Читать книгу Jack’s Passion - Bill Kinsella - Страница 13

In their last night on Taylor Island, Aunt Millicent prepared a special dinner for Jack and Veronica. She’d made a bouillabaisse that she’d served with a crusty French loaf and well-chilled Chablis. Everyone loved the dinner with Uncle Browne the most vociferous admirer of his wife’s work. He extolled the virtues of saffron and fennel, proclaiming the bouillabaisse perfect because the cook had mastered the broth rather than overwhelming the dish with a surfeit of seafood. “You’re an artist through and through, Millie,” he toasted his wife.

Coincidentally, it was also Illumination Night in Chimera, so the pleasant lingering around the table after a meal had to be curtailed. Uncle Browne, excited about the prospect of Illumination Night, nevertheless seemed least inclined to move. “I could use some more of that Chablis,” he announced, holding up a crystal goblet.

“Shall I open another bottle?” Jack offered.

“Please,” Uncle Browne said.

“Do you think you should, Browne?” Aunt Millicent cautioned. “Parking is atrocious on Illumination Night.”

“I know exactly where to park,” Uncle Browne said assuredly. “It won’t be a problem.”

“On Illumination Night?” Aunt Millicent asked incredulously. “Browne, I think the Chablis has gone to your head.”

Jack gave Veronica a quizzical look. He didn’t know whether to get the wine or not. Veronica returned the puzzled glance with a half-smile and shoulder shrug, sorry she couldn’t help.

“Chablis,” Uncle Browne exclaimed, putting an end to Jack’s dilemma. Jack left to retrieve the wine which was stored in the butler’s pantry off the kitchen. On his way through the house, he took in what he saw: There was a small television in the great room. Books were scattered everywhere as were the paraphernalia of art: easels, brushes, paints, frames, cameras. That stuff filled a side room that must have served as Aunt Millicent’s studio. The whole house apparently served as Uncle Browne’s reading room.

In the kitchen, he glimpsed framed photos of children mounted on the walls. All the photos had accompanying acknowledgments and were of children that Uncle Browne and Aunt Millicent had evidently helped to feed. Jack felt admiration for his aunt and uncle and some sadness as well that they’d never had their own children. But they seemed happy to him.

Momentarily, he was back with the wine. He poured a glass for Uncle Browne who took a long drink then rose up all of a sudden. Pacing the room with a sort of magisterial grace, he stopped suddenly to address the others.

“Everyone,” he said briskly, “I hear the lanterns calling.

Illumination Night is upon us!”

“You’re looking illuminated already, if you ask me, dear,” Aunt Millicent said.

“And you, radiant,” Uncle Browne returned.

After a perfunctory clean up, they were off to Chimera. By the time they arrived, night had fallen. The streets were lined with cars and teeming with people. Uncle Browne parked far away, finding a spot with only a little trouble near the bluffs opposite the Chimera police station.

“My beauty should be safe here,” he said, patting the Coup as he got out.

“Oh thank you dear,” said Aunt Millicent, “I feel quite safe indeed.”

“Wonderful,” said Uncle Browne.

“Jacket, you and your Inamorata don’t have to stay with us if you want to look around. We’re headed over to the Tabernacle. We’ll be at the community sing. I love to show off your aunt at such things.” Aunt Millicent let out an operatic, “Ah..ah..ah..Ah!”

“Isn’t she divine?” Uncle Brown said wryly.

“Out of this world,” Jack said, raising his eyebrows and tightening his face as if he’d just heard chalk scratching a chalkboard. He and Veronica accepted the offer to wander off.

The Tabernacle was a large open-air structure built in the mid-nineteenth century for prayer meetings and spiritual revivals. It was now used for things such as the community sing. It had a large stage with wooden pews below the stage that spread back to an open exit. The tabernacle could hold five hundred people at a time. Its wooden roof was octagonal and pitched in such a way as to allow in light while keeping the congregation dry. When Jack was young, he’d attended summer day camp at the Tabernacle. He remembered hiding in its nooks.

“We’ll see you at the Tabernacle,” he said.

