A Song for the Asking

by Steve Gannon

  Kane staggered back, falling to one knee. Still dazed, Travis started to topple. Nate and Allison rushed to help him. Still gripping the log, Catheryn stood before Kane, her eyes holding his unwaveringly.

  Slowly, Kane lurched to his feet. Leaving Travis, Nate and Allison quickly took their places beside Catheryn, closing ranks between Kane and their brother, their fragile strength now united in a bloody phalanx against the father who had turned against his family. Trembling, their chests heaving, wounded but unbowed, they stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting …

  Kane hesitated, frozen by the look of resolve on Catheryn’s face. Bewildered, he raised his hand to his head. He stared at his bloodied hand, then again regarded the tear-streaked faces of his family, seeming for the first time to comprehend the enormity of his betrayal. At last the storm faded and grew dim in his eyes, supplanted by a look of astonished confusion and shame. His shoulders slumped. “Oh, God,” he said, lowering his eyes in shame. “I … I’m …” His voice broke. Unable to go on, he turned and staggered from the room.

  The rest of the family listened as he banged through the back door and crashed outside onto the deck. Then Nate sank weeping to the floor, holding his hand to his chin in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Allison moved to stand beside Travis, her body racked with silent, shuddering sobs. Callie, the newest addition to the Kane household, who had decided to make herself scarce until her masters ceased their terrifying behavior, crept timidly into the room. She gave Nate’s hand a few tentative licks and sat nervously at his feet.

  Her breath coming in ragged gasps, Catheryn maintained a vigil at the door, brandishing her length of firewood like a talisman against her husband’s return. After what seemed a lifetime, satisfied their ordeal had truly passed, she helped Nate to his feet. “Come on, sugar,” she said, examining the cut on his chin. “Let’s get you to the emergency center and see about getting you fixed up.”

  “It’s mostly stopped, Mom,” Nate said quietly, drying his eyes on his shirtsleeve.

  “We’ll let the doctor decide whether you’re all right. If nothing else, I think you’re going to need a few stitches.”

  “I’ll start cleaning up,” said Allison. “Seems like I’ve been getting plenty of experience in that department this summer,” she added bitterly, trying to cover the tremor in her voice.

  “Thanks, Ali.” Catheryn glanced at Travis. “Trav, maybe you’d better come with us, too,” she said.

  Travis shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  “Please, honey. You may have some cracked ribs.”

  Travis shot a glance at the door to the beach. “I’m okay, Mom. Really.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Catheryn, noticing that the bleeding had started again on Nate’s chin. She grabbed a wad of napkins from the bar and applied pressure to the cut.

  “I’m fine,” Travis repeated, forcing a smile. “I’ll stay here with Ali. Go take care of Nate.”

  “Trav… .”

  “Mom, I’m staying here with Ali,” Travis said stubbornly. “Believe me, I’m fine.”

  “All right,” Catheryn sighed. Then, taking Nate’s hand, “C’mon, sugar. Let’s go get you patched up.”

  With no wind to dispel it, the layer of fog blanketing the beach had lowered with the setting of the sun. It now hung a mere hundred feet above the water. Travis stepped over the seawall and stood there briefly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Aside from the pounding of the surf, all seemed still. Carried by an errant gust off the ocean, the scent of the sea came to him like a musky perfume, redolent with the odors of rotting seaweed and blue-green mussels and dead starfish spewed upon the sand and exposed on the rocks by a falling tide. Finally, as his eyes adjusted and dim shapes began to take on ghostly substance, he headed for the water’s edge.

  Topping the berm, Travis looked down at the waves marching the length of the beach. Four-to five-foot swells had begun rolling in from the south the previous day, and as he watched, Travis detected a curious incandescence lighting up the interior of the hollow tubes each time they crashed in the shallows. He studied the almost magical luminescence, wondering whether he was seeing things. At last he realized the subtle effect was being caused by the red tide, a bloom of poisonous microscopic diatoms that glow when disturbed.

