The Book: A Novel Calling Page 6
As the door came to a quiet close, and silence wrapped around me like a friend, I walked around her desk and laid my hand on the back of her leather chair. Feeling content, I looked at the sky outside.
After gazing for a while into the hazy blue light, I took a seat and laced my fingers behind my head as I leaned back, listening to a cushion of air escape behind me. I decided to swivel around and take another look at the sky.
Santa Monica State Beach was not far away from Sophie’s office. I remembered good times with old friends, spending most of the day there in the water. I took breaks only when my energy was completely gone, after long stretches of body surfing. Those were the days and they were long gone now. People today were afraid to get into the water.
I slid my forearm across the wooden desktop and I thought, Once upon a time, not long ago, I had a desk like this one, and a big leather chair a lot like this. This place felt very familiar.
I knew what to expect sitting in this chair. Goals and expectations were clear. People were aligned on a purpose; they knew what to do, and they knew how to do it. They got the job done. Every role had a distinct function and made sense. The thought of things working gave me a sense of security.
I could slide through a day in a place like this without any effort. For one thing, I felt safe; nobody wanted to break my skull.
Soon I would be home with my kids.
I tapped the number on the telephone.
“Hello?” It was Elisa.
“Hi. Elisa?
“Yeah? … Dad?”
“Yeah, it’s me. How are ya?”
“I’m still mad at you. You left without telling us. You went to Los Angeles, while we were in New York, you bastard! Why did you do that?”
She was fifteen.
“I called to tell you.”
“Big Deal! You left a message. We got home and you were gone.”
“I know. I was wrong. I didn’t call New York because I wanted you and Phoebe to have fun with your mom. I thought you’d understand. I needed new energy. I had a chance if I moved fast, but it was choose or lose. I didn’t think about the whole situation, but believe me; I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Well, you did.”
“I know but I did it for me, not to hurt you.”
“Don’t pull that stuff on me. You did hurt us. That’s what counts. You shouldn’t have left without saying anything.”
“I know. Will you forgive me?”
“Dammit!”
“How about Phoebe, is she okay?”
“She’s okay. But she thinks you were a rat for leaving.”
“Oh. Great.”
“What are you doing in Los Angeles?”
“I’ve been working … as a temporary.”
“Oh, Dad. I wish you could get it together.”
“Me, too, Kid. I can’t do what I did. I’ve looked at it. I can’t survive the industrial mindset. It’s like begging to be a serf in a feudal situation, or being in the military—I can’t handle it.”
“Other people do.”
“I know. Let’s just say I’m having a rough time, a difficult transition.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. No excuses. Maybe, I’m too damn sensitive. I just can’t go back. I can’t do the work, and I’m having a hell of a time. My last interview reminded me of that guy who repaired the slow leak in my tire that time. Do you remember?”
“I remember.”
“The way he took me in the back, and with a screw you grin on his face he showed me a clean two-inch slice in the sidewall. That’s what I’m talking about. I don’t want to work in disloyalty anymore, not in places like that, where people are willing to do that kind of stuff. I haven’t had a decent job offer since I quit; they love my résumé, and they say I would do a great job. Then nothing happens. I guess they think I’m too old, or that I will make their lives difficult. I don’t know. They’re afraid of something. Still, I’m not going back to what I did. I’ve worked with ruthless bastards in my time. I don’t want to be them.”
“Dad—”
“I mean, these days, a lot of people operate like that. It used to take time before I knew the nature of the companies I worked for. Now, I see their duplicity in the interview—I feel it in the air. This change is not easy, but—wait a minute! This is not your problem.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry. I have no job.”
“It’s okay, Dad.”
“Believe it or not, Elisa, even now, stuck out here like this, without a job, I think I did the right thing. I had to walk out and find fresh air.”
“In Los Angeles?”
“Well, you know—the main thing is I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“I love you with my whole heart.”
“I know.”
“I’ll be home soon.”
“I love you, Dad.”
“Thank God for that. How’s your grandmother?”
“She’s fine. Don’t worry.”
“I’ll call you the minute I get my ticket.”
“Goodbye, Pop. Don’t forget to call.”
“I promise. I love you … Goodbye.”
∞ 9 ∞
I had to struggle to orient myself. I felt depleted. I had to fight to remember where I was. They were in the heart of the country, and I was out here on the West Coast, almost two thousand miles away. I felt my neck and shoulders get tight as I leaned on my elbows and rested my chin in my hands. I ran the tips of my fingers in the folds over my eyes.
Take it easy, I thought. Your kids know you love them. That’s the important thing. They know. I inhaled deeply. That’s what counts. Don’t give yourself such a hard time. I let the air go, slowly.
At that moment my life seemed far away.
I turned gazing at a slender cloud.
