Letters To My Mother Read online

  “Where did you hear about Helen?”

  “From you. The first day we met, when I came to the interview, don’t you remember? We were just saying goodbye and you asked Frank if I reminded him of her. Later on Frank told me he hardly knew her.” I realized bringing up Frank wasn’t a good idea, but it was too late.

  “That’s true, he didn’t. Helen moved back east shortly after Frank came to the university.”

  “When I asked Frank about her, he wouldn’t say anything directly, but I could sense something was bothering him. What didn’t he want to tell me?”

  “There isn’t much to tell. Helen was a graduate student in the department about three years ago. She was a little like you, slender, a bit taller, and very quiet. She wasn’t in any of my classes, and for the first few months I hardly noticed her; Helen was married and had a little boy, so she didn’t socialize much with the other students. Occasionally she spent a few evenings in the lab when her husband was out of town – he was a salesman – and she could get a babysitter. That’s how I got to know her; we had coffee together a few times. Poor Helen; she wanted so much to finish school and teach, but her husband had other ideas.”

  “Is that all you did, drink coffee and talk?”

  “Kate, there was nothing between us.”

  “But Frank was so evasive - something must have happened.”

  David sighed. “I went to a party - it must have been about two years ago - at the apartment of a physiology professor. Helen was there, along with a number of the other graduate students and some of the younger staff, and when the party broke up, about one, I offered to give her a ride home. She’d seemed happy enough earlier, but as soon as we reached the car, Helen told me her husband had walked out, just packed his bags and disappeared.”

  “Then what?”

  “She stared to cry and I …”

  “And you …? “

  “I tried to comfort her.”

  “You kissed her.”

  “All right, yes,” he replied huskily. “I kissed her; I can’t say I’m proud of my behavior that night.”

  “What was Helen’s reaction?”

  “She was like a lost child. She wasn’t looking for anything physical so much as sympathy. I know it sounds like I was taking advantage of her, but I swear what I did wasn’t premeditated. I had every intention of driving her home, seeing her to the front door and saying goodnight, but one minute she was crying and the next minute I was holding her.”

  “Did you make love to her in the car?”

  “No, but … no. Don’t torture me, Kate. I felt very ashamed afterwards; I still do.”

  “What happened when you drove her home?”

  “That’s the funny part, I didn’t; the car wouldn’t start.”

  “Oh, come on now!”

  “Honestly; it’s God’s truth. The battery was stone dead. I didn’t want to return to the apartment because I was quite sure I had lipstick on my face, so I took a long walk in the rain to find a phone booth; I called the Triple A and a cab for Helen. By the time I reached the car I’d sobered up – I don’t mean I was drunk, just carried away – and I’d regained my senses. I paid the cab driver and Helen went home while I waited for the road service. A week later she dropped out of school and moved back with her parents. She wrote me a note thanking me for my help – no mention of the party - and I answered, wishing her good luck. End of story.”

  “If the car had started and you’d taken her home, would you have slept with her?”

  He sighed again. “Helen had a baby sitter, so maybe she wouldn’t have invited me in. If she had …I like to think I would have said goodnight to her at the door.”

  “But you’re not sure?”

  “You’re not merely jumping to conclusions, you’re vaulting across whole canyons. For God’s sake, don’t rake me over the coals for something that never happened.”

  “Did anyone else know? When I asked Frank, he said gossip really gets around in your department, but he’d never heard a word about you and Helen. At the same time, I could tell he was hiding something.”

  “The coffee at the HUB was public and completely innocent. Frank left the party long before Helen and I did, but maybe someone just happened to mention to him later that I gave her a ride and his imagination supplied the rest. As for what occurred in the car … I was parked more than two blocks from the party. I’m positive no one saw us. Frank’s antennae are always working and he’s incredibly perceptive, so if anyone was going to be suspicious, it was sure to be Frank. I’m sorry I told you; I can see you’re upset.”

