by Emmens, Joye
“I’m mapping out my route of historic places to visit and photograph. A walk through the American Revolution.” She glanced at him. His curly hair was uncombed and his wire-rimmed granny glasses were smudged. “Geez, give me your glasses. How can you even see?”
He handed over his glasses. “Hey, we could do that with my class instead of the portraits.”
“It would get them out of Roxbury,” she said. “They can take the photos.”
“They don’t have cameras, but they all need extra credit to pass summer school. This would be a good assignment.”
“I could ask the camera store if they could loan me a few used cameras for the day.”
He shook his head. “Loan them to kids from Roxbury High? You’re a dreamer.”
“It’s worth a try.” She sipped her tea. “Hey, there’s a free concert in the Cambridge Common today. Will and I are going. Do you want to join us?”
“I have to visit my folks today.”
She hesitated. “Can you give me a Jewish lesson?”
“A what?”
“I agreed to help Leah cook for her parents next Sunday, and I don’t want to blow it. She said they were very kosher whatever that is.”
“Oy vey.”
“Oy vey?”
“It’s a saying in Yiddish. It means ‘woe is me’.”
Would she have to learn a language too? “I thought I would stick with Italian food, like lasagna. That should be safe.”
He shook his head. “You can’t mix milk and meat.”
“There’s no milk in my lasagna.”
“Cheese.”
“Oy vey,” Jolie said.
Daniel laughed. “And no pork. Animal foods must be from mammals with split hooves that chew cud and fish must have fins and scales.”
She looked at him incredulously.
“That’s just the start. Kosher kitchens are very complicated. You have to use separate cookware and tableware for milk and meat dishes.”
Did Leah and Sarah have two sets of cookware? “What about you? I’ve totally blown it cooking.”
“I observe in varying degrees and certainly not the food rules. I love your cooking. I just don’t eat pork.”
What had she gotten herself into? But she couldn’t back out on Leah now.
Daniel rose. “I’ll borrow a kosher cookbook from my mom for you.”
She smiled up at him appreciatively.
Jolie arrived at the office dressed for the concert in her new fawn-colored short suede skirt, wide leather belt, lavender silk blouse, and sandals. A leather craftsman on the avenue had made the skirt and belt for her and a black leather vest for Will.
Will smiled as she walked through the door with her camera slung over her shoulder. Will, Coulter, Adam, an older man, and some students sat in the living room on an assortment of chairs and couches amid ringing phones and hammering typewriters. All heads turned to see who had caught his attention. The conversation simmered as she leaned on the door frame and listened to Will talk about his article series on the My Lai massacre.
“That’s old news,” Coulter said.
“Old news? The real truth has yet to be told,” Will said.
Jolie silently took her camera out of the case and snapped a photo of the group. Coulter’s eyes narrowed at her. She sucked in her breath at the intensity of his dark eyes.
“Lieutenant Calley was already tried and charged,” Coulter said, shifting in his chair.
“There are two stories. One is the massacre of five hundred unarmed Vietnamese civilians by U.S. troops, and the other is the cover up. We need the real story about what happened,” Will said.
“I agree,” said the older man. “There’s an army investigation underway. We don’t know what really happened over there other than it was horrific.”
Will introduced the older man to her, Professor Barnes, the owner of the house. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” Jolie said. “Can I make you some tea?” She set her camera down.
“I’d love some,” the professor said.
Coulter stood up and looked out the window to the street. The professor followed Jolie into the kitchen. Dirty mugs littered the counter and the sink. Jolie put on the kettle and began washing the dishes. “Black tea or jasmine?”
“Jasmine sounds delightful,” he said.
She poured the tea and the fragrant scent of jasmine flowers filled the room. Will joined them in the kitchen, and he and the professor talked more about My Lai. Jolie opened and read a stack of mail, sorting it into piles.
“Here’s a letter to you, Will,” Jolie said. “It says you wouldn’t include Black Power groups in the Socialist Movement if you knew what they were really saying about the Socialists. It’s signed from ‘a friend’.”
Will took the letter from her and read it. “This is bogus. What do you make of this?” He handed the letter to the professor.
The professor studied it. “It seems that someone is trying to manufacture a divisive split between different factions of the movement. The Black Power groups most likely received a similar letter slandering the Socialist Movement.”
“Who do you think is the ‘someone’?” Will asked.
Jolie’s eyes rested on Coulter still standing by the window. “The FBI?” She whispered.
“I wouldn’t put it past them. Check with your Black Power connections and see if they got a similar letter,” the professor said.
Jolie poured more tea. Their conversation turned to the growing strength of the Socialist Movement across the county. She got up and finished cleaning the kitchen and started to pick up the other rooms. She felt Will’s eyes follow her as she talked with the students and then Adam.
“Jolie girl, we hardly see you anymore. If it weren’t for these constant reminders, I’d think you were a figment of my imagination.” Adam nodded toward her photos tacked up on the walls.
