans to Cate and Paula. “I'm going away.”
“What?” Paula had turned pale and fumbled the fork she was drying.
“Not dead, silly. I'm going on a trip.”
Paula blushes and Cate fills the gap. “Are you sure you are up to it, Aunt Jackie?”
“I am. I'm going to see Adam. We usually get together this time of year. I thought I'd bring him back here if that's alright with you two.”
Cate looks at Paula “Lover?”
Paula comes over and joins us at the table. “I'd like that. I'd like it a lot. I've been thinking about how badly he was treated by my dad and I'd like to make it up to him. I'd like having a brother, I think. It's just all so weird to think he was out there all those years and I never knew about him. I mean, I saw you often and yet I never saw him.”
“He was eighteen when his mother died so he was off that fall to university. He took marine science at UBC before joining the navy.”
“Why the navy?”
“He got his BSc and didn't want to go on, yet wasn't sure what he could do with his degree. He wanted to see the world, I guess. He's got his captain's papers now and I think he'd like to move on to civilian ships. We did talk about it on his last leave.”
“It's strange that he chose a life on the sea like Paula.”
“Adam chose a life on the sea. You two chose lives under it for some strange reason.”
They laugh. “Well, I just hope we get on.”
“He'll drive you nuts. He's like me.”
“Oh God!” Laughed Cate.
“There is another matter I need to discuss with you before Adam gets here. It's about my money.”
“Aunt Jackie, Cate and I don't care about your money. You've been more than generous to us and we're very grateful, but don't feel that we are here for your money. We're not.”
“I know dear,” I say patting her hand. “You're here because you're afraid I might blackmail you if you aren't good to me.”
“Aunt Jackie!”
We all laugh and the tension breaks. “I need you to know that I might have a tiny bit more money that you think I have.”
“That's good. Enjoy it.”
“It's not quite as easy as that. You see there's this house and condos I keep in Ottawa and LA. Then there are my own investments, I did earn a very good salary as a journalist, the royalties from articles and books and of course money from guest appearances and speeches. All that amounts to a little over three million dollars. Then there is the other money.”
“Other money. How much?”
“Oh about eight million.”
“Shit! You didn't get it illegally did you?”
“Well, not illegally exactly more immorally and that's the tricky part.”
They're looking seriously now and listening closely. I start from the beginning even though they know about Dale's capture and the birth of William. I work through what I learnt and what I overheard and what I surmised and then showed them the clipping from the paper that I'd kept all those years.
Paula smooths out the paper and reads slowly. Cate looks over her shoulder.
“So Dale didn't kill him.”
“Not directly. No. I think she would have liked to, but she knew your grandmother would never have forgiven her. So, I suspect, she handed the information she'd collected over to someone who would.”
“And she collected the money.”
I nod. “It was probably more she was given the money when the evidence she handed over proved to be accurate.”
“The Israelis killed him?”
“Hard to say. It's always been their practice to extradite and then put war criminals on trial. I guess, my fear is that Dale's price for the information might have been that he had to be killed.
Cate looks shocked. “Was she that bent on revenge? That bitter?”
“She was certainly bitter. And she came to Canada on his trail, I'm sure of that. Beyond that point, I would be guessing. Anyway, there is this money. Mother wouldn't allow it to be used and I couldn't bring myself to use it either.”
“I don't want it. Give it away.”
“Well, I do plan to use some of it to help out members of the family that I don't particularly like. That still leaves a very large sum.”
“There are charities and there is Adam.”
“Yes, some could go to charity. I have set up a generous retirement plan for Adam, and of course, paid for his raising and education. He knows about the money and doesn't want it. So, I think I would like the money spent on research. The world is facing an environmental crisis and I'd like to think some of the money went to help understand what lays ahead. I'm in the beginning stage of thinking about the process for forming the Maritime Research Centre. A building could be put up over on the back forty acres. I never go over there as it's all just oak bush, poison ivy and moose. Then, we need a ship. I have my eye on one. It's called the Eurybia. I like the name so that's settled. I'm hoping Adam will be her captain, and of course, he'll have to pick the crew. Now Paula, you'll need to design the interior so she meets your research needs and....”
“Whoa!”
“Am I going to fast?”
“You are taking over our lives!” Paula is looking rather annoyed. I feared this. She is far too much like me.
It's Cate who smooths the waters abruptly but practically. “Listen to her, Paula. If we can do this if would solve a lot of your problems and really make Canada a significant player in oceanographic research.”
“Exactly,” I smile.
Paula frowns. “Aunt Jackie this is a very generous offer, but to establish a research centre would cost millions. We'd go through this money very quickly and then what? No, it's a wonderful dream, but not practical.”
“Paula, I'm hurt that you would take me for a fool. There are a number of premiers and CEOs in the Maritimes who owe me favours and I plan to collect while I can. It's to the Maritime provinces benefit to put money into oceanographic research, the off shore oil companies will be made to see the benefit and the universities will realize that graduate programs will spin-off from this centre. Don't you worry about long range funding. I'll wring necks until I get every cent we need. I have to admit this whole plan has quite bucked me up. I might have to go on living for another 70 odd years to see how it all works out.”
Paula comes around and gives me a big hug. “See that you do. You mean the world to me.”
I can see she is close to tears and is going all soft and gooey on me so I give her a poke. “I'll do as I like and I'm giving six million to this project and not a cent more. The rest is ear marked for charities and stupid relatives.”
The day has quite exhausted me. It takes everything I can do to smile and eat dinner with the girls. They are all excited because they will be going to pick up Cate's son Scott tomorrow. I'm quite excited about the prospect of Scott arriving too. I have big plans for that boy.
Soon after dinner I make my excuses and retire to my room. The stairs are getting harder for me to handle. I'll be glad when my new granny flat is finished.
Joanne. Yes, I would dream of her tonight. Jo Jo was one of the few women I knew who liked being on the bottom. She was bisexual, but she told me that she preferred women. The sex was always the best after the four of us had been together. Shawn and Eddie would come over with homemade potato salad and barbecue out in the back alley. We'd wash it all down with the beer we'd provide. Then we'd talk about what was wrong with the world and what we'd do to change it. Maybe we'd smoke up. The guys would leave and Jo Jo would want sex right there and then.
The guys would be barely out the door when Jo Jo would be stripping down. I can't say I complained. We'd hump like a couple of alley cats. Jo Jo liked to make love on the couch where Shawn and Eddie usually sat. She said it was warm from their asses and it got her hot to think they'd have to sit where we'd screwed. Sometimes, she'd ask me to fuck her with the neck of one of the beer bottles. It had to be the one Eddie used. She said Shawn had lips like a carp. Jo Jo never seemed at ease with Shawn. Me, I just enjoyed the sex. It was wild, free and with no inhibitions. I can still close my eyes and feel Jo Jo's soft, warm body heaving under mine. Our bushes wet and grinding into each other and the taste of her sweet flesh as I kissed her breasts. It was damn good sex with or without the drug high.
Thanks in part to the changing times and Jo Jo's activist experiences, I was already making pretty good money as a freelance journalist even before I graduated. Big daily papers were picking up my articles now and again. I figured as soon as I graduated that spring, Jo Jo and I would have family and friends in for a commitment ceremony. Jo Jo and I loved each other and we were meant to be together. I'd finished my schooling, grown up and now it was time to settle down with a job and a wife.
“Eddie's dad is worth millions did you know that, Jackie?” Jo Jo mumbled sleepily from where her head rested on my shoulder.
I was exhausted and totally relaxed with the heady taste of sex on my lips. “I guess, I know his folks had money.”
“That's what makes it so hard for him.”
“He's afraid of being disowned and not getting his hands on the millions?”
“No, silly. It's old money. It's the family traditions and all that. He loves his parents dearly and he doesn't want to hurt them or embarrass them.”
“Yeah, faggots and blacks just are not the sort one wants at the country club,” I yawned sarcastically.
“Don't be a pig. This is all really cutting Eddie up. We've talked about it.”
“Being a homosexual is a lot harder than being a lesbian. Sure we get our share of the abuse and crap but it's easier for us to blend in - to hide in society. The guys live in fear. I sympathize with that, but Eddie has to make up his mind. If you play the game, you gotta pay the price.”
“Yeah. Still, it must be nice to be rich.”
I shrugged. “Just a different form of headaches.”
I sigh and roll over in bed. The writing was on the wall and I was too young and dumb to realize it. I hear Ray Charles singing in my head. Hit the Road, Jack. Yeah, it was a song of my time. One thing I have learned is you can't come back anymore. When it's over. It's over.
June, 1961. The Bay of Pigs Invasion and disaster has set a chain of events in motion that will impact on the world for the next twenty years. America gets Alan Shepard in space for a fifteen minute joy ride. Khrushchev and Kennedy talk face to face with no one banging shoes on the table or storming out. Nureyev defects to the west. The American Military Advisor program was being expanded in Vietnam to help South Vietnam forces stop the infiltration of villages by the Viet Cong. We are assured everything is under control there. I was twenty-two years old and in two weeks I would graduate. I already had an offer from one of the big papers. Everything was going really well.
I had just got back from the university and had my head in the fridge, looking to see what hadn't moulded that I could eat for lunch, when the pounding came at the door.
“Okay, okay, take it easy. I'm coming.”
Shawn stood there hand raised to knock, a blank, shocked look on his face. He hadn't shaved or calmed his hair and he looked like he'd been on the street all night. His clothes were wet from last night's rain and dirty.
“Hey, come in, Man. Holy shit, Shawn you look like hell. Here sit down, I'll get you a beer.”
“They're gone.”
“Who's gone,” I asked snapping the top off a beer. I brought it back to him with a smile. Shawn could be a bit dramatic.
“Eddie and Jo Jo.”
“Where'd they go? Are we to meet them somewhere?”
“Jackie, they've gone! Eloped. I got a note.” Shawn handed me a dirty, wet, crumbed mess. Fear, clutched my stomach, I careful unfolded the letter and smoothed it out on the table. The ink has bled out and it took me a minute to read it.
Dear Shawn,
I'm sorry. I tried, but I can't live with the fear and guilt. I just want to fit in. I want to go home, raise a family and be normal. Jo Jo understands. She loves me. We're getting married and taking a train east. Try to understand and please forgive me.
Love Eddie.
I got up and went into the bedroom and opened Jo Jo's dress of drawers and then the closet. All her stuff had gone.
“That fucking gold digger!” I yelled and slammed the closet door so hard that the frame cracked.
That night, Shawn and I got royally pissed and end up in bed together. It was my first time with a guy and his with a woman. I have no idea if it was good or not. I couldn't remember a thing in the morning and I never wanted to.
My dream had fallen to ashes. Dale and Mom were there for me. I got through my graduation in a state of total numbness. The night they left to fly back to Canada, I sat up all night afraid to go to bed. Instead, I played Elvis over and over again. Are You Lonely Tonight? Yeah, I was lonesome. Skull cracking, heart stabbing lonesome.
A month later, I walked into the Editor's office with some background data he wanted and he snapped my head off as he slammed down the phone.
“You know what's wrong with this damn world, Cunningham?”
“No Sir.” I speak loud to be heard over the office typewriters.
“I'll tell you. It's got too many damn, stupid, reporters in it.”
“A problem, Sir?”
“Yeah, that was O'Neil. He's due to head out to ‘Nam for us next Tuesday and what does he do? He breaks his God damn leg playing football with his buddies”
O'Neil was good and he had a lot of experience as a correspondent too. I was better and I could get the experience. Better still, I was still at the grieving, I don't care if I live or die stage.
“I'll go.”
“You're still wet behind the ears, Pup.”
“Yeah, but I'm the only pup in your kennel that can be packed by next Tuesday and on my way. I might be wet behind the ears, but I'm a damn good writer and I've the ambition to run with this opportunity.”
“Jesus Mother of God! You'll get your head blown off before the week is out. Then what am I going to do?”
“Read the news in someone else's paper because I'm all you got on short notice. Come on, Sir, give me the chance.”
He considered. He wasn't liking it, but he was considering it. “You can go to fill in until I can find someone with more experience, but you take Sue with you as your camera person and you do as she tells you. You hear.”
“I hear.”
I walked out of the office and almost peed myself. Shit, I was going to ‘Nam next Tuesday and I was going under the wing of Sue Lyon whose nickname around the office was Nutcracker. I must be fucking crazy!
I got to meet Cate and Paula's son Scott a few days later. We hit it off right away. Cate had gone to the mainland to meet his plane in New Brunswick and then they flew together to Newfoundland. Paula and I went to pick them up at Deer Lake.
“Scott, this is Paula's Aunt Jackie. It's her house that we are now taking over. You can call her Aunt Jackie.”
Scott has been trained right. He stands straight, looks me in the eye and smiles politely. “Hello, Aunt Jackie. It's a pleasure to meet you. Mom and Paula have told me a lot about you.”
I wink at him. “The truth is much worse, I'm glad to say. Is that a Montreal Canadians jacket you are wearing?”
“Are you a fan too?”
“Pup! I was there at the final game in the Forum in 1993 when the Habs beat the Rangers for the Stanley Cup.”
“Well, I was there in 2008 when the Habs defeated the Florida Panthers to become the first NHL team ever to win 3,000 games.”
We do a high five and laugh. “Pup, you and I are going to get on like a house on fire.”
“Oh boy,” Paula mutters and Cate laughs.
Two days later, I'm on my way to Halifax to meet up with Adam. Adam and I see eye to eye on most things. That is, I have always allowed him to do what he wants as long as he conducts himself like an officer and a gentleman. I made it quite clear to him at the off set of our friendship that if he didn't, he'd be keeping his manhood in a pickle jar. I think as a guardian it's good to establish the rules of engagement from the onset. I have never believed that children should be sheltered. They need to face life with a smile and learn to take their lumps if they fall short.
I wait patiently, no easy feat for me, until most of the mass has left the plane and then make my way out of the docking ramp. There is Adam in full regalia waiting for me. I have to admit he cuts a striking figure. He's a handsome devil and in uniform every woman with warm blood in the terminal was mentally stripping him down to the buff.
“Aunt Jackie!” I get a big hug that nearly breaks my ribs.
“Hi Sailor. Going my way?”
“You bet,” he smiles and tucks my arm in his to lead me to the baggage claim.
Later that night, we sit over the remains of a lobster dinner at a lovely restaurant overlooking the harbour. I've brought him up to date on my illness and all I have told Paula and Cate. Adam, of course, has been well aware of all this for some time. Now I'm about to throw a curve ball at him.
“You've been in the navy long enough, don't you think?”
He shrugs and jokes. “If I stay on shore too long a jealous husband might shoot me.”
“Most likely and probably it would be justifiable homicide. I've told Paula all about you and she really wants to meet you. Have you got enough leave time?”
Adam looks surprised then adds cautiously. “Yes, I have the time. This is a surprise after all these years of avoiding the family. I have to admit, Aunt Jackie, the thought of meeting my sister is kind of unnerving. I mean what if we hate each other?”
“Most family members hate each other. So you needn't trouble yourself about that. I want to take you back with me.”
“Like a prize pup you picked up at the store?” He asks with a twinkle in his eye.
“You're no prize, but you'll have to do. I need a captain.”
Adam puts down his port glass and looks at me with suspicious eye. “What are you up to?”
I fish about in my pocket and come out with the specs on the Eurybia. “What do you think of her?”
Adam takes his time going over the ships specs and history. “Hard to say without seeing her. She'd need a lot of work to get her spic and spam, but she's got good lines, speed and I think she'd respond well and be forgiving. What are you up to Aunt Jackie?”
I nod. “Tomorrow, we'll go see her. It's that damn money of Dale's, Adam. I've finally decided what I want to do with it. I'm going to establish an oceanographic research centre here on the island. If you feel this ship will do, she'll be our research vessel.”
“Our?”
I nod. “You'll naturally captain the ship and pick your crew. I'm not changing her name though. I like her name.”
Adam runs his fingers over his five o'clock shadow making a scrapping sound that I have always found strangely appealing. He always does that when he is considering one of my madcap ideas.
“You'd need a hell of a lot more money than that to float a project that big.”
“I can get it. You know me.”
“I do and if anyone can pull it off you can, but this has all come as a bit of a surprise. I admit I haven't planned on making the navy my career. I sort of thought I'd probably end up captaining merchant vessels. This is something out of the blue.”
“I'm sure the money would be good commanding a cargo vessel, but what a boring job and you'd be away more than you were at home. What about Judy? It's time your two settled down, had children, a home, a dog and be deeply in debt like everyone else.”
Adam laughs. “You are really prepared to play dirty to get your way aren't you?”
“Of course. Have I mentioned I'm dying and this is my last request?”
“No, but it was only a matter of time, you conniving old shit.”
“Good. Now we are in agreement. We'll go inspect the Eurybia. They are to have her ready for a sea trial.”
“Aunt Jackie!”
“What? Don't you like the sea?”
“You are pushing.”
“I haven't got time not to. You'll just have to suck it up like a man.” We sit long into the night watching the harbour lights and catching up. I'm very tired and in pain when he finally drops me off at my hotel room, but I'm satisfied. I've convinced him to at least consider the idea.
We spent the next few days at sea in a very smelly ship that had more rust than paint and the accommodations of boot camp. The crew, the owners had provided, I'm sure ran drugs for South American warlords. I'm quite convinced that Adam kept us out there for as long as he could and hit every wave as was humanly possible just to get even for my bullying. He found me the last day hanging over the rail looking wistfully at the far distant shore line.
“Haven't got your sea legs yet, Aunt Jackie?”
“There is nothing wrong with my legs other than they have turned to Jell-O from heaving up my guts on the hour. Have the crew mutinied yet?”
“They're all right. They're just a bunch of harmless dock rats too old or worn out for regular work. They know their stuff. You did want to own a ship,” he laughed.
“Own. Not die on. How much longer?”
“We'll be in port by afternoon. I'm sorry, this last twenty-four hours the seas have been particularly choppy.”
“Choppy! Choppy is not what you call a wave that can take a 180' ship and makes it act like a rocking chair.”
Adam laughs. He knows I'm exaggerating. He stands tall and steady on the deck with the wind blowing his hair looking every inch like a Viking of old.
“She's a good ship.”
“Good enough to buy?”
“We'll have to have a marine survey to be sure, but I think so. She's a steal to be truthful, but still negotiate the price.”
“Can she be made into a research vessel?”
“She's got the room, speed and movability. That's all. Paula and her gang will have to make her into a real research vessel.”
“What about the smell?”
“It's the sea.”
“Like hell. It's years of a cargo hold of dead fish.”
Adam shrugs. “I figure if she's sand blasted and repainted inside and out most of the smell will go.”
“And will you sign on?”
“I haven't decided. It would be a big step. I'd want to look at my arm force' pension and naturally talk to Judy. I'd also need to meet and talk to Paula and see what we can work out. Naturally, she'd be in charge of research, but if I come aboard this would be my ship and my command.”
“Sounds fair.”
Two days later, I'm back home with Adam in tow. I make him wear his uniform because I want the girls and Scott to get the full effect when they pick us up at the airport.
“Doctor Paula Cunningham, this is your half-brother Captain Adam Carmichael. Scott this is your Uncle Adam. You can just call him Cap. Cate Morrow, Adam. Cate, isn't he a humdinger? Makes you wish you were strait.”
“Aunt Jackie!” All three adults exclaim at once. Then we all laugh.
The girls have brought both trucks. Cate, Scott and I pile into one and leave Adam and Paula to bring the luggage in the other. It will give them time to talk.
As soon as I'm in the truck, I give the boy a poke. “Scott, I need a week or so to get my second wind, then how about you and I fly down to Halifax and buy a ship?”
“A ship!”
“Every man should have a toy boat,” I smile.
“Scott, this is not a toy. Don't let your Aunt Jackie lead you down the garden path.”
“Can I go, Mom?”
“We'll all go,” states Cate firmly, giving me the look. “It will be a nice way to end the holidays before you go back to school.”
I fall asleep in the truck and having arrived back home, I desert them and go straight to bed. The trip has taken everything I had. I feel drained, thin and very, very ill.
I hear Adam and Paula arriving as I change for bed. Adam's deep voice drifts up to me.
“Well, you know Aunt Jackie, she is a lion among the village chickens once she gets an idea in her head, but I think she might have a good idea here. If we can get the government and the oil companies behind us, this project might just work.”
So I'm a lion among chickens now, am I? I feel more like the chewed carcass. I manage a smile and hum that old Tokens' song The Lion Sleeps Tonight as I crawl into bed. I'm asleep almost before my head hits the pillow.
I dream. My editor has agreed to send me to Vietnam. I'm excited and scared shitless. My camera person will be Sue Lyon. I talked to Mom and Dale by phone. Mom was upset. Dale realized it was a great opportunity and told me to stay in safe areas until I knew what I was doing. I was restless and dial switched sitting close to my Admiral so I can reach the dial. It had taken to rolling and the black line going up the screen drove me nuts. Usually, if I hit the top of the TV a few times with my fist it stopped. The Avengers would be on at eight. In the meantime, I flipped passed Mr. Ed the talking horse, Car 54, Where are you? The Dick Van Dyke show and The Mike Douglas Show. I was back to Mr. Ed. Four channels were all my bunny ears would bring in. I could have got eight if I had an antenna. I left Mr. Ed talking while I went through my closet deciding what I'll take. Not much. I'd need to hit an army surplus store.
The doorbell rang and there was Sue Lyon leaning on the door frame with a bottle of wine dangling through her fingers. She wore ratty blue jeans, Jesus sandals and an army t-shirt. She looked very sexy.
“Hey, I thought you might need some pointers on what to pack.”
“I do. Thanks. Come on in.”
Sue looked around. “Nice place for a newbie.”
I blushed. Mom and Dale had rented it for me for the year. Dale had said it was just to help me out until I got on my feet.
“My family is paying for it until I can get myself established.”
Sue smiled. “Princess, eh?”
“No, just lucky. Thanks for the wine. ” I changed the subject quickly as I felt the heat rising in my face. “I'll go pour us a drink?”
“Thanks. I was thinking we'd go out in a bit. West Side Story is playing down the street. You gotta get your culture fix while we're still State side. Have you seen it?”
I busied myself getting a couple of glasses and a cork screw. “No. I hear it's up for best picture. Have you seen it?”
“Not with you.” Sue was sprawled in an arm chair when I come back. She gave me the once over as I hand her a glass of wine. My mouth went dry. Sue was about ten years older than me and she'd been around the block a few times more than most. Rumour had it that she was a lesbian.
I sat on the edge of the couch. “So what do I need?”
Sue fished into her pocket and pulled out a typed list. I looked it over and realized what a newbie I really was. The list included mosquitos netting, bug spray, first aid kit, malaria pills, snake bite kit, diarrhea meds, steel toed combat boots, a dozen steno pads and pens, rain gear, camouflage and sexy under wear.”
“Sexy underwear?”
Sue finished her wine and stood. She pulled me up and kissed me. “I like my women tough and reliable during the day and soft and sexy at night,” she stated.
“Holy shit!” I whispered and she laughed.
We made out in the back corner of the theatre. All I could think was here I am with a women's hand down my pants and I hardly know her. Shit it felt good! Sue was ruthless, self-serving, impatient and verbally abusive. I stayed with her way too long. I stayed with her until my soul and confidence was crushed, but I loved her. I loved her. It took me years to get over the damage of that love. Sue was a Mac the Knife in the flesh.
The first few weeks in Vietnam, we got acclimatized relying on hotel informants and other journalist for the daily stories and getting the colour from drinking with the American soldiers. I We were producing good stuff, but it was not what made careers. Sue was getting more and more restless. She wanted to see action. So we moved from the relative safety and comfort of the Continental Paris Hotel, a hangout for journalists, and moved closer to the American armed forces base. Sue figured we'd have a better chance of getting to the action from there.
Our hotel was once a French convent. It was basic but clean. There were fans in the rooms that sometimes worked, if the power was on, but no air conditioning. The window was a simple grate with rusted window screen over it. I was glad for my mosquito netting. The heat and humidity was oppressive and the flies incessant. The hotel was on the outskirts of Saigon. In the morning, the dirt road in front of the hotel was a current of bikes, trucks and pedestrians carting goods into the city or night crawlers heading back to their villages. It was an artery of the Ho Chi Minh trail.
That morning, Sue picked up a few guys who were to do a patrol later in the day. They were standing by their M113 Armoured Personnel Carrier looking macho and cool. Sue points them out. “There's our ticket to the front. Those guys are so green they make even you look like you've been around the block. You just look sexy and willing and leave the rest to me, got it?”
“Got it.”
We walked over.
“Hey guys, I hear you're heading out on patrol.”
The two of them were smiling like idiots. They could barely keep their hards in their pants. Sue played them for fools.
“You got time for a drink. My friend runs a bar around the corner.”
The youngest looked nervous. He'd have been all of eighteen and was trying to act like a man when he was really just a little boy.
“We gotta stay with the M113, Captain said.”
“No problem. You can park it right in front of the bar.”
The kid objected again. “We're on duty. Besides, it's morning the bars are closed.”
“Hey, I've got connections. A drink in the morning is the hair of the dog. All the guys have a drink before heading out. Don't they, Jackie?”
“Gotta have one for the road,” I agree.
“Yeah, and we'd really like to see your toy.” Sue smiled and leaves it to them to guess if she was talking about the armoured vehicle or their pants.
The older one piped up for the first time silencing his buddy. “I'm Ed O'Neil. This here is Bob Peugeot,” he said, as if we couldn't read their tags.
“I'm Sue and this is Jackie. We're with the UN clerical services here,” she lied.
“Let me help you up,” Ed said and with a little groping, they get Sue and I up on the M113. Sue and Ed disappear below and soon the engine was roaring. I'm left with baby face Bob holding on as the M113 rolls down the street and around the corner to the Lucky Lotus Bar.
Inside, Sue ordered beers and then excused herself to talk to Lucky. Two rounds later, the guys were shit-faced. Lucky, Sue and I, helped them into a back room.
“What did you give them?” I asked in fear.
“A good time, two beers, a little happy powder and a day with a hooker. What more could a guy want? With luck they won't get the clap and thrown in the brig for drinking on duty. Come on. We need to find the Captain.”
It wasn't hard. He was standing outside on the street looking royally pissed.
“Captain Bartlett?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Sue Lyon and Jackie Cunningham, with the press corps. You have a problem and I have a solution.”
Barlett's face went beet red. He was pissed.
“Talk.”
“You're men gave chase in the M113 after some guys who they saw trying to hawk US rifles out of the back of a truck. We saw the whole thing. They chased them into Lucky's and there they met with an accident. Someone slipped them some happy juice and their down for the count.”
“Shit! I told them to wait here! I'm going to break their asses.”
“It would be an embarrassing story for the unit, but I'm willing to make a deal with you.”
Barlett went still. He was no fool. He knew he'd been set up. “Explain.”
“We'd like to ride on your patrol today.”
“No way!”
“Come on Barlett, I'm being fair here. I need a story. I could write a funny story about a couple of green soldiers who got themselves shanghaied trying to play super heroes or I can write a glory story about what it's like for men to be on patrol in a M113. What's it going to be?”
“Damn it.” Barlett paced about a bit, bleeding off his anger. “What about O'Neil and Peugeot?”
“Lucky will take care of them. I saw to that. We'll pick them up when we get back.”
Barlett frowned. “Get in. Stay at the back out of the way until we're out of town.”
“Thanks,” Sue smiled and the two of us scrambled up and dropped into the M113. A few minutes later, Barlett climbed in and got us going. He didn't look happy. A few blocks later, he picked up six other guys who had been waiting with supplies. He took his anger out on them.
“Get in, you mothers. We gotta get rolling.”
“Where's O'Neil and Peugeot?
“Never mind! I need to get you guys up to your patrol site.”
The men climb in. “Girls!”
“Press. Keep your hands to yourself and your mind on the war or else,” Sue stated.
“Shit.” One guy muttered. They sat down and shut up knowing now that somehow, Ed and Bob must have messed up.
At thirty miles an hour, a M113 plows up the trail like a tractor. Sue and I were now riding on top with most of the guys. Below deck was a sauna even with the fans. The patrol was to be a milk run. The M113 was to take the guys twenty miles up the road where they'd go on foot to investigate rumours that the Viet Cong had been seen in the area. We rounded a bend and the road exploded in front of us. The guy in front of me seemed to be nearly sliced in half. Blood sprayed like a fountain as he fell, hanging half on and half off of the M113. I'm soaked in his blood and too stunned to react. Sue was laying flat behind the open hatch taking shots with her camera of the action. The remaining soldiers had gone over the side and were using the M113 as cover while they fired into the underbrush with their K-14s. A big, hard hand grab me by the collar and pulled me head first inside the M113. I landed with a thump on my back across Captain Barlett's lap.
Sue's voice barked down at me. “Get your thumb out of your ass, Jackie! I need a story to go with these shots.”
I nodded and rolled off Bartlet, who was busy firing into the tall grass with a M2 Browning machine gun. I moved so I could see out the front ports. There was a dead Viet Cong lying at the side of the road. The dry grass was on fire and his flesh was blistering, hissing and bubbling with the heat. The stench of burnt meat and blood mixed with gas, carbon and hot metal made my guts heave. I swallowed hard. The sound of M-14s firing was deafening. Then as suddenly as the mayhem had started it finished.
I climbed slowly out of the M113 and looked around. The grass fire was almost out. The body on the side of the road blackened and distorted. One arm was bent up. Its hand was claw like. I turned away. One of the soldiers was giving aid to the guy who was hit in front of me. I couldn't believe he was alive. He was cut right across his gut, but he looked up at me and smiled. “Looks like we caught some action,” he said.
“Are you in pain?”
“Nah, don't feel a thing. I'll be fine once then patch me up.”
I look at the guy who was treating him. He mouths the word shock. I nodded.
Sue was still taking photos like she can't bring herself to stop. I slipped off the back and pull the camera away from her face.
“Enough. We got enough.”
She shrugged. “You better have the story.”
“I have the story.”
A military air vac took us and the wounded soldier back to Saigon. Sue told them that our jeep had broken down and the M113 had picked us up before the battle. We got a chewing out about not going into dangerous areas and we're let go. Covered in blood and dirt and smelling of fear and sweat, we booked back into the Continental Palace. It was that night that the sex was so good. The release from fear, the need, the explosion of want, it was wonderful. We humped like bitches in heat.
The next day, sore and exhausted with a blistering headache, I wrote my story. It was good and Sue's photos were first rate. We were going to put it out there in people's faces. I remember I ended my article with the lines; ‘There are 16,000 American military advisors in South Vietnam now. They are not advising. They are fighting. This is not a political issue. This is a war.' it was gutsy stuff.
When I saw the paper weeks later, I found that only one of Sue's photo's had been printed and the last line of my article had been cut. It was not political censorship, I was told, it was protecting the sensibility of the public. I had a lot to learn about journalism.