  “No, really, I’m not; I’m just sorry for Helen. Actually, I feel very objective about the whole thing. Was Helen in love with you?”

  “Not for a minute. Unfortunately, other young women don’t find me as irresistible as you do. To begin with, I was much too old for her.”

  We both started to laugh.

  The cry of a loon drifted across the water; I fell asleep in David’s arms, trying to remember the tribes of the Iroquois nation.

  The sun was streaming through the open hatch when I awakened in the morning, and for an instant I couldn’t remember where I was. Then the memory of Saturday’s trip came back to me and I stretched, lazily. It was Sunday; David and I still had five whole days ahead of us before we had to return. David… suddenly I realized he wasn’t in the cabin.

  “David?”

  “I’m out here.”

  I sat up and saw him sitting in the cockpit, looking out over the water.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making the sun rise.”

  “You’re what?”

  “I’m making the sun rise. When I came out here at six it was still dark; I’ve been concentrating hard and behold,” he said, gesturing with his arm, “the sun’s almost over the top of that mountain. Another fifteen minutes and you’ll be safe.”

  “Safe from what?”

  “From being sacrificed. Remember those Aztecs, how you told me they believed the sun wouldn’t rise without human blood to nourish him? I’d hate to offer you up now, just when I’m getting so fond of you.”

  “Sorry, the sun prefers virgins. I’ve been 4-F since the New Year.”

  David stuck his tongue out at me. “Want some coffee?”

  “I’d love some,” I replied, snuggling back in the sleeping bag. He came down to the cabin, poured me a cup of coffee and held it out, a good six feet from where I was lying.

  “Aren’t you going to bring the coffee to me? Oh, David, have a heart; surely you don’t expect me to get up at this hour.”

  He sat down beside me. “What ‘this hour’? It’s seven o’clock.”

  I sighed. “I thought we weren’t going to keep any schedules this week.”

  “We’re not, but are you planning to spend our entire vacation in bed?”

  I pulled the sleeping bag up to my chin and batted my eyelashes at him. “That’s not such a bad idea, is it?”

  David yanked the bag down. “You little minx; I have a better idea. Let’s go for a swim and have breakfast on the island.”

  “Swim over to the island! Are you crazy?” I sat up and looked out the porthole toward the beach. “Do you have any conception how cold the water is?”

  “Indeed I do. It’s about eight degrees.”

  “If it were eight degrees we’d be in pack ice.”

  “Eight degrees Celsius. Listen to my idea. I’ll put everything we need – our clothing, towels, food and so forth - in this heavy plastic bag. Then I’ll tie the bag on top of the lifebuoy. You’ll go first and I’ll follow, towing the buoy. It can’t be more than a hundred feet to shore.”

  “Beautiful,” I said, curling up in the bag once more. “Your plan has one fatal flaw.”

  “I know you’re a good swimmer; don’t tell me you can’t swim.”

  “It’s not that; I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

  “Neither did I; that’s the fun part.” David was grinning from ear to ear
. “Come on lazybones, up!” He made a lunge for the sleeping bag, pulled the zipper down one side, and uncovered me. In anticipation of enticing him back to bed with me, I had slipped off my nightgown.

  “How efficient, you don’t even need to change.”

  We packed the plastic bag with everything we needed for the day, including several pounds of Swiss cheese, water, a large salami and four cans of juice. When we were ready and David had the package tied to the lifebuoy, I stood hesitantly on the toe rail. I still felt shy to have David look at me naked, especially from a distance, and I waited with my arms crossed over my breasts.

  “Don’t dive in,” he cautioned me. “The bay’s so cold you could gasp and take water into your lungs. Just ease into it, over the side”

  I did as he instructed and gasped anyway, but at least my face was out of the water. My teeth chattering from the cold, I struck out immediately for the island, stopping only once to make sure David was right behind me. After what seemed like the crossing of the English Channel, my feet hit the sandy bottom and I waded ashore, picking my way gingerly among the rocks on the beach. David followed a moment later and I went back to the water’s edge to help him with the lifebuoy. Shivering with cold, we carried our provisions up to a sandy spot and lay down, hugging each other.

