Читать книгу Lies With Man - Michael Nava - Страница 6

ONE

The boy’s eyelids fluttered like butterfly wings as if restlessly scanning the dreamscape into which sleep had transported him. Keeping vigil beside the bed, Daniel thought people were wrong to describe death as sleeping; sleep was an activity of the living, filled, like Wyatt’s, with squirms and fidgets, groans and sighs, frowns and smiles. He was pinned to the narrow bed by IVs and monitoring devices emitting beeps and buzzes above the rasp of his troubled breathing. Daniel drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled as if, by example, he could encourage Wyatt to clear the sickness from his lungs. He entwined his fingers with the boy’s— the warm hand was limp and unresponsive to Daniel’s touch. He should pray, he thought, but what more could he say to God that God had not already heard? Still, he whispered, Father, please . . .

The faint pressure of a hand on his shoulder silenced him. Gwen held out a foam cup of milky coffee to him. He took it, gratefully. She resumed her watch on the other side of the bed. Behind her, the windy San Francisco night growled faintly against the window. The brisk, jarring, urgent noises of the ward had subsided to a thrum, creating a peculiar intimacy in the small room, as if they were the only three people in the world.

“Did he wake up at all?”

He shook his head. “I think he’s out for the night.”

She smiled wanly. “He hasn’t slept through the night since he was admitted, and he wakes up confused and scared.”

Her shift had ended, but she was still in her nurse’s scrubs. He wondered when she’d last slept.

“He’s lucky he’s here where you work instead of with strangers,” Daniel said. “Your nurse friends have been dropping in all night to check on him.”

“Everyone’s rooting for him.”

“It’s hard to believe this is where we ended up,” he said.

She lifted Wyatt’s hand delicately and rubbed her thumb along his palm as if imparting her life force into him. The gesture sparked an old memory, and Daniel asked, “Did you ever read his fortune?”

She glanced at him in bewilderment.

“Don’t you remember? The first time we met, you read my palm.”

She smiled, and for a moment he saw in her tired face the beautiful Black girl who had taken his hand, turned it palm up, and studied it intently on a chilly day in Golden Gate Park almost twenty years earlier in the Summer of Love.

••••

“This is your wisdom line,” Gwen had told him, gravely, tracing a line in his palm. “You’re a seeker.”

The sun was a white disc in the gray sky, and a cold wind crackled through the tops of the eucalyptus trees, but the park was still crowded with the young. The swirling shapes of dancers, cacophony of drums, clouds of marijuana surrounded Daniel and Gwen on the poncho she’d spread on the ground with a handwritten sign on it that advertised “Free Palm Readings.”

He closed his hand around hers and said with mock seriousness, “Seek and you shall find.”

She laughed, stood up, playfully pulled him to his feet, and took him to her squat where they spent the rest of the afternoon on a mattress on the floor.

••••

“You said I was a seeker,” he reminded her now.

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“At the time I thought I’d found what I was looking for.”

“We all did back then,” she said with a trace of a smile.

••••

At first, living in Haight-Asbury had been like living inside a kaleidoscope, all mirrors and flashing colors. The old Victorians had been reclaimed as communes and painted outrageous colors, purple and orange, red and yellow, pink and blue, and their doors left unlocked to welcome young refugees from what neighborhood graffiti called AmeriKKKa. AmeriKKA was the death machine from which the young had escaped, following the directive spray-painted on the wall of the free clinic: Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out.

Daniel, a recent dropout from San Francisco State College, embraced the creed. If he panhandled tourists, he wasn’t begging, he was giving them an opportunity to support a free life; if he dropped acid, it wasn’t to escape his grubby circumstances, but to expand his consciousness; if he grabbed food from the supermarket without paying, he wasn’t stealing it, he was liberating it. Every act that defied the laws and conventions of the squares was an act of revolution.

