Joe Burke's Last Stand Part 34

"Yes. I'm in San Francisco . . . Wes died in July."

"I know," Joe said. "I'm sorry. I just heard. I was going to write."

"I'll be in Honolulu tomorrow. I wondered . . . "

"When will you be here?"

"In the afternoon. I'm on my way to Auckland to visit Adam--my son Adam. I thought I would break up the trip and maybe get to see you."

She was staying at the Moana on Morgan's recommendation. They agreed to meet at five. Joe was in a mild state of shock when he put down the phone. There was no unfinished business between them. He had offered her everything he had, and she had chosen Wes. It had been clean and terrible, honest and final. Now, thirty years later, here they were again. Here, where? Deep down, he knew. His face was still buried in her hair, his lips by her ear.

"Do you know how many of us there are in the world?"

"Not very many," she said, would always say.

Joe worked the rest of the day, out of habit, but he did not sleep well.

He was half an hour early at the Moana, wearing his best blue aloha s.h.i.+rt, his mustache trimmed, his fingers drumming on the bar. Gilbert brought him a Glenlivet and left him alone. At five minutes to five, Daisy walked out of the hotel and down the wide steps. He knew her first by her walk, tall and careful, and then, as she approached, by her face which was fuller, more deeply lined, but still good humored and direct. They embraced beneath the banyan. She fit in his arms and against his shoulder as comfortably as ever. Joe could think of nothing to say that wasn't sappy, so he said nothing.

She stepped back and looked closely at him. They exchanged compliments, sat at a round table, and began to catch up. She told him about Wes, how he had refused to quit smoking and had succ.u.mbed to lung cancer.

Her daughter and granddaughter were back living at home, recovering from a divorce. Adam was working on a timber plantation. Joe told her about Kate, Max, and his two marriages. No regrets, they agreed. How could you regret a life which produced your children? Joe told her about his writing and how he would face running out of money when it happened. He didn't need much--as long as he could keep writing. He could drive a cab again or work in a bookstore. And besides, he brightened, remembering his steel company, he was four thousand dollars ahead in the market.

Daisy's hair was light brown and streaked with gray. Her eyes were grayish blue. She smiled often. They drank and then ate sandwiches, occasionally pausing in their conversation to watch the Pacific grow dark. When they were done, Joe walked with her up the steps and into the lobby. "I love the Moana," he said. "Once, when Ingrid and Max and I were on vacation, Maxie disappeared in there." He pointed to the men's room. When I went in to check on him, he was on the floor, pus.h.i.+ng his toy rifle ahead of him, crawling out from under the last door in the line. He had locked them all from the inside." Joe laughed, stalling.

"What did you do?" she asked.

"Told him, 'retreat is the most difficult maneuver--let's get out of here."'

"I don't think I'm ready for s.e.x," Daisy said quietly.

"It's overrated," Joe said. And then, "It's not as if we haven't been there." Disappointment hovered. "How about a back rub?"

She read his eyes for a moment and said, "That would be nice."

"Oh, good." They entered the elevator relieved to be still together. He took off his shoes in her room and lay down on the bed. Daisy slid next to him and turned on her side. He rubbed her shoulders and upper back for a long time, but she did not relax. He reached over and turned out the light. She said nothing. He continued and then, without thinking, he put his teeth on the muscle above one of her shoulder blades and shook her slightly. She winced and he bit harder. She cried out and spun around, drawing him tightly to her.

"Hold me," she said. "Hold me." He put his arms around her as she began to shake and sob. She beat softly on his back with her fists, and he held her more tightly. Gradually, her shaking eased and she breathed more evenly. Without speaking, they undressed and lay side by side. She had helped him once in a similar way. How strange, he thought. And how right.

"I've been brave," she said.

"I'll bet you have." Her hand moved down his stomach, almost as an afterthought. She urged him over on top of her and guided him into her.

They lay complete. Sometime later, out of no particular necessity, he began to move slowly in and out. It was better than talking.

Rea.s.suring. I am right here, he was saying. I love you. He went on and on.

"Oh," she cried. "Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . " Her head fell back on the pillow. "Oh . . . " And then, "Joe?" She put her hands on his b.u.t.tocks and pulled him deeper into her. "Joe?" He gave in. Near the top of the wave that picked him up, he put his mouth on her open mouth and felt her calling, drawing him over. He poured into her, tumbling, giving her everything.

"My hero," Daisy said. She was leaning on one elbow and looking into his face. It was morning.

"Nah . . . " Joe said.

"I thought I'd forgotten how."

"No way," he said, waking up. "Don't you look great! You look like a little girl."

"I've got a favor to ask," she said. "I want to remember you like this.

I can get myself to the airport."

"Uh--when will I see you again?" Joe asked.

"I'm going home through France," she said. "You know, I have a studio on the property in Woodstock."

"Woodstock," Joe groaned. "Maybe you'd like to spend some of the winter out here?" They were too experienced to let the future spoil the moment. They smooched. Joe took a shower. He dressed, and they talked for a few minutes before he hugged her.

"Goodbye, beautiful," he said.

"Goodbye, Launcelot, Lochinvar . . . " He started toward the door and turned back a step toward her.

"Strider," he said.

"Strider," she drawled, smiling. They let go of each other with the total release that binds across any s.p.a.ce or time.

Joe walked along Kalakaua Avenue. It was still early; most of the tourists were in bed or eating breakfast. Daisy. How unexpected! How great! He wasn't going to live in her studio. She had her life, and he had his, now. But he would see her again, he was pretty sure of that.

What was between them was real and had remained this long; it wasn't going to go away. He sang "Scarlet Ribbons" several times and was good and hungry by the time he reached the shopping center.

Portuguese sausage. Coffee. Ah. The waitress, fiftyish, smiled at him as though she understood perfectly where he had just been. Life was so fine, in fact, that after breakfast he put off going home and wandered over to Fisherman's Wharf. He sat with his feet dangling over the water and watched a man fish. His line went out between two high-bowed sampans, the San Carlos and the Woniya. He had short grizzled hair and a round head with compact Asian features. He was sitting on his heels, motionless. He could have been 55 or 75. A small cardboard box on the ground next to him was neatly packed--a can of soda, a knife, a bag that probably held his lunch. The sound of traffic on Ala Moana was muted. The sun was full but not yet hot. The straight dark fis.h.i.+ng line met the end of its reflection wavering on the green harbor water. He fished in silence for nearly an hour.

Joe finally stood up and stretched.

"Three days now, not biting," the man said.

"You get 'em, huh," Joe said and watched him turn back toward his line.

He would never give up. The image of his bony head, his quiet eyes on the water, stayed with Joe.

He wrote it down when he got home, and in the morning, after he ate a bowl of cereal, he crossed out words and added a few, holding the fisherman in front of him. While he was imagining the fisherman, the aging bus boy appeared with his cart. Alphonse jumped off his fork lift. Whistling Ed Swaney walked over, sweating. Jade Willow Lady turned toward him from the grill. The bottle saint kneeled. They watched him with interest and concern. My teachers, he realized with a rush of feeling. My teachers. All this time and I didn't know.

He heard a noise at the door.

"Never mind, Batman. I'll get it." But no one was there, not even a baby in a basket. The morning air was vibrant. Doves called. His teachers and so many before him had done their best.

He bent his head.

"Aloha," Joe Burke said and took his stand beside them.