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"I'm sorry," she said. "Let's not talk about sad things,"
Nathan said. "My story is about a boy by the name of Francis Carol
Rutherford." He cleared his throat. "Francis contracted polio and had to
wear braces on his legs. In addition to being crippled, he was what you
might call a pretty boy. Blond hair, delicate features, the clearest
blue eyes you've ever seen. All this might have been beneficial if the
poor bloke had been a girl." "Is this a true story?" April
asked, glancing at Nathan's twisted legs. His eyes were amazing. The
skin around them was crinkled and loose, but instead of being dull, the
color was a vibrant shade of blue.
"I knew Francis quite well," Nathan
said. "His father was a rugged man, a commercial fisherman. His son was
an embarrassment to him. Back then a man had to have a little brawn to
earn a living, and boys who were too pretty were considered sissies. If
Francis had lived today, he might have been able to earn his living like
those male models who pose in their underwear."
April laughed. "A lot of those models
are gay," she said. "Was your friend gay? Francis is an unusual name for
a boy."
Nathan smiled mischievously, but he
didn't feel her question required an answer. "His mother decided the
only solution was for Francis to become a man of letters. Every day she
insisted he stay in his room and read. Once the doctors removed the leg
braces, Francis wanted to run and play with the other boys. The bout of
polio had left him with a limp, but he had learned to get around pretty
good. His mother wouldn't hear of it. Francis had to have an occupation.
He wasn't big enough or strong enough to become a fisherman like his
father."
April shook her head. Why was she
listening to silly stories from a man old enough to be her grandfather?
"I have to go now," she said. "With graduation and all, I have a lot of
chores to do."
"Please," Nathan insisted, "just a
little farther and the story will be told."
"Another five minutes," she said, "then
I really must go."
"Francis wanted to prove himself to his
father," Nathan continued, "show him he was as strong as any other boy.
He devised a little system. While he read one book, he would hold
another book in his hands and lift it up and down. Every day he did
this. I mean, Francis was religious about his exercise. He soon started
asking his mother to get heavier books from the library. She was pleased
that Francis had become such an avid reader, and had no idea the boy was
building up his body."
April heard something behind her and
turned around. A family of seagulls was following them, walking single
file in the sand. "Look," she said, "we have company." "Don't
mind them," Nathan said. "They always tag along. They get a kick out of
my stories."
"I saw this unusual seagull the other
day." she said. "It had only one leg, and the look out of its eyes was
peculiar. I'm almost positive it was the same gull that landed on the
ledge outside my window last night. Do you think that's possible? Could
a seagull follow me home? I live a long way from the beach."
Nathan said softly, "Would you like to
hear more about Francis?"
April sucked in a deep breath. "Okay,"
she said. The walk had lulled her into a state of tranquility. She could
see the pilings for the pier up ahead, and decided she might as well
continue and let Nathan finish his story. He was a lonely old man,
desperate for companionship. It wouldn't hurt her to extend a little
kindness. A person couldn't go through life just taking and not giving.
"When Francis started swimming," Nathan
went on, "he found that in the water his girlish appearance and the
weakness he carried in his legs was not a problem. With his strong upper
body and small trunk, he could propel himself through the water at
lightning speeds. He tried out for the swim team at school and soon
became the captain. Then a few years later, Francis decided he wanted to
swim the English Channel. That was quite an accomplishment for him."
April became even more convinced that
Nathan and the man he was talking about were the same. The twisted legs,
the refined features, the piercing blue eyes. He was an extremely small
man; his head reached only a few inches above April's waist. She
wondered if he had always been this short or if he had shrunk with age.
She turned and glanced behind her. From a distance, Nathan probably
looked like a child walking on the arm of his mother. "You swam the
English Channel?" she said. "I'm impressed."
Nathan thrust his shoulders back. "I'm
sorry if I led you to believe this story was about me. My name is
Nathan, not Francis." He paused, gazing out at the surf. "Anyway,
something strange happened as Francis swam the icy waters of the
channel. His body was racked by exhaustion, his lips cracked and
bleeding. What carried him was not the strength he had developed lifting
books, but the stuff that was inside them. The great stories he had read
were his companions. They carried him all the way across the channel."
"What happened to him after he swam the
channel?" April asked. "He became a poet," Nathan said. "He didn't make
a lot of money, but he was highly esteemed in the town where he lived.
He died, of course. Everyone dies eventually. Birth and death are the
only certainties of life."
Without thinking, April placed her hand
on her stomach. "Death is certain, but I'm not so sure about birth."
Nathan stopped walking. "What do you
mean?"
"We have planned parenthood these
days," April told him. "No one should bring a child into the world
unless they have the necessary maturity and resources. And there are
other factors to consider. My father says children with birth defects
will be extinct one day. Think of all the suffering that will be
eliminated through genetic screening." Nathan's face blanched.
"Genetic screening, huh?" he said. "Isn't what you are talking about
called genetic engineering?"