Gwen was as much a believer as he, but while his political ideas were a grab bag of voguish platitudes, hers were the fruit of a studious and methodical mind. She was not playing at revolution; she really wanted to dismantle the machinery of oppression, and her first step was to understand it. While he threw Frisbees in the park, she hunkered down with The Wretched of the Earth, The Autobiography of Malcom X, and The Second Sex.

Daniel spouted slogans; Gwen advanced arguments. Her clarity about the mechanism of oppression helped him convince himself that simply by being with her, a Black girl, he was engaged in the struggle against it. When, however, her studies took her into women’s consciousness-raising groups, and the oppression under discussion was male, her critical gaze fixed him in her sights. Their life together became a series of confrontations for which he was ill-prepared. He saw the logic of her arguments against male domination but protested, “Not me, Gwen,” which only infuriated her. At the same time, the Summer of Love came to a chilly end. Darker colors seeped into his kaleidoscope. Lured by tales of the free-loving, drug-taking hippie Utopia in San Francisco, a more desperate crowd descended on the neighborhood: wounded kids, kids addicted to stronger drugs than pot and acid, kids with mental troubles, and ordinary criminals looking for easy marks.

When Gwen left him to live in a women’s commune, he wandered the Haight without plan or purpose, hedged by anxiety, lost in fear. One day, hungry and tired, he went to a storefront coffeehouse he’d heard was serving free meals. In the window was a painting of an oxbow with the words “For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” in psychedelic script.

••••

Remembering those days now, he said, “I was drowning without you.”

She’d had no time for his self-pity then, when her feminist analysis of his behavior hurt his feelings, and she had no time for it now. “Is that why you jumped on the Jesus lifeboat? If you’d waited, a better one would have come for you. White boys aren’t allowed to drown, not then or now.”

“We both knew plenty of white boys who did,” he replied brusquely. “The one who ended up on drugs. That could have been me, shooting up and overdosing in an alley. It wasn’t an accident I found the Living Room. I was led there.”

••••

He had pushed open the door and was greeted by familiar smells— patchouli, pot, tobacco— but it was the aromas of coffee and soup that drew him and his rumbling stomach farther into the big, shabbily furnished room. Another quotation painted on the wall brought back a childhood memory of sitting in church: “For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son so whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

A boy with curling hair that fell to his back, wearing a beat-up, fringed leather jacket, approached Daniel with a wide smile and gripped his hand in a soul shake.

“Hey man, I’m Ronnie; who are you?”

“I’m Daniel.”

“You hungry, Daniel? The girls made chicken soup, and there’s doughnuts and coffee. Come and help yourself.”

Daniel was studying another quotation on the wall: “I am the way and the truth and the light. No one comes to the father except through me.”

He looked at Ronnie and asked, “What’s your trip, man?”

Ronnie’s big smile got even bigger. “Jesus is my trip.”

••••

Jesus is my trip. Ronnie Carson, the wild-haired urchin who had brought him to Jesus, was still out there somewhere preaching in the streets. He would have been nineteen, the same age then as Wyatt was now. So young, both of them; Daniel himself only twenty-one when he had stumbled into the Living Room, as the coffeehouse was known. He returned day after day to eat soup and drink coffee and listen as Ronnie or one of the other men who ran the place read scripture and talked about Jesus.

Daniel was indifferent to Christianity. In his Lutheran family, religion was something reserved for the starchy hour they spent in church on Sunday, which otherwise did not impinge on their lives. What drew Daniel to the Jesus people wasn’t their beliefs but their joy and their generosity which recaptured for him the original spirit of the Haight.

Almost without knowing it, Daniel had become part of the community, scrubbing the toilet in the Living Room’s squalid little bathroom or going out on the daily dumpster-dives for food behind supermarkets or to negotiate with local bakeries for day-old bread and pastries. He faithfully read the little New Testament they gave him, donated by a local church and originally intended for missionaries in India, and joined in the Bible studies. The Jesus they believed in was nothing like the remote, ghostly presence he remembered from Sunday school. This Jesus was an earthy, long-haired, street-wise preacher who consorted with the lowly and took the powerful to task. Daniel loved this Jesus. But was he God? That was the precipice where Daniel found himself stalled.