  “I’ve read,” David mused, “that two hypothermic people warm up faster if they’re of opposite sexes and in very close proximity to one another.”

  “You’re making this up.”

  “Even if I am, don’t you think it’s an experiment worth conducting? In the interest of science, of course.”

  “It’ll never work; our swim transformed me into a permanently frigid woman, and look at you. You’re so shriveled you’ll never function again.”

  “Don’t be too sure of that.” He pulled me to him and pressed me down in the sand.

  “Right here? Out in the open like this?”

  “Yes.”

  Hunger finally got us up. “We could eat here on the beach, but I have a better idea. The last time I was on this island I found a tiny pond a few minutes’ walk inland; it’s sheltered and I think we’ll be warmer there.”

  I opened the plastic bag and started to take out my blue jeans and t-shirt.

  “Don’t put your clothes on; let me enjoy you this way.”

  “What if there’s someone else on the island?”

  “I don’t see how there can be. This cove is the only anchorage; on the rest of the island the banks are steep and the trees grow right down to the water’s edge. I know what you’re going to say – what if another boat comes in here?”

  “Right.”

  “I’ll smear my body with mud and run down to the beach screaming and brandishing a stick.”

  The thought of David Rosenau, Ph.D. playing a lunatic made me laugh, and I agreed to leave my clothes in the bag. We pulled the lifebuoy above the high-water mark and went off in search of the pond, carrying our provisions with us.

  Thirty feet beyond the beach the evergreens parted slightly, revealing an overgrown path leading to the interior of the island. We followed the trail through a miniature jungle of tree ferns until we reached a small pond – no more than forty feet across – fringed with tall grass along the shoreline. I stuck my foot in the water and found it was pleasantly warm; something darted in front of me and I recoiled.

  “Look, David!” I exclaimed as a salamander came to rest on the surface, five feet from where I was standing.

  He glanced at it. “Taricha torosa.”

  “How do you know that?

  “It’s a Pacific pond newt, a common laboratory animal.”

  I waded into the water toward the newt, trying to repress a shudder of revulsion as mud oozed between my toes. One quick grab and he was mine. The newt was about six inches long and the color of terra cotta; he lay still in my hand and examined my thumb with curiosity. The newt’s flat head and upturned jaw gave him an endearing expression, rather like an amiable simpleton.

  David followed me into the water, and we splashed along the shoreline like a couple of children, grabbing at the newts as they swam by.

  “Well, if we’re stranded on this island at least we won’t starve,” David remarked as we released the last of our catch.

  “Ugh! I’d rather eat cheese and salami. How about it?”

  We waded to the bank, made a nest in the center of a tall clump of grass, and spread out a bath towel. David sat down cross-legged and started slicing the salami with his penknife while I opened the cans of tomato juice; we ate with our fingers, washed our hands in the pond, then lay down and dozed, warmed by the sun and secure in our grassy kingdom. A few flies buzzed overhead, but the twitch of a leg sent them away; now and then a dragonfly hovered over us, noiselessly, only to dart off. The island was awake.

  I heard the drone of a small plane’s engine before I saw the plane itself, a one-engine Piper, flying about 1000 feet above us, directly over the island. I felt very naked. “Do you think the pilot can see us from up there?”

  David squinted at the sky. “Probably not. If it’ll make you feel more inconspicuous, I’ll camouflage you.” David reached up and drew a long blade of grass over me.

  “Let’s stay here forever,” he suggested.

  “We’ll eat clams …”

  “… and oysters…”

  “…and fish …”

  “…and berries. Somebody did live on Boone Island once. The last time I was here, I found the ruins of a cabin about a quarter of a mile from this pond. Whoever he was, he had a vegetable garden that’s gone to weeds and he planted a small apple orchard. I’ll show you later.”

  “Are we starting to live on the island right now, or are we going back to civilization first?”