Uncle Browne and Aunt Millicent walked away arm in arm. A big orange moon filled the sky above Taylor Sound casting an orange glow over the nighttime water. Jack and Veronica walked along the top of the bluff across from where the car had been parked watching the calm water of the Sound shining in the moonlight. They walked down some stairs to a beach under the moonlight. Holding hands, they strolled.

“Your aunt and uncle are something,” Veronica said.

“I know,” said Jack.

“They really enjoy each other,” she commented.

“Always have,” Jack confirmed.

“How do you think they’ve stayed so close?” Veronica asked.

“Love and honesty,” Jack declared.

“Love and honesty.” Veronica sounded out the words. “They seem like perfect names for a couple. Let’s call your aunt and uncle Love and Honesty, Jack,” she said, “May we?”

Jack made a face that suggested he thought the names too cute.

“Oh all right, Jack. They’ll remain Browne and Millicent. I know how much those names mean to you.”

“You’re considerate,” Jack said.

Then Veronica added, “But what about us. We’re Love and Honesty, too,” she said. Jack gave her an odd look that made Veronica uneasy. She immediately spun a strand of hair around a finger.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

“No, nothing’s the matter.” Jack seemed suddenly too serious. Veronica’s word games had upset him, made him think of the Sanders Brown letter. She knew he was thinking about something, read it in his face. She asked again, more seriously, about Love and Honesty.

“You do see us like that, don’t you? We love each other; we’re honest with each other. That’s all I meant.” Veronica worried. Provoked by her entreating eyes, Jack wanted to allay her concern.

“Veronica, I couldn’t love anyone more,” he said fervidly That remark uplifted her. She held his hand tightly and they walked on. Veronica talked some more about Aunt Millicent and Uncle Browne.

“Your aunt and uncle prove you don’t need that much to be happy.”

“They’ve got a lot,” Jack said.

“They’ve got the right things. We could learn from them, don’t you think?” Veronica wasn’t suggesting anything. She was merely stating her belief. There was no doubt in her mind that Jack loved her and was honest with her. But Jack’s guilt added to Veronica’s words an element of moral instruction that wasn’t intended.

He became quiet. Again, he thought about having left Veronica out of the loop concerning something important to both of them. It didn’t matter that he’d torn up the Sanders Brown letter, at least partly, to spare Veronica the burden of his indecision. Tearing the letter up made things easier for them is what he’d thought. It removed the conflict. He’d thought that, too. But then he wondered about the wisdom of avoiding conflict. Difficult things had to be shared perhaps more than happy ones in a relationship. He knew that. Perhaps by tearing the letter up, all he’d done was bury the conflict. Perhaps it would return to torment him. He felt that, in some way, it already had. It would have been better to get it out in the open, to decide things together. And here was Veronica, holding up his aunt and uncle’s life as a model. When she said, we are like them, because he felt badly what he heard is, we need to be like them. He heard admonishment when none was given.

He felt remorseful and ashamed. He watched Veronica as she moved. She was innocent, faultless, undeserving of the backlash his compunction returned for not confiding in her. He checked his mood and saw through her eyes, the sweet wisdom she’d intended.

“V, I hear what you’re saying about Uncle Browne and Aunt Millicent. They lead a good life.”

They walked back up the stairs. At the top, looking over the bluff down to the water and then up at the moon, Jack paused and put his arm around Veronica. He appeared somewhat burdened.

“I just don’t know,” he said. “I’ve always been sure about things and now I’m not. I’m sure about you. I’m sure about us. But about the rest . . . I just don’t know.”

Veronica heard Jack’s torment. “Let’s go enjoy the celebration,” she said. “Let’s not worry right now.”

Across the road, the paths of a wide field were filled with people. They walked in lines, many two by two, quietly, almost reverently, toward the Tabernacle. The Tabernacle was beyond the field behind a row of houses, nestled in a space all by itself. The field was well lit both from moonlight and the glow of lanterns hung on porches all around.