One morning, as he was sweeping the sidewalk in front of the Living Room, Ronnie approached him with a sly smile. “Let’s hitch to Ocean Beach and drop a tab of this fantastic acid I just scored.”

••••

It was a glittering December day; the surface of the ocean was like plates of glass slowly sliding one over the other. Gulls dipped and soared in the blue air. The sky was cloudless. They sat on a tree trunk someone had dragged onto the sand. The air was filled with the decaying smell of the kelp scattered on the beach. Ronnie put the tab of acid on Daniel’s tongue as if it were a communion wafer and placed the other on his own. They swallowed and sat, waiting for the drug to kick in.

Daniel remembered how he had stared at the sand where, it seemed to him, he could see simultaneously the golden glint of each individual grain and the golden carpet of the entire beach. He remembered he had raised his eyes to the sky, and the dip and soar of the gulls was transformed from flight into script. The words they wrote across the sky he repeated aloud: “I come from the Father and have come into the world and now I am leaving the world and going to the Father.”

Beside him, Ronnie said, “John sixteen twenty-five.”

“What?”

“It’s what Jesus said to the disciples before he left them to go home to his Father.”

Daniel began to sob. “He’s abandoned us,” he stuttered.” “He’s left us here alone.”

Ronnie put his arm around Daniel and said in a warm, urgent, intimate whisper, “No, Danny, listen to the rest of the verse. The disciples say, now we understand that we know all things and there’s no need to question you. From this we can believe that you came from God. And then Jesus goes, do you now believe? He’s asking, do you believe I’m God? That’s the question every Christian has to answer, Danny. He’s asking you. Do you believe Jesus is God? Do you accept him as your Lord and Savior so he can be with you always?”

Daniel wiped tears and snot on his shirtsleeve, and when he looked back at the sky the script had faded, and everything was light.

“Yes!” he shouted. “Yes!”

Ronnie had jumped up, hauled Daniel into the freezing ocean, and baptized him.

••••

“Remember that moment,” he told Gwen. “That Jesus boat wasn’t just something to grab onto because you left me.”

She relented. “I’m sorry I was disrespectful, Daniel. In my family Jesus was the strap they used to keep me in line whenever I did anything my mom didn’t think was ladylike.” She sipped her coffee. “That’s what Jesus meant to me when you told me you were saved. I should have asked what it meant to you.”

He remembered the glittering ocean, the pang of salt in the air, the cries of the gulls in the dizziness of blue above him, and how he had felt filled with light.

“It meant,” he said, “for a moment, I was blinded by love and when that passed, nothing looked the same again.”

••••

But at the time, when she had come to see him at the Living Room, his conversion was still too fresh for him to have words for it. She looked around the room, read the scripture on the wall, listened to his story about how he’d been struck by the glory of the Lord, and said dismissively, “The Lord? You mean that old white man in the sky who told women to bow down to the men?”

“Paul said in God there is no male and female and all are one in Jesus Christ.”

“Tell that to the girls washing dishes in the kitchen while you guys sit around out here smoking and drinking coffee and rapping.” She got up. “This trip isn’t for me and maybe, when the acid high wears off, it won’t be for you, either.”

He grabbed her hand. “Gwennie, don’t go. I love you.”

She pulled her hand away, looked at him and said, “I’m pregnant.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, Danny, I’m going to take care of it.”

“What do you mean, take care of it?” he asked in horror. “You don’t mean an abortion.”

“That’s for me to decide,” she said flatly.

“It’s my child, too,” Daniel protested. “You can’t just kill it.”

“You don’t tell me what to do with my body.”

“Marry me,” he exclaimed.

Her eyes which had been angry, filled with sadness. “You don’t mean that.”

