Gift of the Golden Mountain (54 page)

Thea bounded in, long arms waving in free, floating movements: "Look, look," she said, dangling a card too close to my eyes for me to be able to read it. "It's my driver's license," she chanted. "The temporary one they give you right after you pass the test. You are looking at a certified California driver!" Karin stood behind her, hands clasped behind her back, delighted.

     "Who would ever have thought it?" I teased. "That is quite a wonderful achievement."

     Thea was dancing around the cottage, her long, slender legs threading their way perfectly through the small empty spaces like
a butterfly, a graceful burst of delight. She came to rest behind Karin, her arms folded on her stepmother's shoulders. "And guess who is going to drive me to pick up my friend Amanda and then go on to our dance lesson? Guess!"

     "I could never imagine," I pretended.

     "Me! Yours truly. Thea Ward, licensed California vehicle driver."

     "Sweetie," Karin began, "I'm not sure if . . ."

     "You promised," Thea came back, holding Karin very tight from behind, as if to fortify her resolve. "You said I could at least drive from Aunt Faith's to my lesson and back, and Amanda's is on the way. You did say I could . . ."

     "I thought I said 'maybe'. . ."

     "No 'maybes,'" Thea said, giving Karin a quick kiss before releasing her, pirouetting perfectly, then breezing out the door. "I'll come straight back. No detours, two hours longest, not to worry . . ." and she was off.

Karin sank back in a chair and grinned at me. "She is so pleased with herself," she said, "getting a driver's license really is a rite of passage for today's kids."

     She took a deep breath, and I could almost see the happy mood begin to dissipate.

     "Let's sit out on the back deck," I suggested, "we have to make some good use of this sunshine while we've got it, and you can admire my dahlias."

     "Sunshine and dahlias," she said, and for a moment I thought she had something more to add, but she hadn't. She lay back on the big redwood chaise, closed her eyes, and told me May had called her at eight that morning, from Paris.

     "Hayes has been offered a position with the State Department," she told me.

     It caught me by surprise, which must have shown because
Karin said, "I know. I wouldn't have thought it, either, he has been on the other side for so long."

     "What does May think about it?"

     "May has always been determined to be apolitical, you know that—because of her father, what it did to him. What is important to her is that Hayes come to terms with himself, that he has a clear idea of what he wants to do. She says he feels he hasn't been able to accomplish anything outside of the power structure, and that events seem to be pushing him to work from within. Or at least to give it a try. May is pretty certain he is going to take it, and that is fine with her because what she wants is to make a life with him. She did say that Washington is a good place for her to be, too. She thinks she can finish her part of the Ring of Fire project by June if she works her tail off. In the meantime, with Hayes in Washington they can meet halfway in San Francisco, instead of these incredibly long flights all over the world."

     Karin smiled. "It's so wonderful to hear the happiness in her voice," she said, her own voice catching. "For a while, I thought this obsession with finding her mother was going to take precedence over everything—"

     "I don't think she's given up the idea," I said, "but the fiasco in Thailand frightened her enough to make her want to go in legally. The problem is, the Chinese don't seem to want to give her a visa. Kit thinks they must have her name on a list somewhere, that possibly they know about her connection to Wing Soong and they don't like the idea that one of the heroes of the revolution has a granddaughter who is a U.S. citizen."

     "I tried to warn her about Sam," Karin said, her mouth turning down with disdain, "I honestly believe he wanted to hurt her— don't try to defend him, Faith. Maybe it wasn't conscious, but I think he has this rage in him and somehow, it all got focused on May. And it's unforgivable, really!"

     "I wasn't going to . . ." I began, when the phone rang. It was Philip, for Karin.

     The phone was just inside the kitchen, so I could not avoid hearing her end of the conversation. "Yes," Karin said, "I did." And then, "It is only a few blocks, and I thought . . ." Her back hunched, she leaned against the wall. "She is a good driver, Philip, you said so yourself . . ." She straightened, rubbed the small of her back as if it pained her. "I'm sorry, yes. I know. I shouldn't have, you're right, letting her drive for the first time in San Francisco probably was poor judgment. It's just that she wanted so badly . . . I know, I shouldn't be swayed into taking risks. I'm sorry to have upset you . . . yes, well, I know it's her safety that concerns you . . . Shall I call you as soon as she gets back, so you don't worry?" He must have been mollified, because her voice became relaxed: "Sure," she said, "take my extra set. I left them on the bed table in my room."

     She walked to the edge of the deck to examine my dahlias. "They are so outrageously beautiful," she said, "my dahlias are puny next to these." And then, defensively, "It's not how it sounds, Faith. Philip has so much on his mind—he's having trouble sleeping, he's up most nights reading or working on his new book, and he worries that it keeps me awake. So sometimes I sleep in the extra room. Poor Philip, when it isn't insomnia it's headaches, he's working so hard and he's so upset about Dan that he's tightening his grip on Thea."

     She did not turn around. "Dan was eighteen last week," she finally said, "and I'm almost certain he's coming home today to tell his dad that he is going to join the Marines."