"Not necessarily," April argued. "I
don't think you understand. Genetics is a fairly new field. Since both
of my parents are physicians, I've been talking about this kind of thing
all my life."
"Ah," he said. "And you're going to be
a doctor too?"
"That's the plan," she said, releasing
a long sigh. "Medicine is fascinating. I'm just not sure I want to be a
doctor. What I'd really like to do is teach school. I love children.
Mother says it's because I'm an only child."
"And you don't agree?"
"No," April said. "Children grow.
Patients die. I don't think I'm going to be a very good doctor. Every
time I walk into a hospital, my stomach turns upside down."
"So, be a teacher, then," Nathan said.
"Don't your parents want you to be happy?" April cut her eyes to
him. "I don't think they've ever considered what I want."
"My, my," Nathan said, scratching the
gray stubble on his chin. "Guess we're going to have to change some
things." He poked the sand with his piece of driftwood. "This genetic
stuff you were talking about. Think of poor Francis. If he had been born
today, he might have been considered defective, and never had a chance
to swim the English Channel or write all those lovely poems. As I
understand it, scientists can isolate certain genes now, tell if an
unborn child will develop a specific disease."
"Well," April said, surprised someone
his age was so well informed, "maybe your friend would have preferred
not to have been born if he knew in advance what he was facing."
Nathan grimaced. "I don't believe human
beings should play God. There was another man who wanted to engineer a
perfect race, but you're probably too young to remember him. His name
was Adolf Hitler."
"That's not a valid comparison," April
said, shaking her head. "No one's trying to engineer a perfect race,
Nathan. The medical community's only goal is to prevent needless
suffering."
Nathan reached down and clasped her
hand. April resisted the urge to pull away. His touch was not what she
expected. She had seen his craggy fingers, but his hands were as soft
and warm as an infant's. "I'm glad I met you," she said. "I want to help
you if I can. I hope you don't mind me asking, but are you homeless?"
"In a way," he said, "but not the way
you mean. I've outlived my usefulness. My only son died two years ago.
My lovely wife has been gone for many years. All my friends are dead.
But me, I just keep on living, a miracle of modern science. I live when
all I ever knew and loved has died."
April's face softened in compassion.
"Don't you have grandchildren?"
"My son and his wife were career
people," Nathan explained. "They elected not to have children. That's
exactly what my son said to me, `Dad, Joy and I have elected not to have
children.' I was mighty disturbed by that statement. I know we elect
congressmen, but a child is different." He pushed the fishing cap back
on his head. "If I had elected not to have my son, then he elected not
to have a child and so on, things could get really strange. There might
be no one to elect anything, even a president. I have to tell you, this
particular word is not one of my favorites." He knocked a seashell out
of his path with the piece of driftwood. "Perhaps it's time for you to
tell me your story."
Once they reached the pier, they turned
and headed back. "I told you I don't know any stories," April said,
thinking of the abortion scheduled for the following day. A man of
Nathan's age would not be able to understand why she had to terminate
the pregnancy. They were not just one generation apart but several. If
she became a physician, she could save lives. Her father pointed out to
her all the time how lucky she was that he had the funds to put her
through medical school. Many of her friends were not as fortunate.
A commotion erupted behind them. The
seagulls were flapping their wings and making strange sounds. "Stop that
this instant," Nathan said, shaking his finger at them. The gulls
immediately fell into an orderly line again. "April's going to tell us a
story if you guys will quiet down." He smiled at her, squeezing her
hand. "Go on, now. They'll behave themselves."
"There was this girl," April said,
deciding any topic would be better than the one they had been previously
discussing. "Her parents were intelligent, successful people. They
didn't laugh much, though. The only thing they found funny was when
someone did something stupid."
"These people don't sound very nice,"
Nathan said.
"Their daughter met this man at a
party," April continued. "He was so handsome that just looking at him
made her feel dizzy. He had black hair, black eyes, olive skin. She
didn't fall in love with his looks, though. It was the way he treated
her, the way she felt when she was with him." She stopped speaking. She
saw Pete in his blue Mazda backing out of her driveway on that fateful
evening, smiling and waving. So many things had been left unsaid. If
only they'd had more time together, she might be able to accept his
death.
"Aren't you going to tell me the rest
of the story?" Nathan said.
"They date," April said. "The man was
different from anyone she had known before, and not just because he was
a few years older. He was romantic and affectionate. He brought her
flowers, composed songs for her, wrote her love letters." Tears gathered
in her eyes.
"There's nothing more to tell."
"You're sure?" Nathan said. "That
wasn't much of a story. I thought you were going to tell me that this
couple got married and started a family."
"No," April said, sniffing. She gave
Nathan a quick peck on the cheek, then jogged back in the direction of
her car, leaving him standing alone with the family of seagulls gathered
at his feet.