He drew in a breath. “I’m serious. Marry me. I’ll do whatever you want me to do, even if it means leaving my friends here. Leaving the city, getting a straight job, starting over somewhere else.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want you to change your life for me anymore than I want to change my life for you. I won’t marry you, Danny. Our thing is over. You go your way, and I’ll go mine.” And with that she had left.

••••

Now, he said, “I went to the commune where you were living. A redheaded girl told me you’d gone hone and slammed the door in my face.”

Gwen chuckled softly. “That would have been Alice.”

He continued, “I realized I didn’t even know where your family lived. I had no way to reach you.” He shook his head. “I stood there and cried until another girl came up the steps and saw me and told me I should leave.” He shrugged. “At least she was nice about it.”

The quiet of the hospital room was broken by the splash of rain against the window. They both looked over as water began to streak the glass. He remembered how he had wiped his eyes and nose on the sleeve of his dirty cowhide jacket and gone heavily down the stairs.

••••

Six years later the Living Room had been shuttered, its people scattered, but Daniel’s conversion stuck. He returned to school, a small Christian college in Orange County. There, the free-wheeling faith he had learned on the streets of San Francisco was tempered by the corollary tenets of man’s inherent sinfulness and the requirement of repentance. Daniel, having watched with dismay as what was left of the idealism of the sixties soured into consumption, materialism and licentiousness, accepted those teachings. If other principles, like the inerrancy of the Bible and the exclusivity of Christianity, gave him pause, he hammered out his doubts with his teachers until he arrived at a place of, if not blind, then working acceptance. As the years passed, the distinction evaporated.

He was ordained, became the youth pastor at a big, unaffiliated evangelical church in Los Angeles called Ekklesia. He thrived in the role, bringing dozens of young families into an aging congregation. He also discovered a gift for raising money that, more than his ministerial skills, brought him to the attention of Max Taggert, Ekklesia’s founding pastor. Taggert’s only child was a daughter, Jessica, who could not, of course, inherit his position, as women were barred from ordination. Taggert, eyeing a successor, began to call Daniel “son.”

••••

A church in San Francisco had invited him to help design its youth ministry. After six years, the city was at once familiar and unrecognizable. The streets were the same, but the feet that trod them belonged to strangers. One afternoon he strolled through the Haight, where no trace of the sixties remained except in fading graffiti and a couple of old hippie businesses. Moved by nostalgia, he stepped into a phone booth, opened the phone book, and looked up Gwen. He didn’t really expect to find her since, as far as he knew, she’d never returned to the city. But there she was: Gwen Baker. Or, a Gwen Baker. Living in the Mission on Fair Oaks Street. Impulsively he called her. She knew him by his voice, even before he said his name, and invited him to dinner.

Daniel had stood at the front door of Gwen’s flat— one half of a tall Victorian on a street of tall Victorians— and peered through the window at a steep flight of stairs. He rang the bell. A moment later the small figure of a boy came hurtling down the stairs and opened the door, breathless. He was seven, Daniel later learned. He had Gwen’s frizzy hair, complexion, and elegant features but his eyes— blue and awash with curiosity— were Daniel’s.

“Hello,” Daniel said. “Is your mother home?”

“She’s cooking,” he said. “She said to let you in. I’m Wyatt.”

“I’m Daniel.”

••••

Their conversation was limited by Wyatt’s presence. Bright, inquisitive and bold, he had interrupted them when they attempted to speak in grown-up code and demanded to know what they were talking about. Eventually, they gave up and restricted themselves to pleasantries as they sipped coffee in Gwen’s comfortable living room while Wyatt sprawled on his belly on the floor with crayons and paper, coloring with one hand and shooing away a plump gray cat with the other.

“What are you drawing?” Daniel asked.

“It’s a stego— stego . . .”

“Saurus,” Gwen said.

“Mom! I was going to say that.”

“I’m sorry, Wyatt.”

“My school went to the natural history museum, and we saw the dinosaur bones. When I grow up, I want to be a paleo— a paleo . . .” Now he glanced at Gwen for help.