  I wonder why I’ve never noticed it before, Travis thought as he crossed the final distance to the ocean. Maybe it’s never been dark enough. It’s strange that something so beautiful can also be so deadly. He stamped at the water’s edge, seeing the same odd light flashing in brief, perfect circles in the sand beneath his feet.

  No sign of his father.

  Dad has to be here somewhere, he thought. Probably stumbled down the beach. But which way?

  Travis searched for footprints in the dim light. He found none. He hesitated, then turned and started down the beach toward the glittering lights of Santa Monica.

  Although well past midnight, a number of the houses lining the ocean still had on their lights. Unlike the closed and impersonal faces most of the beach structures presented to the highway, on the Pacific side many had large, unshuttered windows, and as Travis progressed down the sand he occasionally glanced into their interiors, stealing stealthy glimpses of other people’s lives—other families, other intimacies, other hurts and transgressions—peering in on their secret, dangerous worlds of passion and commitment and love and hate. Are they all like us? he wondered as he passed like a shadow in the darkness. He found no comfort in the thought.

  A quarter mile farther on he reached a line of condos guarding the far end of the cove. There he turned back, following his own footprints in the sand to the point where they turned up toward his house. He stood indecisively. Twenty yards farther on he suddenly spied a dark shape atop the berm. “Dad?” he called.

  No answer.

  Travis approached cautiously. He found a pile of clothes—Kane’s shirt, shoes, and trousers. Travis remembered that on the night of the party his father had stripped to his boxers and ventured out to the raft. He’d had plenty of company on that excursion; tonight he had apparently decided to make the swim alone.

  Travis peered out over the waves, vainly attempting to spot the raft in the dark, angry waters. “Dad?” he yelled again, cupping his hands to his mouth.

  Again, no answer.

  With a growing sense of urgency Travis returned to the house. After a quick search of the deck, he located his bodysurfing wetsuit hanging by the outside shower. Hurriedly, he slipped off his clothes and pulled on his wetsuit. He briefly ducked inside to tell Allison what he planned to do, adding that he would return as soon as possible and to tell Catheryn not to worry. Then, again returning to the deck, he grabbed a pair of green Churchill fins and his Boogie board. Finding the raft in the darkness would undoubtedly prove difficult, and having his head above water on the swim out would help.

  At the ocean’s edge he paused to estimate the raft’s probable location. He knew it swung a wide circle depending on the wind and current, the confluence of the two forces often acting in opposite directions. Taking into account the lack of wind, Travis walked fifty yards to the left and waded into the hissing ocean, the kickboard leashed to his wrist trailing behind. When he reached knee-deep water, he turned his back to the surf. Hopping alternately on one foot and then the other, he pulled on his fins. Then, taking a deep, shivering breath, he braced for the shock of the cold and dived in.

  Normally Travis would have studied the sets, waiting for a lull to make his way through. Because he could see little in the darkness, he simply gripped the front of his board and kicked out strongly, hoping for the best. Long seconds passed as he fought through the boiling foam. Soon he reached a critical section just inside the roar of the breaking tubes. Without warning, a seven-footer rose in the darkness before him. Abandoning his board, Travis clawed for the bottom, feeling the tug of the leash on his wrist as the wave crashed above him, nearly jerking him back into the swirl. Gasping for breath, he surfaced on the fa
r side, recovered his board, and set out once more, kicking for all he was worth. He made it over the next wave. Barely. And then he was past.

  The immediate danger behind, Travis cut through the coal-black water, feeling strangely claustrophobic in the darkness. He glanced once toward the lights of shore. Then, resisting a nearly overwhelming desire to turn back, he swam on through the roiling sea. Several minutes of steady kicking brought him far from the shoreline, but still no sign of the raft. Cold and alone, he stopped and tread water, trying to estimate his position by taking bearings from lights on the beach, wondering whether he had inadvertently passed the raft in the darkness. Repeatedly he called his father’s name, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu.

  Still, nothing.