She started to smile when she noticed her camera. It was on the table where she’d left it, but it was out of the case with the film door open. “Who was using my camera?” She looked around. Adam and the others shrugged. “We wouldn’t touch it.”
“The film is ruined now.” She advanced the roll and removed the film. All of the photos had been exposed. Who would do that? She glanced around the room again. Coulter was nowhere to be seen. When had he left? She retrieved a new film canister from her purse and reloaded the camera.
When the professor left Will strode through and announced, “We’re closing her down this afternoon. The free concert rules.”
On Monday after work, Jolie found Will on the back porch, sitting rigid his leather notebook open in his lap.
“You’re home? What’s the matter?”
“We printed a false story about Nixon’s timing to withdraw from Vietnam.”
“How could you?”
“Exactly. How could we? Marlena said she verified the facts. I asked her twice as the story seemed odd. She said it was from the Village Voice and you know…they’re credible.”
“What did she say?”
“It was a typo.”
“A typo? What do you think?”
“I don’t know, but I reassigned her duties to sorting mail. I’m printing a retraction. I’ve never had to print a retraction. Our credibility is sacred.”
“I still get a bad vibe from her. I think she’s trying to undermine the agency and the paper. Coulter too.”
“Oh, she’s all right. There’s a lot of information coming through the office. I think she just screwed up, that’s all.”
Why was he defending her?
Will snapped his notebook shut. “Coulter is getting on my nerves, though.”
Jolie flashed back to the dark look Coulter had given her after she snapped the photo. “I think Coulter was the one who exposed my film.”
�
�Nah, it was probably some student checking out the camera and didn’t know what they were doing. It’s no big deal.”
Her eyebrows arched. Two week’s worth of carefully composed shots was ‘no big deal’?
“I saw your prints from Walden Pond. Who are those people?”
She inhaled quickly. He had gone through her photos. Guilt filled her. The day at Walden Pond had been so idyllic. “Oh, they’re…friends.”
“What’s with the cemetery?”
“We went to Author’s Ridge.”
“I thought you said you were going with work friends.”
“One of them is a customer. They’re students at Harvard and Radcliffe.”
“That Harvard guy again?”
She nodded. Her chest tightened with guilt. He was jealous. “Let’s go out there this summer and swim,” she said, anxious to change the subject. “We’ll invite Ginger and Sam, Daniel and Leah. We’ll pack a picnic and swim all day.”
He scanned her face for a long moment. “Sure, but not this weekend. I’m tied up at the office. People from D.C. are coming up and the professor’s stopping by with an article.”
Ginger stopped by that evening to see Sam. They all sat in the living room, watching the ten o’clock news. America was at war with itself. Police constantly clashed with anti-war protesters or were shooting it out with the Black Panthers. Campus bombings of ROTC buildings were rampant. Conspiracy trials were underway in major cities for various trumped-up charges. Hordes of demonstrators scuffled with police outside courthouses. Reality played out in a surreal theater, the streets.
“Look how plastic that news guy is in his polyester suit. Why aren’t there any women news anchors?” Jolie asked.
“We’ll fix that, won’t we? Jolie and I joined the Women’s Liberation Movement,” Ginger said.
Will looked at Jolie and then Ginger and back to Jolie. “You what?”
“We joined the Women’s Liberation Movement,” Ginger repeated.
“What about the Socialist Party’s Women’s Caucus?” Will asked.
Jolie looked to Ginger for strength and then back to Will. “That’s not going to get us anywhere anytime soon. There are too many women’s groups around the country with no real focus. We’re consolidating the effort,” Jolie said.
“But we’re fighting for equality of all classes,” Will said.
“We are not ‘classes’,” Ginger said. “We are humankind.”
“Women can’t be free in an un-free society,” Sam said. “Your liberation will come from the rest of us.”
Jolie inched to the edge of the couch, her back straight. “We have the power behind us. We are the majority. We’re not going to wait for your revolution.”
“I can’t believe this.” Will shook his head.
“We need your help to get our message out about our platform and what we’re doing around the country,” Jolie said.
Will locked eyes with her. “You expect our support when you’re undermining the power of the Movement?”
“Yes, we do.” She sat tall and watched him. Breathe. Yes, his woman-child was standing up to him. She had joined a movement and hadn’t talked to him about it. He thought she was vulnerable and naive. Her inner strength swelled. She saw in his eyes that it scared him.
28
The Three Jewels
The chrysanthemum flowers burst open under the boiling water, unfurling their petals like a kaleidoscope. Jolie took the pot of tea to the back porch along with her dog-eared copy of The Wisdom of Buddha. It was finally the weekend.
Will came out later and sat down next to her. “What are you reading?”
She held up her book. Will tilted his head back and rolled his eyes.
“I want to join the Buddhist Temple. It’s right around the corner. I want more guidance on the eightfold path.”
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t waste your time on that stuff. You spend too much time in dreamland now with that little Buddha statue.”
“Meditation helps me stay calm and centered. It’s the heart of Buddhism. I want to get to the next level.”