  David considered for a moment. “I think we’ll have to make one trip back – for seeds, you know, and a few chickens … and books, plenty of books.

  “We’ll be like the Swiss Family Robinson” I giggled. “Where will we live?”

  “I’ll build us a log cabin.”

  “I’d rather have a tree house, one with a vine ladder. Why did they live in a tree anyway? Do you remember?”

  “Probably because of all the dangerous animals on the island. I don’t think safety will be much of a problem here unless the newts mutate into dinosaurs.”

  “All right then, we’ll live on the ground in a log cabin. What will we do all day? And what about Sturmvogel? We won’t sink her like the Bounty mutineers did when they reached Pitcairn Island, will we?”

  “Oh no, we’ll need Sturmvogel so I can go fishing. I’ll carve a dugout canoe for going back and forth to the boat. When I’m not fishing, I’ll be farming. And you? Let’s see … you’ll be feeding the chickens, sewing our clothes and … taking care of the children, of course.”

  I turned on my side to look at him. “Children?”

  “Yes, children. We are going to have children, aren’t we?”

  “I hadn’t got that far yet.” I started to laugh. “Did you ever read Cheaper by the Dozen?”

  David shook his head.

  “I read it about six years ago. I was so enchanted with the Gilbreth family that I decided someday I’d have twelve children, too. I worried I might not be able to feed such a brood, so I came up with the idea of giving them dog food. To test my plan I made a dog food meatloaf for dinner one night and served it to my parents without telling them what was in the dish.”

  “How did it taste?”

  “It was awful! Just before dinner a friend of my parents dropped by unexpectedly, so of course they invited him to eat with us. He took one bite and got the queerest expression on his face! That poor meat loaf … it wouldn’t even hold together; it sort of disintegrated into a pulpy mess.”

  “Twelve’s a bit many.”

  “How many were you thinking of?”

  David put his hand on my abdomen. “Oh, four or five.”

  A cloud passed in front of the sun and I drew closer to David. We were straying i
nto dangerous territory. David stood up and offered me his hand. “Come on; I’ll show you what’s left of the cabin and then we can dig clams for dinner.”

  Chapter 17

  Blaine Hall, Room B102

  University of Washington, Seattle

  April 6, 1957

  Dear Mother and Daddy,

  Thanks for the postcard from Carmel – it sounds like you had a

  great time.

  Norma and I will be taking the bus to Oakland around June 15.

  Do you have a sleeping bag, by any chance? A friend offered to

  lend me his, but Norma doesn’t have one

  David awakened me Saturday morning, shaking my shoulder gently.

  “Kate, wake up; we’re going to leave early.”

  David had lit one of the kerosene lamps, and when I opened my eyes, I saw he was already dressed and seated across from me at the table, bent over a chart of Puget Sound. Outside it was still dark. The increasing wind the weather bureau had predicted the night before was blowing aloft, and as Sturmvogel swung in restless arcs around her anchor, the chain grumbled against the bow rollers.

  I yawned, stretched widely and poked my right leg into David’s side of the sleeping bag. It was frigid, and I withdrew hastily. Leaning out of the bag, I reached beneath the table, felt for David’s ankle, and ran my hand up inside his pants, grazing the hair on his calf with my fingertips. David looked under the table at me, our eyes met, and he smiled.

  “What do you think you’re doing, young lady?”

  “Trying to lure you back to bed; it’s cold in here without you.”

  He tweaked my nose, affectionately. “Not this morning, Kate. I’ll make it up to you in Seattle.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Four-thirty. Put on some clothes and let’s have breakfast. We need to get going as soon as possible.”

  I groaned. “My travel agent warned me about these shipboard romances. Why do you want to leave so early, anyway? Last night you said the tide won’t turn at Deception Pass until ten and it only takes a couple of hours to get there.”

  David was measuring off distances on the chart with a pair of dividers; he held up an index finger to indicate he was busy and didn’t answer immediately. He wrote down some figures on a note pad and then looked up.