I wake tired and out of sorts. The girls have taken Scott to register at his new school and to show him around the neighbourhood. I breakfast late and wander out with my coffee to see how the guys are getting on with my little apartment. Cate was the master mind behind the final design and I have to admit I love it. There is a living room with windows down one side that overlooks the ocean and the wildflower meadows. A small table cleverly folds down from the wall to convert my living room into a dining room should I ever have a dinner party. Not that it's likely. I'm a good dinner guest. I'm a terrible hostess. A bar separates my living room from my galley kitchen. And behind this, accessed by a small hall, is a bedroom big enough for my bedroom suite. Off it, is a full bathroom and walk in closet. It's everything I needed.
The workmen assure me that in a few more weeks the place will be ready for me to move in. I assure them that I will make every effort to live that long, but perhaps considering my health, they could work just a bit quicker. That settled, I get out Vomit and head over to Edith's. Naturally, I have timed my visit well. Edith is a creature of habit. On Wednesday's she bakes because on Thursdays she has the girls in for bridge. Her likeness for bridge is beyond my comprehension but there it is. Everyone has their funny little ways. This is Wednesday so I stand a good chance of some freshly bakes goodies with our mug up.
Edith is out watering her garden when I pull up in the Yellow Peril. She turns off the hose and meets me half way.
“No cinnamon buns today, but I have a Chelsea loaf cooling. Did I see Adam going down the road this morning in Paula's truck?”
“You did.”
“Ahhh! So another family secret is out of the bag. Well done, Jackie. Come in for a mug up and tell me all about it.”
“I have a lot to tell,” I say, following Edith in and making myself comfortable while she did the domestic thing.
For a bit we savour our coffees and warm Chelsea bun. Chelsea bun still warm from the oven with the cinnamon and brown sugar still moist and the butter melting down the sides takes one's full attention. Something that close to godly, should not be sullied with conversation. Once the first piece has been devoured with appropriate adoration, we settle back with a second piece to talk.
“You know how angry I was when Adam decided not to go on with his Masters but to join the navy and take officer's training?”
“I wouldn't have said angry was quite a powerful enough word to describe your feelings, but yes, I remember. You were really quite good about supporting his choice while you bit off everyone's head around you for weeks.”
“Petty of you to remember quite so well,” I laugh. “Yes, I was pissed. But now, well, I feel life is coming full circle. I have a sense of, I don't know, I guess, closure. Like I'm able to tie up all the loose ends in my life.”
“How's that?”
“Adam says the Eurybia is worth buying and Paula and Cate are starting to realize that I'm not just talking through my hat, I can make this research centre happen. Adam is thinking seriously about quitting the Navy and Captaining the Eurybia. And Paula and Adam seem to be getting on like a house on fire now they've met and got over the initial awkwardness. It's like this giant jigsaw and suddenly all the pieces are starting to move together.”
Edith leans back in her chair and gives me a good look over, then nods. “I was worried that taking this all on at this stage of your illness would be too much for you. But I see a spark in your eyes that I haven't seen there in quite a while. I think you are enjoying yourself.”
“I am, but more than that, I feel I'm doing something worthwhile. I've still got it, Edith.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Of course you have, Jackie. Cancer may kill you, but it certainly will not slow you down. We'll all be standing around the grave site waiting for you to show up!”
“I plan to keep you waiting. You can count on that,” I laugh.
Edith reaches out and covers my hand for a second. “Just remember that you are sick. Don't overdo it. I'm your friend, but I'm also a doctor. Listen to me.”
I nod. “I over did it last week. I know what you are saying. I'll work on pacing myself a little better in the future. I want to live to see this protect under way.”
“Good. Now tell me about Scott.” We settle in for a good chat and I end up having lunch there. Home again, I settle on the porch lounge to rest. The sea is moody today. Dark blue clouds roll across the horizon. The autumn storms are coming. Bad sea. Dangerous journeys. This is the time of shipwrecks and widows.
1962. I was back in the USA after leave time with my family in Newfoundland. Reg O'Neil and his cameraman have taken our place in ‘Nam and Sue and I have been reassigned to the domestic scene. I felt cheated, but I had no idea then what was to come.
Life is like a tidal basin. At birth, you're dropped in and the current bats you about for the rest of your existence. You think you are in charge of your life but in actual fact you are just adrift, swimming to the currents of a greater reality. Every once in a while, a storm rises and the waves of turmoil sweep over you. Those hit the hardest either sink or swim, but we all change. 1962 was the beginning of a great storm that raged for years and when it finally ebbed everything was different. The tropical storm that had led to the hurricane of events that were to follow had passed unnoticed for many years. The baby boomers were coming of age, Rosa Parks had refused to sit at the back of the bus, the Bay of Pigs had been a disaster, the Russians had started to build a wall between East and West Berlin, America had sent military advisors to Vietnam, the Russians had got a man is space well before the US. All low pressure zones building slowly to the 1960s. None of us realized what was to come. We'd sing Dylan's question about how many roads we'd have to walk down, but the answer would not be found on the wind.
Sue and I got an apartment together. We were working out of the Washington office now, moving up the ladder of success if still low on the rung. We were rarely home. It was our job to be where the action was in terms of the home front. We criss-crossed the continent like migrating birds. The Boeing 707 was my second home. Sue and I probably were the forerunners of the Mile-High Club. Only Sue could get turned on by a stainless steel toilet that has the suction of a F5 tornado.
Our relationship was deteriorating. Passionate love was being slowly replaced by passionate abuse. I found myself always in the wrong. Always making Sue angry by what she saw as my stupidity. Always apologizing for whatever verbal abuse Sue threw at me. Memories of that time were short and painful images, sharp and clear as film that flickered through my mind and burned into my soul.
It was January 1962. We'd gone to see Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia. It was snowing when we came out of the movie. A strong wind blew the flakes down the street concentrating them as if in a wind tunnel. We huddle alongside the dirty snow bank waiting for a taxi. “The cinematography was exceptional,” Sue stated.
“There were some beautiful desert scenes,” I agreed. “I wish I knew more about that period of history. I'm not sure I understood everything that was going on in the movie.”
“That's so typical of you. You call yourself a reporter, but you don't have the background to do the job right. Get Lawrence's book, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom and read it for God's sakes. You really embarrass me with your lack of knowledge. It's like the other day when I told you that Decca records were fools not to sign the Beatles to a record contract and you didn't even know who they were.”
“You only know them because you'd been on assignment in Berlin and had heard them at a club. It's not like they are big like Elvis or anything.”
“They're big in Britain and they will be big here and you should know that. You are such a dumbass.” A taxi finally pulled up and I gratefully got in beside Sue. “You can pay for this,” she stated and doesn't talk to me again that night. It was the next month that she hit me for the first time. Jackie Kennedy was giving a media tour of the White House and Sue would not be filming it. She's pissed. She stormed into our apartment.
“That damn editor picked Jarvis to cover the White House tour!”
I shrugged. It was only the interior decorations of the White House not real news. “Who cares. Jarvis will do a good job.” I barely get the words out of my mouth, when my head was snapped sideways by the stinging blow to my cheek.
“We care! Don't you give me any lip. It's a dumb-ass high profile assignment. If you were a better writer, we'd have got it. You don't know how to write about stuff like that and you should learn to. Jackie's going on a world tour. You can be sure that if Jarvis makes Jackie's White House tour look good, he'll be going along on the world tour and we won't. Shit, you just never get it. I'm going out for dinner so I don't bloody well kill you.”
But there were better times too. Sue and I were at Cape Canaveral when John Glenn became the first American to orbit the Earth. Shepard and Grissom had rode the firecracker into space before him, but Glenn had President Kennedy's eye. He would be promoted as the all American hero and offered a political career. Sue and I watched him go up and then reported on the ticker tape parade that he got on returning.
Glenn, his wife and Lydon Johnson rode by in an open car sitting up on the back seat. The crowds milled around us cheering and the ticker tape fell like snow. No one cared about recycling and reusing in those days. Sue got some great photos and I would write the story she wanted about American bravery and enterprise. NASA then was a bright spot amid the increasingly depressing news from ‘Nam. Sue laughed. “Look at these people, Cunningham, they are going nuts for this guy. He could be the next Kennedy. Come on. I'll buy us lunch.”
We headed down Wall Street within a mass of humanity like salmon working their way up stream. Sue pulled me into an alley way and kisses me. “You turn me on.” She pulled me behind a garbage container and got her hand in my pants. The stink is terrible put Sue has some sort of battle lust going on. I come on her hand. She kissed me hard and then made me lick her fingers clean. We ate later in a soul café, ham hocks, rice and black-eyed peas and moved on to a lesbian bar Sue knew on a back street. It was small. A bar, two pool tables, six tables and a tiny dance floor. We drank Bud beer, smoked weed and danced. The dancing came very close to sex and we left early and returned to our hotel to make love.
Weeks pass, the world deteriorates along with our relationship. JFK had banned all imports from Cuba. We were months away from a crisis that would put us on the edge of nuclear oblivion. Sue and I leaned against the fence outside the White House and shared a Pepsi. The drink ‘for those who think young'. Was I old already? We watched the peace march by university students.
Sue sneered. “Look at the intellectuals all bent on ending the war that they are exempt from fighting. Cowards.”
“Do you think we can stabilize that area of the world?”
Sue shrugged. “We'd better or the area will fall like dominoes to the commies. I don't know if the area is worth the war or not, but when your country goes to war you ought to be behind it. Soldiering is a job like any other. When the boss told us to go to ‘Nam, we went without protest and when he called us back to get brain dead covering Washington, we came.”
“I forced the editor to give me a chance to cover ‘Nam. He didn't want to send me.”
Sue laughed. “There might be hope for you yet, Cunningham. Come on, let's go interview some of the righteous left and see what they have to say.” We moved forward into a sea of signs. Make love not war. Peace. War kills babies. Hell no, we won't go. It was a tide on the change.
The days ahead seemed to confirm Sue's analysis that communism was spreading its ugly tentacles and the free world was in jeopardy. Hadn't the pinko Pablo Picasso, accepted the Lenin Peace Prize from Russia while still demanding millions for his work? Weren't US troops being sent into Thailand to aid Laos? I never thought to question Sue. Neither her opinions nor her abuse. Both my mom and Dale tried to warn me about her. Dale hated Sue. That pleased me. Although I was all grown up now and no longer fantasized about running away to live in a cabin with Dale, I still deluded myself into thinking she was jealous of Sue.
May 1962. The Israelis hung Adolf Eichman. I was home visiting. My memories are like lyrics to a song. I turn them on and they play parts of my life over and over again. Mom was lying on the couch. She'd had pneumonia and Dale had been very worried about her. Mom was pale and still had a rasping cough. Dale brought her hot lemon with brandy in it from the kitchen and sat in the easy chair beside her. I could see that her mind was on my mom and she was only half listening to what I was saying. It made me angry and objectionable.
“So they hung him. Big deal. It wasn't justice, it was just revenge.” Mom gave a quick frightened look in Dale's direction. She hated what she called ‘scenes.'
Dale remained calm, but her face seemed to freeze into hard plains. “By his order millions died. His execution wasn't about revenge, it was about justice. Evil can't triumph, but must pay for its crimes.”
I looked at Dale. None of us in the room were really talking about Eichman. We were talking about Kurt Schwartz, the money and whether there was blood on Dale's hands. “The war was over years ago. No one can bring the dead back. War is stupid. Look at Viet Nam.” It was a simple statement, but I was to realize later that it was the first loosening of the grip that Sue had on me. I didn't like war. I thought it was hideously painful and a terrible loss. I accepted there were times when war was necessary, but political and economic gain should not be the criteria for sending the young to die. Sue glorified war. It was her country right or wrong.
Dale looked sad. She wasn't going to raise to the baited argument I was setting, but my words had hurt her. “His last words were ‘Long live Germany. I had to obey the rules of war and my flag. I am ready.' He had no feeling for those he ordered slaughtered. No regret. War is ugly, but it has boundaries of human decency. Eichman and his kind crossed over those boundaries. They deserved to die not for revenge, but to cleanse the world and to send the message that such acts are not just condemned by a few, but all decent human beings.”
“I can't accept that.”
“Neither could your mother.” Dale stood up and walked out. It was the closest Dale ever came to admitting her part in Schwartz death. In the silence that followed, I seem to hear the voices of millions crying out in fear and pain and I suddenly understood. Eichman had to die.
I was barely back at work when Sue and I were sent out to Los Angeles to cover a conference. I know it was a particular important conference at the time, but for the life of me, I have no idea what it was about now. Sue shook me awake in the early hours of the morning. “Get your ass in gear. I just got a hot tip that Marilyn Monroe has been found dead. We gotta get up to her place.”
It was been a hot, humid August night and we're staying in a cheap motel with no air conditioning. I'd had little sleep and my body doesn't want to move. Sue grabbed my arm and pulled me out of bed. “Move it!”
I was angry. “Why the hell are we covering this? We do the political scene. Monroe was little more than a bunch of rich guys play thing. Her roles fed into men's stereotype of what women should be, beautiful, hot and stupid. She had a good brain, but she never got to use it. She should have stayed with Jo DiMaggio or Arthur Miller. Then maybe she'd have matured into a woman who command respect instead of leers.” I scrambled into my clothes. I had thrown things in a bag and headed off to California as soon as I'd returned from holidays. When I got to the west coast I found I'd forgotten to pack underwear. What the hell, I figured news reporting was bearing some newsworthy person's ass for the world to see, I might as well bare mine too.
“Hell, Cunningham, you are so stupid. We're going out there first because it's a hell of a scope for our paper and second because the rumour is the Kennedy boys bonk Monroe.”
“According to the rumours, JFK would like to bonk every good looking woman that comes to the Oval Office, from what I hear.”
“Yeah, but no one is going to bust the Camelot bubble are they? Everyone is going to look the other way. Well, we're not. If I can find the dirt, I'm damn well going to bust Kennedy.” I say nothing. Sue is in one of her moods. I keep a low profile and never tell her I didn't bring under wear.
Sue had borrowed a friend's Honda Dream Sport motorbike. Honda was just breaking into the North American market then. The Dream doesn't burn rubber, but it was fairly inexpensive and a forgiving ride. We headed out to 12305 Fifth Helena. Sue was taking chances to get us there before the other reporters. I was holding on for dear life. The police had the road blocked off. Sue barely slowed down. “Press!” We swerved around the black and white and kept going. I could hear the cop swearing at us. The black gates in the white wall were open and an ambulance was parked outside the house along with a bunch of police vehicles. A couple of cops headed our way looking mean.
“Press, I've got clearance from McCluny at headquarters. The cops stop and look at each other. “I'll keep a low profile and stay out of your way. I know you guys are busy.” Sue grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over into the shadows. The cops went back to leaning on their black and white.
“Whose McCluny?”
“Beats me. I made him up. Come on. We haven't got much time.” Sue leads the way around the back of the ambulance. “I'll wait here to get the shot of them bringing her out. You go get the damn story.”
I nodded and headed around the back of the house. Kitchens were where you found people in a crisis. Shocked people always want to talk. I was disappointed in the house. I thought she'd have a mansion or something. It was stucco with a red tile roof and quite small. I pushed my way through the tangle of bushes to the back of the house. Sure enough, two young cops were in there. I tapped on the door and then enter. There was no reason to get my head blown off. “Hi, I'm press. I have clearance from McCluny from downtown. You know anyone who knows what happened? I have the okay to pay for a story.”
One cop went to protest. Not the other. “How much?”
“Depends on what they know. Could be as much as $100.”
The cops looked at each other. I had them. “You're not going to use our names?”
“No.”
“We saw her. Monroe had some empty bottles of sleeping pills beside her bed. We found her laying on her belly on the bed her arm out stretched as if she was trying to reach the phone to call for help. Naked, like she'd been at it. Even dead she was beautiful, but grey you know.”
“You sure she's dead?”
“So the doctors say. They said they tried to revive her, but they said there was no hope. The police weren't called in until about four thirty.”
“Anyone else around when she died?”
“Eunice Murray, the live in house keeper. She said she saw a light on in Monroe's room at around midnight, but the door was locked. Monroe didn't respond to her knock so she called Monroe's shrink. He tried to break down the door but couldn't and then walked around and looked through the window. He saw her there and broke the window to get in. He said she was dead, but he called in another doctor. Like I said,” the cop looked at his buddy and smiled, “they didn't call us in until dawn. When we got here, they were doing laundry. Sheets. Murray had cleaned the place up too. Maybe Monroe threw up or they didn't want some Joe's body hair showing up.” He winked at me. I ignored him.
“I want to see Murray.”
“You got your story. Time to pay up and go.” The cop got up from the kitchen table and held out his hand. I handed over a wad of money short changing him $25 bucks for his attitude.
I worked my way around the house again and found Sue waiting by her bike. The ambulance was gone. “Get the shot?”
“Yeah. Get the story?”
“Part of it. Things aren't adding up.”
Sue smiled. “Words from heaven. Let's go, we need to get our story out before the others.” Sue and I weaved our way back down the road and waved at the pack of reporters being held back at the end of the street.
I wrote a good article and I would have written a blockbuster if I'd got any cooperation, but I didn't. At every turn, I was stone walled. I did my best to dig up the true story, but every lead closed down mysteriously. The stories kept changing. Monroe's agent supposedly left a concert a 10:00 because Monroe had been found dead. Murray said she found Monroe at ten and then she said it was midnight. There was no glass initially found in the room for water to help swallow pills but one appears later. I kept asking questions but I get nowhere. Murray is allowed to leave for Europe. Reports go missing. Nothing.
Monroe's death was listed as possible suicide or maybe the misuse of prescription drugs. Some said that she was murdered because someone she had slept with was concerned about her discretion as her personality became more and more unstable. Murray, the housekeeper, was supposedly fired by Monroe the day of her death. This was never confirmed. We will never know the truth. Sue and I got the story of her death out, but like many others, we never thought we got to the truth. In the long run, society killed Monroe. She was an unloved foster kid who was turned into a star and idolized for her body. Most of the men she knew wanted into her pants not her heart or mind. She was a media toy. Her depression was the depression that haunted so many women then who felt they were little more than objects. Monroe was 36. They say that Joe DiMaggio kept red roses on her tomb until the day he died.
Peter Fechter. You probably never heard of him. He died in August, 1962 like Marilyn. He was another Billy Carmichael. The Berlin Wall had been built the year before and Peter and his friend decided to make a run for West Berlin. They waited for the guards to move away and then bolted across the death strip and scaled the wall. Peter's friend dropped safely to the other side. Peter was shot through the hip and fell back into East Berlin. He laid there calling for help for over an hour until he finally bled to death. He was the first of many to die trying to get over the wall. If you are ever in Berlin there is a small head stone to him. It reads, ‘Peter Flechter 1944-1962 ...he just wanted freedom.' Maybe so did Marilyn. Maybe.
I wrote a human interest article about Peter, although, it wasn't my beat. Later, that story would pay off with another international assignment. But back then, there was a lot going on nationally to keep Sue and me on the road. We were in Georgia when Martin Luther King was arrested and then released before the state broke out in riots. They happened anyway in Mississippi when a black student was enrolled at the University of Mississippi. Sue and I climbed a tree and hung on to the Spanish moss as the white segregationists battled civil rights groups below us. Down the street from us a powder blue and white Ford 500XL Skyliner was on fire and the smoke reduced our visibility to black and white.
“Shit, this smoke is ruining my shots,” Sue complained.
“Yeah, well drop down there and a 2x4 is likely to ruin your day. Look over there.” Across the melee we can see into a window. Some old guy was sitting in his lazy boy watching the Dick Van Dyke Show totally unaware of the passion and violence going on outside on the street. Sue took the shot in black and white. She'd win a price for it and took all the credit.
Before this, we'd been in Houston to feel out NASA about the Soviets managing to orbit two space craft together. Everyone knows this is vital to preparing for a mission to the moon. Washington was leaning on NASA, but all we got was the brush off. We were to head back to Washington, but Sue got us tickets to New York instead. She was all excited because she'd managed to get seats at the fight to see Sonny Liston and Floyd Patterson duke it out. We fought first.
“You paid how much to see two grown men kick the shit out of each other?”
“Hey, cool it. Boxing is an elegant and noble sport.”
“Yeah, right. I can go to any riot and see blood and I don't have to waste the rent money to do it.”
“Shut up, Cunningham. You're just lucky I'm taking you.”
I knew why she was taking me. Bloodlust. Sue was always excited after she saw violence. She wanted me handy. I was delighted when Liston decked Patterson two minutes into the fight and the match was over. Instead, of ten rounds of elegant and noble violence we went back to our hotel to watch Johnny Carson as the new host of The Tonight Show. Later, I developed a taste for ritual violence in sport but back then I was doing my idealistic years. We barely got back to Washington when we were off to Mississippi. From there it was out to California to cover a conference and then back to Washington. I'd become like Dion's The Wanderer.
October 1962. I was on the back of Sue's bike and I was trying hard to stay awake. I kept drifting off. It had been a week without sleep. Who wanted to sleep anyway? We probably had only hours and I wanted to be aware of every second of it. We were in the middle of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The Dooms Day clock gave us only minutes to live before the mushroom clouds of world destruction were unleashed.
Mom had phoned and wanted me home. Home to Newfoundland. To the house by the sea. Dale has taken her there. Dale talked to me too but understood that I needed to be reporting. Reporting until the end. I wanted to be in Newfoundland. To feel the autumn wind in my hair and let my eyes feast on the golds, reds, and purples of the fall bracken. I wanted to be with my family when it all came to an end. I didn't want to be with Sue. That realization hit me hard and woke me from my stupor. I didn't want to be with Sue. I didn't love her. Each time I talked to Dale on the phone she'd ask if I'm still with Sue. When I said yes, she'd say nothing. Dale hated Sue. I had hoped it was because she was jealous of her but that wasn't it. Dale just knew that Sue was no good for me.
We arrived at a fruit farm near Chesapeake Bay. Owen Franklin was a wiry, sun and wind baked man who grew apples, cherries and pears for a living on the family farm. He'd taken over from his father and was the fourth generation of Franklins to farm the land. Owen was a member of the AGA, a vet of the Korean War and a survivalist. I'd got his name from a firm that had built his fallout shelter. He came out of the old wood clapped farm house and headed towards us with slow but long strides.
“Hey, you the journalists?”
I got off the back of the bike and do my best to get my hair out of my eyes. “I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is my partner, Sue Lyon. Glad to meet you, Owen.”
We all shook hands. “Your editor promised that you wouldn't say where we're located. I figure we haven't got long now and I don't want to be shootin' Americans who didn't plan ahead for what we're going to be facin' I already told my neighbours that if they come a-calling they'll be met with gun fire or a locked hatch.”
I nodded. “We understand the need for discretion. No last names will be used and we won't name your location except in very general terms.”
“Good. I got the wife and kids in the shelter. We've been doin' drills. Gettin' prepared and used to what we have to face. Come this way.”
Sue rolled her eyes at me as we followed behind Owen towards his barn. It was painted black and had a field stone foundation. It looked like it had stood for a few generations. We skirted around the paddocked and held our breath passing the manure pile as we came around the back of the barn. Fifty yards beyond the barn, there was the cement bunker nested down almost out of sight in a patch of red current bushes.
“Not much to look at, but it will do. Come on in. Aggie, it's me.” We followed Owen down a flight of cement stairs around a buffer wall to the metal hatch of the shelter itself. “We're eight feet under the ground. The shelter walls are reinforced concrete two feet thick.” The hatch was open and we stepped over the threshold into the shelter itself. There in the corner was Owen's wife Agnes and sitting beside her was a little girl about eight and a boy about twelve. The perfect American family.
“Hey, I'm Owen's wife. This here is Owen Junior and Molly.”
“Hi. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is Sue Lyon. Thanks for giving us and our readers the chance to share your experience and knowledge.” Agnes was still a good looking women, tall and lean with a ram rod back and character. Hard work had made her soft features harder, less pretty but more interesting. Molly snuggled into her mom's side big eyed and worried. She worn a cotton printed dress and patent leather shoes. Molly looked like her mom, but had her father's straight nose. Owen Jr. was a mini version of his old man, all legs and arms and tough muscle as if he'd been made of twisted wire. He nodded solemnly at us but said nothing.
Owen sat by his family, a rifle now across his legs. Sue took a photo of them. 20 th century American Gothic. In the corner a small TV reported the news.
It had been a tense week. The media had known something was up late the week before. Kennedy, who had been out doing some congressional campaigning, cancelled his engagements and returned to Washington supposedly with a bad head cold. The Joint Chiefs of Staff had been told to be in Washington and available. We of the media, stood by. Something big was going down. The lights in the White House burned all night and black cars with shaded windows came and went at all hours. It was Cuba, of course. The Navy and Marines were involved in massive manoeuvres off the coast of Puerto Rico. There hadn't been a buildup of personnel like that since Korea. We'd sat around barroom tables and speculated what was going down well into the night. The general consensus was that it was some fallout from the botched Bay of Pigs fiasco.
I had tried to get the story. I think about a black and white news photo of myself that is in one of the attic trunks. Sue took it. I'm being pushed aside by a White House official.
“I told you, President Kennedy has cut his congressional campaigning because he needed a few days off to recover from a cold.”
“Why have the Joint Chief of Staff been told not to leave Washington?”
The official looked annoyed. “I know nothing of that. Excuse me.”
I stood my ground. “How long will the blockade of Cuba continue?”
This was when I got pushed aside. “As long as it's need.”
Monday night Kennedy had gone on the air. The USSR was building nuclear missile silos in Cuba. The enemy was now on our back doorstep. The world scrambled to prepare for a nuclear war between Cold War super powers. My mind goes back to that day in the bomb shelter.
“Aggy and I have got enough preserves and water down here to last us a few months. We've got beds, clothes, amo and guns, seeds for a new crop and even games to play with the kids. We got the family Bible too. We're figurin there won't be many left after The Bomb so we'll be startin over and the Good Book will be gettin lots of use in showin us the way.” I looked with interest at the stores that Owen proudly displayed. “Got somethin else too,” he winked at me, “built it myself. I dug a deep hole out there in the barnyard and filled the bottom with straw. Got mangers all around with hay and oats in them and metal barrels of water. I covered the top with logs and a canvas and then covered it with dirt. Only way in is a narrow ramp. I'm goina herd a few cows down there, some pigs and chickens and then cover the ramp over. Don't know if they'll survive, but they might and that would be good for us if they do. Just in case, though, I've got these here cages so I can keep a few chickens down here with us as well.”
“Looks like you couldn't be better prepared.”
“A man's gotta take care of his own. That's the American way.”
“It sure is.” I smiled at him. Sue gave me a look. She knew my Canadian streak put me at odds with the American world view and she thought I was mocking Owen. I wasn't. He was doing what he thought was best. That was all any of us could do as we waited for the end.
Sue and I climbed back on her bike and we headed off with a wave. We both knew that Owen was just prolonging death. When The Bomb hits the flash would blind those looking in that direction, The sound would deafen people within a 25 mile radius, hurricane winds would tear at buildings as the air was pushed out leaving people choking for oxygen until the winds smashed in again knocking trees, cars and even buildings over. Those that survived those seconds would try to run, but the tar on the roads would melt and catch fire. The heat would burn the skin off and ruined cities would burn. The fire wall would work its way all the way to Hudson's Bay. Then the radiation. It would fall with the ashy rain polluting the land and water for over 300,000 years. Those who survived the blast would die slow painful deaths of radiation sickness and cancers in a world blacked and charred by man's stupidity. October 26 th , that reality could have happen at any minute.
That night, Sue and I made love for the last time. It was one of those rare times when the love making was slow and gentle and caring, maybe because we both knew now that the relationship was coming to an end. In the months to come, we would have sex sometimes but not love making. We made love on the balcony of our apartment waiting for the world to end. When you believe there might be no tomorrow you are totally free, totally calm. Our love making was deep and passionate, naked bodies entwined between a sheet of night sky and the lights of the city below. The cool fall air caressed flesh not heated by another's body. There were no inhibitions, no agendas. It was simply sweet, passionate and tender. How many people made love that night? How many acts of creation marked the Earth's last hours? After, we curled close together on the lounge shivering in the night breeze and shared a reefer.
“What are you going to do when it happens? I ask.
“Get on my bike and ride as fast and as free as I can right at it. You?”
“If I'm not reporting, I think, I'll stand here where I can see the sea in the distance and smell its salty tang. I'll think about my family back home in Newfoundland.”
“Sounds like a plan, Babe.”
Sue got a blanket and we curled up together and slept under the stars and above the noise of the city. Off in the distance, I could hear a radio. Peter, Paul and Mary were singing If I Had a Hammer.
I can hear someone coming up the stairs and my thoughts come back to the present. It's Scot.
“What you doing up here, Aunt Jackie?”
“Sorting out all the junk in my life.”
Scot picks up a LP. What are these?”
“Records. Its how we played music before tape decks, CD players and ipods.”
“Yeah, Aw-rite! This is like an archaeological dig into yesterland.”
“Thanks, you little brat.” I give him a smile and an affectionate punch.
“Mom and Aunt Paula said dinner is ready. I heard them talking and they think you are taking on too much. They want you to go to bed early tonight on account of we are going to buy that ship tomorrow.”
I give him a hug and laugh. “If you don't get eaten by a shark, you'll make a great reporter. Come on, help me up. Not like you are hefting a bag of potatoes, these are old bones. That's better.” I let him go ahead of me. He missed the fear of the Cold War and the mess of ‘Nam. His battle will be fundamentalism and a dying planet. Every generation has to face their own Boogeymen. One of the good things about dying is you know that nothing else you are going to face is going to be worse.
I act outrageously at dinner simply because I can. Paula doesn't know whether to laugh or send me to my room. I'm recounting stories of my younger years. “Dale got tickets to take us to see the Beatles when they came to North America for the first time. I was about 25 and I'd brought Kathy home to meet Dale and Mom in Ottawa. We took the train to Toronto. The Beatles were late getting to Maple Leaf Gardens. When they came on stage, we were so far away they did look like beetles. The entire arena started to scream. I can safely say, I never heard a note of music. Mom, Kathy and I looked at each other and then we started to scream as loud as we could. We screamed and laughed and screamed until we were hoarse. I think mom had wanted to scream for a very long time and she finally found her outlet.”
Paula shook her head. “You are such a bad influence on people.”
“Yes, I am. Isn't that delightful, Scot?”
“It sure is. I think you're awesome.”
“Of course, I am and don't you forget it. Anyway, we came out of Maple Leaf Gardens in a flood of hysterical teenagers, mom on one side of Dale and Kathy on the other while I flagged a taxi. Dale was in a total state of shell shock. It took her days to recover. Mom, Kathy and I never felt better. Screaming your head off is very good for the soul. I'm sure it was frustrating for the Beatles that no one wanted to listen to their music, but think of the marvellous outlet that they gave all those who found a reason to scream. ”
“Did you scream at the Rolling Stones concert too?” Cate asks.
“Of course not dear, I was too busy trying to convince a Hell's Angel to let me ride on his hog.”
“Good grief!” Paula rolls her eyes.
The next day, we head to Halifax. We'll met Adam there. He has been using his leave time to get a marine survey of the ship, look into retiring from the navy and discussing with his long-time girlfriend what his options are. I'm hoping he is committed to the project but I'm not sure. Adam has an unfortunate bit of William in him. He'll proceed with caution and not commit until he is sure that the project will go through.