“Paleontologist.”

“And dig up dinosaur bones from millions of years ago.”

“You know, Wyatt,” Daniel said, “the Bible tells us God created the world and all the animals in it in seven days and seven nights.”

He gawked at Daniel and exclaimed, “That’s ridiculous!”

“Wyatt, don’t be rude to our guest.”

Wyatt grunted and went back to his drawing. A few minutes later, he got up with his picture and went to Daniel. He held out the drawing and said, “I’m sorry I was rude. You can have my picture.”

Daniel studied the drawing of the lumpy, spiky-backed green blob with Wyatt’s name in the corner. “Thank you, Wyatt. That’s very nice.”

“And now,” Gwen said, “it’s time for you to go to bed.”

While Gwen put Wyatt to bed, Daniel walked around the living room. On the mantel over the fireplace there were framed photographs of Gwen’s family— people Daniel had never met— and Gwen in a graduation robe and mortarboard. A banner on the wall behind her indicated the photograph had been taken at the nursing school of San Francisco State. There were a half-dozen photographs of Wyatt from infancy on, some with Gwen or other family members, some of Wyatt alone. But no men other than those he took to be her father or brothers. No boyfriend. No husband.

She came into the room and said, “I usually have a glass of wine after I get him into bed. You want one?”

He shook his head.

“You mind if I do?”

“Not at all.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and emerged holding a large wine glass half-filled with dark liquid. Drinking was not proscribed by his church— even his future father-in-law enjoyed his occasional tumbler of Scotch on the rocks— and many of his congregants drank, a few to excess. Daniel chose to set an example of sobriety for the younger people he worked with. Now, looking at her wine, he thought if ever there was a time for alcohol, this was it.

“You know,” he said. “I think I will have a glass.”

“Here,” she said. “Take mine. You probably need it more than I do.”

She sat beside him on the plush couch and handed him the wine.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Wyatt?” Daniel asked, turning the glass in his hand.

She took a deep breath. “I didn’t know until I went home that I couldn’t go through with an abortion. After Wyatt was born, I had enough on my plate without tracking you down and adding that complication. I thought that maybe later I could find you, but by the time I came back to the city that place in the Haight was closed down and I didn’t know where else to look for you.”

“What changed your mind about the abortion?”

She took the glass from him for a sip, then handed it back. “Wyatt may not have been planned, but he was conceived in love. And you were— are— a good person. I’m sure you’re a wonderful father to your other children.”

“I’m not married,” he said.

“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Sorry. I’m surprised.”

“I will have to, eventually,” he said. “We’re not Catholics. Unmarried pastors don’t inspire a lot of confidence.”

“Getting married is like a job requirement?”

“I want a family,” he said and, after a moment, continued. “You aren’t married, either. Why?”

“I didn’t want a man who wasn’t Wyatt’s father to raise him.”

“Will you write to me sometimes and let me know how he is?”

“He can write to you himself.”

“You’ll tell him who I am, then?”

“When he’s a little older. Is that all right?”

“Yes, but, when the time comes, I’d like to be here.”

“Of course. You are his father.”

He gazed at her and thought she didn’t want to marry a man who wasn’t Wyatt’s father and here he was, Wyatt’s father, also unmarried. Shouldn’t they at least consider . . . ? For Wyatt’s sake? He looked at the glass in his hand as he imagined breaking the news to Pastor Taggert, the man who called him “son,” and who had grown up a white man in the Jim Crow South with all the prejudices that implied.

She broke into his thoughts, observing, “We lead very different lives, Daniel. I’m happy with mine. I hope you’re happy with yours.”

“I am,” he said.

“Good,” she said, answering his unspoken question once and for all.

••••

A few days later a letter arrived at the church addressed to him with the word Personal written on the envelope. When he opened it and unfolded the paper, there were four lines in green crayon:

Dear Daniel, today we went to the Golden Gate Park and had a fun time. I liked you. I hope you come back to see me again.