April sat on a bench on the UCLA
campus, the morning sun beating down on her. She had stopped by the
library before her first class, finding a book of poems written by
Francis Carol Rutherford. She had looked on the back cover for a
photograph, but there were only a few sentences stating the poet had
grown up in Maine. The poems she had read thus far were wonderful, and
she was eager to share her discovery with Nathan. Did he know his
friend's book was still available in the library? The way Nathan had
told the story, Francis Rutherford had achieved only a moderate degree
of success, basically at the local level. If the poet's work was in the
UCLA library after all these years, Rutherford must have been a widely
acclaimed poet.
A slender blonde stepped up to the
bench. "Where the hell were you yesterday? Are you going to eat lunch
with us today?"
"I met a new guy," April lied, slipping
the book into her backpack. "I'm meeting him for lunch in thirty
minutes."
"I thought you were still in the dumps
over Pete," Sarah Johnson said, a puzzled look on her face. "Where did
you meet this guy? Do I know him?"
"No," April said. "I'll call you
tonight. If I don't hurry, I'm going to be late. Nathan hates it when
I'm late."
"Didn't you tell me you were going to
the clinic today?" Sarah asked. "I only have one class this afternoon.
If you want, I can cut and go with you. Everyone else is cutting
anyway."
April dropped her head and continued
walking. During the time she had been reading Rutherford's poems, the
abortion had disappeared from her mind. Her appointment was scheduled
for three o'clock. It was only noon, though, and if she didn't get stuck
in traffic, she would still have time to stop by the beach and show
Nathan the book.
Parking the Jetta in the same spot,
April removed her shoes and took off toward the sand. The only people on
the beach were a couple walking hand and hand. She jogged in the
direction of the pier, then heard a voice calling to her. "Over here,"
Nathan shouted. "If I was a snake, I would have bit you."
Nathan was sitting Indian-style under a
small umbrella, partially obscured by a large sand dune. He had on the
same clothes as the day before, the khaki pants, the red parka, the
white fishing cap with the floppy brim. A checkered tablecloth was laid
out on the ground, with two paper plates piled high with fried chicken,
mashed potatoes, and cold slaw. "Where did you get all this, Nathan?"
April asked. "Kentucky Fried Chicken?"
"Sit down," he said, motioning to a
spot beside him. "I've got some iced tea in the cooler. As to the food,
well, I cooked it myself. Live long enough and you learn to do
everything. Let's eat. I'm famished."
"How did you know I was coming today?"
April asked, dropping• down next to him. "And how did you know I would
be here in time for lunch?"
"Lucky guess," Nathan said, winking. He
reached over and placed a napkin in her lap.
April sank her teeth into a crispy
chicken breast and sighed in pleasure. "This is great," she said, "but
how can you eat this? You're going to have a stroke, Nathan. Fried food
is loaded with cholesterol."
Nathan laughed, then tilted his head
toward the heavens. "Got any room for me up there yet?" A few moments
later, he fell serious. "A lot of people don't understand how the world
works. The reason people like me are living so long is that there is no
place for them to go. There aren't as many babies being born as there
used to be, and a lot of couples are waiting a long time before they
start their families.
April felt a lump form in her throat.
"Are you implying that abortion is the problem? You think aborting a
baby is immoral, right?"
"Not necessarily," Nathan said. "I
agree that a woman's body is her own. I remember the days of coat
hangers and butchers. If a woman doesn't want a child or is unable to
care for one properly, then she has no business giving birth. It's the
word convenience that gives me heartburn."
April's muscles tensed. "You think
women are turning to abortion for selfish reasons. Is that what you're
trying to say?"
"No matter," Nathan told her. "If my
theory is correct and there are only so many souls in the universe, an
old goat like me would have to find a mother before he could be allowed
to leave this world. I don't mean literally, of course. Souls must have
somewhere to go, though, don't you think? I've had my bags packed for
almost twenty years now, but the ticket doesn't seem to be forthcoming."
He stopped and chuckled. "I'm afraid I might live to be a hundred. Can
you imagine how boring that could be?"
"Just keep eating fat and you won't
have that problem," April said, tossing her bones into a paper bag
Nathan had brought along for that purpose. "Why would you want your life
to be over? You seem to be in fairly good health. If you were sick, I
might understand."
Nathan rested his back against the sand
dune. "Today would have been my fiftieth wedding anniversary," he told
her. "That's why I decided to make a nice lunch, have a little
celebration. I'm pleased that you came along to keep me company. Joan
would have liked you.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Oh," he said, "why I want to die,
right?"
"Right," April said. "Most people are
afraid of dying."
"What's to be afraid of?" Nathan told
her. "I'm ready to trade this old body in for a new one. Can you imagine
how marvelous it must be to be an infant? Whimper a little bit and you
get fed." He yawned. "All this waiting is getting tiresome. I always
thought I'd die around the same time as Joan. That way we could hook up
together in another lifetime. By now Joan's probably already got herself
a new man. Shucks, if I had passed on about twenty years ago, I might
have come back in time to be your fellow." He removed a toothpick from
his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. "Interesting thought, huh?"
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