I've been working on that, spending long periods of time at Edith Parlow's house running up her phone bill and eating her baking. The construction noise at our house is just too distracting. Besides, I want all my ducks in a row so I can have them stampede over Paula and Adam when I'm ready.
Purses are tight with the recession and I've met with interest, but no out and out support from the government. That will change. I now have the oil companies behind me thanks to an influential oil tycoon who I managed to get out of a South American guerrilla camp when he was merely an oil executive. The truth is the guerrillas contacted me and were glad to get rid of him for a sizable sum. I took the credit for having personally risked my life to make contact and negotiate his release. It was a lie, of course, but it never hurts to have someone rich and powerful owe you a favour. Now that little incident has paid off.
With my tycoon behind me it was an easy sell. It was a win/win situation. The oil companies saw it as being seen as environmentally caring people by supporting the research centre. Paula will get free fuel for her vessel and I get the political screw I need to see that the government comes on board. There are gives and takes. Paula will have to be careful not to undermine the oil company's image with her research. That doesn't mean she'll have to fudge the facts, but rather let people draw their own conclusions. The universities are definitely on board as long as they don't have to put up any money. Educational Institutions are notorious cheap bastards. I'll need to establish some scholarships to sweeten the pot. In return, I think I'll demand an honorary degree so I can call myself doctor like Paula. That will burn Paula's feathers after all the hard work she put in to get her doctorate. I would enjoy that.
Adam is already on board our ship when we arrive and he takes command of Paula, Cate and Scot to give them the grand tour. I retire to the bridge where there is a comfortable chair, a good view of the harbour and the bottle of scotch that I asked Adam to provide. After a few sips my mind slips back to those days of the Cuban Missile Crisis.
We waited. Kennedy had imposed an air and sea blockade of Cuba. The Dooms Day Clock ticked closer to world destruction. Castro mobilized his military and Khrushchev vowed to retaliate for the blockade of Cuba. The Clock ticked on. American reconnaissance planes note that work on the missile bases has been speeded up. Khrushchev tried to organize a summit meeting through U Thant at the UN. Kennedy will only send advisors to talk to U Thant. USSR ships move closer to the US blockade. An American spy plane is shot down over Cuba. The world waits for its end.
I reported it all. Mom and Dale phoned me daily. We talked of the beauty of a late fall day in Newfoundland. We recalled happier days vacationing as a family. We don't talk about the nuclear war that could be only hours away. At work, the pressroom was tense. Washington was in shut down mode. No one was talking. No one was sleeping. Everyone was speculating.
October 28 th . It was over. Not the world, just the crisis, but no one celebrated. The world now knew that the super powers were not just playing with fire but with weapons of mass destruction. A new age had begun. Sue thinks Khrushchev blinked. Most people do. I think he never meant things to go so far and couldn't find a way to back down. What was it that Khrushchev had said? That if we had a nuclear war the living would envy the dead. The living would envy the dead. The Grateful Dead. Had he blinked or did he swallow his pride to save the world?
My thoughts drift on. Sue was out a lot by then. Our relationship was coming apart, but I was still in denial. She was seeing other girls. Sometimes, she'd come home, sometimes, she wouldn't. She always made sure I'd find out. She enjoyed my pain. I recall being in the office baring my soul to my friend Lynn Bassal. Lynn was an old time lesbian and secretary to Jason O'Neil the chief editor. Like all of us, she was in the closet. It was the only safe place to be in those days. She was a scrawny dried- weed of a woman who lived on cigarettes and coffee. We were in the small lunch room which was off the main press room. The sound of phones ringing and typewriters clicking was deadened somewhat by the glass partition. We sat at an old wood table.
“Look, Jackie, you can't go on like this. This relationship of yours is really toxic.”
“We're a great team, Sue and I. I love her. We just have a lot of issues that need working out. I know Sue is a bitch. She had a rough childhood and doesn't know any better.”
Jackie snorted, hesitated and then made a decision. “Look Jackie, it's none of my business if you want to live in denial and make excuses for her, but she is doing you and your career no good.”
“Sue has taught me so much. I know her faults, Lynn, and they get me down, but I think we can work them out. I'm so much younger than she is and my inexperience grinds on her.”
“Sure, sure. You gotta do what you think is best. Just remember I warned you.”
I nodded. “Thanks for caring.”
Lynn rolled her eyes and lit up another cigarette from the butt of the one she just finished. “Wake up and smell the coffee, kid. Sue is bad news. She's taking your glory. Some believe her. Jason liked the human interest story you wrote on Peter Fechter, but he's gotta believe that the talent is yours not Sue's. Word has it that Kennedy will be going to Berlin next year and you could be offered the chance to go over there and report on his visit. Your camera man would be Phil Norris. He knows the European beat.”
“Sue wouldn't go? She'd be so pissed with me! She'd think it was my fault.”
“Jackie, wake up, for God's sakes! This is none of my business, but I think you should know that Sue been spreading misinformation about you.”
I look up in surprise. “What?”
“She's been telling anyone that will listen that she writes most of the stories and you are just her bag boy. I know that isn't true because my desk is next to yours and I see you typing up your stories, but a lot of people believe it. Jason was going to fire you until I had a talk to him. Sue is one crazy bitch, Jackie. She's not just abusing and cheating on you, she's stabbing you in the back. Yeah, she's great behind a camera, but she's got a screw loose.”
“What?” I wasn't taking it in. I'd been abused and beaten so often that I never once saw the problem as Sue. I thought it was me. I thought I'd failed her. “Sue has been undermining me?”
“If it's offered, take the assignment and forget about that bitch. It's your opening to become an overseas correspondent. If you can't make it on your own, you're going to be left behind.” Lynn picked up her pack of Lucky7s and slipped them into her pocket as she got up to go back to work. “Do yourself a favour, dump that lying bitch.”
I don't even think. Not one thought. My mind was blank with shock. I got up and follow Lynn out and headed straight over to Jason's office.
“Got a minute?”
“Make it snappy.” Jason O'Neil was a mountain of fat and energy. They said he was a hell of a reporter, but from my way of thinking he was a brilliant editor. He recognized talent and encouraged it. He never yelled, but we all knew that when he spoke we'd better deliver. I went in and closed the door.
“I've worked with Sue now for quite a while and I think I'm ready to fly solo. I hear there is an opportunity to cover Kennedy in Berlin next year. I've done the research on the Berlin Wall. My story on Fechter went over well. I want to be there. Give me a chance.”
O'Neil leaned back in his seat, resting his massive gut against the desk top. “International correspondent assignments are the plum jobs. Everyone wants them. You were lucky to draw ‘Nam when you did. You only got the assignment because there was no one else available to go. You did okay, but you had Sue backing you up.”
“I write my own stories. Sue is just a lens. I don't need her.” It was said and I meant it. No more denial. No more abuse.
O'Neil moved things around on his desk as he considered. One minute, two, I spoke up. “Every story I handed into you, I wrote. I don't want to work with Sue anymore. She taught me a lot, but now she's hurting me more than she is advancing my career. I need to move on.”
He looked up at me. I looked determined. I was too. I'd have quit then and there if I'd had to stay working with Sue. “If this Kennedy visit to Germany happens next year, I'll give you a try and we'll see how you do. If you do good, I'll keep your name on file. In the meantime, you'll continue doing national stuff. You'll have to earn your stripes and wait for an overseas posting to become available. I'll assign you a new lens. You're giving up the best though.”
“I can live with that.” What was it Jimi Hendrick's sang? The purple haze has dropped from my eyes and I now knew day from night.
I managed a smile. “Thanks for giving me the chance.”
O'Neil was already reaching for the phone. “Don't mess up.”
The Fight. It was a beauty. I broached the subject after dinner. Sue seemed in a reasonable mood. “I talked to O'Neil today. He liked the human interest story I wrote on Peter Fechter. He's offered me the chance to go cover Kennedy if he makes the trip to Berlin.”
“You? What about me?”
“It's Phil Norris's area. You know that. Usually, Perkins would be working with him, but he's
talking about retirement. It's my chance to get some overseas experience.”
“What about our partnership? Shit! You screw me over on a plum assignment? Crap! You were a green nobody and I took you under my wing and showed you the ropes. You'd be nowhere without me and don't forget it.”
“I know how much you helped me, Sue, in those early days, but there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then. You've been wonderful but this is an opportunity to get some more experience.”
“Yeah, without me.”
“Maybe that's good. I need to show that I can stand alone and get the job done.” I look Sue in the eye. “There's been talk that I need help from you to write my copy.” Sue looks away. Then I knew it was true. “It's over, Sue. It's been over a long time now. It just took me a long time to realize that I've out grown you.”
Sue back handed me across the arm. It hurt like hell but I tried not to show it. Carrying camera equipment and battery packs around has made Sue very strong. “You can't do the job without me and don't you forget it. You're just a dumb cluck without me. Go ahead, write your story about Kennedy. It's way out of your league. Then I'll consider whether I still want you around.”
“I'm not going to be around, Sue. I've asked for a new lens.”
She was already moving to the door and slammed out. I spent the evening packing her stuff neatly into boxes that I left with the janitor downstairs. In the morning, I changed the lock on the door. I would never work with Sue again.
Chapter Four: The Headlines of Life
The older you get the faster life seems to go. You no longer see life as slow, lazy days but as quick headlines rolling past. Jackie Goes Home! I went home, taking Rose and Adam with me. Home now wasn't the house in Ottawa but our summer retreat in Newfoundland. It was one of the best holidays I ever had with my family. Dale and Adam had hit it off immediately. Dale didn't know this was her grandson. She never would. I didn't want Adam hurt and rejected like my brother William had been. Besides, Rose and I had Billy Carmichael to live up to.
Mom was just so relieved to see me again that she forgot completely about trying to make me a lady. When I told Dale that it was over with Sue, it was as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. I realized then how much Dale loved me. She didn't love me as I wanted her to, but she loved me. We became close again after rubbing each other the wrong way for many years.
We never had so much fun, sailing, digging for clams, hiking in the hills or just sitting around the campfire at night. Earth put on a beautiful Indian summer and we spent as much time as we could outside thankful that our wonderful Earth had survived. Thinking back, I think it was that visit that made Adam fall in love with the sea.
One day, Dale and I walked up on to the bluff and sat looking out at the sea. “I love this spot,” she said. “I can look out to sea and see endless possibilities. Your mother loves this spot too.”
“So do I.”
“Jackie, there are times in history when chaos rules over law. There are many reasons why that is so, but what is important is that once the first event happens, others will follow like a single stone falling out of place and triggering a landslide. I very much fear we are in one of those times. In a way, we are still careening down the mountainside from the moment Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated starting the First World War.”
“Considering Earth has barely survived a nuclear holocaust those are not reassuring words.”
“No, they're not. There is trouble ahead, Jackie. Lots of it. It will make your career. Make sure that it doesn't break your will. It broke mine.” Dale swallowed hard. “I was lucky. Your mother found me and made me whole again.”
It was the only time that I ever heard Dale refer to her break down during the war. “I'll be careful,” I promised. We got up then and hiked along the bluff talking about anything but what was important. Enough had been said. The years that followed could have broken my will, but it didn't, because I gave my promise to Dale.
“Aunt Jackie!” Scott broke into my thoughts as he came pounding up the metal stairs to the bridge. “This is an amazing ship! Are we really buying it?”
“We sure are.”
“It stinks.” He admitted.
“It won't after you've spent every spare minute on the end of a mop swabbing decks.”
“I'm going to learn to command the ship, Cap said.”
“Yup, and you're going to learn to swab decks too,” I promised, giving up the command seat so Scot could climb into it.
“I can do that. Mom says you have to start at the bottom and work up because that's the only way to really know the job.” I smiled. Cate was a good mom and a smart lady. Hot too. Paula had done alright. The others show up then and we get down to some serious discussions. I'm exhausted by the time we get to the hotel. I excuse myself from dinner and shower the smell of fish off before calling room service for a light meal before I go to bed. It had been a good day. Things were working out as they should. I smile in the dark and hum the Beach Boys classic Surfin USA.
Edith has become a frequent visitor to our home. Scott calls her Aunty Edith. He has decided now to be a navy doctor who writes about the environment and deep sea dives. Why not? Life provides just an endless array of possibilities when you are young.
There is much to do. Getting the long term financial support for the Jackie Cunningham Oceanography and Research Centre, (I didn't pick the name, Paula did, but I hardily approve), the permits to build and finding a decent contractor, who could start this fall, took hours of time. Thank God for Edith! She was marvellous and totally committed to the project. She is going to be the first chair of the Board of Directors. Paula and Adam were busy cleaning and refitting the Eurybia and setting up and equipping the research labs aboard ship. Cate was maintaining the home front, helping Scott settle into a new school and neighbourhood and acquiring the robotic cameras, diving equipment and safety and maintenance gear that would be needed aboard ship. I just stuck my wrench in were ever I felt fit and spent money as if I was worth millions which, of course, I was. What fun! But very exhausting.
My granny flat was finally finished and the girls moved my stuff downstairs. I was delighted with it.
“Paula, I couldn't be more pleased. Have you seen my fold out dinner table?”
“Several times. I'm glad you are happy with it, Aunt Jackie. I hope you will enjoy it for many years to come.”
“Don't be silly, Paula. I'm on borrowed time and we both know it. Let's not be sad about that. I have few regrets. Life has been a blast as Scott would say. You know, Edith isn't getting any younger and that big place of hers is getting too much for her. When I go, I think you should ask her if she'd like to move into this apartment at least for the winter months. Scott quite likes her and having a medical doctor handy is a plus with a house full of dare devils.”
“Edith would be quite welcome. She has become one of the family and she's done so much work for us.” I get a hug. “But, you stay with us, okay?”
“I'm good until at least next summer, Paula. I wouldn't think of leaving until I get my Phd from the university in June and then I'll need time to use my new title as much as possible.”
“What?”
“I explained to the university that they were getting quite a lot from this research institution for next to nothing and they might want to recognize my many accomplishments with a small token of their appreciation. Why should you be the only one with a doctorate?”
“Aunt Jackie! You didn't?”
“Of course, I did. I have absolutely no sense of decency. Are you jealous?”
Paula laughs. “Just totally floored by your gall and sense of fun.”
I give her a quick hug. “I love you too.”
I should have felt like a weight had been lifted from my soul when Sue and I broke up. In actuality I was a mess. Sue had stripped me of self-esteem and self-worth and although I put on a brave front, I was in fact a basket case. It was Rose Carmichael who put me back together again. I spent a good deal of time with her and Adam. I have never wanted children. Most children, I have found, are a great worry to their parents when they are young and a great disappointment to them when they get older. I will admit I did enjoy the time I spent with both Adam and Paula. Small doses of children can be quite good for ones ego and even amusing.
Adam and I became fast friends. Rose and I became lovers. I often wondered who she preferred in bed, William or me. It's annoying to be in competition with one's brother. Of course, I didn't knock her up and run back to my wife so I'm sure that gave me an edge. We both knew it wasn't going to go anywhere, but at a time, when we were both struggling to put our lives back together, we were good for each other. I had shown up at her door in the early afternoon. Tears rolled down my face and I was scruffy and dirty from having spent all night clearing Sue's stuff out of the apartment. As soon as the caretaker had put a new lock on the door, I was out of there.
The door opened to my knock. “I broke up with Sue.”
I get a hug. “Good. Come in. You look like hell. Keep your voice low, Adam is down for his nap.”
“What am I going to do?”
“First a bath, some food and some sleep. Then we'll talk.” Rose led me by the hand and helped me undress and get into the shower. I had been brave and determined all night, now I was nearly catatonic with shock. It was over. Sometime later, I sat sipping some soup wearing Rose's housecoat. My clothes were going around in the washer.
“It's understandable that you feel in shock, Jackie. Sue has dominated your life for a number of years. Worse, she has undermined who you are as a person. You need to stay here for a while in case Sue shows up at your apartment. When you are feeling stronger, you need to go home for a few weeks and heal.”
I look up. “Should I be at work?”
“No, it's Sunday. Tomorrow you'll phone in sick and request a leave.”
“I need to work.”
“No, you need to go home. Find yourself again.”
“Home?”
“Yes, home.”
“Would you and Adam come too?”
“Sure if you need us.”
“I need you.”
Rose smiled softly and came over and sat next to me. She put her arm around me and kissed me on the lips. I was surprised but not too surprised to respond. Rose saved me with her body, her kindness, and her quiet wisdom.
1963. Rose, Adam and I spend lots of time together. Interesting things happen, but after the Cuban Crisis the world was playing it safe. It was the calm before the storm. We flew to Newfoundland to spend a month with Mom and Dale. The first leg of the trip was on the new Boeing 727. The world was changing. A fuse had been lit in technology, politics, and society. None of us realized how revolutionary the charges would be.
I spent a lot of time healing. I'd take a book and sit on the porch overlooking the sea if we weren't doing anything. Often mom or Dale would sit with me. I'm rarely left alone. They worry about the emotional damage that Sue has done to me. I read Ship of Fools by Porter and was deeply moved by it. I also read Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. He would win the Noble Prize for his efforts. I think every school kid in the US has had to study the novel in English class since. They don't learn. Whether you are a farmer bankrupt by the dust bowl, a black living in a ghetto, a Hispanic migrant worker or a white who has lost her investments in the bank crisis, you know nothing has changed. Greed. The haves using the law and government against the have nots. Back then it was Attorney General Robert Kennedy taking in George Wallace over desegregation. It got so bad that Kennedy had to send troops to Alabama to stop the riots and burning.
June. The fuse burns ever onward. I'm back from Newfoundland and ready to get back into work. I didn't get to go to Berlin after all. The Editor used the excuse that I had been on sick leave. Ironic since it was that assignment that ended my relationship with Sue. I should have been angry. I should have walked out. Instead, I shrugged. Nothing seemed to reach me anymore. I watched Kennedy at the Berlin Wall on TV. He was at his best. Ich bin ein Berliner . Democracy doesn't need walls to keep its people in. He was right. We used walls to keep people out. Just ask Governor George Wallace of Alabama. Still, it was a stirring speech. I stood and raised my glass of wine. “To Peter Flechter.”
The USSR was miles ahead of us in the space race but the gap was getting smaller. Kennedy had pledged that the US will be first on the moon. Yet the USSR Sends the First Woman into Space. Valentina Tereshkova. I watch with fascination. A woman in space. Her three day mission captivated me. A woman in space. I thought that we had finally broken through a ceiling that had held women down. I was wrong, of course, it would be 20 years later, in 1983, when Sally Ride became the first American woman in space. Way back during the Johnson administration a group of female nurses trained to be astronauts and had passed with high marks. They were never allowed to fly
Women. I have always known I was attracted to them. I have never felt guilty or awkward about that. It's the way I am. It was only in the 60s, though, that I become really frustrated by the restrictions put on women and the discrimination against gay women. In 1963, The Ayatollah Khomenini was arrested with others for attempting to insight riots to over throw the Shah. Then he will not succeed, but his followers had set the foundation for what is to come. The Shah and his family had to flee from the riots to their summer palace. The land reforms he had proposed and the rights that he wanted to give women has been violently rejected by Moslem religious leaders. Three women who had dared to go unveiled were slaughtered by the rioters. Women. Each of our small steps forward are drenched in our own blood.
Rights. My thoughts drift on. It's August of 1963 and I was in Washington standing close to the Lincoln Memorial. The mall was packed with people, mostly Blacks, demanding civil rights issues be addressed by congress. The speakers had been predictable and the crowd was relaxed, enjoying the day as if it was a country fair. Not much to report on, although I got some great photos of a sea of humanity stretching down each side of the mall lake. Then the Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. spoke. The crowd moved forward and strained to hear the words. The country fair became a moment in history. I have a dream, King said and each time he did a jolt of emotion went through the crowd. Tears rolled down our faces. King wasn't the most militant speaker that day nor was he the most elegant, but he was the one that reached our hearts and souls. Later, Dylan sang The day Medgar Evers was Buried, Joan Baez did We Shall Over Come and Peter, Paul and Mary asked How Many Roads Would We Have to Go Down. White activists. Black activists. A sea of hope. Congress was not moved. The Civil Rights bill before the House is not acted on.
I wake with a start. Yesterday's visit to the ship has tired me right out. It's Paula at the door.
“Hey sleepy head, you feeling okay?”
“Tired. What time is it?” I pat the side of the bed.
“Nearly noon.” Paula comes over and gently sits down so not to cause me any pain.
“Damn. I haven't slept in like that since I had the energy to party all night.”
Paula laughs. “You are impossible. Aunt Jackie, don't you think you are taking on too much? Every day you have something going on.”
“Nonsense. I want to run right up to the wire not give up just because I can see the finish line. Edith is giving me all sorts of help and with luck I'll have you and Adam beat into shape before winter.”
“Oh you have done that already. We are totally at your beck and call.”
I smile and pat Paula's hand. “Good.”
I force myself to get up after Paula leaves. I'm drugged with exhaustion and have trouble putting a clear thought together. I get a cup of coffee and head out to the sun porch. The clear, salty air helps to clear my head but my bones ache. I seem to spend so much time inside my head now. It isn't such a bad place to be. My memories are vivid, varied and I frankly admit it, exciting.
I remember the day I met Kathy Remington. November 22 nd 1963. It's not a date that anyone of my generation is likely to forget.
I was in Dallas standing near the railroad overpass on the infamous grassy knoll. I was there for two reasons, first because President Kennedy's motorcade was to go passed in a few minutes and second because being short I needed to stand on the hillside to get a good view over the heads of the crowd. Shot. The motorcade was to go straight down Main Street, but the route was changed at the last minute so that the cars would turn up Houston Street and then turn down Elm Street before heading to the Merchandise Mart where Kennedy was to speak. Shot. Kennedy's popularity had been flagging and the trip to Dallas was part of a series of whistle stops to get his message out there and show America he was a take charge president. Shot. The third one. The three shots come in rapid succession and echo off the buildings and grassy knoll. It was impossible to know from which direction they came. I didn't know what had happened. The motorcade picked up speed. I saw Jackie Kennedy hanging over the back of the limo pulling a secret serviceman over the trunk and into the car. Kennedy was slumped down blood all over his head and neck. The limo was moving fast now, but my brain was just catching hold of the headline. John F. Kennedy Has Been Shot!
I got on my motorbike and head to Parkland Hospital. No one knows what the hell was going on. I was in a sea of reporters. We rolled over anyone leaving the building in the hopes that they would know something. Kennedy was mildly wounded, governor Connally was dead. No. Priests had been called, Kennedy was dying and Connally was hanging on. It was the USSR who did it. No, the CIA, No, organized crime. It was a sea of rumours, fears and emotion. The nation, stopped and watched.
I tried to report via phone. That entailed breaking into an office to find a land line in those days. I got the word out that Kennedy had been shot by person or persons unknown and was probably dead. As I fought my way back across the hospital parking lot, I'm stopped by one of the networks.
“Jackie Cunningham! Your paper is owned by the network. Look, our anchor can't get through the traffic, we need you to go on the air.”
“Me?”
“Here's the mike. Just tell what you know. You're on the air in five, four, three, two, one.”
“This is Jackie Cunningham reporting. Less than an hour ago, I stood on a grassy knoll and heard what I thought were three shots. They echoed off the canyon of buildings and it was hard to know just how many or from what direction they came. As I watched, the 35 th president of the United States, John F. Kennedy, slumped over in the limo. His head and neck were covered in blood. Jackie Kennedy reached over the back of the presidential limo to pull aboard a secret serviceman to help her husband and Governor Connally who also appeared to be shot. The limo picked up speed and headed for the Parkland Hospital.
“I'm at the hospital now. It's a sea of reporters waiting to find out what is going on. I can tell you that both Kennedy and Connally were shot. Priests have been called to administer the Last Rights and word has it that John F. Kennedy has died. I repeat, the unofficial word is it that the President of the United States, John F, Kennedy, was assassinated today in Dallas . Please stay with us. We'll bring you all the breaking news as it unfolds.”
My story was first to hit the air and first in the papers. It was my big scoop, but I didn't take any joy in it. I ran strictly on adrenalin. Tears rolled down my face as I heard the official announcement. I pushed my way through the crowds to where I had parked my bike. Some asshole pushed back and I tripped and hit the ground with a crack getting stepped on several times before some reporters yank me back to my feet and leave me safely in a doorway. I didn't think, I just moved, hobbling along my head aching. I was on my bike heading for the airport before I realize that my head was bleeding into my eyes. Once I arrived, I took a wad of tissues and pressed it on the scrape on my forehead and stuck a baseball cap on to hold it in place. I was there reporting as Lyndon Johnson, his wife and Jackie Kennedy board Air Force One. I was on the next plane out. Heading for Washington.
That's when I met Kathy. She was sitting beside me on the plane. My hands were shaking so hard I can't pour the whiskey I'd ordered into the damn plastic cup. She took the little bottle from my hand. “Here let me. We're all upset. This is unbelievable. This is the USA. Things like this don't happen here.” She poured my drink and then handed me the cup. I carefully take it in both hands.
“Believe it. I was there. I saw it happen. I'm okay. Just a touch of shock setting in. I cracked my head a good one on the pavement and then got trampled underfoot by stampeding reporters. I'm Jackie Cunningham. I'm a reporter.”
“I'm Kathy Remington. I'm a nurse. And you look like you need that drink.”
She didn't ask me any questions. Instead, she cleaned the scrap on my head and put a bandage on it. Then she covered me with a blanket and held my hand talking to me softly. I had no idea what she said. When I woke, we had landed in Washington. I had only my camera case. I hadn't had time to go back to the hotel and pack my stuff and I'd left the rented motorbike double parked by the airport departure doors. Kathy had several bags and I helped her carry them off the plane.
“You sure you're okay? You took a nasty blow to the head.”
“Yeah, I'm fine now, thanks. I have to get in to the office and report.” I pulled out a card and handed it to her. “Call me. I want to keep in touch.” I leaned forward and gave her a hug, kissing her on the cheek. It could have been a friendly thanks and good bye but we both knew it wasn't. I hurried off.
Despite making the biggest news scope of the decade, I was fired. The editor had seen me doing a TV broadcast without his permission and I was branded a traitor to the printed word. I was barely out of the door with my cardboard box of files when I was hired on the spot by the same national TV Company that had brought about my dismissal.
“Hey, Cunningham! Get in the van.”
“Like I want to have anything more to do with you guys. You just cost me my job.”
The guy got out of the van and took the box from my hands. It was heavy and he staggered a bit. Clearly, he was a man not used to carting his own camera equipment. “Yeah, we heard before you did. Your editor phoned our editor to exchange a few pleasantries at the top of his lungs. Come on. You're being hired to report for the national news.”
“Me? What about your regular guy?”
“He wasn't there when Kennedy was killed. You were. Come on, get in. You're about to be made a star.”
I shrugged, laughed and got in the van. What the hell. The tides were taking me down a new road. I would be one of the first women reporters on TV up against Huntley and Brinkley and Walter Cronkite. I didn't stand a chance in hell.
Kathy didn't get in touch. Not that it mattered. For the next little while my home was a plane seat and my only interpersonal relationship was with a mic. I had barely signed my name to the contract when I was sent back to Dallas to cover the arrest of Lee Harvey Oswald. A pro-communist nut case, Oswald had been arrested first for shooting a cop, who had stopped to question him on the street some hours after the assignation of Kennedy. He was later charged with the murder of both Officer Tippit and President Kennedy and the attempted murder earlier of General Walker. He would never come to trial. He was shot by Jack Ruby while we of the press jockeyed for a statement from him as the police were transferring Oswald from one jail to another. My camera man caught it on film. I caught an elbow to the chin in the melee but managed to keep on broadcasting.
Was there a conspiracy? There were certainly a long line of people who would have liked to have seen the Kennedys dead. It's hard to imagine though that losers like Oswald or Ruby would have been ear marked for such an important hit. Ruby died in jail of cancer. He made a good living out of implying that he knew all about the conspiracy behind the killings, but he never told anyone what they were. On his death bed, he said that there was no conspiracy that he had acted alone.
The next day, I was back in the east covering the funeral of President Kennedy. As funerals go, it was a staging masterpiece. For a people who pride themselves on over throwing the waste of imperial trappings, you'd have had to go a long way to see a greater royal procession. It was the funeral of a king. It was also the first nail in the coffin of idealism. I reported. It wasn't easy. The tears threatened to choke my words. I reported and the nation stood still in sorrow and despair.
When I finally, got back to my apartment there were still no messages from Kathy. I had to hunt her down by phoning every hospital in town.
“Hi, it's Jackie Cunningham. You were supposed to phone me.”
“Hi. I saw you on TV. I was afraid to phone. I didn't want to make a nonsense of myself.”
“Do you often make a nonsense of yourself?”
“No.”
“Then I'll risk it. Dinner?”
There's a hesitation. “Ahh, is this a working dinner or...or something else?”
“What if I say it's something else?”
“Then I'll risk it.”
Kathy and I would spend the best part of the next twenty years together. We never came out. For all my talk of being liberated and my own woman, I hid our orientation just as mom and Dale had. I was on TV now and my personal life couldn't be an embarrassment to the network. We shared a duplex with a connecting door. It was a facade of respectability behind which we conducted our real lives.
Sex, you know, is an obsession with North Americans. You'd think that humping was the only requirement for physical and mental health if you read the magazines and watch the advice programs. Bullshit. Sex is fun. Life is so much better. I have always refused to feel guilty about how much or how little sex I get. Nor do I buy into the sex manual approach. Sex should be natural and free not orchestrated. I don't want my bed cluttered with ice cubes, feathers, dildos (manual and electronic) chains, knives, clips, scented oils, eatable panties or chocolate. I just want a naked, hot woman beside me who loves me for what I am. Nor am I turned on by casual sex. If there is no love involved then you might as well be a cow humping in a field. Better a good shower head than casual sex. You are in control, you aren't going to develop any social disease and there's the added bonus too of getting your hair washed. I'm a purist when it comes to sex.
Sex with Jo Jo was kinky and totally without any inhibitions. She liked me to make up stories about having sex while we made love. It was creative, spontaneous and energetic. Hell, we were young. Sex with Sue was on the edge. Exciting, demanding and just slightly out of control. Sex with her was bruising and exhausting. Rose, was about healing. Healing for both of us as we learned to trust again. The foreplay was far more important than the act. We both knew we weren't meant to be partners just lovers until our pain went away. Then there was Kathy. Kathy taught me that love was the key to good sex. Keep the love alive and the sex is always good. I came to love Kathy deeply. I wish like hell that I'd told her that each day.
I took her to dinner and a movie. We saw Bye Bye Birdie with Dick Van Dyke. By the time we came out a major snow storm was underway. The buses weren't running and so I'd walked her back to her place that was about five blocks away.
We fell through the doorway and promptly started to melt into cold, soggy beings. Kathy took me up to her apartment and lent me a housecoat. We took turns showering to get warm and Kathy put our clothes in her drier. We sat over a night cap and watched it snow.
I leaned over and kissed her. “It's probably the storm of the century. I imagine I'll be here for days and we'll run out of food and I'll have to eat you.”
Kathy laughed and pulled away. “I'll make up the couch for you.”
“Couch?”
Kathy got up and looked down at me. “I think we are going to have a lasting relationship, Cunningham, but I want you to court me first.”
