Raising the Baton

by Herschensohn, Bruce;

  “Here’s a paper I prepared for you,” Anna said and took a piece of paper with her writing on it from her purse. “Address, phone numbers, all that. I’ll be staying at Lorna’s hotel so her main phone number and address will be mine, too. I have your phone number at work and at home, of course. It’s nine hours difference. It’s nine hours ahead of San Diego. So if it’s 7:00 pm here in San Diego it’s 4:00 am the next day in Rome.”

  “Okay. When I call long distance, are you using the name Savannah or Anna?”

  “Savan-nauh. Only Savan-nauh. Maybe somebody has watched Gemstone and might treat me good because of that. Lorna said she gets noticed every once in a while from her role in Gemstone and probably recognized by Americans.”

  “This—what you’re doing—changes both of our lives, doesn’t it? I mean how long will it be? Before you come home will it be days, weeks, months, years, a life-time?”

  “I don’t know. But I know where I’ll be staying. Lorna has been staying at the Excelsior Hotel and that’s where I’ll be. It’s right up the street from the Embassy; one block, maybe one and a half streets north of the U.S. Embassy—our Embassy to Italy. It isn’t far from the Vatican but it’s in Rome proper—on the Via Veneto. It’s where there are all the outdoor restaurants that you saw in La Dolce Vita. Did you see it?”

  “No.” He quickly dismissed that. “Anna, I’ll pay for your apartment at the Silver Spray and I’ll keep it clean so it’s always ready for you to come home—yours—your home and your key will work—even on the connecting door. You can lock it on your side. I won’t ever lock it on its other side.”

  Then, as Anna was inclined to do, there was a sudden sob and another one and another one and her crying took over. Then, “I don’t want to lock it. Right now I want to say that this will just be days. Just days to be gone from you, that’s all. Then I’ll see what to do.” She shook her head. “I don’t know, Honey. I don’t know.”

  Then the car passed Convair’s Plant One and Plant Two where airplanes were built. Then the big stocky building without windows except for the very top floor. Chris said very softly, “That’s what we call The Rock. And across the street will be the end of this ride.”

  She looked at him with a sudden jerk of her head and she looked frightened. “The end of this ride?”

  “See the signs? They say Lindbergh Field on the right side. That’s where we’re going. Lindbergh Field. That’s where you’re going. That’s the San Diego Airport. I don’t know why they named it after him. I know that he tested his plane around here somewhere before he made the first flight across the Atlantic from New York to Paris—but even if he made history as a pilot he also made history by speaking well of Hitler.” Chris was struggling to bring up a subject other than their imminent separation. “Lindbergh made speeches saying the United States was getting to be an interventionist in the world and it was Europe’s problem; not ours and he blamed the British and blamed the Jewish and blamed F.D.R. as forcing war on the United States.”

  She wasn’t paying attention to one word about Charles Lindbergh. “I love you, honey,” she said. “Not Charles Lindbergh.”

  Now he quickly wiped his eyes so as not to blur his vision while driving and because he tried to make sure she didn’t know his eyes were moist. “I love you so damned much, Anna.” It was the first time she ever heard him say a word that was not in his normal life-long vocabulary. “Let me park here in front of the terminal. I’ll walk you to the gate.”

  “No. Don’t. I won’t be able to stand that.” She then swallowed to stop herself from talking and revealing any sobs.

  “Are you still allowed to be kissed?”

  She swallowed again in concentration of what she wanted to say to him. “I can if I’m being kissed by you. Only by you.

  Otherwise it’s not allowed.”

  “You’ll ask Pope Paul?”

  “I’ll tell him,” and she sniffed.

  “Why are you crying, honey? It’s your decision; not mine. I didn’t decide to join the Methodists or Protestants or Lutherans or Jewish or Buddhists or Moslems or—or Hindus—or anything.”

  “I’m crying because I love you.” She had caught the way his tone was different when he said Raj’s religion of ‘Hindus’— rather than friendly as when he said the names of those other religions.

  He parked and opened the door for her and took her bags from the car and while they did that a Red Cap was quickly coming over to help her with anything she wanted. “Ma’m?”

  Anna and Chris were locked in another kiss with tears accompanying their kisses allowing them to taste the kisses of the other.

  The Red Cap asked “What counter will you be going to, M’am?”

  Chris answered for her. “She’s going to Pacific Southwest Airlines; P.S.A. then her bags connect to T.W.A. in L.A. then a transfer again to London and Rome. I don’t know the flight numbers. She has them and will tell you when you get in.” Chris turned toward Anna. She wasn’t done with her tears nor was he done with his. “God, I love you, Anna. I love you, honey.”