  As he hung suspended in an undulating plane dividing darkness above from that below, Travis noticed that his kicking feet were creating a glow from the diatoms. It looked as if someone were shining a light from the depths beneath him. He planed his hand under the surface of the water, leaving a scintillating trail in its wake. At another time he might have found the curious effect fascinating; now he could think of only one thing: If he had missed the raft in the darkness, how could his father have possibly found it? With an effort of will he pushed away the chilling thought of his drunken father swimming through the inky night to exhaustion.

  There! A faint light flickered on his left. Travis kicked toward it. Before long he could make out the amorphous, bobbing outline of the raft emerging from the blackness, its timbers outlined in sporadic glimmers and flashes from the diatoms. He approached. Slowly, as the image of the raft grew clearer, he could see Kane lying on the deck, vomiting over the edge.

  Travis hesitated, his fear of his father returning with paralyzing force. More than ever he wanted to turn and kick for shore, leaving to his own fate the man who had commanded and threatened and frightened him throughout the entire course of his life. Numbly, he realized he couldn’t. He also realized, as a renewed lurch of terror flowed through him, that he didn’t have the courage to do otherwise.

  What now? he wondered.

  Then something came back to him, something Kane had told him an eternity ago, something that hadn’t registered at the time but now seemed more consequential than anything else. “Everybody’s afraid,” Kane had said. “Courage, valor, bravery—those are just words fancy words that don’t mean spit. The guys who make the cut are the ones who can do what they have to, despite their fear.”

  Heart in his throat, Travis came to a decision. He circled the raft once more, then swam in. After flipping his kickboard onto the deck, he scrambled over the lee side, avoiding the force of the chopping waves. Occupied with more visceral concerns, Kane appeared not to notice.

  Once he had boarded, Travis sat without speaking, his dread slowly diminishing as he realized his father seemed powerless against him. Strangely, something in Kane’s abject helplessness reminded Travis of Allison’s story. He couldn’t place it for a second. Then, his mind returning to the vengeance of a young girl on a frozen Minnesota river, he had it. Angrily, he savored the murderous image.

  Kane heaved again. Groaning, he spat into the water. “Sick,” he mumbled. “That took some guts comin’ out here for me, Tom.”

  “It’s Travis, Dad.”

  Lowering his head, Kane retched again, coughing up a thin spew of brackish yellow bile.

  “Seasick?” Travis asked, taking vindictive pleasure in his father’s discomfort. “You shouldn’t drink so much on an empty stomach. Next time eat something first, like a couple of raw oysters—nice slimy ones. Or maybe a few of those spicy pepperoni sticks.”

  Kane’s puking noticeably increased.

  “Raw eggs are supposed to be good for a sick stomach, too,” Travis went on with vicious satisfaction. “Something about the yolk popping in your throat when you swallow.”

  “Shut up, Tommy,” Kane pleaded between heaves.

  “Did I ever tell you I once found a scabby Band-Aid in a bowl of chow mein? I thought it was a water chestnut. Had it all chewed up before I figured it out.”

  With a moan, Kane lurched to his knees. He attempted to regain his feet, then slipped on the wet deck and crashed down hard, slamming his head on the redwood planks. Moaning, he rolled over and again proceeded with pitiful, capillary-popping retches to bring up what little remained in his tortured stomach.

  “Let’s head in,” Travis sighed, tiring of his petty revenge. He leaned over and shook his father’s shoulder. “Come on, Dad. It’s getting cold out here. You can use my board and fins.”

  “Not yet,” Kane groaned, still throwing up.

  Realizing he had no choice, Travis decided to await the passing of his father’s spasms. He sat for several minutes leaning against the ladder uprights, gazing at the shoreline. From his offshore vantage, the streetlights tracing the course of Pacific Coast Highway at the foot of the palisades resembled a necklace of tiny yellow pearls, arcing with glowing symmetry on their serpentine journey to Santa Monica. Just under the ceiling of fog, the string of homes lining the beach appeared small and insignificant. Travis searched, locating his own house by the light still burning in the music room.

  “Know somethin’, Tommy?” Kane’s halting words came through the darkness.