“Isn't that kind of old fashion?”
“Yes. I know your kind. If it comes too easy you won't respect it. Nope, Cunningham, you are going to have to work at this relationship.”
So I slept on the couch and courted Kathy for the next six months. It was wonderful. That time was all about romance, companionship, friendship and anticipation. I took her to movies, picnics, we hiked and boated and dined out a good deal. I sent her flowers each week and she gave me home baking. It was old fashioned and rather silly and I enjoyed myself far more than I ever thought I would.
We became lovers in early May. The crocuses and tulips were out and the air smelt clean and fresh. We'd been for a walk and then Kathy and I made a pizza together using one of the mixes that gave you the ingredients for a crust and a can of tomato paste. We washed it done with some homemade wine that an Italian friend of Kathy's had given her.
I lay on the floor propped up on a bean bag and Kathy lay at right angles to me using my tummy as a pillow.
“Kathy, I have some leave coming and I want to go home and see my family. I want to take you with me not as my friend but as my partner for life. I love you. I want what we have to last forever.”
Kathy spun around and wrapped her arms around me nestling her head beside mine. “Are you sure, Jackie? Really sure?”
“I have never been surer about anything in my life.”
“Then yes. I love you too.”
We kissed and my lips roved over her body discovering the hidden delights of the woman I loved. We worked our way to the bedroom shedding clothes as we went. The need was so intense it hurt but the love was greater. Something beautiful was lost with our joining but something deep, spiritual and everlasting was gained. After, we laid spoon shaped, my body wrapped around hers. I thought about Dale and finally realized what she and mom had and why I could never stick a wedge in that bond. True love is like an old comfortable pair of shoes. It just fits right and no other is quite the same.
We flew to Canada the next month. Both mom and Dale took to Kathy right away. We never discuss the lesbian issue. I knew my mom slept with Dale and they knew that Kathy shared my bed. It was an understood. It was also understood that it was not an issue that would come out in the open. The 60s had opened many doors but not that one. Not yet. Dale got us tickets to see the Beatles in concert in Toronto. It was the night of the big scream. Mom, Kathy and I revelled in the experience. Dale wasn't able to scream. I suspect that if she let it all out she thought she would never be able to get it all back under control again.
I pull myself back from that past as I hear Edith arriving. She's brought lunch over and we spread our papers on the kitchen table and make lists of people we needed to strong arm to get things done. Well, Edith called it networking to achieve our goals. I called it kicking the nuts of the bastards that were standing in my way. We settled on strong arming. I needed this day just to relax and organize. I suspect strongly that Edith builds these days into my schedule. She isn't as aggressive as I am, but she's just as sneaky.
I put my mug of hot chocolate down. It's made with lots of sugar and whole milk to try and keep my weight on.
“So their yelling woke me up from my afternoon nap.”
“Oh dear, I thought Adam and Paula were getting on remarkably well together.”
“Hell, no. They were being polite and considerate of each other. That's the way you act with casual acquaintance and colleagues. I was ever so delighted to walk in on a real knockdown, drag out cat and dog fight. Now they're family.”
Edith laughs. “You have a very strange concept of family.”
I raise my eyebrows. “You've met my family.”
“Good point. So who won.”
“I did of course. I shook a can of soda water and let them have it. Then once they'd cleaned up the mess, we sat down and talked it over. Paula now understands that deck space is a bridge matter and Adam understands that below decks is a research matter. Where issues overlap, they have to discuss it in committee.”
“Good solution. So what was the fight about?”
“Davits for launching a two person sub.”
Edith rolled her eyes. “Those two need a life.”
“I don't allow it. There is too much to get done before I peg it.”
After Edith leaves, I lie down to rest. Sleep doesn't come. Instead, I drift off into memories. 1964 was a hot, muggy summer. It wasn't just the weather, it was the heat of frustration. Frustration that Kennedy was dead and LBJ was a man without glamour. Frustration about the endless war in ‘Nam. Frustration over civil rights. Frustration between the older generation who had won the war and the younger generation who sat on the street chanting hell no, I won't go as they burnt their draft cards. There was a red hot fuse burning.
I didn't particularly care. I was in love and playing house with Kathy. The Motown sound was big and I sang along with the Supremes as Kathy and I moved our furniture into the duplex. Where Did the Love Go? It was right here with Kathy and me. We had gone to see Peter Sellers in the Pink Panther and I was reading Lorraine Hansberry's Raison in the Sun. Life was good.
Rachel Carson Dies. I was there at her home in Silver Springs to report on her passing. I had read her last book Silent Spring. Its revelations about the dangers of pesticide use would bring some of the first significant laws to protect the environment. It was too little too late. Fifty years later, we were facing an environmental melt down with global change. If we had only listened. If we had only cared.
If we had only listened. If we had only cared. I was in the media skirmish the day LBJ signed the Civil Rights Act. It was to put the power of the law behind ending racial discrimination. White America was fearful. They moved their children into private schools away from integrated public schools. The Public School system slowly crumbled deprived of funding. Blacks were offered jobs as tokens rather than equal colleagues. The war in ‘Nam was fought by West Point white officers and blacks requited from the poor. It wasn't a reality, but it was a pattern. Worse, gangs told the young to hate, don't talk like a white, don't buy into a white education, don't be an Uncle Tom. Everything that Rosa Park, Malcalm X, Martin Luther King fought for would be undermined by the ghetto mentality and the bigotry of white America. Yet, the opportunities were there for those strong and intelligent enough to fight through the race wall. The Rices, Powells, Obamas. What had been impossible would happen for some, but only some. Sidney Poitier Becomes first Black to Win Best Actor Oscar for Lilies of the Field.
Back in ‘64 the heat beat down and the frustration and anger grew as we watched the fuse burn towards 1965. The old order was ending and ahead there was only uncertainty. General Douglas MacArthur Laid to Rest. Jawaharlal Nehru of India Dead. Sir Winston Churchill 1874 to 1965.
1965. It started calmly enough. Sound of Music and Zorba the Greek have top billing. Cosmonauts would walk in space first, but only a few months later so would the Yanks. They were catching up.
It was June when mom phoned, a Sunday. Kathy and I had spent a leisurely morning reading the paper and having pancakes for breakfast. We planned to go for a walk in the afternoon and stop at the art gallery for afternoon tea.
“Jackie. It's your mom.” My mom always started her phone calls that way as if her daughter was unlikely to recognize her voice.
“Hi mom. How are you and Aunt Dale?”
“We're fine. How are you and Kathy?”
“Enjoying a lazy Sunday morning. We just finished a plate of pancakes each and can hardly waddle.” Kathy sitting over on the love seat, chuckled and blew me a kiss.
“Jackie, I hate to impose on you, but something very serious has come up. You've heard me talk about my sister Beth and her husband Peter?”
I list. “Fundamental Christians, two adopted children, poker of righteous indignation up their asses and won't have anything to do with the likes of us.”
Mom's voice hardens. “That's a bit harsh. Beth was my sister and she was very good to me when I was raising you as a single mom. I don't know what I would have done without her. I have always regretted deeply that we couldn't find some common ground and lost the family bond we once had.”
“So what's the problem?”
I hear my mom sob and then it's Dale on the phone. “Jackie?”
“Is mom okay?”
“No, she's very upset. Your Aunt Beth and Uncle Peter have been killed in a car crash. They're children, Jill and Earl, need our support. We'll be flying down there, but in the meantime, we need you to step up to the plate as you live so much closer. They live in Monterey. I think they'd only be a few years younger than you, but I got the impression that coping skills are not their strong point.”
“Kathy and I will head out there right away. Tell mom not to worry. We'll do everything we can for them until you can get here. Tell mom - that I'm really sorry about her sister.”
“I will”
I got the particulars from Dale and Kathy and I were on our way within the hour. The Scott home in Monterey was a seaside mansion. Peter Scott was some big wig with an oil company. A maid in uniform let us in and we were directed to a living room the size of a football field. They were sitting side by side on the sofa. Jill was sobbing into a hankie and Earl was reading his bible.
“Miss Jackie Cunningham and Miss Kathy Remington,” the maid announced.
Earl came to his feet politely. Jill launched herself into my arms sobbing hysterically. “Oh Cousin Jackie! What are we to do? What are we to do?”
“What have you done?” I asked Earl, as Kathy helped pull Jill off of me.
“It's all been such a shock. We've been trying to find some understanding and peace in His words.”
Kathy had now taken Jill from the room having slipped into her nurse role. I got a look from her as she left which translated ‘I'm leaving you to sort out this mess.'
I turned to Earl. “Have you arranged a funeral?”
“No.”
“Notified anyone?”
“No.”
“You and I have a lot to do then. Where are your church friends?”
“Mommy and Daddy had a falling out with the minister and are presently between churches. They didn't feel Rev. Dundas was giving the proper empathises to the Virgin birth.”
“I can understand their concern. It's a concept that boggles the mind and needs a good deal of explaining.”
“Yes, it does.” Clearly sarcasm was new terrain for Earl.
I led him rather like a puppy dog through the process of arranging a funeral and notifying friends (few of these) and business associates (lots of these). By dinner time, the house was full of flowers from various oil divisions and a funeral has been planned that was just short of a Broadway opening. I had to bribe Rev. Dundas to do the service with a large donation to the church when my appeal to Christian forgiveness failed.
Dinner was excellent. The Scotts had a chef on staff. Earl ate mechanically, Jill did the drama queen routine, sighing heavily and chasing a bit of potato around her plate but never really eating. Kathy and I chucked in whole heartily. There was no point in wasting a good meal. I tried conversation.
“So what do you two do for a living?”
They look at me as if I'd just asked them to strip naked and dance.
“We live with mommy and daddy,” Earl explained. This man must be in his early twenties and he still calls his parents mommy and daddy. “We both went to the California Christian College. I finished my degree last year and have been trying to decide what I want to do with my life. Jill has just graduated.”
“I see.” I didn't of course, but who was I to judge.
“I have a boyfriend,” Jill piped in, as if this was some great claim to fame.
“Have you notified him about what has happened?”
Jill burst into tears and ran from the room. “I can't! I can't! It's too horrible!”
I counted to ten and then looked at Earl. “You'd better go and notify the poor guy. If he really cares for Jill, he needs to be here for her.” Earl nodded and took off like a retriever after a duck.
Kathy smiled. “You sure trained him up in a hurry.”
“Mom and Aunt Dale owe us big for this. Pass the butter please, these rolls are excellent.”
The next afternoon, Mom and Dale arrived. By then, Kathy had got Jill to stop crying and be useful answering the phone and I had Earl so trained I think I could get him to sit up and give a paw. The funeral was organized and I was busy writing a eulogy for the minister based on the information that Earl- the- Eager and Sobbing-Jill had given me. Mom and Dale looked beat, but they were like a breath of fresh air through the mansion. Dale questioned me about what we'd done and when I told her, she smiled and said I'd done a great job and that it really helped my mom out. I simple glowed with pride. Even as an adult, I needed Dale's approval and love. I'd learnt something else from the experience too.
The following morning before the funeral, mom and I went for a walk in the garden behind the house. We sat under a Bougainvillea bush on a bench by a pond.
“I needed to thank you, Jackie. Dale told me last night how much you had accomplished in such a short time. Jill and Earl don't seem to be very practical.”
I smile. “They are not of this world.”
Mom frowns. “That will have to change.”
“Yes. I think Earl will be okay. He just hasn't had a chance to be his own man. I'm not sure about Jill.”
We lapse in to silence for a few minutes.
“Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“You mean the world to me. We are not a family who goes in for showing our feelings, but this experience taught me that some things have to be said before it's too late. I love you and I love Aunt Dale too. You have been wonderful parents to William and me. And I'm very grateful. Thank you.”
Tears glisten in my mom's eyes. She didn't say anything she just slipped her arm through mine. We sat there for the longest time, mother and daughter at peace at last.
The funeral was beautiful. Everyone was there showing the politically correct amount of grief. Rev. Dundas did an excellent job of laying old grievance to rest. Earl was stoic and clutched his bible as if it was a life raft. Jill was pale and needed supporting by her boyfriend, but at least she didn't howl through the whole service. I held mom's hand because Dale couldn't. I think the only one who really grieved for Beth was my mom. Life is ironic.
The Watts Riots. 1965 I report.
This is Jackie Cunningham reporting from the streets of Watts. It's a stifling August and the Watts area of LA has become a battle ground. Black America hot, crowded, poor and oppressed is lashing out at the ghetto around them egged on by radical leaders. The L.A. police haven't been able to control the rioting and the army has been called in to assist. I'm here with my camera man, Eric Lowen, reporting live. Behind me the shops are on fire and we can see rioters throwing rocks and looting. So far... Shots! My camera man has been hit by a bullet! We are under fire and have to get out of here!”
I grabbed Eric as rioters ran towards us and half carried him and half dragged him to our van. He fell in and I lifted his legs up and pulled the side door shut. I was being hit by stones now and one guy who was close gave me a few good punches. As he taunted me, I got the door open and started the van, putting it into gear before I'd even closed the door. The guy was trying to pull me from the van, but he let go, when I slammed the door on his arm. The van was rocking as rioters pile on it. I accelerated and spun the van around hoping I wouldn't run over anyone. Then I was out of there. I was half crying, half swearing as I raced lights to get Eric to the hospital.
I was not really aware of anything clearly until a nurse grabbed me and asked if I need medical attention too. Did I? My nose was bleeding and my shirt was half torn off. My arm hurt where I'd been punched but other than that I was okay.
I made my way to the phone. My hands were shaking so badly that it took me several attempts to phone home. I got the answering tape and leave a message for Kathy. “I'm okay. Just a bloody nose. I'm staying at the hospital until I know Eric is okay. He got shot. We were covering the riots in Watts. I'll phone back later. Love you.” Then I phoned the station and they go on the air with my report. Later, that night they would show the film that Eric took. He actually filmed the guy firing at him. Kathy joined me at the hospital after her shift. Eric would be okay. The bullet had hit his battery pack and chipped his hip bone. He'd been lucky. Kathy drove me home. The station had already picked up Eric's camera and the van.
“Hell, Kathy, who are we? Eric filmed the guy shooting him instead of ducking. With a bullet in him, he still held on to the damn camera so we'd have the story on film. I was just as bad. I finished my report as I tossed him and the microphone in the van like a bag of potatoes. Anything for the damn story!” I sobbed. Kathy was there for me.
“You're in shock, baby. Come on, I'll take care of you.” And she did. Eric and I would win an award for the story.
Watts Is Burning! It was the lit fuse of the violence that would follow. In five days of rioting thirty die, hundreds were injured and thousands arrested. The 60s ended the old order as we knew it. The birth of the new order at times was painful, brutal and costly. We all had such great hopes for the future. The pace of life was quick. The years rolled by as I skipped from one event to another. Kathy and I lived our double lives, friendly neighbours on the facade and lovers with a connecting door on the inside. The 60s heralded women's liberation but not acceptance. At least we were allowed our closets and weren't burned at the stake anymore.
What a time those years were! 1966 Indira Gandhi Becomes Prime Minister of India. A woman in the seat of power over millions. It seemed like progress but, of course, it was having the surname Gandhi that had probably made the difference. In China, Moa's Cultural Revolution would set the country back fifty years and turned students into Red Guard thugs. The mini skirt was all the rage and in California, Actor Ronald Regan the New Governor . The dark side of the new order was still very evident. Civil Rights and oppositions to segregation still led to violent protest. Apollo 1 burnt on the launch pad killing three fine men and brave astronauts and putting the American race to the moon on hold. And in Vietnam, the list of casualties grew higher and higher.
1967. It's Canada's centennial year and Kathy and I go home for the holidays. We go to Expo ‘67 in Montreal. It was a bubble of happiness in a darkening world. Dale, mom, Kathy and I have a wonderful time. Mom confided in me that she had a lot more fun on this visit than she'd had with William and his family when they had gone to Expo the month before. That was unlike mom. She had always taken William's side because Dale never did.
The telephone ringing brings me back to reality. I look out the window and see that the snow they had predicted is falling. I check Call Display and discover it's my second cousin by marriage Douglas Fairhall, B.A. M.A. Ed, God's gift to Education. “Hello, Jackie Cunningham speaking from the Great Here After. A head's up from the Big Man, you have been weighed and found wanting in every way but poundage.”
I hear a forced chuckle. “Aunt Jackie, can't you answer the phone in a proper manner?”
“Certainly not. I try my best to be as annoying as the phone service is.”
“Yes, yes, I see, a joke.” Douglas giggles again. I sigh. Douglas wouldn't know a joke if he sat on one and it farted.
“So what is it, Douglas?”
“I just wanted to touch base with you. My cousin, Paula, rather hung on after the party and I didn't really get time to talk to you properly.”
“I've signed the house over to Paula. She is living here now.”
“What? Really, Jackie, do you think that wise?” If you are finding it hard to live alone you are certainly welcome to come live with us.”
I shudder at the thought of having to live with bitchy Mary, blowhard Douglas and their children of Darkness the depressed girls Faye and Beth and the nasty bully Arnold. It would be a fate worse than death.
“Aunt Jackie are you still there?”
“Sorry Douglas, I was just floored by your kind offer. I'm actually quite comfortable here, thanks. Anything else?”
“Er, ah, Aunt Jackie, I don't know of course, but I'm assuming you have a bit of money set aside. Now I don't want to cast any doubt on Paula, who I'm sure is a fine young lady, but you do need to be careful. Paula has always been, well, a bit of a dark horse in the family. You know, Aunt Jackie, people might be overly friendly with you in the hopes of getting your money.”
“No!” I pretend surprise.
“I'm afraid it's true. Perhaps I'd better come up there to just, well, protect your interests.”
“No thanks, Douglas. The weather is so unpredictable this time of year and I know you can't take time off easily during the school year. Maybe in the spring. Thanks for your concern though, fore warned is fore armed, like they say.”
“Yes, yes, well if that's the way you want it. Just be careful and don't sign anything more over to Paula without checking with me first.”
“I'll remember that. Good bye Douglas.” I hang up and pull a face at the phone. I could almost feel Cousin Douglas pulling my bank book from my cold, still hands. Asshole.
I go to find Paula. She is sitting in my old study bent over diagrams. “I just had a call from your cousin Douglas. I told him I'd signed the house over to you. I thought for a minute he might have had a coronary.”
Paula looks up and frowns. “I knew all this would cause trouble in the family sooner or later.”
“I sure hope so,” I smile. “The family has become far too predictable and respectable.”
“I don't want Cate and Scott upset and there is Adam to consider too.”
I slump into a chair. “They are tougher than you give them credit. No, we'll be okay, but when the skeletons start falling out of the closet the rest of the family will be in a proper state.”
Paula manages a weak smile. “Gee, something to look forward to.”
I get up and pat her hand. “The family are probably having a conference call right now. I suspect we'll be getting a visit from someone before long. I think they'll send your mother.”
“I love and respect my mother, but we don't really see eye to eye on a lot of issues.”
“Oh well then, this will be just one more.” I take myself off having delivered my bombshell.
1967 was the calm before the storm. I covered the Be-In in Central Park, New York. It was a copy-cat of one that had been held out in California. The police estimated there were about 10,000 hippies there all decked up in love beads, bell bottoms and peasant shirts. People chanted L-O-V-E and the air was filled with the smell of burning banana skins to cover up the scent of grass. No war protest for a change, just mellow people getting mellower under the sun. Down the street the Mod Bod types and the traditionalists watched the Easter parade. Two worlds. Two realities.
The social fibre strained and buckled under the stress of change. Muhammad Ali, formerly known as Cassius Clay, lost his heavy weight championship in boxing that year not in the ring, but by the boxing association who were appalled that he had refused to serve in the military. Another king was about to fall too. Elvis was marrying his girlfriend Priscilla. And the feet were knocked out from under the American music scene for good when The Beatles brought out St. Pepper Lonely Hearts Band. As Dylan wailed, The Times They Were A-Changin .
The big conflict that year was The Six Day War. Israel, under attack on all its borders by Egypt, Syria and Jordan put on an amazing display of military brilliance pushing back the enemy on all sides easily until the state of Israel had virtually doubled its size. I was itching to cover the story, but the network had a man on the spot and I wasn't needed. At the time, it seemed to the West to be a wonderful victory. In retrospect, it deepened the hate and heightened the plight of the refugees who would become known as the Palestinians. It would be an international sore spot that would continue to fester.
I was offered another assignment since I'd missed out on the Six Day War. As a Canadian, I could get into Cuba were Americans couldn't. I had to do it on the sneak so my green card wouldn't be evoked. I wanted to talk to Castro. I never did. Castro was in mourning. His friend and revolutionary colleague, Che Guevara, had been killed. Shot by Bolivian forces. Guevara's ideas would live on. Castro never forgot his friend. In 1997, when Guevara's body was finally located, Castro had it returned to Cuba and had him buried with full military honours in Santa Clara. Butchers or Idealists? We are all a bit of both.
1968. I have always seen this year as the beginning of the darkness. It started well enough. The world was amazed when the news was released that South African, Christian Bernhard, had given Louis Washkansky a new heart. The Brits and the French had produced the supersonic Concorde jet and in the big movies were Bonnie and Clyde and the Graduate. Kathy and I went to see them both before I was sent out on assignment again.
I was going back to ‘Nam this time to report on the Yanks turning over the protection of Saigon to the South Vietnamese forces. The police action was now one big, expensive, unpopular sucker of a war and any sign of the US getting out was welcome. So the New Year found me in Saigon trying to make a positive story out of shit. I wasn't happy. North Korea had captured the American surveillance ship, The Pueblo, and I thought it the better story. The network, however, sent someone else and left me in ‘Nam.
Tet, it means the New Year in Vietnamese. January 31. I woke in the dark to the sound of gun fire and incoming missiles. It was three in the morning as I rolled out of bed and grabbed my combat helmet before I look for my underwear. Trying to get dressed while keeping my head down was no easy matter. I slipped into my flak jacket that Kathy had bought for me just as the glass in my hotel window exploded. I crawled on my hands and knees to the door and then join the fleeing guests who were making their way down the emergency staircase to the lobby. The public phones were lined up so I bullied my way into the manager's office and called a friend I knew at the American Embassy.
“This is Jackie Cunningham. My hotel is under attack, do you know what the hell is going on, Fred?”
In the background, I can hear gun fire. “Shit! Get off the damn phone, Jackie. The Viet Cong have just blown a hole through the damn wall and we're fighting for our lives here! The whole damn city is under attack!” He hung up on me.
I was out the door and running up the street before I could even think about it. I was heading for the radio station to use their ham radio to get a message to the US. No such luck. I got within a few blocks and I was turned back by American soldiers. The radio station had been taken by the Viet Cong and it was no longer broadcasting. I did get more information though. Over 100 cities were under attack. Charlie had moved out of the jungles and into the cities. The surprise attack had left our forces in a state of confusion. Dodging debris, I ran back to the post office and sent probably the longest telegram in history to my network. I stood over the guy and made sure he sent it immediately having tipped him big in US dollars. Then I sent a short telegram to Kathy. I'm okay. Love J .
Saigon Under Attack! Massive Tet Offensive. Back at the hotel, I joined other reporters in the ballroom that had been set up as an emergency command centre for the press. They were all one step behind me. I had the story out first and it would make my name as a journalist. Success on the back of the dead was no great achievement. It would be three weeks of uncertainty and attacks until the US forces succeeded in beating back the Viet Cong and liberating Hue. I outline the events here, but it's not how I saw it in my mind. How can you describe the panic, confusion, dust, smoke and fire? Or the B.O. of fear and the stink of burning flesh. The terror permeates your very being and you can never wash the horror off. It becomes part of you for the rest of your life. Dale understood this. We never discussed it, but she would look at me with eyes that held a deep sorrow and knowing. I'm sure she could see the same look in my eyes.
A week later, I finally got a flight home. Kathy wanted me to talk about it, but I couldn't. There were no words for war. I think that hurt her, but she tried to understand and didn't push. I just couldn't talk about it. I couldn't talk about anything.
I'd stock piled some hours and at Kathy's insistence we took a few days off to head down to ‘Frisco. We wandered around the Haight-Ashbury area. It was now knee deep in hippies. The core of the intellectual movement had given up on the movement, but the younger generation were there in droves mimicking the cause. University students with a grudge, draft dodgers hiding out, teens on the run and the disenfranchised looking for something they missed in life. Everyone was now playacting, bleating the doctrine of love and understand and drugs rather than intellect had become the way to enlightenment. The Counterculture once had a sound philosophical base. Now it was washed down to free love and protesting anything over thirty.
I showed Kathy where I used to hang out when the beat generation still ruled. Looking back, I suppose we were just as intent and misguided. The irony of humanity is that youth knows what needs to be done to make a better society but lacks the practical skills to make it happen. With age, comes the necessary skills, but by then the idealism and desire to change the status quo has been crushed in us. The hippy movement is ridiculed now as naive and almost Anti-American. It wasn't. What is wrong with love, peace, understanding, spiritual enlightenment and tolerance? They might have been unattainable goals, but should we have reject them for the ultra-conservatism of hate and fear of everything and everyone different?
Kathy and I did the sites. We saw the Golden Gate Bridge from the water as we did the tour of Alcatraz. I took her to see the art deco Coit Tower and we ate down at Fisherman's Wharf and drove out to wander through the vast redwoods of the Muir Woods. It was what I needed. Kathy seemed to know that. At the end of the week, I'm started to return from the soul numbing place I had been. We sat up the last night and I talked and talked of the cries of agony and the confusion of orders yelled over gun fire. I told her about the blood splattered on the debris of homes and the bullet ridden bodies bloating in the morning sun. It all came out and then I cried. Kathy held me, kissed me, and made love to me with gentle, healing hands and warm, caring lips. When I came it was deep, painful and a magnificent release. I clung to Kathy like a life line until I fell to sleep in the early hours of the morning.
Trudeau remporte l'election! I go back to work and even got to visit my family in Canada for a few days in the spring when I'm sent to cover the election of their new Prime Minister, Pierre Elliott Trudeau. I liked the man. He was smart and didn't give a damn about social conventions. He didn't kiss babies, he kissed their mothers. Canada would have a love/hate relationship with the man. Americans would simply not understand him at all.
The Darkness spread. In April 1968, I'd been sent to Memphis to cover a rally in support of striking sanitation men. The rally itself was not news worthy, but the speaker, Dr. Martin Luther King, was. A man of high principles, King was a significant leader in the civil rights movement. His message was one of nonviolence and racial harmony. It was the latter, that white racists couldn't stomach. I got there early and I watched the last of the preparations for the rally. Some blocks away, Martin Luther King had come out on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel and leaned over to talk to Jesse Jackson who was down in the parking lot. His last words were to a musician. It was a request for the music that would be played at the rally. “Make sure you play Take My Hand, Precious Lord...” Martin Luther King Shot!
When I finally heard the news, I headed to the hospital, but King was already dead. The governor had called out the National Guard to keep peace, but rioting would spread from Memphis to other cities. The killer, James Earl Ray, was arrested in Britain on his way to Rhodesia some weeks later. He was using a false Canadian passport. Ray was a petty criminal with no previous history of violence. He pleaded guilty to avoid the death penalty, but always maintained that he was a victim in a much large conspiracy. King's family sued and won damages from a Loyd Jower who supposedly was involved in the plot. The family also felt that the government agencies might have been involved. I dug but I never found the truth other than his simple but powerful statement, He died to make me free.
The Sorbonne closed! First Time in 700 years! The end of May finds me in Paris. I had to fly into Brussels and rent a car to get there. Even then, I had to park and walk miles to get into the inner city pushing my way through millions of protesters who have closed Paris down. Charles De Gaulle was fighting for his political life. Everyone seemed to be on strike. Workers had locked themselves in their factories, the trains and airports were shut down, universities were closed, the mail wasn't being delivered and radio and TV were limited. Trying to make a phone call was almost impossible. Everyone wanted change. The old guard was under siege by the young. De Gaulle held out by calling out the military. I took cover in an alley way while they waded into the crowds beating and arresting people.
The darkness spread. June found me in Los Angeles. Bobby Kennedy was running for president. I was to cover one of his speeches at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles. This made me happy because I'd be close to home for a change as we were now on the west coast. I'd told Kathy I'd be home for dinner. I liked to stay at the back close to the door for these things because I was short and needed a head start to get my story out before the others. I had let my camera move closer so we weren't always working together. I'd bribed the chef and I was allowed to stand next to the door leading to the corridor that went to the kitchen. When I arrived though there were two Security guys on each side of the door.
“You can't be here, lady.”
“Press,” I say. “Jackie Cunningham of National Broadcasting.”
“Sorry, there is an area over there for the press.”
“Come on man, look at the size of me. I'd be trampled by those big guys. I sent my camera man over there. Give a lady a chance. I'll just stand here at your side and not move. I promise.”
He nodded. Not changing his expression. “Don't cause me any grief.”
“No, Sir.” I'm pleased. I figured that Kennedy will exit that way. I didn't have my camera man, but I did have an instamatic that I carried with me in my pocket all the time. I knew I could get a couple of stills to put up behind our Anchorman. Some of the other reporters had seen me standing there and had made their way over. They were standing in the corridor, we waited, ready to get our story.
Kennedy was feeling confident and happy. He announced that he had won the California primary. The mood of the crowd was buoyant. They could feel the glory days of JFK returning. Sure enough Bobby Kennedy headed for the door that I was standing by and I got a few good shots of him.
“Ms. Cunningham, back covering Washington again?”
“You are the news, Sir.”
Kennedy laughed and headed through the doors into the corridor. I followed behind Kennedy's entourage with several other reporters. Shots! Kennedy and several others fell. Some of Kennedy's people wrestled the killer to the floor. I took a shot of Kennedy. He was lying on his back on the floor, his shirt open. A rosary has been placed in his hand. Several other people have been wounded and I knelt to help a fellow reporter who had been shot before I rushed off to get my story out. I was shaking with the adrenalin rush as I used the hotel phone. The reporter's blood covered my hands and my knees.
Sirhan Bishara Sirhan would be charged with his murder. He was a Jerusalem born Jordanian Christian who hated Jews and felt that Kennedy was attacking his people by supporting Israel. He would get life. Kennedy would be buried close to his brother. He had often said, “I dream things that never were and say why not? ” Sirhan Sirhan answered his question. The darkness grew.
It's a car door slamming that brings me back to the present. I look out the window and see my sister-in-law, Agnes, struggling to open the gate in the snow before she can bring the car down the lane. Heading to the main part of the house, I sound general alarm.
“All hands on deck and prepare to repel boarders!”
They pile out from the kitchen, Adam, Paula, Cate and Scott. “What's up Aunt Jackie,” Cate asks.
“Paula's mother is heading up the driveway.”
Cate puts her arm around Scott's shoulder. “Come on Scott, let's leave the others to have a nice visit and you and I will take a hike along the bluff.”
Paula puts her hand out. “Stay, please. We're family. All of us.”
“Well said, chip-off-the-old-block. A united stand then,” I smile.
Adam folds his arms and shakes his head. “This will be a day that goes down in the family history for sure.”
The doorbell rings and I let Paula do the honours, after all it's her house now. “Hi mother. This is a surprise. I wasn't expecting you.” Paula gives her mom a duty hug and steps back. “Look Aunt Jackie, its mom come to visit us.”