  The post-war Chrysler tried to act like a regular car but it couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a regular car tonight. When Chris came back in it alone, it started to cough. It couldn’t help it. Anna wasn’t in the car. Alone; with just Chris; not Anna, too. The car wasn’t done coughing as it passed The Rock and Plant Two and Plant One and all the way to the Silver Spray where he then parked and turned off the ignition.

  “Just you and me,” Chris said to the car. “Don’t worry. Anna will be back.” At least both Chris and the Chrysler hoped for the accuracy of that statement. Chris prayed for it. Maybe the Chrysler did, too.

  choir

  THEME TWENTY-FOUR

  “ON THE VIA VENETO”

  THE VIA VENETO was as picturesque in life as Federico Fellini made it in his 1960 film. The sidewalks were filled with restaurants that had outdoor tables for diners and drinkers and talkers, with the talkers often speaking very loud.

  Anna and Lorna had met at the reception desk of the Excelsior Hotel, Lorna having been there for weeks with a room on the second floor and Anna now booking herself on the more luxurious fifth floor.

  In minutes, leaving Anna’s bags at the reception desk to be brought up to her room, Anna and Lorna went outside to the Via Veneto sitting opposite each other at a small table eating snacks and drinking Coca-Colas. Lorna had brought along a stack of papers, booklets, pictures and a black leather-covered book and she was back to calling Anna by her more formal birth-name of Savannah since there were public ears around, some likely attached to American heads and in accommodation, Lorna stayed conscious of Anna’s public rules. “I have things for you to study, Savannah. Things like what is expected of you and prayers for you to put into memory and even a Bible for you to read.”

  “I read it!” Anna almost shouted. “Read it! I read it on the Twahhh.”

  “On the what?”

  “On the Twahhh.”

  “Oh. I see. I understand.” That was doubtful. “Savannah, tell me—is this trip to the Holy See a life-change, or is it merely an episode?”

  “I don’t know, Lorna.”

  “If you don’t know, then it’s an episode.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Are you considering it as a life-change?”

  “Yes.”

  “If it’s a consideration then it won’t come to be. It must be a passion and not a consideration. Do you know the difference? You can easily consider to have or not have a sandwich, you can consider to watch Ed Sullivan on television, you can consider to buy new shoes—or take another sip of that Coca-Cola. But for what you have said that you intend to become in life, you have to feel an eagerness; a spirit; a devotion to a clear destination. If it is not all that—then it is nothing other than an episode—an adventure—a trip here to Rome on airliners and an airliner taking you back home. That’s fine and I don’t belittle it. Such episodes bring experience. They are nothing to reject as long as they are go
od and meaningful. But don’t confuse an easy consideration with the journey of climbing up to the high summit you told me you intend to reach and to have a platform there—where you can and will stand.”

  There was a long silence and then Anna asked, “You have that passion, don’t you, Lorna?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Lorna, I feel it. I feel it but I don’t know. There are moments when I feel I should surrender to that feeling and accept it—or reject it.”

  “No good. A surrender? You are misjudging the use of words. You still don’t understand, sweet Savannah. If surrender is an option, surrender now and don’t waste anyone’s time; mainly your own time; you don’t waste mine. I love being with you here. This journey ends in victory or a shrug of your shoulders. That’s the choice once the journey has begun. I assure you that detours are everywhere. You’ll see them because they don’t go through or they are they come to a close in their own dead-ends. Decide tonight. We can then talk about other things and laugh and reminisce about Gemstone or, on the other hand, we can talk about your imminent victory.”

  Something caught Anna’s eyes. “Oh, my God!” she said looking over the shoulder of Lorna.

  Lorna looked confused. “What is so surprising that you call it ‘Oh, my Gosh?’”

  “I can’t believe it. Either will you. It’s unbelievable.”

  “What is ‘it’s’ that is unbelievable?”

  “Raj. Raj Bhavnani.” Now Anna spoke with almost a whisper. “Raj Bhavnani is sitting behind you a little to your back and to the right.”

  At that, Lorna now finally used the phrase, “Oh, my Lord.” Then she shook her head while not daring to look behind her. “Does he see you?”

  “No. I don’t think so. He’s looking at the menu.”

  “What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know, Lorna. How do I know?”

  “This is a miracle!”

  Anna gave a wide smile. “Then you can become a Saint! You can be the Saint Lorna because you are now involved in a miracle. That’s a qualification! You qualify for Sainthood! Aren’t I right? Don’t you need a miracle to become a Saint?”

  “That qualification has nothing to do with this kind of a miracle, or just being involved in a miracle, my dear.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lorna put her hand over Anna’s hand. “My dear Savannah—I know.”