  “What?” Travis answered, deciding to ignore his father’s mistake.

  “You’re gonna have kids of your own someday. You’re gonna find out bein’ a father ain’t all that easy.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “You’ll see, Tom. You’ll start out wantin’ everything to be perfect. You’ll tell yourself you’re never gonna make the same mistakes your old man did. Then things will begin getting’ in the way. Money, job, not enough time … and one day, all of a sudden, you’ll discover you’ve screwed up bad and it’s too late to start over. I wanted the best for you, Tommy. I wanted the best for you all.”

  “You have a strange way of showing it,” Travis said bitterly.

  “If I’m hard on you, it’s ’cause I’ve gotta get you ready for later. You’ve no idea what’s out there, Tom. You’ve gotta be tough. You’ve gotta be prepared.”

  “Tommy’s dead, Dad. I’m Travis.”

  A long silence followed. “Travis?” Kane said finally, peering into the darkness. “That you, boy?”

  “Yeah, Dad. It’s me.”

  “Travis? What’re you doin’ out here?”

  “I came out to finish our little talk.”

  Kane stiffened as the memory of what had happened in the music room came flooding back. “Oh, God, Travis. I … I’m sorry,” he choked, his words nearly incoherent with grief. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Like you told Arnie, Dad. Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

  “I know.” Kane shook his head miserably. “I know.”

  “How could you turn on us like that?”

  “Lost control,” Kane said, his voice breaking. “Didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You never mean to hurt any of us,” Travis said coldly. “But you do—every time you ridicule Allison or bully Nate or treat Mom like shit. And Arnie, Dad. Jesus, he’s your best friend.”

  “Didn’t mean it. Lost control. Never again.”

  Sure, Travis thought. But to his surprise, for the first time in his life the harshness of his skepticism was without sting. For the first time in his life, it didn’t matter.

  Kane raised his head, his eyes filled with remorse. “I know I let you down, Trav. I let everybody down. But I’m gonna make it right. I promise I’m gonna make it right.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “I don’t know. But I will.”

  “You know something, Dad?” Travis said, recalling another night not far back when he had also sat in darkness, waiting for the moon. “I’ve been afraid of you for almost as long as I can remember. So afraid that it got to be easier to just not feel anything at all.”

  Travis hesitated, finally realizing the reason he had followed his f
ather out to the raft. Quickly, he rushed on before he could stop himself. “You were right when you said I wasn’t telling the whole story about Tommy’s accident. What I didn’t mention was that all I could think of the whole time I was up there on the rock was what you were going to say when you found out we’d disobeyed , what you were going to do.”

  Travis laughed bitterly. “I was more scared of that than anything else. That’s what I worried about. Not Tommy, or if I was going to be able to save him, or even myself. It was you.”

  Kane didn’t respond.

  “And later when Tommy …” Travis swallowed, fighting for control. “When Tommy died, I told myself I wanted it to be me. But that was a lie, and I knew it. And do you know the thought that kept running through my mind the whole time I was at the hospital, no matter how hard I tried to block it out? I kept thinking if it had been me, you wouldn’t have cared half as much.”

  Travis shrugged. “It’s strange, but some of the things I thought were so important back then don’t even seem to matter anymore.”

  Pausing, Travis lowered his head. “You can be a real bastard, Dad,” he said quietly. “You can be a complete shit to everybody around you. But you’re also right about a lot of things. Maybe you were right about me.”

  Again, Kane said nothing.

  Travis sat in the darkness, waiting for his father to bridge the gap between them, waiting for him to grant an absolution only he could give … yet knowing he wouldn’t, knowing he couldn’t.

  Long seconds passed. Still Kane remained silent. And still Travis waited.

  And as he waited, he slowly began to accept the limits of the father before him, struck by the simple yet shattering realization that the figure huddled on the deck at his feet—the godlike monarch who, with unforgiving hands and unbending will had ruled the puzzles and doubts and fears of his childhood; the patriarch, life-giver, father—was just a man, with the weaknesses and flaws and faults of any mortal man.