“Hi Agnes. How's the merry widow?”
Agnes gives me a look that could have frozen my heart had I had one. “Really, Jackie, you are impossible.”
“Mother, I'd like to introduce you to my half-brother, Adam. He's dad's son.”
Agnes's mouth drops then snaps shut. Adam offers a hand. “How do you do, Mrs. Cunningham. It's nice to meet you after all these years. Sorry, I'm a bit of a shock.” To give Agnes her due she does manage to shake hands but nothing clear comes out in the way of words.
“And this is my partner, Cate and our son, Scott.”
This time Agnes looks like her feet have dissolved. Paula takes her by the arm and steers her into the living room. “I'm sure this is all a shock to you. I had meant to come for a visit and explain everything that has been going on this year, but there hasn't been time. Come and sit down, mother, while the others make tea.” They all beat a hasty retreat except me. I go and sit down across from where Agnes is sitting with Paula on the sofa.
“Forget the tea. Get your mom a brandy. She's been hit broadside with three massive volleys. Her husband had an illegitimate child, her daughter's a lesbian and her grandson is mixed race. Bet she feels like the Anti-Christ has arrived. Hey, Agnes! Speak to us.”
“I-I- I can't believe it. It's one of your nasty jokes.”
“Am I laughing? Nope. It's all true, thank God. Makes me proud of the family again.”
Paula returns with a good size brandy. “Be good, Aunt Jackie. Here mother, sip this. Did Douglas and Mary send you because they knew I'd stayed on here?”
“I- I can't believe it.”
I smile. “Your needles stuck, Agnes.”
“Paula! What were you thinking?!”
Paula holds her ground. “I know this is difficult mother and I apologise for not coming to you sooner with all this. I'm a lesbian and Cate and I have been together for quite a few years now. Scott is a fine boy. He's Cate's by a former marriage. As for Adam, finding that I had a brother was a shock, but he's a great guy and we've become fast friends and business associates.”
“What will I tell people? What will people say?”
I wink at Paula who is starting to look stiff and strained. “All the usual gossip and speculation, I imagine. It will keep the grapevine humming for months. Come on, Agnes, buck up. You might get to be on the Gerry Springer show.”
“Oh God!” Agnes buries her face in her hands.
I can see the flush of anger raising in Paula's face. We don't need scenes. “Paula, your mother needs time to come to terms with all these shocks. Who wouldn't? She'll come around, don't you worry. Now I want you to take the others and go out for lunch and on your way back stop at the wharf and buy us some fresh lobsters. We'll have a bang up meal in honour of your mother's visit.” Paula opens her mouth to object and I'm forced to give her the frosty eye. “Go. Now.” She does. Nice to know I still have it.
“Come on, Agnes, I have to explain a hell of a lot to you about the Brave New World . I think you need some fresh air. I can't help you up. I can barely get myself up these days. Come on.”
Agnes looks at me like I might have fallen to the planet. She shallows, nods her head and manages to get to her feet. I offer her, Paula's snowmobile suit and she slips into it without a whimper as I get into mine. I lead the way out of the house picking up the brandy bottle as I go. We head around the side of the house to where Paula keeps the snowmobiles in a shed. “Get on. I almost know how to drive this thing. Here have a swig, it will make my driving seem better.”
Agnes climbs on without a protest which shows you the depth of her shock. My natural inclinations is to open the throttle wide and give Agnes the ride of her life, but I figured Paula might hold it against me if I caused her mom to have a heart attack. I head out slowly driving up the bluff to the look out.
We sit side by side on the snowmobile bench and look out on a slate grey sea framed by a robin blue sky. The fresh air off the sea seems to revive Agnes to some extent, or it might have been the brandy. “What are people going to say?”
“Yeah, it's going to hit the bridge and golf clubs like a brick. What the hell, Agnes, you are one strong woman. Tough it out. Paula's a daughter that you can be proud of and you still have Laurel, the baby machine, for a little normality in the family. Cate is a super person and really good for Paula. I bet she is pealing Paula off the ceiling right now and convincing her that she shouldn't wring your neck and bury you in the backyard. As for Adam, he's like a son to me. He's one of the best.”
“I can't take it all in. A whole world has been going on behind my back.”
I smile. “Pretty much. It's a bitch isn't it?”
Agnes straightens up and faces me. “It damn well is a bitch! Oh!” Then the two of us start to laugh. We laugh until the tears roll down our faces and our sides ache, passing the brandy bottle back and forth.
“You're all right, Agnes. I'm proud of you.”
She's still laughing. It's more hysteria and booze than humour but, hey, it's a start. “If William was still alive, I'd kill him!”
“Ah, it was a youthful indiscretion and only once. He loved you and he would never have left you and the kids.”
“Paula's one of those sort of women?”
“A lesbian. Makes me proud. Don't take it personally. I suspect she got the genetic trait from my side of the family. Look on the bright side. It's very in to know a token gay.”
“Scott is-?”
“I good kid,” I interrupt, before she can make a fool of herself. “We all love him dearly and so will you once you get to know him. Okay, he plays the guitar and likes rap, but everyone has a few faults right?”
Agnes is crying now and I search in my pocket and hand her a tissue. “Blow your nose and suck it up. Your makeup is running.”
“You've know about this all along, haven't you?”
“Pretty much. I decided to clean the skeletons out of the family closet before I croak.”
Agnes takes another stiff swallow of brandy. “Tell me.” So I do. It was several hours in the telling and the questioning and answering. By then Agnes is slumped down on the seat humming softly to herself.
“So that's it.” I finish.
“You've gone and spent all that lovely money on a ship and we were all counting on it very much, Jackie. That was very bad of you. I have no idea how Mary and Douglas are going to manage and it's so unfair to Laurel.”
I laugh. “I like you drunk. You should do it more often. It takes all the starch out of your shorts. I have a lot more money than you realized, old girl. I've made provisions for the whole damn family. Everyone will benefit from my death.”
Agnes starts crying again. “We don't wish you dead, Jackie. Not that. It's just that the money will help, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. You ready to head back to the house and face the music?”
“Are you sober enough to drive this things?”
“Probably not. But if we go over the cliff I won't suffer all the way to the end and you won't have to face the bridge club.”
“Good point. Drive on.”
The lobsterfest that night did go down in the family history. Of course, Agnes and I were three sheets to the wind before the others even started in. Try to imagine five tipsy adults and one kid tearing apart lobsters around the kitchen table and eating freshly cooked bread. Tasted damn good, but it wasn't a pretty sight. We moved into the living room and Scott got out his guitar and I played the spoons. We sang all the old maritime songs and jigs. There was Agnes with raccoon eyes from crying through her eye makeup dancing with Adam and Paula and Cate doing their thing. After Scott was sent off to bed, we adults headed back to the kitchen for tea and cookies before calling it a night. As I headed to my quarters, I saw Paula giving her mother a gentle hug.
“Thanks for understanding, Mom. Thanks for this evening.” I heard her say.
“You know Paula, I've done the right thing all my life. I thought I was being the good wife and helping your dad to make something of himself. I think it's time that I be just a bit scandalous like your Aunt Jackie.”
I was proud of Agnes. She might only cut lose once in a life time, but she did it in fine style.
You'd think as drunk as I was that I would sleep. Sleep comes hard now. I have so much to put in order. So much to remember. Life starts so slowly in some small little tidal pool called home, but eventually you are pulled out to sea and as the years go by the current moves you faster and faster until you are washed up on the beach with all the rest of the used flotsam and jetsam. It's only then, when you have time, that you can look back on the journey and ask why.
The next morning, Agnes and I were in bad shape. The family rallied around. Cate made strong coffee and toast, Adam took Scott ice fishing and Paula set up chairs and cushions in the bay window so we could soak up some vitamin c from the sun.
“I have never been drunk in my life.”
“That's a shame. You're a good drunk.”
“You know, Jackie, I have always found you very irritating and I have suddenly realized why.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I think deep down I always wanted to have the nerve to be like you. But there wasn't the money and the girls needed so much and William needed a wife who could promote his career. I lived my entire life being politically correct. The Hostess with the Mostess as they used to say in my day.”
“You did okay by the girls and I think William was happy enough.”
“William cheated on me.”
“We're all human. I'm not saying it was right. It wasn't. He knew that and was deeply ashamed of himself for that moment of weakness.”
“Do you think so?”
I chuckle. “Nah, William was a sex machine.”
Agnes gives me a playful slap and laughs. “William was the original stuffed shirt.”
Agnes stays for a week. The first two days were the pea green Agnes. The next two were the awkward Agnes, but the last three were the new Agnes. I think she could hardly wait to get back to the bridge club and be scandalous.
There were hugs all round when she left. Altogether, I think things worked out pretty well. Of course, knowing the rest of the family was going to get a share of my money I'm sure went a long way to spread oil on the waters. After Agnes left, I go and sit on the small couch in my quarters looking out on the sea. The ocean is beautiful today a navy ribbon glistening with diamonds. Suddenly, Scott is beside me.
He's red faced and stiff with indignation. “She wants you to die so she can get your money. She's mean!”
I laugh. “Here sit beside me. Yes, it might seem that way, but it's not really. Agnes likes me in her own way. It's just that I'm very rich and she wants to make sure that all the family benefits from that money not just your Aunt Paula and Uncle Adam. It wouldn't be fair otherwise would it?”
“But I don't want you to die!”
“You're pissing into the wind, my man. I am dying and I haven't got much longer. You have to accept that. But you know, I won't go out of your life. I'll just change my form.” I poke Scott in the chest with my finger. “I'll be in your heart forever.” Then I head butt him. “And I'll be in your memories. Scott, I'm happy and I'm ready to die. I have lived life to the full so I have no regrets. In your quiet moments when you stand here and look out to the sea, you'll hear my voice daring you to reach for that far horizon and you'll know, I'm still very much alive within you.”
Scott snuggles close and we sit holding hands looking out at the sea.
“I'm going to live life to the full, Aunt Jackie.”
“That's my man. Enjoy life. It's well worth living.”
After a while, Scott gives me a quick hug and heads off to meet some of his friends for hockey practice. I stay sitting in the sun dozing on and off as my thoughts take me back. Take me back. It's strange that at the end of life one wants to spend so much time in the past.
The turbulent 60s had ended in true fashion with incredible highs and lows. Billy Jean at Wimbldon. Apollo orbits the moon. Chisholm first Black in House of Representatives, Joe Nanmoth is football! Steinbeck dies. Yasir Arafat solidifies and leads the Palestinians . Headlines of my life. The years rolled on. I was so absorbed in being Jackie Cunningham, foreign correspondent. I saw less and less of Kathy and I will regret that to my dying day.
July, I stood at NASA with reporters from around the world and waited. The Eagle Has Landed. That's one Small Step for Man. They were intoxicating days. Kennedy had promised America glory over the USSR and NASA had delivered. It was as if nothing was impossible. Heady days. Headline days.
August 1969. I take Kathy with me to cover Woodstock. It has gone down in history as the greatest musical phenomena ever. I don't remember it that way. I remember traffic jams, mud, filthy, over used portable toilets and the smell of grass in the air. A whole generation disillusioned with the greed, bullying and narrowness of the older generation. They wanted love, understanding and peace. I can forgive my generation for being young and naive. I can never forgive them for selling out their ideals and becoming far greedier, far greater bullies and far more narrow than their parents ever were. They became not the light but the darkness of fear and hate that spread across America.
Kathy and I made it back to our hotel early the next morning and after washing the mud and filth off, we slept most of the day. That night, we made love to Simon and Garfield. The love was gentle, caring and deep. It wasn't the rush of passion, it was something far richer. It was the physical bond that is shared by partners who are one. Kathy coming into my life made all the difference. Before I was on the make. Looking for something but offering little in return. Now there wasn't enough I could do for my Kathy. Kathy. When I'd gripe about the state of the world, Kathy would smile and say, “Yes, I know lover, they should never have taken Star Trek off the air. What were they thinking? Kathy always had a way of putting things in proportion.
Yet the days grew darker. The protest marches against the war in Viet Nam grow bigger and more frequent. I was on Capitol Hill to watch 250,000 Anti-war Protesters March up Pennsylvania Avenue. Charles Goodell spoke. The government was silent. Their troops carried loaded rifles. Fortunately, the rally was for the most part peaceful. I was glad of this even though violence would have been better copy. Americans turning violently against Americans was not what anyone wanted to see again.
I covered the Mylai trials. 567 Dead in Mylai Massacre . Lt. William Calley ordered his platoon to open fire on a village killing nearly everyone most of them women, children and old men. The army judged results on body counts and kill ratios. Calley and his men got results. He argued, they were all the enemy if their sympathy lay with the Vietcong and his commanding officer had told him to kill the enemy. Calley should never have been an officer. His reasoning and judgement were faulty. The system was faulty. He got life. No one else was convicted of being involved in the crime. In a poll, 79% of Americans disagreed with the Calley verdict. Are you an enemy for thinking differently than the US?
I moved from one hate crime to another. I covered the arrest of Charles Manson. Thinking himself some sort of prophet, he and four others broke into the actress Sharon Tate's home. She was pregnant with Roman Polanski's child. She, three guests and someone passing by at the time were brutally stabbed to death. The next night, another couple Leno and Rosemary LaBianca met a similar fate. Nothing was stolen. ‘Pig' and other words and symbols were painted on the walls with the victims' blood. Manson felt these murders would trigger a revolt by Black America and he and his followers would lead them. He called his plans to trigger this revolt, Helter Skelter. Are you an enemy for thinking differently than Charles Manson?
When I returned to Washington I left my bags at the door and a trail of clothes on the way to the shower. I scrubbed and scrubbed but the stink of Manson's mind will not come off. Finally, Kathy pulled me from under the water and toweled me off like a child. She fed me and made me a cup of tea and then we went to see Midnight Cowboy at the movies. Life goes on even after Star Trek was cancelled. Samuel Beckett would win the Nobel Prize in literature. We were all waiting for Godot.
Kathy was gone the next day. She and her nursing friend, Eva Varga, had a week conference on nursing procedures in Chicago.
“Do you have to go? I'm just back.”
“It's not always about you, Jackie!”
I was shocked. Kathy didn't yell. My remark had really put her on the defensive. “Sorry. Of course it's not. Your professional development is important. I didn't mean to sound like I don't think what you do isn't meaningful. It's just bad timing. You have a good trip and say hi to Eva.”
Kathy blushed. “I've already booked and paid for the conference.”
“Hey, it's okay. I'll use this week to catch up on the paper work that has been piling up on my desk.”
Nothing else was said about it, but I'd hit a raw nerve for sure. The evening was tense and the next morning before Eva came to pick Kathy up was awkward. I got a peck good bye before she headed out to the car. Eva was not to see us being familiar it seemed. We hadn't made love last night. I promised myself that I'd make it up to her when she got back. I'd take some holiday time and we'd do things together like we used to do.
1970. Time rushed on. The current of change swirled around me. A maelstrom of events pushed me ever onward. My destiny was shaped by the times. The 60s were a time of idealism. A time when everything was possible if we believed. The 70s brought disillusionment out into the open were before it had harboured with a few intellectuals and misfits. It was a virus that spread cynicism through the US.
By the time Kathy got back from her conference, I'd cleared my desk and filled it again. Nixon had sent American troops into Cambodia. Over the next few months, I'd appear as an expert on the area on several TV programs until the US pulled out again. Kathy faithfully watched me on the screen, but she'd been more interested in the death of Gypsy Rose Lee, the burlesque queen and Paul McCartney leaving the Beatles. It was a month later, when I was really free again and I broached the subject about getting away for a few days with Kathy.
“That would be nice, Jackie, but we're really short-handed at the hospital at the moment. I'd not sure I can get away. I'll ask.”
Several days went by and before I could follow up on plans with Kathy, I'm sent to Ohio. The National Guard had opened fire on student protesters. Kent State Shootings! It was a tragedy of errors. University students across North America had protested the war, poverty and The Establishment bring education to a standstill for days at a time. Administration offices were occupied and vandalized and burning draft cards and US flags had become a weekly event. Youthful idealism had become destructive. The state governors had met with University officials to take a stronger stand against protests. Governor Ronald Reagan, frustrated by what had gone on in his own state, was quoted as saying “If it takes a bloodbath, then, let's get it over with.” The National Guard, young weekend soldiers, had been told to fire back if they were attacked. Hit by cans and bottles, they fired into the crowd. Two women and two men were killed. Eight were wounded. Americans, turning on Americans. A nation went into shock. Freedom of assembly was now under attack. The right wing was awakening.
I returned home a week later. It wasn't a home anymore. Half of the furniture was gone. There was a letter.
Dear Jackie,
I know this will be a shock to you because although I've tried to warn you, I don't think you saw the signs. I tried my best to make a home for us, but you were never there. It's hard to be an “us” when I'm alone so much. I loved you and I know you loved me, but not as much as you loved your work. I don't blame you for that. It's the way you are. Your intensity and dedication to your job is one of the things I admire about you. It just doesn't leave room for me.
Eva and I are going to move in together. We have nursing in common and have grown close over the last year supporting each other. I've taken my share of the furniture. I've also taken half the bank accounts and savings. I know you have always earned considerable more than me, but I'll need to establish a new life and home and I think I'm entitled to some compensation for being the home maker all these years.
Jackie, try to understand. Loving a person isn't enough. There has to be a commitment to the relationship. You will always be in my heart.
Fair well, my friend. Be safe.
Love Kathy
I was stunned. I was hurt. I was pissed. I was sorry. I was devastated. Night after night, I paced about the shell of the house. Each morning, I went to work as if nothing was wrong. No one knew. No one had ever known that I had a partner. No one could share my pain or offer support. The closeted gay was always alone.
It was over a month before I had enough courage to take some leave and go home to Canada. It was early spring in Newfoundland. Mom and Dale were spending more and more time on the island and less time in Ottawa.
Mom, opened the door. “Jackie! This is a lovely surprise.” She gave me a hug.
I held on for dear life. “Kathy's left me for another woman.”
I was pulled into the living room. Dale saw to my bags. Mom fussed over me. Tears, roll down my face at last. I was safe. I was loved and I could finally let go and hurt like hell. Damn it! I had loved her! I had trusted her. She'd told me our love was unconditional, but no love is. There are always conditions and I'd failed to meet them.
I stayed for a week. The last day, Dale and I hiked up to the bluff. “Jackie, there is something I need to tell you. Not a good time, but it's got to be said. I have cancer. I'm taking treatment but the odds aren't the greatest. Your mom will be there for me, but I need you to be there for your mom. Can you do that?
I grit my teeth to stop from screaming. Not Dale too! I take a deep, ragged breath and nod. “I won't let mom or you down.”
Dale pulled me close and held me for a minute in her arms. It was the first time she had done that since I was a little child. “Thank you.” Then she changed the subject. “This is a beautiful spot. I come here often. Here you can look over an endless sea and know that the possibilities are endless and the world despite its many problems is a beautiful place to live.”
“It's a special spot,” I got out through a throat sore with pent-up emotion.
“I never want to be a prisoner again - not of politics nor of my body.”
“You'll fight and win.”
“Yes. No disease will take my life. I'll go out on my terms. You understand that.” Dale smiled. “Come on. We've had a few blows and we are pretty beat up but we're still on our feet, Jackie. Life goes on and although it doesn't seem it at times, it's well worth living.”
We hiked on. It was a beautiful day and I wished Kathy was here enjoying it with me. I felt so alone and hurt, but I know Dale was right. You don't get through life without scars, yet life is well worth the battle.
A week later, I was standing in Central Park, New York. Thousands of gay men and women had gathered to protest. They wanted to be able to get an apartment despite their orientation. They wanted to be safe from losing their jobs for being gay. They wanted to be able to be openly gay and fight for their country. They wanted to come out of the closet. “Say it Loud! Gay is proud!” Was it possible?
It was a busy year. In Egypt, the Soviets help to finish the Aswan Dam, but only a few months later, Nasser died of a heart attack and the Soviet grip on the region slipped. Jimi Hendrix's joined a growing list of rock stars who died as a result of drugs.
In September, I was back in Canada, this time on business. It was the FLQ Crisis. The Front for the Liberation of Quebec had kidnapped the Labour Minister, Pierre Laporte and also a British consular, James Cross. Laporte was found a week later in the trunk of car. He'd been strangled to death with the chain from his crucifix. The young premier in Quebec felt he can't control the situation and at his request, Prime Minister Trudeau evoked the War Measures Act. Quebeckers woke to find the army on the streets. Separatist had their homes searched and were arrested and held without charge. In the end, James Cross was released safely and the FLQ was disbanded. It was not really an end. It was the beginning of the political separatism movement in Quebec.
I covered the story and then visited mom and Dale in Ottawa. Dale was having radiation treatment and had lost her hair. I was shocked by her gauntness but tried not to show it. She and mom were thinking positively. I tried to as well.
By November 1970, De Gaulle was dead, much to the relief of the Canadian government. De Gaulle had certainly encouraged Quebeckers to think the French government would be behind them. The French government itself always denied that they supported separation for Quebec. I kept busy but the nights were lonely. I'd become a film and TV buff. Filling in lonely hours with visuals. George C. Scott as Patton. M.A.S.H on TV. Who needed a life?
1971 Time sped on. Idi Amin Takes Power in Uganda. Coco Chanel Dead! Bangladesh separates from West Pakistan. I was back in Washington. There was yet another antiwar demonstration going on. I watched 700 vets throwing their medals back at the Capitol. We have forgotten now that so many of the soldiers came back just as against the war as those that did not go. It was a Thousand Day mess-up. A war with heroes and courage, but without dignity. I interviewed one of the soldiers who had thrown his Purple Heart away.
“Why?” I asked him.
“I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. All the things I believed in came crashing down around me in ‘Nam.” The 70s. When 60s idealism became disillusionment. The US could drive a dune buggy on the moon, but it couldn't defeat peasant soldiers.
I remembered that Lou Armstrong died that year. I played tribute to his music by getting very drunk in a jazz bar in Manhattan and had to be put in a taxi by the bartender who knew me. Look magazine folded too, a victim of mass media TV. I was sorry to see it go. Its photos not only recorded a turbulent period in history, they were art. Things change. Time moved faster and faster. Disillusionment spreads. The IRA was bombing British sites regularly. North Ireland was in crisis. The IRA got most of its money from US citizens. This would continue until 9.11. Then Americans learnt that terrorism was not about fighting for freedom, but about senseless violence against the innocent.
1972. I'm 33 and at the height of my career as a correspondent. Britain takes Direct Rule of N. Ireland. Nixon in China. J. Edgar Hoover dies. Break in at Watergate Hotel. It's Nixon by a Landslide. Apollo 17 Returns to Earth. Voyages to the Moon Over .
The Watergate break-in would have gone unnoticed if it hadn't been for the persistence of the Washington Post reporters Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein. They were two cub reporters who put it all on the line for truth in journalism. I'd have given my eye teeth for that story, but I was proud of them. It was a shining moment when freedom of the press really did carry the torch of democracy. Sadly, it wasn't many years in the future when journalism, particularly TV newscasts, would be shackled by partisan ownership and made political flunkies spewing out party propaganda.
The Watergate break-in wasn't the big news. It was the year of the Olympics in Munich. Arab Gunmen Kill Israeli Athletes. By chance, I was the reporter on the scene. Sports were not my thing. I was a firm believer that we raised horses to do our running and jumping for us. Our sports reporter, however, got food poisoning and I happened to be nearby. It was a hell of a story for me and a hell of a tragedy for the world. The Black September group had managed to sneak into the athletic village and capture nine Israeli Olympians. A coach had sounded a warning and some athletes had managed to escape, two were shot and killed by the terrorists. After a long standoff, the terrorists and hostages were taken by helicopter to the airport. The plan was that they would be flown to Cairo. Something went terribly wrong. Two of the terrorists came out of the ‘copter and were shot by German sharpshooters. A bloodbath followed. All nine hostages were killed as were four of the seven terrorist, the pilot was critically wounded. I hid behind the wall of the observation deck reporting live during the shooting. After, I was forcefully removed by the police and gave my story rather shakily from outside the airport. Disillusionment, leads to fear, fear to hate and hate to violence.
I was on the edge of history, recording for America. I had no home life. I go to see Lisa Minnelli and Joel Grey in Cabaret and Brando in The Godfather with mom and Dale on a trip home. Dale was in remission and her hair is growing back in. It was one bright spot in my personal life.
“Hey! Aunt Jackie, its dinner time.” I wake to find Paula standing over me gently shaking my shoulder. “You okay?”
“Right as rain. I wasn't asleep. I was off in the past reliving my sexual exploits.”
Paula laughs and shakes her head. “Come on and have dinner. I'm still too young to hear about your wild days. There is just the three of us tonight. Adam has taken Scott to see a hockey game.”
Paula helps me to my feet. I'm careful to allow her to do so before I grumble and push her away. It's a delicate balance now between needing help and appearing like I don't.
Dinner is spaghetti. The girls are good cooks. I'm eating well although still losing weight. We sit down and dig in.
Paula passes me the grated cheese. “I talked to Tabby again today.” I note that Cate's fork stops half way to her mouth.
“Tabby? Dr. Tabatha Holmes?”
“Yes, I think I can get her for the team. She's the best out there when it comes to deep sea plate tectonics. It would be great having her on the team.”
I watch with interest. Cate has gone white. Her fork has been lowered slowly to her plate and her hands are balled in tight fists. Oh, oh, I think, there's some history here. Paula is so busy trying to twirl spaghetti on her fork she fails to see the clouds gathering on the horizon. Paula, never could get the hang of spaghetti.
“You contacted her about moving up here and working with you without discussing it with me?”
Paula looks up, suddenly aware that the air in the kitchen has hit freezing. Her jaw tightens into stubbornness. “Yes. We want the best and if we can get them we will.”
Cate slowly stands up, picks up her plate as if she is going to leave the room and then suddenly dumps it over Paula's head before storming out. Paula goes beet red with anger and pushed back her chair for the pursuit. I grab her by the arm.
“Not yet. You're not going to win an argument with spaghetti dripping off your ears. Let's get you cleaned up in the sink first.”
Paula is sputtering. “She dumped her dinner on me! That was just damn rude. Who does she think she is? I'm going to murder her.”
I have Paula bent over the kitchen sink and I'm using the rinse hose to wash her off. “I figure she owes you an apology for that one. It's wasteful and has made a hell of a mess. Better she should have just hauled off and slugged you. I drop a tea towel on Paula's head. “Okay, dry yourself off and then you are going to need a shower and a change of clothes.”
“I'm going after her.”
“Not yet. First, you shower and change. Then we talk. If you still want to murder her, okay. I'll lend you my gun if you haven't got one of your own.”
Paula looks confused. She's not sure what side I'm on and whether I'm serious about the gun. I give her a push towards the stairs and she heads up to shower. Thank God for that because there is no way I could stop her if she decided to charge off. The kitchen is not a pretty sight. I leave it for Cate to clean up and slowly mount the stairs to wait for Paula to finish her transformation from tomato face to niece.
When Paula comes out of the bathroom clean, but looking a bit like a drowned rat in her grey housecoat, I'm sitting in her bedroom chair and have managed to get my breath back. Paula gives me a dirty look. Clearly, I'm intruding. What fun! She roots in her closet and comes out with clean blue jeans and a t-shirt.
“So I take it there is some history associated with this Tabby cat?”
“It was nothing. Tabby and I lived together when I did my under-graduate degree. It was years ago. We went on to get our masters and doctorates at different universities.”
“But you kept in touch?” I'm enjoying watching Paula slip into underwear. Okay, she's my niece, but she's still got one hell of a beautiful body.
Paula blushes. “We might have had a few flings now and again. Nothing serious and not for a long time. I'm in a committed relationship.”
“What about Tabby cat?”
Paula shrugs. “She plays the field. She's not the commitment type.”
“And that's what ended your relationship?”
Paula's looking very uncomfortable. “Probably.” This is admitted reluctantly.
“I was in a committed relationship once. Her name was Kathy. I loved her desperately. I still do. Unfortunately, I put my job before her. She left me for another woman. It was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life and believe me, I've made some big mistakes over the years. Paula, there is nothing more important than Cate and Scott. Not this research centre, the ship, or living up to my schemes. Tabby would ruin your relationship.”
Paula goes to protest, but I cut her off. “Yes, she would. She already is. Now you get your tail out of here and go and tell Cate that you are an insensitive horse's ass and that you are not going to hire Tabby now or ever. That isn't a suggestion. It's an order. I just wish I'd had someone to order me to forget my damn job and focus on my relationship. Now go!”
Paula looks properly chastised. “Yes, Aunt Jackie.”
“And while you are grovelling on your knees, you might mention to Cate that she was way out of line and there is a hell of a mess in the kitchen for her to clean up.”
Paula smiles and comes over and gives me a kiss. “Yes, Aunt Jackie.”
“And don't forget to bring back hamburgers. There is no eating that spaghetti now and I need my fodder. I'm a growing girl. So who can you hire instead of this Tabby cat?”
“Liam Williams. He's young but has done excellent research. He just lacks any real field experience.”
“He'll soon get that. Go.”
Paula heads out after the woman she loves. I sigh. If I'd only had someone to kick me in the butt Kathy wouldn't have left me.
1973. Faster, faster, the events of life pushed me on. US To Stop Fighting in Vietnam, Indians Take Hostages at Wounded Knee, POWs Start Returning Home, Battle of the Sexes VS King Against Riggs. TV brought us All In the Family, on stage it was Jesus Christ Super Star and in film it's Newman and Redford in The Sting.
What really made a difference went hardly noticed by main stream America. This was the year that psychiatrists admitted that homosexuality wasn't a mental illness. How many gay guys had been institutionalized by their families, experimented on and medicated until their lives were over? For homosexuals and lesbians it was the first major step towards being accepted in society. Gays hugged each other and cried.
There are some stories that you can't wait to cover and others that you think are a waste of time. The abduction of Patty Hearst in February of 1974 I never did figure out. Hearst was the socialite daughter of the millionaire publisher Randolph Hearst. Nineteen and an art student at Berkeley, she'd lived a privileged life. Emotionally she was not prepared for what lay ahead.
She was kidnapped by the Symbionese Liberation Army and while the S.L.A. waited for Randolph to pay a four million dollar ransom in foodstuff that was to be handed out to the poor, Patty was blindfolded and tied up in a small closet. She was both physically and sexually abused and lectured about how the poor suffered at the hands of rich, powerful men like her father.
Hearst distributed two million dollars of food in a hastily and poorly organized effort. I stood on top of our media van to report on the circus as people fought to get the free food whether they were poor or not. I would tell my viewers that it was like witnessing a shark frenzy. I went back to my hotel room that night disgusted with humanity, those that exploited society like the SLA and those that took advantage like those who fought to get the free food whether they needed it or not.
Two weeks later, I was covering a bank robbery. Patty now calling herself Tania, had just helped the SLA rob a bank. She declared that she had joined the SLA to fight for the freedom of the oppressed. It was a classic case of Stockholm Syndrome. A psychological disorder were the captor comes to identify with those in control because of brain washing and abuse.
