"Presumption Of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Shaughnessy Perri)

14

E LIZABETH GOLD’S SUNDAY TURNED OUT TO be eventful too. After packing her new Subaru with water and sunscreen, she left before dawn that morning, heading east into Los Padres National Forest, to Tassajara Hot Springs. She wanted to get the most out of her visit, and knew she had a two-and-a-half-hour trip on G-16 to get there.

She had a bad taste to expunge after her foray to Siesta Court the night before.

For the first thirty miles, she enjoyed the expanses of yellow and olive-green hillsides, the dry grasses rolling like ocean waves in the hot wind, the occasional ranchito with its grazing horses, then the forest closing in. At the tiny community of Jamesburg the asphalt ended and the warning signs began: TASSAJARA ROAD IS IMPASSABLE DURING WET WEATHER. THE MONASTERY IS CLOSED FROM SEPTEMBER TO MAY, PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB THE MONKS.

As the road climbed steeply and ruts and stones took over, she switched to four-wheel drive, slowed down, and bumped and ground her way the last fourteen miles up Chews Ridge and down into the Tassajara Creek Basin, reminding herself with each teeth-clattering lurch how much she needed this retreat.

Morning’s overcast broke and the sun began to burn hot. After checking in with a friendly student, she strolled around the monastery grounds, starting at the footbridge. She walked the length and breadth of the property, over the footbridge, up the path to the yurt, breathing in the smells of the forest around, enjoying the security of the hills that framed the central clearing.

Since the sixties, Tassajara had undergone a slow metamorphosis and now included, in addition to the redwood cabin complex built in the mid-seventies, bathhouses, plunges and hot springs, stone meditation rooms, and a large dining room and dormitory. Too remote for tourists, this serene paradise was visited only by those seeking peace.

Holding her towel and water bottle and stepping carefully in her sandals, Elizabeth picked her way to her favorite boulder next to the river, where random rocks made art of the landscape. A branch hung down and sheltered a flat spot on this river rock.

She looked up the mountain at the broad scar running all the way down its flank, from the wildfire a few years before that had forced the monks to evacuate. No fire now, just heat, the hillsides shimmering with it.

Today the temperature might top a hundred degrees. She would go inside by 10:00 A.M. During the winter and fall months, the monastery closed to all visitors, while its residents engaged in intensive, ninety-day practice periods called ango. Elizabeth had done that in September. She had mourned a lot and slept a lot. One day she had enough, and went home. Simple, like Zen.

Today, she would return home before sunset. Finding a spot in shade on her boulder, crossing her legs, she sat for a long time amid the disheveled business of her Self, not trying for anything or expecting anything, just sitting. Like a monk of old on a rock above the river, she heard rushing water, allowed patterns of light to drift through her downcast eyes.

Old thought-patterns arose and she let them in.

They had died in a head-on collision in San Francisco. She had been at home, taking a nap. Five years it has been, she thought in wonderment.

She breathed in and out on her rock.

What she couldn’t get over was that at the moment of impact she hadn’t even woken up, hadn’t had enough of a connection with them even to feel them cry out as they left the earth. A certain moment occurred and all she loved was gone. She had nowhere to go and nothing to do and several million dollars from her dead husband. From her dead daughter, May, she had only memories.

For a while she drifted around like a wraith. She went to Kyoto and Dharamsala and Mount Kailash and other holy places, avoiding people. She ended up back in the high-rise in San Francisco, seeing a shrink three times a week. May’s last moments came to her frequently in her dreams.

After a long time, Elizabeth gathered herself together again. She still didn’t think she deserved to be alive, but she made a contract with life-to spend it helping others.

And so she went to Africa for two years and gave most of the money to various groups and worked for Médecins Sans Frontières until she came down with dengue fever and had to be airlifted out. She despised herself for her lack of stamina even more, but she stayed in the U.S. this time. She joined an environmental group in Humboldt County protesting logging of first-growth forest there, and for two weeks she even sat in a tree.

During a visit to her sister and a subsequent retreat at Tassajara, she saw Carmel Valley and thought, I’ll build a home there, close to the monastery, close to a place to run to.

Then, when the home was finished nearly two years later, she again looked around for something to save.

Moving into traditional political activism and Valley conservation issues, she worked furiously and gave more money, and soon she was a member of several local boards and commissions that were trying to stop further degradation of the viewsheds and water sources into the Valley.

And finally she decided to get back on the Ph.D. track. Why? Because there were still so many nights when she sat alone in her living room, drinking brandy, thinking too much. She got a Ph.D. committee together and chose a subject, and found it gave her a reason to wake up in the morning.

Stop running the pictures, she thought. She came back to the rock, the river, and the breathing.