The houses around the field looked like giant gingerbread houses. All wore their Illumination Night decorations­ lanterns hung from their spacious porches-throwing off light like beacons. Lanterns made of paper shades, hung from porch ceilings-strung up, spread out, wrapped around in spectacular radiance, like glowing necklaces. Paper shades of myriad colors casting myriad colored light: blue, green, lemon yellow, salmon, teal and pink, a panoply of magical, enchanting light that touched the field from every direction. People moved out of darkness in streams of light into color. Then they passed again into darkness and were lost, headed toward the Tabernacle. They moved like ghostly pilgrims toward the Tabernacle, like shadows seeking light. One by one and two by two, people moved as shadows first, then in illuminated jubilance.

At one point all paths in the field converged and everyone coming out of the field had to use the same path to exit and pass on toward the Tabernacle. In this milling procession, Jack lost Veronica. She’d gone ahead. He walked off the path into an unlit area of field. He was just at the edge of the road that came after the field and before the houses around the field. But he could not tell where he was. He could not see in the dark. He could not see with the light from the nearby lanterns flooding his vision. At last, he exited the field only to pass into a profusion of orange light.

A grand Victorian house immediately in front of him had its huge porch bedecked with ten globes of light-all orange. At first, in the dark and not being able to see, Jack felt lost. Now, engulfed by orange light, he felt blind. In each instance, it was too much of the same thing, too much darkness, and then too much orange light. He felt twice lost. Orange, orange, all around—it was too much orange light. It surrounded him, entrapped him. Everything glowed orange, even his own skin glowed orange. No shapes were discernible, no borders could be made out, and nothing was defined. Only orange light, incessant.

Jack yearned for certainty: shape, one choice, Veronica. She defined the colors. His confusion gave way to agitation. He wanted to get out of the excess of light to where light was defined. He wanted the shadow that brought form and the form that made color real. Above all else, he wanted Veronica. With her, I am more than just my father’s son. I am more than just my uncle’s nephew. I am more than just one color, one choice, one way. With her, I will have all the choices I will ever need. I will live fully. I am not a score. Not one moment, one way, one preconceived notion. I am more than just my father’s son. And then he thought about Wall Street and about what Uncle Browne had said about time.

He wanted desperately to see Veronica. When he finally groped his way out of the lanterns flame, Veronica was next to him.

“I found you,” she said.

“Veronica,” Jack said. He pulled her to him and held her tightly. He smelled her hair and held her as if she were what gave him life.

They walked on to the Tabernacle and met Aunt Millicent and Uncle Browne. Aunt Millicent sang loudly, her voice going forward. Jack and Veronica sang softly. Their voices stayed back. Uncle Browne’s voice, increasingly distinct, reached up toward his wife’s and they sang together. Eventually, they all sang together. When the singing was over, they went home to Uncle Browne’s.

Jack and Veronica took a walk after Aunt Millicent and Uncle Browne went to bed. The moon, still bright, lit the wooden catwalk in the woods. They took the walkway toward the cove. It was cool in the woods. There were hushed sounds of wind­ stirred leaves. Crickets sang. They heard the lapping of the waves on the shore at the cove. They reached the sand and walked along the sand to the lush sea grass. Tenderly, Jack took Veronica’s hand.

They lay down in the soft grasses. Jack held Veronica’s hand as he kissed her. He kissed her hand, too. He opened her mouth with his and they kissed deeply. Her lips were soft on his and he felt her lips and their moisture with his own. He kissed her lips, separately and together. He held her close to him, tightly. He combed back her midnight hair with a gentle hand and slipped a band from off her hair so that it could drop down over him and onto her shoulders. Her shoulders were bare and her soft hair fell over them. In his arms, he folded her and in his arms Veronica felt his love. His love held her closely. And it was as if in holding her, all love was held for all time. The moon was lower in the sky now. It cast a soft light on them and in the background the only sound besides the sound of their breathing was the sound of the water lapping the shore-coming into the shore and washing the beach, then receding. They breathed together, in unison, with the sound of the lapping water. No light could ever be as sacred as that soft luminescence that fell over them-no light except the light in Veronica’s eyes and in Jack’s.