Will laughed. “What’s that, enlightenment? There is no enlightenment in this life. Buddhism is like a cult. The more you give to them, the more they’ll take from you.”
Buddhism had expanded her view of life and there was so much more to learn. She gathered her inner strength. This was one thing he wouldn’t control. “It’s not a cult. It’s been around for thousands of years. It teaches us to transform our suffering into mindfulness, compassion, peace, and liberation. It’s teaching me how to be responsible for my life.” There, she had said it.
“Well, I feel somewhat responsible for your life, and I don’t want you getting sucked into some religion. It sounds like you’re already half brainwashed.”
She looked out over the field and retreated inward. He just didn’t understand. She’d get him to read about it. Or maybe the professor had a positive opinion about it.
He rose and held her chin in his hand and kissed her. “I’m only trying to protect you, Little Wing. I’m off to the office. Are you coming by later?”
She nodded. If she had time she would, but her day was planned. Today she was going to buy him a guitar. She wanted to surprise him.
She waited for him to leave before going into their room to meditate. She lit a stick of patchouli incense and set it by the small Buddha. Sitting on her rug she meditated, breathing deeply to try and clear her mind. Will puzzled her. Didn’t he feel the stress of leading their double life and feeling like they could never let their guard down? Their lives hung on a fine thread that could break at any time. Meditation kept her anchored and calmed her troubled emotions. Following her breath, her thoughts cleared. Sometime later, a siren from down the street roused her from the peaceful state.
She sat down at the small writing table and wrote a note to Nick. She wanted to mail the two photos.
Nick,
Work is a drag. I hope your internship is going well.
Here are two photos from our trip to the pond. Thanks for inviting me. I have taken lots more photos and some are on display in the Harvard Square camera shop.
I joined the Women’s Liberation Movement last weekend. Sisters for Liberation! I’m going to see Gloria Steinem speak next week. Have you heard of her?
Write back.
Miss you,
Jolie
She slipped on a vintage silk top and blue jean bell bottoms, grabbed her camera and the envelope for Nick, and walked out into the glorious day.
In Central Square she mailed the letter. As she walked she unconsciously chanted, The universe has a song, and the song is you. It had come into her thoughts when she meditated earlier and now it was silently playing in her head. She smiled. It was a blissful summer morning and she was off to buy Will a guitar.
Up ahead a familiar figure walked toward her. She kept her gaze trained on him. Their gap closed. It was Coulter. A wave of panic spread over her. Even if he wasn’t with the FBI he gave her the creeps. They both stopped on the sidewalk.
“Hey Jolie, are you headed to the office?”
“Probably later.”
His beady eyes drank her in. “Where are you going?”
It wasn’t any of his business. She searched for a polite response. “I’m just out and about.”
“Do you want to do it?” Coulter asked.
Jolie looked at him quizzically. “Pardon?”
“Do you want to do it? My place is two blocks away.”
“I don’t want to do anything with you.” She strode off, heat rising to her face.
“Hey, what about free love? Especially from you California girls.”
Jolie looked back to make sure he wasn’t following her and continued walking. She c
ouldn’t believe he’d propositioned her. At the office he had acted like a prude. It was just an act. What a jerk. Will would go crazy if he knew.
Her bliss was now shattered. She wanted to retreat from the world. She gripped her moonstone in the pouch. A torrent of angry responses she wished she’d said to Coulter flowed through her mind. She’d be ready for their next encounter.
She stopped abruptly. Her thoughts surprised her. They didn’t reflect a Buddhist’s virtuous mind. They were the opposite of right thinking and right speech. She silently chanted the universe has a song, and the song is you back into her consciousness.
She walked a few more blocks and stopped before the Central Sales Company. This was the place. Inside, the store was crammed with musical instruments. Several rows of guitars, mandolins, saxophones, and other shiny brass instruments hung from the ceiling.
An older man wearing thick black glasses greeted her. “Welcome. Have a look around. I’m Ed if you have any questions.”
She eased slowly through the crowded store, looking at guitars. Strains of a classical guitar came from the back room. Her mood lifted.
Ed came over after she had walked around a few times. “What are you looking for?”
She should have brought Will, but she’d wanted to surprise him. “A used acoustic guitar. A good one.”
“You’ve come to the right place. We price them fairly and we don’t haggle. What you see is what you get.”
Jolie looked at the rows of guitars gleaming under the lights, not knowing where to start. She’d had a guitar at home and had taken lessons. She could strum a few songs but she didn’t know the first thing about picking one out for Will.
Ed looked at her. “How much do you want to spend?”
“I have one hundred and twenty dollars. It’s a present for my boyfriend.”
“Oh, you’re in good shape. If it was me, I’d be looking at that Ibanez over there.” He walked down an aisle, reached up, and took down a guitar made from dark wood. He handed it to her. She cradled it against her chest and strummed a few chords. It felt right and sounded good. The price: one hundred dollars.
“I’ll take it. I need to buy a case, too.”