And fell back into her blackest place.

And let the waves of pain wash away, then return in their eternal cycle.

She didn’t know how long she sat, legs cramping, sunshine burning down through the leaves, but when she came out of the moment and back to the setting, she noticed the shadows around the oaks and chaparral had shrunken. Her arms had turned red. Her stomach growled and her back ached. The stream ran below. She reached into her bag and had a meditative smoke, then stood up, making her way to the dining room for food.

Although several others were eating their plates of rice on wooden picnic tables outside and were involved in small discussions, she avoided them as always, moving away to sit on some wooden steps, eating under the lines and shadows of a cooling trellis. She didn’t want to waste her time in group chitchat. She had had enough of that at the party on Siesta Court the night before.

After she finished eating, she soaked in the outdoor pool lined in round stones outside the bathhouse, then moved inside to the tile tub, all the time staying out of conversations. One thing about people here, they left you alone.

Lying in the hot tub, she began thinking about how the events at the party the night before might fit into her thesis.

Too bad about Britta outing the recordings. She had continued to tape anyway. Nobody expected that, so she did it. Nevertheless, last night’s Siesta Court party would be her final information-gathering session. The newbies and locals could interact without her interference from now on.

Getting out, she dried off and changed. She had the tape to transcribe and scholarly thoughts to express, objective thoughts that never got out of hand. Lapsang souchong to drink. Another day to get through.

The long drive back went quickly. She felt renewed by her mini-retreat, and the trees and hills flashed by like benevolent green presences in a beautiful world. She even thought to herself at one point, am I getting better?

Dark had come. Elizabeth turned on the light in her kitchen and found some cold brown rice in the fridge. She added some plain yogurt and that took care of dinner.

Bath time. She drew it out, shaving her legs carefully, letting all the hot water run out. She found a blue silk kimono in a bamboo pattern to wear, fitting for the day and her mood. With a towel, she ruffled her wet hair.

The silence of the house surrounded her. She descended the stairway, moving various things out of her mind, the sound of the floors creaking, the emptiness of the bedrooms. She checked her watch with a kind of despair. Nine, too early to go to bed yet. Do some work.

The biggest room downstairs was octagonal and painted forest green. There, she kept her desk and her work. And there, she stared out the window at the hillsides and the moon. Adjusting herself in her chair, she picked up the standard cassette, labeled it, and set it into the compartment of the transcribing machine she used.

The doorbell made her jerk.

She peered through the side windows that showed her who might come calling, though no one except FedEx and Debbie ever did.

She reached for the handle of the door and opened it.

“But why have you come?” she asked.

Darryl Eubanks sat on the wicker settee across from her desk. She leaned over in the Queen Anne chair, attending to the pot on the brass tray on the wooden chest. He sipped the sweet smoky tea she had handed him and grimaced.

“You don’t like it.”

“I hafta say, I’m an orange pekoe man, myself.”

“Someone I know bought this at Ten-Lin in San Francisco. It’s the best.”

“I believe you. I’m no connoisseur. Nice photos. Wow.”

“They’re from Tanzania.”

“It’s a very impressive house,” Darryl said. He wore a sport jacket and jeans and was sober, or she wouldn’t have let him in.

“Bigger than I need. I know,” she said.

“I didn’t mean that. It’s just… teachers live in reduced circumstances these days. It makes Tory so mad, the way we’re underrated.”

“I can understand that.”

“Because she believes we deserve more.”

“She’s right. What do you teach?”

“Phys ed. Eighth grade.”

“I thought you were a firefighter.”

“Oh. I am, but it’s volunteer work.”

“Right. Do you like it?”

Darryl laughed. “It’s a duty. I dread being called out to a fire. But we have to work together or the whole forest would burn down some summer. I got called up to your neighborhood on the ridge fire. It came within a quarter mile of you. You were lucky.”

“You fought the fire? I owe you for that, Darryl. All that smoke, the sirens-”

“We almost had to evacuate you.”

“I didn’t know it came so close.”

“Ted and Megan’s new place almost burned down. Don’t know how we saved it, really. I was worried about you. I watched out for you.”

“Well, thank you, Darryl. Thanks for doing that.” They were keeping up the convention that he had dropped by after dark just because he was in the neighborhood. Elizabeth wondered what form the pass would take-would he sweep her into his arms? Get down on his knees? She felt curious and a little cruel. He had no right to be here. He had children, a wife. He was acting outside the mores, hers as well as his.

Then she thought sadly, I’m too lonely, tonight, to turn even this away.

What would she do when he made the pass?

His eyes ate her up.

Darryl was saying, “Actually, I came over to apologize. For my behavior at the block party last night. I made a fool out of myself.”