How could a species as smart as ours be so dumb? Had we waited too long to make our move? Was this as good as it could get? As I saw the world right now, the human race seemed stuck in beliefs and unworkable behaviors. We had used violence as a species for so long, trying to save ourselves on a very arduous road of impossible pressures, and now we had it imprinted like software in our brains. We were now victims of our own ferocious nature, allowing destructive unconscious content to kill our beloved planet, all of its life systems, including us.
To me things didn’t look that good.
Now, I heard a voice in my head, echoing in the center of my brain. It was so clear I looked around, despite knowing I was sitting alone in Sophie’s office. Just take what you get.
The words sounded so real I turned before I could think. That was what he’d said. That was it. Now I heard Adam’s voice again: No rules.
When he first said that I reacted, “No rules?”
“You are responsible for what you get, Jonathan—everything, it’s all yours—so take what you get. You’ll do better if you remember this.”
“What are you trying to tell me?” I responded.
Adam’s eyes got seriously dark. “You will encounter things you don’t like. That’s the way it is; you need to know that. Some things will be a challenge, but remember, you can do what you will, because you are in charge, even when you don’t think so. Remember that you have the power, especially when you feel under the most pressure. Everything you receive is your duty. You’re the one. You’ll make right choices.”
“Sounds risky,” I replied that day.
“It’s simple,” Adam laughed. “You are responsible for everything you get, and everything is a resource.”
That was the moment I questioned what I had got myself into. I looked at him warily, because I hadn’t yet decided to trust him completely. And then, something strange happened almost by itself; without my conscious consent a decision took shape and I shifted into allegiance. In a heartbeat I decided on the spot that I trusted him.
No reason—no question.
Simple as that.
Now,
sitting here in Santa Monica, I looked at the sky and I tried to recall mundane things that would keep me anchored. I thought about Sophie. I wondered how long it would be before she came through the door with an armload of good things to eat.
I took a deep breath and I let go. It felt good. It seemed to hold Adam at bay, at least for the moment. With my forehead down on my fingers, I made circles with my thumbs on my temples. Still, it wasn’t enough to block Adam’s dulcet tones from passing through me like the sound of a cello trying to simulate the purring of a big cat.
“You may not find what you expect, Jon,” he’d said. “That is to be expected. Things won’t meet your hopes or expectations. They won’t—and that’s good. You will witness what you find. See what is. That’s your job. Do it because—”
“Everything is resource,” I said like a parrot. “Everything has value, so take what I get. I know.”
“It’s simple,” Adam laughed. “You are the one. You are responsible. That’s all there is to it.”
“I got it.”
“Look for what makes you feel alive.”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“That’s the whole point.”
That is how we ended our conversation, just before I made my first trip. I would have preferred more support, maybe a few more tips on what to expect or how well I would do. As I considered Adam’s words here in Santa Monica, I doubted he could have done it any better.
Everything is a resource. Take what you get. Look for what makes you feel alive. Be responsible and find your value.
∞ 10 ∞
Sitting back in Sophie’s tall leather chair, I thought as I closed my eyes, Ah, yes, the good life. Orderly, air conditioned, temperature controlled.
There was Adam’s leonine voice again.
I remembered his office.
“Tell me what you think.”
“… About the process?”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s powerful.”
“Talk to me.”
“It seems that I’ve known the Harlequin forever,” I said, trying to share an insight not quite complete. “I feel kinship with him.”
Adam laughed.
“I think we were together once.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I can’t prove it, but I feel it.”
“Try convincing me.”
“I have this deep sense that we knew each other once, long ago, and very well. Then we got separated, but I think we are related.”
“Go on.” Adam laughed.
“Well, when I look at him, I feel good. Every time. He makes me happy. I ran across that patch of grass and up the hill in my bare feet and everything seemed just right. The dance we did on that hilltop was perfect. I felt that way. So did he. It was strange but I knew we made sense.”
“Tell me his name,” Adam said. “When you are in that place … and what should I call you?”
“When I first met him, I thought his name was the Harlequin, but now I know, it’s just Harlequin. I am Man.”
“Harlequin and Man,” Adam said.
“Man and Harlequin, that’s it.”
“I got it,” Adam said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Stand up and close your eyes, like before. I will say the word and you’ll be on your way.”
I felt Adam’s big hand on my shoulder, then his long fingers across my forehead. He whispered his special word.
“Naphsha!”
Strutting along this road, feeling sunshine and a gentle breeze on my skin, I stop and lean over setting my hands on my knees. In the bright sunlight I squint and make out a tiny road on top of a distant hill. I straighten up. “What do you think we’ll find over there?”
Harlequin laughs. He looks at the sky and walks backwards in front of me. He rolls his eyes and shrugs, his usual ploy for opting out, empty palms proving he doesn’t care to expend any more energy on the issue, not his problem. Yet I have a strong feeling he knows damn near everything. Harlequin drops his elbow on my shoulder and chuckles in my face. Now, he jumps quickly away.
“Who the hell are you?” I ask. He guffaws like a rowdy clown but silently. “C’mon, Amigo, tell me! Where do you come from?”
He shirks my questions with a grin and another shrug.