The SLA was eventually captured and Patty Hearst served two years before she was given an early release by President Carter. Later, Clinton would give her a full pardon. So was Patty Hearst accountable for her actions? Or was she just another woman who had been victimized first by individuals and then by the legal system? I never figured it out. One thing I do know is that women have to watch their own backs. The system fails them.
I watch from the window as Paula and Cate talk on the driveway. It's heated at first, then emotional. Lastly, I see them embrace and walk along the road hand in hand. Life is still tough for gay women, but at least it's possible to live out in the open. So many women have been victims of witch hunts. They still are.
The tide of life rolled on and on. Faster and faster. 1975. Duke Ellington Dies. Baryshnikov Defects in Toronto, and Nixon Is Impeached. Under increased pressure, Nixon resigned and Ford was sworn in to office. Good and bad. Nixon was a complex man. A good president who misused his office. Power corrupts.
Thatcher first Tory Leader in Britain, Saigon Falls, Reds Take Cambodia, Civil War in Lebanon, Apollo and Soyuz Dock in Space. Time marched on. Jaws and One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest hit the big screen and Wonder Woman brought the new woman to the idiot box.
Chapter Five: Memories of the Past
Memories. They make up more and more of my life. I seem to live in a limbo between the present and past. There is little future now to worry about. I remember things as snips of movies that play on my mind taking me back to places I haven't been in a long time.
September 1976. I was going to The People's Republic of China. For years there had been rumours of Mao's failing health. Now they might be true. I was assigned a cub reporter to do the grunt work for me. Her name was Hayley Anderson. She was twenty-two and fresh out of school. She was pathetically young and inexperienced. I remembered back to when I'd been sent to ‘Nam with Sue Lyon. Was I that green? Probably.
I felt restless and discontent. I'd never been good at waiting. My condo seemed cold and empty. On impulse, I looked up Hayley's address and headed over to her apartment with a bottle of wine. It was an old house that had been converted into six units. Hers was the smallest on the top floor.
I buzzed up and wait. “Yes?”
“Hayley, its Jackie. I thought you might need some pointers on what to pack. Can I come up?”
“Yes. Please. This is great of you.”
I climbed the stairs at an even pace and stopped before the last flight to catch my breath. I didn't want to arrive at the door panting. Hayley opened the door and stepped back to let me in. Now I was here, I felt awkward. I leave the wine on the coffee table. “Something to help you sleep. So what are you planning on taking?”
“I really don't know.”
I nod. “Good walking shoes with metal over the toes. If we get into a scrum, it protects your feet when you are stepped on. Three pair of light weight jeans and nine t-shirts. It will be hot as hell. You'll need dress slacks, a nice shirt and jacket for formal evenings too. Take a cotton scarf too to cover your hair and mouth. If the wind gets up and the dust comes off the Gobi, the air can be red. Have you had your shots?”
While I talked, Hayley had been getting some glasses and a cork screw and putting some potato chips in a bowl. “I got the yellow fever today. That's the last of them. I can't tell you how excited I am to be working with you. It's an honour, Ms. Cunningham.”
I laughed. “Jackie. Call me Jackie. I far too wild to be given a respectable label.”
“Are you wild? I - I heard that you and Sue Lyon had been an item. Are you a lesbian?”
“I am but I don't broadcast the fact.” It was the first time in my life I'd admitted my orientation to anyone. “Are you?”
“I don't know. I think so.”
“Let's find out.” I slipped my hands up her bare arms until my fingers slid under her t-shirt and wrapped around her bra strap. I pulled her gently against my body and then lower my head and kissed her. Her arms came around my neck and the kiss deepens. Yeah, she was gay and willing.
I pulled back long enough to pull her t-shirt off and then wrapped my arms around her to undo her bra as I nibbled on an ear. Hayley had a nice scent. Like fresh spring air with a touch of honey. I moaned. It had been a long time but I needed to go slow no matter what my needs. I slowly slipped the bra off her and took my time looking at two perfect, young breasts. The nipples were pink not dark like mine. I sank onto the couch and pulled her down beside me.
“You are beautiful.”
“You are wild and kind of scary. I don't have your experience.”
“We can stop anytime you want. I'll respect that.”
She turned in my arms. “Let's not stop.”
My kiss this time told her of my desire. Her hands worked their way up under my shirt and I pulled back, lifted her to her feet and undid her jeans letting them pool around her feet and then slowly pulling her panties off. She let me take my time looking at her. She'd cut her pubic hair into a thin straight line. I liked it and she could see that in my eyes. I kissed her again while my hand played gently in her fur. Then I had her lay on the couch and I poured two glasses of wine and handed her one.
Up until now I'd been pretty confident. I had the experience she didn't and it was a rush to teach someone about making love to a woman. Now I had to reveal my older body. Would she care? There was only one way to find out. I stripped for her. Letting her enjoy watching each article fall away as she had allowed me to enjoy the unveiling of her form. I saw the hunger in her eyes.
I came to her and lowered my naked body on to her warm flesh. A shudder of delight ran through us both as our bodies meet. I took a sip of wine and kissed her letting the sweet fruity liquid warmed on my tongue seep into her mouth. She groaned and moved beneath me. It was time. I showed her what women can do for each other, slowly, passionately and tenderly. We ended up in her bed. I felt young and free again. Master now not student. It was a heady rush that made me come like a tsunami. I gave as much as I took and Hayley came for me over and over again.
China. Not the growing industrial giant of today, but a massive amount of land and people facing a great unknown after years of social and intellectual destruction. It was a spicy, exciting place, camouflaged in communist grey. I think Hayley found it all a bit intimidating at first, but I was in my element. Adventure around every corner in a distant land and Jackie Cunningham, correspondent, in the thick of it with her young lover at her side. It was heady days.
We lived in a hotel in the old European section of Beijing. The night markets and alley cafes were our backyard. On the surface everything was in order. Underneath the city hummed with stress. I sat with Hayley on old wicker stools in the night market. Yellow Christmas lights shaded by paper lanterns hung between the trees. In front of us, water ran along in a trough. The noodle cook, beat sheets of dough flat and then cut them like magic into an array of noodles, tossing them in the air, wrapping them around to form a nest and dropping them into the stream of water. When one floats down to me, I snared it with my chopsticks and placed it on Hayley's plate. Then grabbed the next one for me. We ate it with spicy bits of meat and vegetables and finish it off by holding bowls of white rice to our lips and shovelling it in with our chopsticks. In the distance, music played in the minor scale. It sounded off key to our western ears and yet pleasing.
“Why are we here?” Hayley wanted to know.
“Maybe we'll hear something. Maybe we won't.”
“Is the water in this trough clean?”
“You'll get used to bouts of diarrhea, but it's probably okay. You have to understand. People are afraid to talk, but they will indicate their royalties. Mao is from the south. He likes his food spicy. In other areas the food is sweeter.”
“So the restaurant owner is pro Mao?”
“Or is playing it safe. During the Great Leap Forward maybe three million people were tortured and killed and millions more died of disease, cold and starvation. Like many revolutionaries, the dream was far more sacred than human life. Human life is cheap in Mao's China.”
Hayley looked troubled. With effort she swallowed a mouthful of food. “Aren't you scared?”
I shrugged. “When I was your age I was terrified at times. Don't know how many times I came close to shitting my pants. Now, I get off on the rush of danger. I've lived a lot of my life on and off in the developing world. I've come to like it. It's real. In our world everything comes wrapped in plastic, neat and clean. It's all safe and sterile and so, so boring. In the developing world, life is dirty, unpredictable and in your face. Yeah, it's dangerous, but I feel so much more alive.”
“You're nuts.”
“I prefer eccentric and wild. Are you having second thoughts about teaming up with me?”
“Professionally or privately?”
“Either.”
“You scare the hell out of me, Jackie, but I guess I get off on the rush.”
I threw back my head and laughed. Picking a red leaf off a tree, I handed it to her. “Let's go find out what is going on with the Red Emperor.”
We met Jiang Aiguo near the open air kitchen. I handed over some money and spoke in my broken Mandarin. “Meal is good. Very good. Here money for your workers. You have fine place.”
“I'm honoured you have enjoyed your meal. What brings two European women to my place?”
“I been here before and know the food good. We reporters. We told that Mao is sick again.”
“Mao is well. They say he has had two heart attacks and now a third brings him close to death. What would The People's Republic of China be without Mao. Mao is well. We all honour Mao. Long live Chairman Mao for ten thousand years.”
“Mao famous man. Chinese people love him. He be seen in public soon?”
“I hope so. Maybe tomorrow. His wife, Jiang Qing, has returned to The Forbidden Palace, they say.”
“Madame Mao is faithful wife. We enjoy meal. Good night.”
I took Hayley's arm and led her away. When she tried to ask me a question, I shook my head. There were too many ears in the crowded market. Instead, we had fun, buying souvenirs. On the walk back to our hotel I talked to her quietly.
“Mao has had a third heart attack. He'll probably be dead by morning. Jiang Qing is back in the Forbidden City. She'll try to consolidate power, I imagine. We need to be ready. Don't talk of it at the hotel. Walls can have ears.”
“How do you know his information is true?”
“Same clan as Madame Mao. Jiang. There is a remote family connection. A second cousin works in the Forbidden City.”
Hayley looked strained and tense. I smiled. Fear always made for good sex.
In September of 1976 Mao Tse-Tung died. Under the Great Leap Forward, 30 million farmer peasants starved to death because their grain was taken to feed the cities. Under the Cultural Revolution and the Red Guard millions more were captured, tortured and killed. The educated were virtually wiped out or sent to work on farming collectives. Yet Mao was mourned with heart breaking tears from young and old. China literally stopped and paid tribute to the man who had liberated China during the Great March. He brought communism to China, but lived in the Forbidden City of the Emperors like a king. Virgins were provided for him to keep him young. No matter what the evidence, he believed in his doctrine. And the people, no matter how they suffered, believed in him because he liberated them from foreign oppression. The power struggle that followed his death would go on for years.
Hayley and I stayed in China until November, then we're sent to Canada. The network wanted a Canadian reporting on the rise of the Rene Levesque and the independence party in Quebec. I use the opportunity to introduce Hayley to my Mom and Dale. They make her very welcome, but I can see they are sad for me. They knew it won't last.
I walked with mom in the garden of their house in Ottawa. “How is Dale?”
“Her treatment is going well. We keep thinking positively. That's the most important part of the battle.”
“Yes. And how are you? You've lost weight.”
“Oh, I'm fine. It's just the strain.”
I give my mom a hug. She loves Dale just as I do. We are not competitors anymore. “You take care of yourself.”
Mom holds on to me. “You take care of yourself too. You take too many chances. I like Hayley, but she has little in common with you. I wished you'd found someone special to take you through life.”
I shrug. “I found Kathy but she left me. I don't blame her. With me, the work always came first. Dale wasn't like that was she?”
“She was very dedicated and did important work, but no, her family always came first.”
“I wish I had learned that lesson.”
“I wish you had too.”
The years rolled on. Each one went by quicker than the last. 1977. Hayley and I lived openly together although we don't talk about our relationship or hold hands in public. No more duplexes for me. Times were changing slowly. Even at West Point physical standards were being modified so that more women could complete the program. Cartier was president. CB radios were big, good buddy. Alex Hayley wrote Roots and soared to fame. The Apollo program was replaced by the short ranged space shuttle. Yet we still dream of deep space travel. Star Wars ruled the big screen. Time rushed on. Elvis Presley died and we suddenly remembered he was king until the British sound invaded. It was Henry Winkler in Happy Days and American Graffiti, Close Encounters of the Third Kind and Saturday Night Fever kept our minds occupied.
I was back in Egypt, this time with Hayley, to report on the peace agreement Sadat has made with Israel. Was it possible that the Middle East could work out its differences? Unlikely.
I hear a car door slam and I come back from my daydreams with a start. Adam has promised to take me to see the new research building. The construction company had got the foundations in and the frame up before the heavy snow had fallen. They'd worked on it all winter and now spring was here, I want to see how the work was going. I'd doubled up on my pain pills and slipped with difficulty into sweat pants and top that morning. Adam helps me carefully into the front seat of his jeep and drives slowly and carefully over to the site. The kids treat me with kid gloves and I pretend not to notice. They are good kids. They like my money, but they like me better. That's about all a person can ask for, I figure.
We walk through the various rooms, Adam explaining what will be a lab and what will be office space and conference rooms. Around us, people work on finishing the dry wall. Many stop to say hi. They are neighbours and friends mostly. That's the way it is in Newfoundland. People aren't strangers here. They're a family community. Some of the older ones remember my mom and Dale. Good people.
“Aunt Jackie, I woke up the other day thinking this can't be real. Last year, I was serving aboard a Canadian destroyer, this year, I'm on extended leave from the arm forces, taking command of a research ship and working with my half-sister. Everything has gone so fast, I don't know how I got here. I keep waiting for the bottom to fall out of this whole scheme.”
I sit down carefully on a barrel and look at Adam with some concern. Every now and again I see his father in him. “Cold feet?”
“No, not cold feet just worried that's all. Everything has happened so quickly.”
“Had to, if I was to see it through. Adam, life is change. It's scary, but sometimes you have to take that big step out into open space and hope the parachute opens.”
Adam sighs and looks out a window. “Judy doesn't want to live on the island. She says I have to make a decision.”
My heart drops. Adam and Judy have dated for several years now. Adam seemed to think they had a pretty good thing going even if it had always been casual. I thought she was a bit of a barracuda but to each their own. Judy is a lawyer in Montreal and didn't seem to mind him being away a lot on duty. “Adam, love comes first. No one here is going to throw stones at your car if you decide to pull out of the project.”
“I know. What do you think, Aunt Jackie?”
“I'm not making your mind up for you.”
“I think I've already done that. I just want you to say it out loud.”
“Okay. Judy wanted a boy toy all dressed up in a fancy uniform to impress her clients and friends. She doesn't want commitment or a family. She's married to her job. I think the relationship worked well for both of you because you spent so much time away from shore. Now you are thinking of changing all that. I guess it's a matter of what you want out of life. With Judy behind you, you'll stay in the military and make admiral for sure. If you move here, you'll have a steady pay cheque and work your tail off trying to save an ocean that's probably already lost. Take your pick.”
Adam laughs and shakes his head. “Aunt Jackie, you are a oner. Do you know that?”
“So people tell me. Would it have been better if I'd sugar coated it?”
“No.”
“So what's it going to be?”
“I'd make a good Admiral, but I don't think I'd enjoy playing politics. I think I'd rather ride rough shot on that sister of mine and have a few beers and darts with the guys down at Shanty's Wharf on a Saturday night.”
“Judy will get over you. Is your heart broken?”
“No, just bruised a little. Maybe I'm cut out to be a bachelor.”
“Ha! I've seen you with Scott. You are a born daddy. Adam, you'll find a girl that suits the life you want to live just give it some time.”
Adam's eyes sparkle with laughter. “You mean you haven't got someone picked out for me yet?”
“‘Course I have. I'm just not letting on so you think you found her yourself.”
Adam gives me a gentle hug and helps me up. Arm in arm, we head back to the truck. My mind is working over time trying to think of someone for Adam. There was that niece of Edith's that visited last spring. She was a pretty girl if a little on the skinny side. She was just finishing her medical internship and was talking about looking for a practice on the island. Edith was really fond of her. Yes, I think she would do nicely.
I'm tired and in pain after my visit to the research centre, but I need to strike while the iron is hot. I have Adam drop me off at Edith's. She meets me at the door.
“What are you doing here, Jackie. I don't bake today.”
“I'm counting on left overs because The Red Cross meeting was cancelled yesterday. You always take goodies to the meeting.”
Edith laughs and steps aside to let me in. She waves at Adam and I hear Adam yell to her that he'll pick me up again before dinner.
“You, Cunningham, never miss a trick. I'll get the coffee pot on and there might be an apple pie from which I can cut a few slices.”
“Good. I gotta make a long distance call while I'm here. I have no time to lose.”
Edith looks concerned but asked no questions. I sat down and took out my cell phone. “You want privacy?” She asked.
I shook my head. “Hi Judy, its Jackie Cunningham. Sorry to disturb you at work, but I just had a talk with Adam and he told me that you want him to live in Montreal. ...No, I think it makes sense with your job. I told him that love comes first and no one here will throw stones at his car if he decides to pull out of the arrangement...I agree with you...Yes, he could go far in Montreal. Adam's a bright boy...And being close to some big research hospitals will be good for him with his condition...Oh, you don't. Well, I'd better not say... Yes, of course you should know...I mean you must have wondered why he suddenly took leave from the navy. Well, I don't know for sure. We haven't discussed it, but I know what I think. Have you heard of something called Lou Gehrig's disease? It can be slow and well you have a good job....Yes...Yes...Well, none of my business really. I just phoned to let you know what I said to Adam....Good... All the best then. I won't keep you. Bye Judy.”
Edith looks scandalized. “What have you done? Adam isn't sick and you know it.”
“Sure and I also know that Adam has my brother's William's genes. He'll feel all guilty about ending it with Judy even though he wants to and he'll drag his feet about talking to her. Now I'm pretty sure Judy will be ending it with him and if she doesn't, well, I'll be proud of her and she'll be a loyal and caring wife for Adam.”
“How do you know Adam wants to end the relationship?”
So I settle down to coffee and pie and tell Edith all about it. “That niece of yours that was here last spring, what's her name?”
“Lynne Evans.”
“She must be pretty near finished her training by now. Is she still talking about setting up a medical practice on the island?”
“I imagine she'd have to work for a clinic for a few years on the mainland and establish herself before she could afford to look around for her own practice.”
“The Jackie Cunningham Institute needs a doctor in residence. Of course, that would be part time. She'd need to have a practice too. The clinic in town would take her on if I asked. I did give a sizable donation to its establishment. They're always short of doctors in this area anyway. She's not seeing anyone is she?”
“Hold it right there, Cunningham! You are trying to set Adam up with my niece. You are not working up to an arranged marriage are you?”
“Nonsense, this country doesn't believe in arranged marriages. Still, Adam likes intelligent, strong minded women and there isn't too many women who wouldn't find Adam a humdinger.”
“No, Jackie.”
“Is she coming to visit this summer?”
“Probably unless I have to head her off.”
“We'll just introduce them and let nature take its course.”
“And offer her a job.”
“She needs a practice.”
“Jackie, you are impossible.”
“The job will come without any strings, my word. You're just worried about being connected to me by marriage. It might ruin your standing in the community.”
Edith throws a dish towel at me. “The thought of being in anyway related to you sends shudders down my back.”
“So are we going to introduce them?”
Edith considers. “As long as you don't meddle like you just did with Judy.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“Now there is an oath that isn't worth a hill of beans considering your health.”
“I never said I'd play fair. Is there anymore pie?”
Memories. More and more they occupy my mind. The past is a rising tide covering the sand of my consciousness. 1978. Leon Spinks took the title from Ali and the boxing world rocked. Dallas was on TV. Hayley and I were in Paris to interview the Ayatollah Khomeini who had been exiled from Iran by the Shah. We had to wear overly modest clothes and headscarves in his presence. He was a tall, lean man with a weather worn face, but eyes that burned like fire. The Ayatollah sat under a tree in the small backyard of the house where he and his followers were living. We sat on the ground across from him. He was polite and courteous at first, but as my questions become more probing, he suddenly lost his temper and had us thrown out.
I took it as all part of the job, but Hayley was furious. “Who does he think he is that he doesn't have to be accountable for his actions?”
“He is a dangerous man, at least to the Shah of Iran. The Shah is pushing for many changes in Iran that the people are perhaps not ready to accept. He is too, a man of indulgences. He would be easy to discredit”
“But Khomeini is about as hard line as you can get!”
“Faith will always be the strongest weapon. Come on, we have a story to finish.” I was wrong, of course, the story of the Ayatollah Khomeini was just starting to unfold.
The end of the decade was one bit of shit after another. November found us on a red-eye flight to Guyana. Congressman Don Harris and his camera crew had gone there to visit a religious community called Jonestown. He'd heard word through his constituents that the faithful were being held against their will by a religious fanatic. On his way back to the air strip, Jones had his group ambushed and shot. Rob Brown, newsman that he was, kept filming until the end. His record will be used in the investigation and hearings that would follow. Jones then ordered all 909 devotes to drink cool-aid laced with cyanide. We arrived the day after.
On the way, I tried to prepare Hayley for what laid ahead. “You understand that the word is that nearly a thousand people are dead. Not just adults but kids. It's going to be pretty grizzly.”
“Maybe it's not true. I can't imagine a bunch of people all killing themselves just because some nut tells them too. I've seen a few dead bodies before. I'm no beginner, Jackie.”
I saw the flare of anger in her eyes. It was time to let the subject drop. “I hope you're right, but remember what I told you. Faith is a powerful weapon. We'll go in prepared for the worst. Wear your socks over you pants to keep the flies from biting. You'll need plastic gloves and a scarf to cover your mouth and nose and sunglasses to keep the damn flies out of your eyes. Wear lots on insect repellant and Vaseline up your nose to keep the smell at bay. Okay?”
Hayley frowned. She had suddenly realized that I was deathly serious about what lay ahead of us. “Okay, Jackie.” Her hand groped for mine under the airline blanket.
When I wrote the story of Jonestown, I wrote about faith gone wrong. A charismatic leader who was able to control the minds and souls of those who wanted to find a perfect world and instead gave up their individuality to the master. I didn't write about bodies swollen in the tropical sun until they looked like inflated balloons. They were no longer human, just distorted forms turning shades of green, and black, flies swarming around their eyes, nose, mouth and private parts. The skin starting to burst open with maggots. Men and women lined up and had their children, even little babies, drink plastic glasses of poison before taking it themselves. Piles of rotting corpses twisted in agony together. The smell of rot was heavy in the humid, stifling air. The only sounds had been the cries of vultures and the buzz of flies.
I ended up taking the photos. Recording for society the tragedy of faith out of control. They would not be used. Instead, my voice would be heard while the viewing audience saw file film of Jonestown in its earlier days. Hayley, was helped back to the jeep up wind of the site by one of the Guyana army officers who have been sent to investigate the massacre and clear the area. None of us were too well. I would witness the abuse of faith many times over the rest of my career. Jonestown. God, if You exist, forgive them, they know not what they do.
Back at the hotel, I rubbed Hayley's back while she threw up in the toilet and then cleaned her up. She shook like a leaf and was deathly white. “Do you need to see a doctor?”
She shook her head. “No. I need to see a drink. A strong one.”
I poured her a few fingers of Johnny Walker and held her in my arms while she gulped at her drink.
“Shit. That was like nothing I have imagined in my worst nightmares. How can you do it, Jackie? How can you deal with the memories? You can't be that hard.”
“No, I'm not that hard. I feel for those people. There will be nightmares and some flashbacks. You can't witness something like that and not be horrified to the centre of your soul. I guess I fall back on professionalism. I have a job to do and I do it. Reporters can get a bad rap and sometimes they deserve it, but the bottom line is we are there to let the world know the truth as much as we can. Sometimes that truth is that there is a very ugly side to humanity. There is another side though. You have to keep it all in balance because so much of our job is reporting all the crap that goes on in the world.”
“It's like we wade through all that is bad. I can't get rid of the smell. Shit.”
“Hold on, Babe. Hold on. You are going to be okay.” I knew she wasn't though. There are those who can do the job and there are those that can't. Hayley was one of those that couldn't.
We moved on reporting on the boat people who were trying desperately to get out of Vietnam and Cambodia. They went to sea in leaking, over crowded boats. Hoping that somehow they would find a place where they could raise their families in peace. Taking their turn they'd slip over the side into dark waters because not all of them could be on the boat at once without it sinking. Families would check in the morning light to see if anyone went missing during the night.
The Shah has put the military in charge of Iran. It would do no good. The Ayatollah Khomeini was back in Iran. Hayley and I covered the events. Living out of our suitcases. Hayley was looking gaunt. She ate little and had terrible dreams. I requested leave time for us and we headed back to the States. I wanted to take her home to Newfoundland, but before I could, I'm sent to Three Mile Island.
The secondary cooling system had been closed down for repairs, but a valve failed to close on the primary cooling system. The problem could have been a minor one, but the mistake was not noted by personnel nor did it register on faulty gages until radioactive material was exposed. The result of this cascade of errors caused a core melt down. Hayley doesn't come with me. She phoned in sick. I took my pills to ward off radiation sickness on the plane and on arriving, a local team had a spare radiation suit for me.
“This is Jackie Cunningham, live from Three Mile Island...”
When I got back to our house, glad to have survived a nuclear disaster, I find that Hayley had checked herself in to a health care facility suffering from post-traumatic stress. I went to visit her regularly. She didn't want to see me.
“Jackie, I can't do it. I can't go on being a reporter. I feel like a failure, but I can't separate myself from the shit like you can. It's eating me up.”
“No problem. We'll both quit and go live in Newfoundland. Maybe we'll open a store or something.”
She laughed. “Yeah, Jackie Cunningham, international correspondent, filling shelves and ringing in sales. It wouldn't work, Jackie. You are not that sort of person. You'd be bored out of your mind and it would be a waste of your talents.”
“You mean more to me than the job.” I said it because I didn't want to make the mistake I did with Kathy. I knew as soon as it was out of my mouth that it wasn't true. The job meant more. Hayley knew too.
“No, Jackie. No. When I feel better I'm going to try my hand at being a photographer. Maybe open my own little business. You know, graduation photos and pet pictures.”
“That would be a waste too. You're terrific behind a news lens.”
“I'm good. I know that. But the images burn into my soul. I can't do it.”
“Okay, no problem. I'll do my job. You do yours. Most couples have jobs in difference fields.”
Again she shook her head. “I need to move on, Jackie. A part of me will always love you, but you can't be my hero anymore. Can you understand that?”
“No.”
“Well, if you can't understand you'll have to accept it for my sake. I need my freedom. I need to make a clean break and try to recover from what I've seen.”
So life went on only it went on without Hayley. I got over my heartbreak by working harder and harder. Idi Amin was driven out of Uganda and I was there to hear firsthand of the atrocities the man had committed in his rule of terror. Thank God, Hayley was not with me. Thatcher became the first women to be Prime Minister of Great Britain. Yet, many states were still arguing over whether marriage was consent for sexual favours. Can a husband rape his wife? For every step forward women take, there were just as many steps back. I was off to Ireland. The IRA had blown up the boat that Lord Mountbatten and his family were on. I was there for the state funeral. Ironic that he survived the sinking of his ship during the war to end up with most of his legs blown off and bleeding his life out at sea thirty odd years later.
The decade ended with radical students in Iran taking over the American Embassy in Tehran. Fifty-two Americans were being held. My Canadian citizenship was again a bonus. I could report, if carefully, from the front lines. The biggest story, though, I couldn't investigate. I was pretty sure that the Americans who were outside the embassy when it was taken over had held up in the Canadian Embassy. To have investigated my suspicions would have brought danger to others. So I sat on my instincts and report only about what was going on at the American Embassy as did other reporters.
Sure enough, The Canadian Embassy officials were hiding six Americans. Called the Canadian Caper, the Canadian parliament met in secret for the first time since WWII to grant permission for Canadian passports to be issued to the American hideaways. Canadians took great risks hiding the Americans in their homes, sneaking in false documents and smuggling in extra food for three months until everything was in order for the Americans to board a plane out of Iran using Canadian identities. The same day, the Canadian Embassy in Iran was closed and Taylor, Shearwater and the remaining staff left Iran. I left on the same plane. Canadians were no longer safe in Iran. The Americans held hostage in the American Embassy were not as lucky. Despite any number of attempts to secure their release, they were held for 444 days from November of 1979 to January of 1981.
Chapter Six: Anchored
The year would end with Reagan running for president and Russia invading Afghanistan. I didn't cover those stories. I was taken hostage too. My days as a correspondent were over. I was bumped upstairs to anchor the news on the national network and had been transferred to New York. I no longer filled my evenings talking with the press guys in the bar. Now I went home to an empty house. Hayley must have seen me on TV. She must have realize I'm not out in the field anymore. Why didn't she phone? Why didn't Kathy? It was a good year for films. I watch The China Syndrome, Kramer vs Kramer, Alien and Apocalypse Now. I was famous, rich and alone. “This is the eleven o'clock news and I'm Jackie Cunningham.”
It was a new life and one to which it took me a long time to adjust. The merry-go-round of life went faster and faster. Strange coloured sea shells and sea horses going up and down on the tides of events, but I was not on the ride anymore. I stood watching, recording all the events that passed before my eyes.
“This is Jackie Cunningham and these are the events in the world today. President Cartier has spoken to American Olympians today and informed them that the United States will not participate in the Moscow Olympics. Cartier told them that it would send a message that the US approved of the Soviets invasion of Afghanistan.”
“Today, the US military tried and failed to rescue the American hostages being held in Iran. According to sources, the attempt was a fiascos and had to be aborted when two American helicopters collided. Cartier has taken full responsibility for the failure.”
“Eight people have died when Mount St. Helen in Washington State suddenly exploded today sending a billowing cloud of hot ash down the mountain sides.”
“The Islamic world finds itself divided over the violent war between Iran and Iraq. Meanwhile the war rages on with no sign of victory or a peace settlement in sight.”
“There was jubilant celebrations in Philadelphia tonight as the Phillies won the World Series for the first time in 98 years.”
My life rushed by too. I had become a house hold name. America opened its doors to me each night via the television and I did my best to bring them the news objectively and thoroughly. My personal life had many open doors too. I was wealthy and famous, and okay, notorious. I had no trouble picking up women and I did. I was no longer looking for a committed relationship just a good time. I was an aging dyke prying on the young. Love them and leave them as the old saying goes.
That worked for a few years until I got a jolt of reality. In truth, it wasn't so much reality as it was the front, right bummer of a 1980 Chevrolet Camaro. I had just ended a love affair with a twenty year old Republican on the grounds that my liberal leanings were in conflict with her world view. I got out of her car and started along the side walk to my apartment. She seemed to take this reasoning as less than satisfactory because a second later I heard her front tires bump up on the curb and I was airborne. Fortunately, she hadn't been going fast enough to do me any damage other than scaring the hell out of me. Unfortunately, my sudden landing resulted in a broken collar bone and a mild concussion.
“Go to hell, Cunningham!” She yelled, as she bumped back onto the road and drove off.
I didn't go to hell. I went home. The network reported my absence as having been involved in a minor traffic accident. My viewers were sympathetic and sent cards and flowers. When I reported the actual events to mom and Dale they were less than sympathetic.
“I'd have left Goodyear stamped all over your backside,” mom had said in a huff and walked out. Dale and I looked at her retreating figure in surprise. Mom never made remarks like that.
I looked at Dale for sympathy. “Your mother's right. You've been acting like an idiot. We raised you better. Don't think though that your mom and I don't care that you were hurt. We do. We just hope you've learnt from the experience. We're glad you came home. It will be a good summer.”
Now I take the time to look at Dale and mom. They have aged. Dale, of course, was fighting cancer and naturally would look run down, but mom too had aged suddenly. They were in their 60s now and Dale had retired but they looked older. Suddenly, I was glad I got run over. Why hadn't I come home more often? Why hadn't I spent more time with them? Mom took care of Dale and me. I let myself be babied. It wasn't a role I usually played, but I was in need of healing physically and emotionally.