“Do you remember what you said, when you grabbed my arm and pulled me over toward the deck?”

His face went red. “To be honest, I don’t know exactly what I blurted out.”

“I’ll forget about it too, then.”

“Thanks. I’m not so good at talking even when I haven’t had a couple of beers.”

“Uh huh.”

“So,” Darryl said. He had run out of conversational gambits, so he just sat there.

“So.” Elizabeth nodded. She felt like slapping his big slow face, giving him the back of her hand a few times, to see if he could wake up. If only he would cut to the chase, because she was losing even her curiosity now.

Finally he resumed, “Britta got pretty wild there at the end.”

“It’s not the first time.”

“What was that all about? The recordings you were making? What were they?” He sounded abrupt.

“I’m… curious about people.”

“You sure had us freaked.”

“I gather information,” she said. “For my work. Just general things. I’m sorry it made everyone so self-conscious. That was never my intention.”

“You expected something to happen there? Have you always taped the parties?”

“No.” A lie. He really wanted to know, she could see that in his face, and she wasn’t about to tell him.

“I always hoped you were having fun. I always thought you seemed lonely. What kind of work do you mean?”

“Forget about it, Darryl. It was stupid of me.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Danny or the fires, does it?”

“Of course not.”

“What are you going to do with the tape?”

“Oh, give it a rest, will you? Do you want some more tea? Otherwise, let’s call it a night.”

“Because we’re good people on Siesta Court. Family people. Maybe you should give me the tape.” A warning, as if he felt she must be inimical to them? She wasn’t inimical, she was merely objective. Darryl was a local. He would never understand her work.

“Of course I won’t give you the tape,” she said. He shook his head in disappointment and stared at her body under the robe. He was young, strong, and not bad-looking, and she thought about him again.

“You’re widowed, aren’t you,” Darryl said. She almost breathed a sigh of relief as he finally got into it.

“Yes.” She noted clinically that she had been able to answer without a stab of pain for the first time.

“Tory and I met when we were thirteen.”

“Very young.”

“Right. And we were together for five years before either of us mentioned marriage. I left college and came back here to finish up.”

“Do you think you married too young?”

“Now I do. We weren’t really ready. Tory didn’t want to leave her family here in the Valley. I…”

“You?”

“I could live anywhere. I could live in Tanzania, teach school. I’m different from Tory.” He put his hands on his knees and his body tensed slightly.

You think you’re better than Tory? Elizabeth thought. You’re so wrong. I’ve got you all figured out, right down to clumsy adultery, if you can manage it. She felt contempt, and realized she had made her decision.

“To be honest, Tory and I have grown apart. She’s content leaving things as they are. We talk about the kids, visit family-I keep thinking I’ve missed out on some important things in life.”

“Must be hard, having a wife who doesn’t understand you.”

“Yeah.”

Moisture formed on his upper lip. She couldn’t stand it any longer. “Darryl?” she said. “Why did you come here tonight?”

“I always wanted to. You’re all alone,” he said, “and so nice-looking. I love your black hair. I love those blue eyes of yours. I don’t think I’ve seen such a shade before, ever. I love the way you live, so free.”

Elizabeth finished her tea. She poured herself another, then topped off Darryl’s cup. “You thought I seemed lonely?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Because I’m not married and live alone in this big house?”

“Because of… aw, shit. I’m not so good at this.”

“True.”

“I’m tryin’ to say… you and I could…”

“Could what?”

He pushed his foot out until it touched hers. Raising his eyes, he looked for a response in hers. “You’re so beautiful.” He leaned close enough to touch her cheek. “All my life I’ve done the things that were expected of me. Just once I want-I want-”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know a lot. I know you lost your family…” He seemed to realize that he had said something wrong. He stopped.

Elizabeth stood up. “I suppose you all talk about me behind my back.”

“Of course I know about you. I’ve had my bad times. Everybody has.”

“You with your four beautiful children. You say you envy my freedom. Maybe you also envy my money. Well, I envy you your babies. Go back to Tory,” Elizabeth said.

“Doesn’t a man have a right to pursue love in his life? I could help you. You’re so sad. We could be good for each other. I could surprise you.”

“Go home, Darryl.”

He stood up to full height. “You need a man, Elizabeth. You’re young and beautiful. You couldn’t save them, but you could still save yourself.”

“Get out!” she cried, thinking, You pompous asshole! You predatory married man! He was tall and close and burning to grab her. She stepped backward behind the study door and held it, ready to slam it in his face.

“Don’t come back!” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Darryl said. “I’ll go. I don’t know how to talk to you. But I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, and I can’t fight it. I can’t.”