“Say something!”
Harlequin stands suddenly straight. His attention fastens to something far off. Raising his hand flat over his brow, he looks like an Indian on a bluff, scouting the Mississippi. The tassel on his soft cap stops in front of his eyes. He tosses his head back and points at the little road high on the hill at the horizon.
“That way?” I ask.
He nods energetically.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
As I take my first step I notice a spark beside the road at the top of the hill. “What is that?” I say to nobody in particular; he’s not here to listen. Skipping ahead along the dusty road, he turns, faces me, and throws a backward flip.
“Hey—you rascal!” I laugh.
He leans on his hands and his legs rise. As he walks upside down they gyrate like the wings of a fool’s cap. He walks in a circle on his hands as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. He appears to be about twenty years old, and yet, I still have a feeling he’s connected to something much older. I believe he contains a distant past. Despite his youthful and amazing grace, there is something in him that seems to go on forever.
Virtually free of gravity, he looks down at the spread of fingers. Nothing seems to hinder him in the slightest, physically or mentally. He brings his legs back down to a standard position and stands straight, but only for a second. He now tilts sideways and cartwheels all the way around me.
“You crazy bastard, no offense, you maniac!”
A blur of blue and grey diamond patches rolls around me like a rogue Ferris wheel. Harlequin’s body comes abruptly to a full stop, and his body seems to bounce between invisible springs.
“You, my friend, are crazy!”
He guffaws like a brain-tickled child. Still, he doesn’t make the slightest sound. His whole body, now shaking with hilarity, seems titillated, unable to control his delight. Something is just too funny to handle. Closing his eyes he wraps a forearm around his middle, and slaps his thigh as he yawps at the sky in silent bliss.
He seems like an old running mate, somebody I should know, but can’t quite recall. As strange as all of this is I can’t say it feels genuinely foreign.
I had a similar feeling of relationship when we discovered the man sitting at the desk in the dark. How long had he been stuck in that place? How did he and Harlequin communicate instantly without words? They seemed to know exactly what to do and they did it. They carried that oversized typewriter to the window as if they had it planned. They tossed that giant antique through the window and shook hands as if their job was done.
Why did they do that?
I don’t know what branch of my family tree Harlequin should be swinging from, but I feel certain he belongs there somewhere.
Is this a comedy or a drama?
Is it a dream?
Is it real?
∞ 11 ∞
We march on taking bold steps, but I stop quickly—almost as cold as a jug of pickled pig’s feet. I wrinkle my nose and screw up my face. Blinking hard, unable to comprehend what I see, I feel bewildered; I blink again turning to Harlequin for support. “Do you see that?” I ask. I slide my thumbs under my suspenders, and up for comfort. I wiggle my toes in the dust and lean forward.
“Jesus!”
Stalking through sparse, dry African love grass just ahead of us, near the edge of the road, a pride of lions creeps toward us. Stealthily, with their noses barely above the ground, they crawl forth with eyes fixed on us.
I bristle, picturing bloodthirsty fangs sinking into precious flesh—mine! Now despite their huge canine teeth Harlequin bolts toward the huge cats.
“What the hell?” I wonder.
“Are you nuts?” I shout, watching him stiffen his body and cling to the lion’s thick mane. He leans to one side, trying to bend the beast down to the ground. The great lion bares his ominous teeth and he roars. It sets my teeth on edge. The female lions stop in their tracks. The alpha male twists and turns with Harlequin dangling in the sunlight from golden brown mane.
The lion delivers another spine-chilling bawl, and Harlequin’s eyes snap open.
Undaunted, however, he climbs onto the lion’s back like a cowboy boarding a Brahma bull. I watch as he kicks the lion’s flanks, and the beast is surprised as I am. Slamming huge claws into the earth, he bellows from behind his lower spine.
His ungodly amount of lusty blood rage sets a rumbling vibration in my stomach. Shimmering on the trees eucalyptus leaves tremble in sunlight. The lion king seems to have one, and only one, desire—to sink his teeth and claws deep into the brazen being on his back—and drag him kicking to a bloody end.
The lion spikes the air and his teeth make a hollow dry, clacking sound. Harlequin’s spine goes straight up. He looks shocked as the lion twists and snaps at him. The jester kicks his legs back; his fists cling to thick majestic mane. The lion stumbles and skids on a hip, before he can recover all of his rage.
Stunned by the awesome spectacle, I merely gawk from the road. Why would Harlequin provoke a wild creature like this? Is he absolutely crazy? Why would he take such a ridiculous risk?
The lion arches his back. He yawls at the sky dragging his claws over the earth and leaving deep parallel lines carved into dry land.
Harlequin acts like a monkey in a circus.
“I can’t believe this!” I shout.
The lion rolls over and Harlequin steps off easily, trotting a few paces before getting back on.
“What the hell?” I shout. “You crazy bastard!
I can’t believe it. But it’s true. Now I see.
He’s enjoying himself.