     The silky fabric of her blouse stretched tight across her shoulder blades. "Philip thought Dan would spend this year finishing high school. It is going to come as quite a shock to him to learn that the kid has managed to get enough credits to graduate early. At least, that's what I suspect. I figured that was his idea when he decided to go to summer school."

     "And you haven't told Philip?"

     She shook her head. "We can't talk about Dan anymore. What it seems to come down to is Philip telling me to 'stay out of this,
it's not your problem.' It's okay for me to love them, I'm just not supposed to share in the responsibility. He was more surprised than angry, I think—that I would have made the decision to let Thea drive. I don't know what he'd do if Thea gets in an accident today and is hurt. As it is, with Dan and Philip I feel caught in the middle and bruised by both sides. And neither one of them can be made to see what the other feels or wants. Dan can be a royal pain . . . he's so gung ho you would think he'd invented the Halls of Montezuma. And Philip's just as bad, in a much more articulate way. He can listen all day long to one of his students, but he can't hear a thing his son is saying. To tell you the truth, I wanted to get out of the house today. I've got a feeling Dan is coming home to square off with his dad, and I'd just as soon not be there when they decide to slug it out." She paused, added wistfully, "Kids put a terrific strain on a marriage, don't they?"

     "I can't think of a parent who wouldn't agree with that," I told her.

They were sitting opposite each other in the living room when Karin and Thea returned. Philip leaned forward, turning the pages on a small file of papers placed precisely in front of him on the coffee table. Daniel slouched on the couch, his arms flung wide. Thea started rummaging in her handbag, to show her brother her license, then she saw her father's face and checked herself. "I'll catch you later," she called out to her brother, "I've got to get going on your cake." Karin tried to follow Thea to the kitchen, but Philip called her back.

     They've waited for me, she thought. They didn't want to start the war without me.

     "What do you think of this?" Philip asked, nodding toward the papers.

     "I don't know what 'this' is," Karin came back, on guard.

     "Daniel's school records. He has given himself an eighteenth birthday present. He has managed to finish high school a full year early. Isn't that a surprise?" he asked, caustically.

     "No, it isn't," she answered, looking at him steadily. "Usually people who choose to go to summer school do it for a reason."

     "I see," Philip said, his lips pursed. "I suppose then I'm the only one who didn't know."

     Karin was silent. Dan watched, sprawling in an awkward attempt to look at ease, waiting for the first blow.

     Philip delivered it. "So you want to go to war, is that it? The marines are going to make a man out of you, is that what you think? They'll give you a gun and take you someplace far away from home where you can kill a bunch of foreigners, and you'll come back to waving flags and a hero's welcome, is that what you have in mind?"

     Dan's eyes narrowed, as if some bright light had been shined in them. "I see nothing wrong in fighting for my country. The American Way may sound corny to you, but not everybody thinks the way you think. I love my country and I believe in it, and I'm ready to go . . ."

     "Dan," Karin broke in, her anguish spilling over, "don't you think the Vietnamese boys love their country? You wouldn't be fighting for the American Way in Vietnam. You would be fighting Vietnamese boys who feel they are defending their own country against you—an outsider. That is a civil war, and there is a question of morality."

     "That's enough, Karin," Philip broke in sternly, "don't try to talk to Daniel about morality. He's got that all figured out. Reason doesn't work with Private Daniel Ward here," he taunted.

     "At least Karin talks to me, at least she gives a damn what happens to me."

     "Listen . . ." she began as calmly as she could, but she could see by the vein that was standing out in sharp relief on Philip's forehead that he was not going to be calmed.

     "Karin, I think you'd better just keep out of this . . ."

     "Oh right," Dan said, standing and flailing his arms about his body as if he were engaged in some sort of awkward warmup exercise. "You bully everybody else in this house, so why not bully Karin? She tries her damndest to please you, but that's not good enough, is it? My mother tried her damnedest, too, and she couldn't quite cut the mustard either, could she? Nobody can please the famous Dr. Ward."

     "We're not talking about your mother and we aren't talking about Karin," Philip said, struggling to keep calm. "Don't try to provoke me, Daniel. What we're talking about is your joining the Marine Corps. I'm against it. And I intend to do everything in my power to keep you from doing something that you are going to regret. And you will regret it, mark my word. You will."

     "There's nothing you can do," Dan came back, but his denial lacked conviction. Karin knew he thought his father might be able to stop him. Dan lashed out, "The truth is, you got yourself a deferment so you wouldn't have to go to the Second World War, and one coward is all we can afford per family."

     He hit a nerve so raw that even Dan seemed shocked by the ferocity of Philip's counterattack. Suddenly they were shouting, standing chin to chin, blasting each other with sounds of echoing anger, furious and fatal. Karin watched, beaten back, unable to take her eyes from Philip's face, which was a mottled red.

     Thea came screaming out of the kitchen and flung herself at her father; she began beating him on the chest with her fists. "Stop it, stop it, stop it" she shrieked, repeating the words hysterically until they were but a whisper. While Philip and Karin struggled to quiet her, Dan slipped out of the house. Karin heard him start his car, heard it rumble off down the street, and she thought: We've lost him, he's gone forever.