Love, Wyatt

A year later, Daniel married Taggert’s daughter and when Taggert died, took his place as head of Ekklesia.

••••

Daniel stroked Wyatt’s forehead and said, “I’ve kept everything he ever sent me. Every drawing, every photo, every letter. Even the one where he told me about his— that he was gay.”

Gwen said, “It took you weeks to answer him.”

He frowned at her. “What did you expect? It was the last thing in the world I wanted to hear.”

“He thought you hated him.”

“I know,” Daniel said. “He told me. I told him I could never hate him.”

••••

“I could never hate you, Wyatt.” He had stared ahead as he spoke, at the turbid water on a cold, foggy August afternoon at Ocean Beach. Wyatt sat beside him on a blanket spread across the sand, his tension as palpable as an electric current, a cigarette burning between his long, slender fingers. “But I do wish you wouldn’t smoke.”

Wyatt made a noise, half-laugh, half-groan, and crushed the cigarette into the gray sand.

“Come on, Dad, at least it’s not pot.” Then he looked at his father. “I thought you’d be mad because, you know, your religion.”

Daniel chose his words carefully. “I accept your decision, but that doesn’t mean I approve.”

Wyatt’s eyes flared. “I didn’t decide anything. It’s who I am.”

“And I’m who I am,” Daniel replied. “If you want me to respect who you are, you have to respect who I am.”

“That mean we never talk about it again?” Wyatt said sullenly.

“There’s nothing we can’t talk about, even the hard stuff, but that doesn’t mean we won’t disagree. That’s what adults do.”

Wyatt stared out at the ocean, thoughtfully. “Okay, Dad,” he said, at last. “I guess I can live with that.”

••••

“We think there are different kinds of love,” Daniel had once preached to his congregation, “and some are greater than others, but that’s not true for Christians. For Christians, there is only one kind of love because there is only one God and John tells us God is love. Now, it’s true that we have different obligations to the different people we love and some of those obligations are greater than others, but the love, that’s the same. Don’t forget that because once you go down the road of, oh I don’t love this person as much as that person, it’s not that much of a jump to start treating people you say you love differently, some better and some worse. When that happens, you’ve stopped loving.”

••••

Four times a year, his congregants knew Daniel went on a silent retreat at a Jesuit order house outside of San Francisco. He arrived on Friday and spent the first night and the following morning at the retreat house, but then he drove to San Francisco where he remained until Monday with Gwen and Wyatt. Wyatt grew from a cheerful child into a mostly cheerful teen who got C’s in math and science and A’s in English and art, played point guard on his high school basketball team, had been busted by his mother for smoking pot, was proud of his driver’s license, and wrote monthly letters to Daniel that Daniel kept in a locked desk drawer in his office at the church. The love Daniel felt for his son was as unfiltered and uncomplicated as if it had traveled like a beam of light directly from God into Daniel’s heart.

But then came the terrible call from Gwen. “Wyatt’s sick,” she said. “It’s AIDS.”

“You let him have sex with another man!”

“I didn’t let him do anything. He’s eighteen, Daniel. He made his own decision. It was a mistake, but kids make mistakes. Like we did when you got me pregnant.”

“You can’t possibly compare that with what he did. Oh my God. Wyatt,” he had sobbed. “My boy.”

••••

“You should go back to the apartment, get some sleep,” Gwen was saying. “You have an early flight.”

“I can’t go without saying good-bye to him.”

Slowly, insistently, Gwen said, “He’s going to recover from this, Daniel. There will be other times.”

“This kind of pneumonia, though, isn’t a sign that he’ll get worse?”

“Not necessarily.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

Gwen started to reply but before she could, Wyatt’s eyes flew open, confused and unfocused. He looked at his mother and then at Daniel, peering at him as if seeing him for the first time. Then he smiled and said, “Dad, you’re here.”

Daniel answered, “Where else would I be?”