Newfoundland is a place where a person can get in touch with what is real again. I hiked the coastline listening to the cry of the gulls and enjoyed the scent of wild flowers and salt water.
I clam dig in the mud when the tide was out or sailed with mom and Dale on sparkling seas when the weather was fine. Even when the weather was foggy or blowing a gale, I went out. The natural atmosphere heightened my sense, bringing me closer to the wild nature in my soul. Evenings were by the bonfire laughing with family or friends or tucked up with a book on the veranda under a black blanket of stars. Life was good again.
It was on this trip home that I first met Edith and Jeff Parlow. I'd met Jeff several times at media dos. He worked for the CBC not as talent but as an executive. Edith was a family doctor. I was invited along with mom and Dale and a few others to a barbecue at their summer place which was about half a mile down the road from our place.
Jeff cornered me and we stood under a maple tree eating our burgers. “You've had the best years of journalism, Jackie.”
“Ha! I had to give up my clunker of a manual type writer, which I loved no matter how noisy it was and no matter how much the eraser bits jammed up my keys. I adjusted to an electric typewriter with correction tape and later an electronic one with one of those silly balls instead of keys and correction fluid. Then this computer showed up on my desk. It weighed six tonnes, came with a TV monitor and appeared to have no more purpose other than a paper weight. Next it's to be the internet! It never ends. I just master one bit of technology and they introduce another. I'm surprised I ever did get any stories written.”
Jeff smiled but his eyes were sad. “I think you'll find under Reagan, journalism will take a new direction in the US.”
“Please tell me the US media is not going to turn into one of those sleaze tabloids that are so popular in Britain.”
“No, no, I don't see that, but I've heard rumours that Reagan wants to lift some of the restrictions currently on journalism that force you all to maintain some objectivity. You'll be seeing Republican slanted newspapers soon, maybe ever TV stations. Known Republican business people have been busy buying up newspapers and TV stations.”
I raised my eyebrow. “You are talking about the US who have an absolutely pathological thing about freedom of the press.”
“Remember Marshall McLuhan, the medium is the message. Control the media and you control people's minds.”
“Americans won't stand for it.”
“Americans won't even know it's happened to them.”
“Is this happening in Canada too?”
“Not as much or as quickly, but yes.”
A pretty woman came up to us and wrapped her arm around Jeff's waist. “You two look very serious. This is a barbecue, Jeff. Don't back people into the corner and terrorize them with your views on the future of the CBC.”
Jeff laughed. “No one can terrorize this lady. She's far too busy terrorizing others. Edith, this is Jackie Cunningham. Jackie this is the love of my life, Edith.
“Ahh, the woman who caught Jeff Parlow. You are a legend in your time.” I offered my hand. Edith's hand shake was firm and brief. I liked her. “The hamburgers were good, but I'm holding out for dessert. Dale tells me that you are one hell of a baker.”
“Twenty years in school and three years internship and I'm known for my cooking,” Edith laughed. “I love baking. It's my way of relaxing. I've made mini cinnamon rolls and fruit tarts. Want to help bring them out?”
“With pleasure!” We left Jeff under the maple and headed towards the house. “Cinnamon rolls, eh? Are they good?”
“The best, if I do say so myself.”
I picked one up and it's gone in two bites. “Oh yum, I've died and gone to heaven. No wonder Jeff fell for you.”
“Actually, he was grateful because I pulled a large splinter out of his backside.”
“Now this is a story I have to hear. God, these are good. Leave Jeff and run away with me. I promise you a dream kitchen and a room full of puppies.”
“Sorry, Jeff and I are booked for life. Now pick up that tray and walk, Cunningham, before you eat all the cinnamon rolls.”
I picked up a tray and followed her out to the backyard. “You mean I have to share these with others? Do you realize that this is what causes neighbourhood and family feuds?”
Jeff was right, of course. Don't believe it's true? What's the opposite of a conservative in the US? It used to be a liberal but the right wing driven media has turned that word into something very derogatory. No one today in the US would admit to being a liberal thinker so if you are not a conservative you are a no body. To be liberal politically would mean that you were a pinko wimp and un-American. I looked up liberal in the Oxford dictionary: ‘given or giving freely, open-minded, not prejudiced, not strict, general broadening of the mind, favouring moderate political and social reform.' Shudder, Americans certainly wouldn't want to be that! Ask the Tea Party.
The barbecue ended my sick leave and I'm off the next day back to my news anchor job. I left promising to come back soon, to email often and to phone. We all knew that won't happen at least not regularly.
“This is Jackie Cunningham and these are the events of the world today. President Reagan showed that he meant business in controlling inflation today when he fired striking air traffic controllers.”
“Anwar Sadat the Egyptian leader who has moved his country closer to the west was assassinated today by his own soldiers.”
“Nicaragua's Sandinista junta announced it would be suspending many citizens' rights in order to gain tighter control on the country.”
“This is Jackie Cunningham with breaking news. Argentina has invaded the Falkland Islands which is a British island off the coast of South America. Britain is mobilizing her forces to take the island back.”
“Israel, long bothered by raids across her boarder, has invaded Lebanon. Banished PLO followers are leaving Beirut.”
Scott's guitar practice wakes me with a start. For a minute, I don't know what day or time it is. Friday, no Saturday. I look out the window. Afternoon. Yes, I'd had lunch and came to have a rest. I get out of bed slowly. Everything hurts now. Paula has bought me a bunch of jump suits. They are easy to slip on and off with no zippers and buttons with which to struggle. I refused to wear those cutesy sets in pink and powered blue. Mine are from the local university and are in the school colours navy and white. The university crest is on the front of my top and on my pants I have moose prints across the ass.
I find Scott in his bedroom. “If you cut practice, I'll buy you a beer.”
Scott laughs at my silliness. “I'm too young to drink, Aunt Jackie. You know that.”
“Okay then, we'll take Vomit down to the docks and get a milk shake at the café before we buy some lobster for dinner.”
“Can I drive?”
“Yeah, as long as you stay off the road and let me spear mailboxes as we go by.”
“Awesome!”
I smile and follow the bounding Scott down the stairs at a slow, even pace. Cate is waiting at the bottom.
“What about your guitar practice, Scott?”
“Aunt Jackie and I are going to get a milk shake and some lobster for dinner.”
Cate gives me a stern look. I do my best to look innocent. “Don't let him drive on the roads and no interfering with the Canadian mail service.”
“I wouldn't think of it.” Scott snickers and the two of us make a quick escape.
Half an hour later, Scott and I are belly up to the milk bar. We test the quality of our shakes by seeing if the straw will stand up straight in the middle and nod our approval. In Newfoundland, you can still get a proper shake made with real ice cream and whipped in a metal container that they bring to your table along with a real glass.
Having had our first sips to take the edge off our thirsts, we get down to some serious sports talk then move on to other stuff.
“Aunt Jackie, I have a problem.”
“Awesome. I have a bunch of solutions. Let's see if we can find one to match.”
“There's this girl in school.”
“You've come to the right lady. I know a lot about girls.”
Scott blushes but laughs. “She's not like you guys.”
“Oh, one of them!”
“Yeah. She's hot.”
“So what's the problem? Ask her out.”
“She's president of the student council and she's organized a sock hop for the next school dance. That's an ancient type of dancing and music. The teacher explained that you have to dance in your socks because in the old times everyone wore leather shoes not just for funerals and things. The leather left black marks on the gym floor so you couldn't wear shoes at the dance.”
“Really? So what's the matter don't you have a clean pair of socks?”
I get a look. “I don't know how to dance and Kim takes dancing lessons so she's good at that sort of stuff.”
“Kim's the heartthrob?” I get a nod. “No problem. As it happens I have an attic of that ancient music and your Aunt Paula and Uncle Adam know how to do everything from the jive to the mash potato. I bet your mom is pretty good too.”
“They do? I didn't think they were that old, just old, you know.”
“I taught Paula and Adam and I'm just that old in fact older. Leave it in my devious hands. I'll arrange everything. By the weekend, you'll be the Fred Astaire of the school gym.”
“Who's Fred Astaire?”
“A nobody dancer who made it big because he was dancing with Ginger Rogers,” I joke.
Scott just nods his head as if he understands. Old people have to be humoured.
After lobster dinner, Adam brings down the record player from the attic and some old albums. I line everyone up so Scott won't be centred out and we go through some of the steps of the jive. Then Adam pairs up with Paula and Cate with Scott and I turn on the music and let them go at it.
Scott tried to follow everything that Adam was doing and nine times out of ten they all ended up in a knot of arms and legs laughing their heads off. By ten o'clock, I was asleep in the chair and Scott had got the hang of it. All those music lessons and hockey practices had paid off. The boy could follow a rhythm and had good coordination. Over the next few nights, we moved on to other types of dances until Scott felt pretty confident with his abilities.
Saturday night came. Scott was wearing black leather shoes, white socks, black dress pants and
a white t-shirt with his hair greased back. The kid looked a humdinger. Adam gave him a ten spot to buy the lady a suitable refreshment and insisted on driving him to the dance. “A guy can't have his mom take him to a dance.”
Scott looked confident and happy. We four looked like worn out, worried parents of a young teen. It was a long evening waiting for Scott to phone Adam for a lift home. When the call came at half passed eleven, Scott insisted on picking up the boy by himself. When they returned, Adam let Scott do the talking.
“How did it go with Kim?” Cate asked.
“Nowhere. I asked her to dance and she hesitated and then said she didn't think her parents would like her dancing with someone of mixed race. Mom, it felt like I'd been hit. I went outside and sat on a park bench for a bit. I liked that girl and she was a racist. I couldn't believe it. I was really down on myself and then I remembered what Aunt Jackie had said.”
Paula rolled her eyes. “I hesitate to ask. What did your Aunt Jackie say?”
“She said the best thing you can be is yourself and not to let anyone put you down for that. So I got up and went and asked Sally Morrison to dance. Wow, could she dance! Everyone just stood back and clapped the beat as the two of us jived. It was awesome because Kim was just standing there looking stunned and Sal and I were having a great time. Sal's really neat. She plays hockey too.” Scott yawned.
“Off to bed and don't forget to shower,” Cate said, giving her son a hug and a quick kiss before he squirmed away. We watched him head upstairs. Cate put her arm around my shoulder. “You did well, Jackie. Thanks.”
I blush. I hate being caught doing something responsible. “Humph, the kid lies like a rug. I said the best thing you can be is yourself and piss in the ear of anyone who says otherwise.”
“I like Scott's translation better,” Paula sighs.
“Yeah, he can talk the talk. He'll probably be a politician. I'm off to bed. This having a teenager is a lot of hard work. Wake me for breakfast about noon.”
I dream.
“This is Jackie Cunningham and these are the events in the world today. Princess Grace of Monaco was killed in a car crash today. Once an actress, Grace Kelly gave up the stage to marry Prince Rainier III of Monaco. Her daughter, Stephanie was also in the vehicle which swerved off the road and fell down a hillside. Although suffering from shock, Stephanie was not hurt.”
“Poland workers have formed a union called Solidarity and are fighting for better pay and working conditions. The USSR has warned that they will not tolerate such protests.”
“A civil war in El Salvador is threatening to destabilize other Central American countries.”
“Today, the US government admitted that their actions in interning Japanese Americans 40 years ago during WWII was unjust.”
“President Reagan has cautioned that the US must advance its technology to protect its boarders in the space age. He has proposed the creation of a Star Wars defence program.”
I don't sleep to noon. I wake before ten. It's one of those rare days when I don't have a lot of pain and I decide to make the most of it. There's coffee made in the kitchen, but everyone has had their breakfast and are off doing various things. I have a toasted bagel and cream cheese with my coffee and then taking a walking stick to help me along, I slowly head up to the bluff.
It's beautiful, an early summer day. The sky and sea seem to go on forever and the air has the scent of sweet grass. The breeze is warm and on it are the cries of sea gulls overhead and below, the buzz of bees as they collect their pollen from the profusion of wild, spring flowers. Out at sea, I can see several orca whales as they breach and dive again. I sit on the bench and just savour the majestic beauty of Canada. I loved the years I spent in the US, but it feels so good to be home.
The moment of peace is broken by someone pounding up the hill. I turned and looked. It's Paula. “I haven't got the gun with me. Sorry, I'm not ready yet.”
“Damn, you, Aunt Jackie. Every time you come up here, you scare the hell out of me.”
“Silly woman. When I'm ready, I'll be going to a better life, don't you know that?”
She looks at me suspiciously. “Do you believe that?”
“Not a word of it. But I thought it might give you comfort seeing as how you are having trouble accepting that I'm not going to be around to bully you for all of your life.”
Paula laughs. “You are fearless.”
“No, I'm not. I'm just not scared of being dead because I've lived life to the full. There's not too many people who can say that. Mind you, the dying part sort of gives me the willies so I'll stick around as long as I can.”
“Good. It's beautiful up here.”
“Yes. How's Scott this morning?”
“Cate had a talk to him about facing racism. She said he was pretty cool about it. He's come across people like Kim once or twice before. Fortunately, it hasn't happened too often. He was on the phone to Sally after breakfast. I think they plan to play a little street hockey today with some of their friends.”
“He's a good kid.”
“I think so.”
I heard a car door slam and saw Adam heading our way. It's damn hard to get any peace and quiet with this family. “Looks like there is going to be a scene. Stand your ground, Paula. I might need a witness if Adam sucker punches me.”
“Shit. What have you done now?”
“Damn you, Aunt Jackie!” He came to stand in front of me his hands on his hips and red in the face not so much from anger as from running up the bluff, I suspect.
“Hi to you too, Adam. Sounds like you got out the grumpy side of the bed today.”
“You told Judy that I had some incurable disease!”
“No, I simply implied it. I'm good at that. So she gave you the bum's rush did she? Never mind, it wasn't going to last and you know it.”
“That's beside the point. You can't go around meddling in other people's private lives. I won't have it.”
“You could look at it that way. I sort of see it as doing you a favour out of the goodness of my tender heart.”
“Favour? Heart? Give me a break!”
“Adam, you wanted to break up with Judy, but you were dragging your feet because you're an emotional coward. I just helped you out a little. I did no harm. I just revealed the truth. If she was the woman for you, she'd have been at your side through better or worse. Instead, she wanted out of what she thought was a complication. So now you know. Don't bother to thank me. I'm humble and it would make me blush. You can help me down the hill though.”
For a second, Adam looks at me like he'd like to throw me off the cliff. Then he smiled. “I shouldn't let you get away with this.” He gently helps me up.
“I'm too old to be reformed anyway. Come along, Paula. This might be a trap. He could get violent yet.”
Paula shook her head. “I can't believe what you did. Adam ought to feed you to the birds.”
“Now that would be a fitting end to my brilliant career. A real Greek tragedy.”
Paula laughs. “Hear that, Adam, now she wants to be Prometheus.”
“Only our Aunt Jackie would aspire to be a Greek god.”
“I'd rather be Aphrodite.” I mutter, as the two of them slowly help me down the hill.
“This is Jackie Cunningham and these are the events of the world today. President Reagan has called the Nicaragua Contras freedom fighters.”
“It's a milestone for American women today. Back when the Mercury program was just under way, a group of nurses were trained to be astronauts. Lyndon Johnson, it's rumoured, would not allow women to go into space and the program was scrapped. Now twenty years later, Sally Ride becomes the first American woman in space.”
“The Soviet Union has shot down a commercial jet liner killing all 264 passengers and crew. The Soviets say that the Korean flight was spying.”
“US troops invaded and took command of the Caribbean island of Grenada today to restore democracy.”
“In Canada, the flamboyant and often controversial Prime Minister, Pierre Elliot Trudeau, resigned from politics today.”
Time flowed on ever faster. History is not a linear line. It's a sea of events caught in sudden storms, twirling and twisting back and forth. Events interrelate, play out, end, and reform in new alignments. There is nothing new under the sun only different ways of pursuing our needs, wants and desires. I'm hair is starting to go white. My producer takes me aside one day and explains that he has no problem with the male talent going white it makes them look distinguished. Women are seen, however, as unappealing and out of it. I give him a filthy look. “No one will ever say that Jackie Cunningham is out of it. People will respect me for having the guts to get old. There is nothing wrong with aging. Tell you what, if my ratings drop, I'll get the face lift and hair dye. If they don't you have to dye your hair purple and leave it that way until it grows out.”
“I'm not doing that!”
“Then don't expect me to. Stuff your double standard up your jumper.”
So I never dyed my hair and gradually went grey and then white. My ratings never dropped. I was a damn good anchor person. Viewers relied on me to give them the facts and not opinion or propaganda. I wasn't there to entertain or dramatize. I was there to inform. Sadly, Jeff had been right. There was a new breed of news shows appearing. They were all about mouthing off radical view points for the amusement of the weak minded and ill informed.
“This is Jackie Cunningham and these are the events in the world today. The Surgeon General today announced that there was strong evidence that second hand smoke can cause lung damage in non-smokers.”
“The election battle lines are forming up. Mondale has picked Geraldine Terraro as his running mate. Should Mondale win, Terraro would be the US's first woman vice president. On the Republican side it will be Reagan and Bush teaming up.”
“Questions are being asked about the funnelling of ten million dollars through humanitarian-aid organizations to Nicaraguan contras. The money was said to be donated by private corporations and individuals in the US and elsewhere. It can't be traced to their sources as they are charitable donations.”
“Indira Gandhi, the Prime Minister of India, has been gun down by members of her own personal body guard as she left her home for work. Her recent decision to send troops into the Sikh shrine in Amritsar caused deep anger among sectors of Indian society.”
“Michael Jackson's Thriller album has won eight Grammy awards and has set a record for sales with 37 million copies sold to date.”
My climb up and down the bluff has left me tired and hurting. Yet, I don't regret my morning of freedom. Moments when I can be totally independent are rare now. I settle down with a book on the veranda, but my mind wonders quickly back into the past.
It was early summer when I got the call from Newfoundland. Usually mom phoned but this time it was Dale. Her voice was calm and controlled.
“You need to come home, Jackie. It's your mom. She's had a stroke.”
My insides knot. “How bad is it?”
“Bad. You need to get here as quickly as you can.” Dale sounds calm but I know she isn't. I'm losing a parent. Dale is losing the focal point of her life.
“I'll be on my way as soon as I can arrange a flight. I'll be with you soon.”
“Thanks Jackie. I'll phone William. You two mean the world to us.” Dale hangs up.
Edith, who had been visiting me while attending a conference, is standing in the doorway when I hang up. Somehow she knew that the call was bad news. “Mom has had a stroke. It's bad. I need to go.” Edith nods and takes charge. “We need to go. I'll phone Jeff to let him know.”
As I recall, I just sat and stared at the wall. Bags were packed, plane tickets booked, the station notified and a taxi called. Mom and Dale had always been there for me. Always. It was as if the rug had been pulled out from under my feet. How old was mom? Late 60s maybe. This shouldn't be happening.
We got a flight from New York to Montreal and overnight in the airport, then early in the morning we fly Montreal to New Brunswick. There we are delayed for five hours because of fog. It's late in the evening when we finally arrive in Newfoundland. William is there to meet us. He looks drawn and pale.
“Jackie, its good you are here. Edith, thanks for coming. I got here late this morning.”
“How's mom?”
William leads me over to a seat and I know before he even speaks. “Mom passed away late last night. Dale was with her. She came and met me at the airport after she'd seen to things.”
“How's Dale?”
I feel William's hand tighten around mine. “Dale took her own life this afternoon. She'd seen to everything for mom's funeral and her own. I'd gone to order flowers. While I was away, she wrote a note and left it on the table and walked up the bluff and shot herself. I'm sorry, Jackie.”
He holds me and I cry. Not loud wails just jerking, dry sobs. Once again, Dale had left me for mom, but now I understood. Now I knew she had to. I knew Dale would have everything planned. She was dying too and wouldn't want to be a burden on our lives. The only person she had ever leaned on was mom and now she was gone and Dale with her.
“The funeral's Saturday. Dale had everything planned and paid for. Agnes and the kids should be here tomorrow morning and the rest of the family are on their way.”
I nod and pull away from William. “Thanks for coming. You look all in. Let's go home, William.”
Edith was a rock and led William and I through the next few days. The family showed up to offer support and neighbours from far and wide came to pay their respects and provide food and love. It was a real tribute to Mom and Dale. I gave the eulogy. The family was on tender hooks in case I outed them. I didn't because they had never wanted that. They remained sisters to the public until the day they died. I didn't lie though.
“My mother and Dale loved each other deeply. It was a bond not so much of blood as it was forged in experience. They lived through the horrors of World War II. Dale was there for Mom when Dad was lost in the sinking of the MS Hood. Mom was there for Dale when she suffered a break down after being taken prisoner by the Nazis. They were strong women who supported each other through the ups and downs of life and raised their family together. I can't separate them in my mind. It was always Mom and Dale and it will always be.”
They were buried together in the local cemetery overlooking the sea. England on one side and Canada on the other. Later, I would put up a head stone. It had their names and dates on it. I had engraved into the granite the flags of England and Canada and at the bottom of the stone it read, ‘Together Always'. People can think what they want.
Slowly, the family dissipated back to their lives. Before William and his family left, we went for a walk up the bluff.
William pulled out a blade of grass and stood twisting it. “I can't believe that Dale killed herself. She always seemed so controlled and capable.”
“She didn't want to be a burden.”
William nodded. “She wanted to be with Mom.”
I'm surprised. I had no idea that William realized.
“Yes, that too. They loved each other very much.”
William frowned but nodded again. “Dale never liked me.”
“I think she did, but you were Mom's favourite so she sort of sided with me.”
William looked up in surprise. “Do you think so? I always sort of thought that Mom liked me best, but I thought it might just be how a kid sees things.”
“Mom and I never got along. That's why maybe Dale was closer to me. You were Mom's favourite for sure, so Dale gravitated to me. Dale did like you though.”
William smiled. He obviously needed to believe this. I would never tell him the truth that his mother was actually Dale. People give a lot of lip service to truth, but sometimes it's not what it's cracked up to be. Mom raised William as her own. That's all that mattered. And if it gave William comfort to believe he was special to Mom and that Dale cared about him, but didn't show it as much, that was fine too.
The will was a bomb shell to everyone including me. William got mom's estate and the house in Ottawa. In value, it came to close to a million dollars. I got Dale's estate and the house in Newfoundland. Its value was over seven million. Agnes was not a happy camper. William just shrugged. He was happy knowing he was mom's favourite.
I returned to New York feeling terribly alone like a ship adrift. William had his family. I had nothing but money. I waddled in a pool of self-pity. The news was bleak too.
“This is Jackie Cunningham and these are the events in the world today. In the early hours of the morning methyl-isocynate from a Union Carbide insecticide storage tank leaked out and spread across a wide area of a poor and heavily populated area in Bhopal, India. On the streets, animals and birds fell dead. In shanty homes, many died in their sleep or woke with sore eyes and throat, vomiting and dizziness. Many have been blinded. Nearly four thousand are dead.”
I was drinking hard. Worse, I was having nightmares and flashbacks. Not of Bhopal, although the story was the trigger, my nightmare was Jonestown. I avoided sleep because I didn't want to dream. I avoided eating because I didn't want to throw up. I drank. Within weeks, I was a walking wreck. My producer asked if I'm doing drugs. I quit and phone Edith.
“I need help.”
“Jackie? What's the matter?”
I can't tell her. I can't stop crying for the victims of this world.
“Listen, Jackie, I'm calling 911. I'll be on the next plane to New York.”
I followed the Bhopal story for years. In the end, it's estimated as many as 8,000 people might have died from insecticide exposure. Union Carbide eventually paid 470 million in compensation. Little of the money got to the people who needed it. Eight employees would be found guilty sixteen years later and given two years sentences and a fine of $2000. Union Carbide would sell the factory to Dow Chemical. How many factories like this one are there in developing nations? We have exported our dangerous industries overseas where labour is cheaper and expensive protection laws few.
I was suffering from post-traumatic syndrome. Hayley would be surprised. I did have a heart. Edith put me in a clinic. I was there for three months, but I wouldn't work again for over a year.
I go back to Newfoundland and make the house there my home. I got to know the locals better, joined the dart team and put in a kitchen garden. Gradually, I could sleep again without the nightmares.
When I do go back to work it wasn't as a news anchor. I had my own current events program, The News in Review. I would get to ask the hard questions of news makers. I had a lot of hard questions to ask. I'd been building them up for a life time.
Chapter Seven: Life in Review
“This is the News in Review with the award winning journalist, Jackie Cunningham.”
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. President Reagan took a second oath of office at the Super Bowl this week. French researchers announce that they have found a drug that helps control AIDS. Arab terrorists have released their plane hostages after 17 days in captivity. In France, President Mitterrand has picked a glass pyramid as a design for the courtyard of Louvre. After 73 years, explorers have found the wreck of the Titanic. And Bruce Springsteen plays to a full house in New Jersey singing his classic, Born in the USA. More after these messages.”
Paula and I are on our way to see a Pisces class deep sea vehicle that an oil company has up for sale. It's one of ten such subs that were made out in British Columbia in the 60s. She could dive to 6,000 feet and carry a crew of three staying down for up to ten hours. She's a good buy and in excellent condition for her age, but Paula has been dragging her feet. I think it's suspicious that Paula has picked a day to see the DSV when Cate is away with Scott at a baseball tournament. Paula looks tense as she dives.
“Penny for you thoughts.”
“Cate's job is very dangerous. She's had a few close calls diving. She's good at her job and cautious, but the ocean is unpredictable. These DSV have good reputations, but at that depth there is no rescue. If something goes wrong you're dead. Under that pressure even a tiny leak would cut through the DSV like a machine gun. If the cable breaks, the batteries fail or there's a fire - well, the risks are high.”
“You don't want the DSV because you are afraid something will happen to Cate?”
“Yes.”
“Have you talked to Cate about it?”
“No. She'd feel insulted that I didn't trust her to do her job.”
“Don't you trust her?”
“Of course I do! It's just that this is different. Using a DSV is probably more dangerous that going into space. At least there is some chance of rescue in space.”
I sit quietly for a bit thinking things over. There must be some string I can pull. “Does your research call for actually putting someone down there?”
“No, not really. We could use cameras on a remote vehicle, but first hand evidence is always important.”
“Let's stop at the university. I have some of my own research to do.” When we get there, I direct Paula to the Administration building and tell her to park in the vice-president's spot. “He's not here. He's at a conference in Dallas. I read about it in the paper. There's no use in wasting this premium spot. You stay with the truck and if someone tries to give you a ticket tell them that you just dropped the vice-president's secretary off to fax some papers he needs.”
Paula smiles. “You are such a liar.”
“Beats walking half a mile from a public parking lot. I'll be back in a little while.”
I use my cane but I walk straight and firm at least until I'm inside the building and Paula can't see me anymore. I head into the main office. “Hi all. I need to use a telephone and a computer. That one will do.”
“Jackie Cunningham, you can't just come in here and take over the office.”
“Why not, even students used to do it back in the 1960s.” I make myself at home behind an IBM. I know everyone here pretty well having been a guest speaker on more than one occasion. I'd also worked with them closely in establishing a graduate program through the Jackie Cunningham Institution of Deep Sea Research. I do my search, make my call and run off some material and I'm out of there under half an hour. “Thanks all.”
Back at the truck, Paula has to help me in. “So what have you been up to?”
I don't answer for a few minutes. I'm hurting and need a minute to rest. “Struck me that remotes would be used more than they'd use manned subs so I did some research to see what is available. I got a lead on a real honey.”
“Cate, wants a DVS.”
“She does, but I'm the boss, right?”
“Since when?”
“Since, I'm the one that still holds the purse strings. This is a Nereus design. Forget the 6,000 limit that those manned craft can reach. This sucker can go down 10,000 metres. Cate, can't argue with the advantage of that sort of data gathering.”
“I only know of three such vehicles in the world and one of them, the Kaiko, was lost in a dive in 2003.”
“This one is bran new. It was built as a back up to the Nereus and I can buy into the project for a guarantee of usage. It will come with its own support team, but I'm arranging for Cate to train as one of the handlers. Now we go see that DSV that's for sale. When we get home, you'll show Cate the data on both and let her make the final decision.”
“What if she picks the DSV anyway?”
“Then you are no worse off than you are now, but I'm thinking that Cate will do what is best for the research centre. Besides, getting a chance to train and work with the Nereus is a big feather in her cap.”
“How did you manage to arrange this so easily?”
“Ask me no questions and I tell you no lies.”
“I love you, Aunt Jackie.”
“You'd just love to have my balls, that's all. Let's go see this DSV and then get some lunch. I know a place where the scallops are to die for. Okay, so maybe it's a bit rough, but what's a few bawls among sailors when we are talking first class scallops.”
We manage to get back home without incident although I heard Paula telling Cate that the dive we had lunch in was probably the entrance to the river Styx. She did admit the scallops were good and it's not like there was any blood on the table. Maybe on the floor, but definitely not on the table.
After Scott's in bed, Paula laid out the specs on the two deep sea vehicles. To give Paula her due, she presented each option objectively.
“The three person DSV has a lot going for it. It's hands on and has far more movability. The down side is the ten hour limit. In a deep dive, you can count on needing six hours or more for decent and surfacing. That can leave only and few hours on the bottom. The remote can dive deeper and stay longer, but it's got to be tethered to the ship and that means it can be used only in calm seas and in areas were entanglement on wrecks or rocks are not going to be a problem.”
Cate carefully, looks over the data. “The three person DSV was built in 1965. It's been well maintained, but that makes her 40 odd years old. The remote is going to be bran new, but we will have to time share with others. There are advantages and disadvantages as you said.”
Paula waits. I see her swallow down any opinions that might reflect her own bias. Cate nods. “I vote for the remote. It's much smaller and won't take up valuable storage and deck space. The technology will be a challenge that I'll enjoy and frankly, the danger factor of the three person is higher than I'd like. I do have concerns about time sharing. It increases the risk of someone losing the damn thing or it being damaged. There will be factors that we can't control. I'm willing to take on either one, but my choice would be the remote if we can get the diving times we want.”
Cate looks up to see the relief flood over Paula's face. “Oh, baby, you were worried about me.”
I can be subtle when I need to be. I take myself off to my quarters and leave the two of them to talk out their feelings. Love is grand when it's not a knife through the heart.
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. NASA faced a major disaster with the explosion of the Challenger Space Shuttle on lift off. Among the crew lost was the teacher, Christa McAuliffe. American planes bomb the terrorist supporter, Khadafy, at his Libyan base. The nuclear reactor near Chernobyl explodes sending deadly radiation over Europe and beyond. And The Statue of Liberty is 100 years old. More after this.”
Kathy. I lie in bed and smile at how life can give you one of those rare second chances. Washed out to sea on a tide of events and parted then suddenly you find yourselves years later in the same harbour. I was standing at a subway station when I looked up and saw a woman waving on the platform on the other side. “Jackie! West bound at .....” I didn't hear the rest for the passing subway train. I ran up the escalator, darted cars and ran down to the platform where I had seen her. She was no longer there. I picked up the west bound and checked each stop as the train went by. When I saw her, it was as the train was ready to pull out. I pulled the emergency cord and darted off the train to the sound of angry voices. Dodging the crowds, I came to a full stop in front of Kathy. Now what?
“Hi,” I said weakly.
Tears ran down Kathy's face and she gave me a big hug. I hugged her back. Some stupid commuter bumped by us. A flat New York accent mumbled. “Get a room, dyke!”
“Up yours,” I muttered and then smiled at Kathy. “Why this stop?”
“Museum of Natural Science.”
I smiled. Kathy and I used to go often to look at the exhibits and then have lunch over looking central park. “Lunch?”
“Love to,” she smiled.
She's aged a bit and so had I, yet it was my Kathy. The same woman I'd met on the plane and with who I had fallen in love.
“I watched your career develop on TV. I'm so proud of you, Jackie.”
“Why didn't you get in touch when I got out of the field? I tried to find you.”
“I was teaching nursing at a university for a number of years out west. I thought of contacting you many times, but was too embarrassed. I thought there had been too much water under the bridge. I knew you'd found someone else. Then there you were across the subway tracks from me and I yelled and waved without thinking.”
“There was someone else. It wasn't going to last. We both knew that. And it didn't last. I've been on my own for a number of years now.”
“I heard that too. I understand you've developed quite a reputation.”
I started to feel pretty uncomfortable and get defensive. “What? Did you have a spy?”
She smiled. “The lesbian world isn't that big. Word gets around.”
“No one told me about you!”
“I'm not famous. Yes, there was someone else. No, it didn't last.”
I swallowed hard. Okay, I'm a hypocrite. If I fooled around it's understandable, but I don't like that she did.
Kathy changed the subject. Even after all these years she could read me like a book. “I've thought a lot about what went wrong between us. I blamed you for always being away and loving your work more than me. Sure that was part of it, but I loved my work too and wouldn't have wanted to give it up. I'm director of nursing at the training hospital here in the city now. Like you, I was ambitious. I've come to realize that part of the problem was me. I had to be the nurturer. I had to take care of you. I never gave you a chance to nurture me and then resented you for it.”
I played with the straw in my glass. “Maybe. I think the main reason was I was a self-centred bitch. I like to think I've grown up some emotionally since then.”
“I like to think I have too.”
I looked up. “How about a walk in the park, then dinner and a life together?”
Kathy laughed and the tension is broken. “You, Jackie Cunningham, you have the nerve of the devil! I'll start with that walk and see what roads it might take us down.”
We walked through Central Park which is a real jewel within Manhattan. Kathy smiled at me. “You've given up long hair, the disco look and mules on your feet for loose shirts, shoulder pads and tight pants. Ralf Lauren?”
“I surrendered my body to him several years ago and never looked back. So tell me about your job.”
Kathy stopped and looked at me in surprise. “Do you really want to know?”
“I really do. I want to know everything about you that I've missed out on.”
We talked and end up having dinner in an Italian café were they knew me and I could count on the extra attention. I got a taxi and dropped Kathy off at her apartment. Despite my bold talk, I meant to do things proper - the whole courtship thing. I had changed and I needed to let Kathy know that. I settled for a hug and a beck on the cheek in the lobby. “May I see you again?”
“I'd like that.”
“Saturday for lunch?”
“Okay.”
I could have floated home, but I settled for the taxi in that I'd kept him waiting. I'm surprised my grin wasn't too big for the back seat. Over the next few months, I pulled out all the stops. I sent her flowers and took her to dinner and sports events. Most importantly, I visited and took a tour of where she worked. I thought it important to our relationship, but I discovered that I had a lot to learn about the importance of nursing and just how much responsibility Kathy had. I was humbled and I told her so.
“Visiting your place of work was a humbling experience.” We were having dinner at what has become our favourite Italian restaurant.
Kathy looked up in surprise. “Why?”
“I'm talent. I get my name in lights and earn a ridiculous salary for passing on the news. You are training the front line in health care. Making a real difference to the quality of life. You have life and death responsibilities. I'm humbled. More than that, I'm embarrassed that it's taken me this long to discover these facts. Some investigative reporter, I am!”
Kathy covered my hand with hers. “Thanks for saying that. I think your job is damn important too. Just in a very different way than mine.”
I smiled, relieved that Kathy could forgive me for being such a horse's ass in my past life. Six months later, we were back to living together and I was the happiness person in the world except for one small sadness. I wished Mom and Dale had lived long enough to know I finally got it right.
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. The once mighty Soviet Union has fallen. A victim of economic crisis brought on by the expense of their war in Afghanistan and low productivity. Bush has formed an alliance with other nations to free Kuwait from Iraqi occupiers. The military action will be known as Desert Storm. The world rejoiced, but there was divided feeling in South Africa as the controversial apartheid laws were finally repealed. More after these messages.”
I'm embarrassed that I spend so much time in the past. Napping on the veranda or nodding off in my rooms. Paula, Cate and Scott make an effort not to disturb me. Paula says I need my sleep to heal. I'm not healing. I'm retreating into my past voyages. Sailing again across the seas of events that turned out to be my life. Life. What a strange thing that is. Thousands of years of thought and we still don't know why we exist. I suppose religion gives some answers, but they are short sighted. If God has a plan for us, why? Are we just players on a Battleship board to keep God amused through eternity?
Paula's voice cuts into my thoughts. “What are you thinking about, Aunt Jackie?”
“I always hope when I'm asked that question that I'll be thinking about something really meaningful like the key to understanding the cosmos. As it turns out, I'm thinking about the game Battleship and wondering if God plays it.”
“Thought you didn't believe in God.”
“Can't say that I do. I was having hypothetical thoughts.”
“Well, come back from the depths of the philosophy of Game Theory and help me out here.”
“Have you messed up again?”
“Not yet, but the stakes are high.”
“I love a challenge, proceed.”
“I'm organizing the grand opening of the Jackie Cunningham Institute of Oceanography and Scott wants his dad to be invited.”
“How do you get on with him?”
“I've never met him.”
“How does Cate get on with him?”
“I think they parted on good terms. They realized they'd made a mistake. He had trouble with Cate being gay and raising their son, but he seems to have come to terms with that.”
“How does Cate feel about him coming?
“She said it was up to me.”
“Cope out. Okay, Scott seems to need this bridge between his two worlds so I think we all have to be adults and deal with this situation head on. The thing is to arrange that - what's his name?
“Michael Milford.”
“Milford? What kind of Kenyan name is that?”
“His father was a Canadian missionary.”
“Yikes. Okay, we need Michael to feel he is welcome here and connected to our family through Scott. I suggest that we have him stay with Adam and Scott on the ship and then the men can arrive here on the day of the opening. After that, maybe Scott and his dad could go camping for a few days, visit Scott's school and have a few meals with us.”
Paula frowned.
“Ohoh, you have jealousy issues.”
“I try not to but - yeah, I do. He slept with Cate and they have a son. I want Scott and Cate to be mine.” Paula blushes.
I reach over and squeeze Paula's hand. “Well, they are but not completely. Everyone has a past they bring with them. Even you. You chose to take on a woman who had been married before and had a son by that man. That makes her past part of your present and future. She would have to do the same for you had you been the one who married.
“Somehow that seems different.”
“It's not. Michael will probably feel just as uncomfortable about meeting you. It's the age old ball game. Who has them and who doesn't. If you reduce it to that level, Paula, it will be a very negative experience. You just have to accept that Michael was Cate's husband and Scott is his child too and move on from there. You don't have to be his best friend, but for Cate's and Scott's sake, you do have to be welcoming. Understand?”
“I was hoping you'd have an underhanded way of getting rid of him.”
“Sorry, no can do. He's Scott's father.”
Paula sighed and looked out to sea. “I don't have to like this.”
“Yes, you do. This is a chance to meet a part of Scott you don't know and to understand his heritage. It wouldn't hurt you to read up on Kenyan history and culture. I was there several times and thought it quite an amazing country. The Masai culture is so proud and rich and the wild life you can see out on the grasslands is breath taking. Did I ever tell you the story about the elephant charging my jeep?”
Paula smiles. The conversation is over. She will have to deal with her own demons and come to terms with them. There will be no coping out of this issue. I won't have it. We go on to talk of lesser things.
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. Riots after the Rodney King verdict have broken out in Los Angeles. Who is to blame for the fire that destroyed the cult compound in Waco, Texas? The Chunnel linking Britain and Europe has opened and Lorena Bobbitt settled a domestic issue with a cutting edge solution. She cut off her husband's privates. More after this.”
Saturday mornings with Kathy. We'd lie in bed snuggling and then shower together. I loved the way the body wash formed bubble islands on her soft flesh. Then, they'd suddenly slide down her form following her curves. My lips followed. The taste of spice pear and that unique fragrance of my partner on my lips. My partner. As much my wife as any legal bond could make us. That as many as 30 million people in the US alone could be denied the right to marriage because of their sexual orientation for so many years boggles the mind. It seemed freedom meant you must be or at least act like a white, Anglo-Saxon, protestant. I don't feel Churches should be forced to give up their views. They are entitled to their beliefs, no matter how misguided, but the law should be impartial, treating all its citizens equally.
“What are you thinking about Jackie?” Kathy asks as she towels me down.
“About the gay marriage issue.”
Kathy laughs. “Cunningham, you are impossible. Here we've had some wonderful fore play in the shower and I now stand naked in front of you and you are thinking about politics.”
“Unfair.” Taking her hand I lead her back to our bed and show her just how much I'm aware of her sexuality. Saturday morning sex.
I remember that Saturday might not have been so perfect. Adam was coming to visit that evening. We hadn't seen eye to eye over the issue of him staying in the navy. It was a sore point that went way back. After he'd finished his B.Sc I'd wanted him to go on and get his doctorate in marine biology. Instead, he joined the navy. He seemed determined to make the navy his life. I was equally determined that he quit.
Kathy watched me pace around our living room like a prize fighter waiting for the match. “Jackie, you are a hard-headed idiot do you know that?”
“What?”
“I know that look. You are pissed because Adam has decided to stay on in the navy. You just can't stand not having your own way.”
“That's not it at all. Adam has a fine mind and I want him to have every opportunity for advancement.”
“Rubbish. Adam is already an experienced officer. He's seen the world and will be able to retire in due time with a reasonable pension. It might not have been the career you wanted for him, but it's the life he wanted. Jackie, it's time to accept Adam's decision. How many years are you going to hold this grudge?”
“It's not a grudge.”
“Is too.”
I considering letting my temper show and then I see the gentle, compassion in Kathy's eyes. She understood how I felt, but she wanted Adam to have his freedom. Freedom to be who he wanted to be. I smile and go over and get a sympathetic hug. “Okay, I'll be supportive.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. Nelson Mandela once a prisoner of South Africa is now their new president. OJ Simpson has been arrested and charged with the double murder of his wife and a visitor to her home. The sarin gas attack in a crowded Tokyo subway has opened a new, terrifying chapter in terrorism and the Oklahoma City bombing has Americans fearing new home grown terror. More after this.”
I wake with a guilty start. It's Scott. “Aunt Jackie? It's Doctor Parlow on your phone. She said she needs to speak to you.” He hands me my cordless phone.
“You can call her Aunt Edith. She's one of our extended family.” I wink at him and Scott tries to wink back. He hasn't quite mastered the skill.
“Hi Edith. What's up?”
“I'm fine, thanks, Jackie and how are you?
“Still dying and still without any social skills.”
“Terrifying. I've phoned to remind you that you gave your solemn oath on a stack of freshly baked cinnamon rolls that you would not attach any strings to the job of medical officer at the Institute and on the job at the clinic.”
“Yes! Lynne Evans is coming.”
“I have talked to her and warned her numerous times that you cann't be trusted any farther than your shadow. Seems the hospital where she trained has a decompression chamber and she's worked with it before. Yes, she is interested in both jobs. Rather excited about it, actually. She's looking forward to spending more time with me. I have to admit I'd enjoy that. I rattle around this old house now Jeff's gone.”
“When is she coming?”
“Tonight. She has an interview at the clinic tomorrow and one with the Institute Board the next day.”
“You've been scheming behind my back!”
“It's the only way to deal with you. Besides, Lynne needs to get these jobs on her own not with your strong arming. Do you hear me, Jackie?”
“I promised, didn't I. You've given me no notice, but I'm sure if I phone I can get Adam to pick her up at the airport.”
“Jackie!”
“You hate driving in the dark in case a moose steps in front of your car. She'll need dinner, I imagine. What time is her flight tonight?”
“I don't believe you.” Edith sighs and then laughs. “What did I expect? No, I don't like driving at night and yes, I'd appreciate it if Adam would pick her up and take her out to dinner before bringing her over.”
“They might be late getting there so don't sit up. I gotta hang up now and phone Adam. Thanks Edith, this is going to work out really well.”
“Remember your promise!”
“Bye.”
I dial Adam. Why do we still say dial when we've push buttoned for years? “Hi Adam. How's things aboard ship?”
“The electrician has the labs wired and we're starting to set up the lab equipment.”
“Good. Listen, I have a big favour to ask of you.”
“I remind you that you told my ex that I had an incurable disease. We are not in the favour category at the moment.”
“Ohhh, sulky. This favour is for Edith Parlow.”
“For her, I will do a favour, if I can.”
“Her niece is flying in tonight and Edith doesn't like driving at night on account of Newfoundland being over populated with moose. Could you pick her up?”
“Is she twelve,” he asks suspiciously.
“Twenty-nine. Just finished her internship and is hoping to get a medical practice on the island. She's really close to Edith. She's got some interviews, Edith tells me, one with our Institute and one with the clinic. She's coming in on the eight thirty out of Fredericton, New Brunswick.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“Wear your uniform.”
There is a silence. “Why?”
“She's good looking, single and will need dinner before heading over to Edith's.”
“Shit! Aunt Jackie, you have the balls of a bull. You're trying to set me up!”
“I said I would. I always keep my word. She's coming out here for interviews. I knew nothing about that. I'm just taking advantage of a serendipitous moment. I think you'll like her. I met her last spring and she's a humdinger.”
“I don't think I'm ready for another relationship at the moment.”
“Sure, sure. We'll just let the wedding rice fall where it may.”
“Aunt Jackie!”
“I'm joking, Adam. Just do this favour for - Edith. Okay?”
“Okay, but butt out of my personnel life.”
I heard through the grape vine the next morning that it was after midnight when Adam dropped Lynne off at Edith's. I have good feelings about this. I won't be there to see Adam married, but I can go to The Great Oblivion knowing that I gave him a gentle nudge in a good direction.
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. Mad cow disease has broken out in Britain and there are fears that it could spread to North America. In a quiet ceremony, Britain returned its colony of Hong Kong to China. The people's princess, Diana, died along with her current boyfriend, Dodi Fayed and their chauffeur in a car crash while trying to escape pursuing paparazzi. And Tiger Woods is the Masters champion. Details, after these messages from our sponsors.”
The weeks pass. Time now has no meaning. The pain pills I take leave me feeling disoriented. I sleep a lot. Around me, Paula and company are busy getting the Institute and ship up and ready for the official opening. I have done all I can with the present. I spend my time in the past even there the years slip through my memory faster and faster.
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. The Titanic has quickly become the most successful movie ever. President Clinton faces impeachment over girlfriend's visits to the White House. A new drug, Viagra, has older males smiling again. And with the millennium around the corner, people are becoming more concerned about the Y2K bug crashing our computers. More after this.”
It had become a tradition on a Sunday afternoon when there was nothing better to do to get together to talk over the week and have a barbecue. Adam and Paula were out in the backyard burning the steaks. I've told them I like my steak rare. Just warm the blood up, I said. They don't listen. Lynne and Edith are in the kitchen with me. They are getting salads and desserts ready and I'm supervising. Cate and Scott are shuffling food items and weapons of culinary war out to the picnic table.
“So I hear you've accepted positions both at the clinic and the Institute, Lynne.”
“Yes. The jobs are both part time, but I think they will keep me busy until I can establish myself here. Aunt Edith has been kind enough to offer me lodgings at her place until I can find a place of my own. Adam has been terrific in showing me around and introducing me to people. He and Paula are already talking about providing room aboard ship for a proper sick bay.”
“That's a good idea. The sea is no place for wimps. Accidents happen and I wouldn't want Adam's fine body damaged.”
Edith gives me a look. “Here eat this hot buttered roll and have less to say.”
Lynne laughs. She knows her aunt and I are close friends. I know, although they've tried their best to keep it from me, that Adam and Lynne have been seeing each other fairly regularly.
“So you're thinking of becoming an Islander, are you?”
Lynne hands me a mug of tea to go with my roll. “I've always wanted to live out here ever since I was a little kid and we'd come to stay with Aunt Edith and Uncle Jeff.”
“Newfie's travel far and wide, but we always come home eventually.”
Edith rolls her eyes and explains to Lynne rather unnecessarily, I thought. “Jackie was born in England, raised in Ottawa and spent most of her career in the US.”
“I'm a Newfie in my heart.” I protest.
“You, Cunningham, don't have a heart just an ink pot and a pen.”
“That's it, you're out of the will again and I was going to leave you may favourite pull over.”
“The grey one with the patches on the elbows and the frayed collar?”
“It belonged to Dale and it has magical powers.”
Edith gives my shoulder a squeeze as she goes by. She knows better than too get all mushy on me. “It must be magical to have survived living on you. Has it seen action?”
“Only in bed.”
They both laugh. Edith swats a towel at me. “You're impossible!”
“Good Evening. I'm Jackie Cunningham and this is the News in Review. JFK Jr, his wife and her sister died when their plane crashed into the ocean during a thunderstorm. The nation is stunned by the senseless killing spree by three students at Colorado's Columbine high school. It's a new millennium! I Love You virus has downed thousands of computers around the world. There is no clear answer as to who won the US presidential election. And the USS Cole has been bombed by terrorists. More to come. Stay tuned.”
Summer has rolled around again. The fogs of spring giving way to blue skies and warm breezes. It's time for the annual gathering of the clan. Paula has set me up on a comfortable lounge with a supply of junk food and a beer beside me. I watch the family form their usual groups. Laurel is pregnant again. She is the main cause of world over population. I think this is her fifth. Her husband Neil is hanging about the fringes of the group of men. The poor dear is such a nerd. He must have balls because Laurel is always pregnant, but I think she keeps them in the side table beside their bed. She certainly wouldn't trust him to wear them. The herd of nieces, nephews and cousins are starting to grow up. They have given up childish games for sports and music. A group is playing volley ball on the lawn and the remainder are bobbing their heads in an offbeat pattern, their various choice of music blaring into their heads. I'm glad to see that Scott has fitted in and is taking his turn playing volley ball. Earl is refereeing the game standing on a chair by the net. He looks a bit like a circus elephant balanced on a drum. He really must lose some weight. Paula and Cate are acting as hostesses, a role I have gladly given up.
I can lie on my lounge under the tree and be waited on hand and foot. Naturally, the family appeared one by one courting my favours. First, had been Laurel dragging poor Neil along.
“Aunt Jackie, how are you doing? I've been so worried about you. Haven't I Neil?”
“Yes, yes, worried.”
“Still alive and kicking. When are you due?”
“Not for a few months yet. You must convince, Neil to buy me a new van, Aunt Jackie. There are so many appointments I need to take the children too - doctors, preschool, painting classes, t-ball practice. I love the trucks you bought Paula and Cate. How nice for them.”
Neil has gone red. “Laurel, we have talked about this. Maybe next year if I get a bonus.”
Laurel, of course, is trying to guilt me into buying her a van. She should know better. She'll get her share of my estate pretty soon anyway. I refuse to buy wheels for her expanding gene pool. “Maybe you should have thought about this before you conceived a herd.”
Realizing that she'd met a brick wall, Laurel drops a few more half-hearted pleasantries and pulls Neil off to talk to someone more promising. Next in line is Douglas, the Director of Education and horse's ass.
“Aunt Jackie! My you look good.”
“I look like a skinned roadrunner. You don't look much better.” This was probably less than tactful, but he did look like hell. He'd aged noticeably. I move my legs aside to leave room for Douglas to plant his large ass on the end of my lounge. “Here sit down and tell me what's the matter.” Of course, I know what the matter is. They live well above their income and have debts up to their eyeballs.
“Nothing's the matter really just some short term shortages. The recession, you know. Everyone is in the same boat.”
“I'm not. I invested conservatively. So what have you done?”
“Nothing irresponsible, Aunt Jackie. I saw a financial planner who showed me that by withdrawing my pension and investing it in high gain stock I could make a lot more money.”
“Lost your shirt, did you?”
Douglas manages a weak laugh. “Well, my pension anyway and I've had to remortgage the house to cover some short falls. I won't lie. It's weighing heavily on me, Aunt Jackie. I-I'm close to bankruptcy. If it was just me it wouldn't matter, but I've a wife and kids.”
I consider. Douglas would be getting his share of my estate, but it sounded like it might arrive too late in that I wasn't in any hurry to go. “I left you and your family a little something in my will. I guess there would be no harm in advancing some money's to help you over this difficult time. You leave the name of your lawyer and bank with me and I'll have my lawyer see to things first thing on Monday.”
Douglas seems to wilt with relief. Tears well in his eyes. I'm very much afraid that there is going to be one of those embarrassing emotional moments. “Aunt Jackie, I don't know what to say. I'm so ...”
“Do me a favour and don't mention it again. You're a horse's ass, Douglas, you always have been but you're family. Now go have a beer and leave me in peace.”
He gets up with difficulty. The lounge is low and he has a good deal of bulk. “Aunt Jackie...”
“Go or I'll change my mind.”
He hesitates, drops a kiss on my cheek and heads off much to me relief. I wipe my cheek. The guy has fish lips. He won't be so pleased when he finds out I've covered his debts and re-established a pension for him and Mary that won't allow him to touch any of the capitol. He can look at that healthy investment all he wants, but all he'll see of it is his monthly cheques when he turns sixty.
I sigh and close my eyes to rest them. Okay, I might have drifted off to sleep. Anyway, I woke with a start because I was dreaming I was drowning. There stood Laurel's girl, Amy. I've had my eye on her, she marches to her own drummer. At the moment, she's not marching but standing there with a water gun and a big smile.
“You were sleeping. You shouldn't sleep at your own party so I woke you up.”
“Thanks. Do that again and you'll be wearing that water gun in your left ear.”
Amy giggles. “I like you. Mommy said that you wrote for newspapers and TV.”
“Something like that.”
“I want to be a writer like Rowlings. I'm going to write about unicorns and mermaids and stuff.”
“It's the stuff part that makes you the money, remember that.”
Amy nods her head seriously. “I will.”
I look around. “I see your Uncle Earl is looking awfully hot standing on that chair by the volley ball net. You'd better hoof it down there and turn that blaster on him. Tell him I sent you.”
“All right.” Off she goes on her mission of mercy with what I can only call a predatory look. Yup, that kid had promise. I barely get to enjoy the sight of Earl standing in a puddle when Agnes comes over and plonks herself down on my lounge.
“Hi, Jackie. You know how to throw a good party.”
There was a strong smell of whiskey about her that was in sharp contrast to her Ode to a Dying Lilac perfume. I wave my hand under my nose. “Hell, Agnes, how much booze have you had?”
“You know Jackie, I used to hate to come to your yearly family gathering. William said we had to because you were family. But really, Jackie, you were the rotten branch. I hoped if I came, you'd leave something to the kids because William said you were filthy rich. Now, I don't give a damn because I drink.” She giggles merrily and then burps and giggles again.
“I'm filthy rich and you'll all be very happy people when I pop off. Not only won't I embarrass you anymore, but I'll leave you all very comfortable.”
“Yes, and that's very good of you, Jackie. Not that I want you to pop off. I mean that would be rude wouldn't it? I've quite come to understand you since we had that little heart to heart on the bluff last winter.”
“That wasn't a heart to heart. It was a bottle to bottle.”
Agnes nodded. “It was. I needed it too. I've been drinking ever since I got here, I think.”
“Well, you are a much better drunk than you are a sober citizen.”
“Here! Here!” Agnes laughs and almost falls off the lounge.
It's Paula who comes to her rescue. “Come on, mom, I'd better get you something to eat and a coffee.”
“Here! Here!”
I watch them go and smile. I have great hopes for Agnes too, she might turn out in her old age to be a decent human being. I feel like all the ends are coming together and that makes me happy and content. I haven't got long now. Maybe weeks. It's good to see life unfolding as it should. What more could one ask?
Cate wakes me to come and eat. It's late afternoon by the time the family gathering starts to break up and people head off in various directions. I'm told the gathering was its usual success. Maybe, maybe not, but families should get together and rub their shoulder chips off now and again. I'm happy. I'm content.
Chapter Seven: The Day the World Changed
The millennium. Life was going so fast that it seemed a blur. The Y2K bug failed to materialize. Our computers didn't collapse because the 1900s ended. The ATMs continued to work and Wall Street continued to function. Kathy and I went to Times Square and watched the crystal ball drop with thousands of New Yorkers. Life went on.
2001. I remember the day in minute detail. I always will. I got up early to take Kathy to the Newwark airport to catch a flight out west for a conference. I hadn't even got back home when my cell phone rang.
“Get to the studio right away. Some asshole just flew a damn plane into the Twin Towers.” I turned on my car radio and listened to the reports as they came in. No one realized what was really going on. It was 9:30 by the time I reached the studio. Flight 11 and Flight 175 had already impacted the Twin Towers. Flight 77 was about to crash into the Pentagon. As yet, flight 93 had not been high jacked. By the time I got upstairs that all had changed.
“Fill me in,” I snapped, barging into the news room.
My copyist, Rhonda, was already heading in my direction. “Two airliners have hit the Twin Towers. Another has hit the Pentagon and we've just heard that a fourth flight, United Airlines 93, has been high jacked and is heading towards Washington.”
United Airlines Flight 93. 93, 93, 93! The words echo in my mind. Kathy's flight. They tell me Rhonda steadied me and got me to a chair. I sat there for the next twenty hours listening to the reports. I sat. Long after I knew that Kathy must be dead. I sat. I was offered food and coffee but took none. People hugged me and offered to take me home or to the hospital. I shook my head. I sat. I watched with the rest of America. The next morning, Rhonda drove me home. The house seemed so empty.
Some weeks later, I would go to the airport and receive Kathy's flag-draped coffin. I had spent half my life on planes. Dear God, why couldn't it have been me?
I had Kathy cremated and took her ashes, along with a bag of soil from her home town, back to Newfoundland. She's buried in the same graveyard as Mom and Dale. Buried in a bit of American soil in Canada. We'd planned to retire here. Marry. Planned to spend our old age together. It wasn't to be. Edith and Jeff were there for me. They had just decided to retire and move permanently to Newfoundland.
I never go back to work. I could have, but I decided I don't want to. I wanted to come home, back to Canada after all those years. I wanted to stay close to Kathy. I spend the first two years of my retirement writing my memoirs as all good media people do. It turned out to be a best seller. I'm sued several times but win. You can't be sued for telling the truth. My memoirs were about the public me. They were brutal but fair to those who deserve it. The book made me even more money.
Life has come full circle. Fall is approaching and at last, the Jackie Cunningham Oceanography and Research Institute is up and operating, if on a limited basis at this point. I'm pleased that I got to see the project through.
I have picked this day carefully and I'm delighted that it's a beautiful, late summer's day. The Eurybia has been launched and the research centre is well on the way. Paula and Cate have gone to pick up Scott, who has been visiting his dad in Montreal and Adam is busy aboard the ship. Before they left, we celebrated my birthday. I'm 72. Edith was there and we had a good many laughs.
I'm sick. Very sick. I've lost a lot of weight and I was pretty slim to start with. I won't let anyone hug me anymore because it hurts and I fear my bones will snap. I sleep a lot, despite the pain.
With effort I get into Vomit and slowly head over to Edith's. When I arrive, she comes out to help me out.
“Did I see you take a swing at my mail box with your cane?”
“It's okay, I missed.”
Edith laughs. “You are so evil.”
“Why, thank you. Are there cinnamon buns for the mug up?”
“Of course.”
We talk about the research centre and Scott returning for school. We don't talk about what is on our minds until I go to get into Vomit. I turn to give Edith a hug.
“I should have made a pass at you years ago.”
“And wouldn't we have been the pair! Our friendship is very special.”
“Yes, it is. I've asked Paula to let you use my granny flat after I'm gone. She thinks it's a wonderful idea. This place is getting too big for you to manage all year. You'll need to think about a smaller place to stay soon. Scott will need having his Aunty Edith close. He'll need that. And besides, if all goes well, Adam and Lynne will need your place.”
“You never give up, do you, Cunningham?”
“Never. Right up to the end I'm playing by my rules.”
Tears roll down Edith's face. “Do you have to do this, Jackie?”
I give her a poke to lighten the mood, but my voice is soft when I speak. “I've left it too long as it is. You, of all people, know that. I will not be dependent on others. Besides, I have always lived it my way and I see no reason to change now. I've left a letter and the diary I've kept over the last few years on the kitchen table for Paula and Adam.”
She manages a weak smile. “Okay.”
I give her another hug and carefully climb into Vomit. “You'll know when to call 911.”
“Yes.”
“Tally ho!” I wave my cane and head off in Vomit. I don't head home, but instead I cut off and cross the field of wild flowers and up the hill to the bluff. I can no longer walk there. I always planned that I would, but I have left this day too long. There was just so much to do. I get out carefully, and then, lean forward to take Dale's gun out from under the seat.
The warm breeze, laden with the scent of the sea and wild flowers, plays with my hair. The sun warms my skin. I turn to look inland. In the distance, I can see the new research centre, nestled among the scrub oaks. It looks new and out of place, but it will mellow into its surrounding in time. To my right, my family home sits graciously overlooking the sea. To the left, I can see Edith's house and Edith standing on her front porch. I wave, before turning around again. I look out at the sea. She is calm today, lapping playfully at the shore. Overhead, the sea gulls call me to come home. The tide of life has tossed me about like flotsam and jetsam. Like everyone, I have endured my storms and shipwrecks. I have no regrets. Life has been one wonderful adventure. For those close to me, I leave behind an amazing sea of possibilities. Life is so worth living.
A Last Letter
Hi Paula, Adam, Cate and Scott,
I have been writing this diary since the first day we walked along the beach over two years ago, Paula. It started with letters and to round it off properly, I'm ending it with a letter. I know you are all upset, although why you should mourn someone who has lived life well is beyond me. Stop moping and get on with the Institute and your lives as soon as possible and make me proud.
I fear, in a moment of macabre emotion, you'll write one of those silly, sweet eulogies for the papers. You know, the ones where the person was wonderful in every way, loved and missed by all and who died peacefully in their sleep. So to avoid this atrocity I've written my own. See it gets in the papers. Like all good journalists, I want my last words in print.
I, Jackie Cunningham, died on a sun drenched bluff overlooking the ocean. I was 73. I was a damn good journalist and commentator and will be missed by anyone who has any common sense. I have few regrets, having lived life to the utmost. I got through life helping where I could and doing as little harm as possible. I loved Kathy with all my heart and even feel close to most of my family and friends. I went screaming and kicking to the end and then picked my own time and place and went out with a bang. Life is good. Live it well.”
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