  Then Lorna withdrew her hand as Anna said, “He sees me. He’s coming over here.”

  “Do you want me to leave?”

  “Absolutely not! You stay. You stay. You made this miracle happen and I’m telling the Vatican!”

  Then it came: the all-too familiar voice: “Savannah! Savannah Lane!” And there was Raj Bahvnani moving a chair so it would be added to the two chairs at the table. Not surprisingly he sat down on the chair he had added to the table. “What on earth are you doing on the Via Veneto, Miss Lane?”

  Anna, with a smile, shook her head. “That’s what I was just going to ask you! Lorna; this is Raj Bhavnani. Raj, this is Lorna.”

  “No last name?” Raj asked.

  “None,” Lorna answered.

  “Wonderful! Wonderful! No one should have to carry around a last name.”

  Anna shook her head again. “Why not?”

  “The question is why should we have one? Now, to Savannah with a last name: Lane. What are you doing here on the Via Veneto, Savannah Lane?”

  “Studying the Bible.”

  “Ahhh. Very good. The Bible. The Bible. Which Testament?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are two. Are you studying the Old Testament or the New Testament?”

  Anna hesitated and exchanged a look with Lorna who simply clenched her lips and shook her head and did not offer an answer to such a question.

  Therefore, it became up to Anna to answer the question. “Well, they’re both pretty old by now. After all, it’s the mid-1960s so they’re both pretty old Testaments.”

  Lorna whispered, “Oh, my Gosh, Honey!”

  Raj gave his own answer, “Beautiful! Beautiful! And accurate! They are both very old! One is the Old Old Testament and the other one is the Old New Testament!”

  Anna asked Raj, “Now, what are you doing here?”

  “I am meeting with Prime Minister Moro.”

  “The Prime Minister of Italy?” Lorna asked that while squinting her eyes in suspicion.

  “Moro. That’s his last name like the one you don‘t have. Moro; Moro.”

  She gave a slight smile. “How did this meeting come about?”

  “Leaders gravitate toward leaders.”

  “I see,” Lorna said with both her and Anna thinking what he said was just another Rajismatic phrase originated from something in Hindi, and adding to the confusion was that neither one of them had known that in some quarters of the world Raj Bhavnani was, indeed, a leader. “I have travelled throughout South East Asia with Foreign Ministers, with Prime Ministers, and with Presidents; from Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand, South Korea, South Vietnam, Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines. Not only leaders; some with lesser titles but influential; influential. And now Europe to visit with leaders only. No lesser titles. Ask me anything you want! Then—ah, then to my second home—America again!”

  Anna asked, “Don’t you want to know what I’m doing here in Rome? All you asked me was about my being on the Via Veneto. My trip is more than the Via Veneto.”

  “No interest at all. None. Now, can I buy you girls a drink?”

  Lorna gave the answer: “No! Thank you but we don’t drink.”

  “What a shame! Savannah—Don’t you still drink Margaritas?”

  “No. I stopped.”

  “That’s right. You gave up on them and started on Cuba Libres.”

  “Raj, you are still impossible!”

  “Impossible; yes, yes! Very good! I can tell I am making no progress here. Please phone me, Savannah. Please do that. I am at the Cavalieri Hilton. I tried calling you months ago in the States. I was told you had moved to San Diego. I think you have a party-line. It was a man’s voice that was talking on the phone when I called you. So call me here as long as we are in the same city. Or forget phone calls. Come visit me. Where I’m staying; the Cavalieri Hilton is up on one of the seven great hills of Rome. You can see down at the Vatican from there. You can see Pope Paul VI watering the plants.”

  Anna shook her head. “You cannot! Watering the plants!”

  “So what? You can see the Vatican from up there. If he decides to water the plants while you’re watching, that’s good enough. But I will try to visit with the Pope before leaving Italy. I will bring him some plants.”

  “You are still crazy!”

  “I would never give that up! Sanity is for fools.”

  Raj got them both laughing which, of course, was the only clear objective left with his first objective now futile.

  With even his secondary objective now accomplished, he took his chair and set it back where he found it and walked away.

  After he walked down the street toward the U.S. Embassy, Lorna asked Anna, “You know what you are?”

  “What?”

  “A Scatter-Brain!”

  “What should I do, Lorna?

  “Either phone your Raj Bhavnani tonight like he asked or become Sister Savannah in a few years. But you can’t do both.”

  “Should I make a reservation to go home? Should I call Twahhh?”

  With both Raj and Anna having said things that called for a translator, Lorna was beginning to doubt her own command of English. “Who’s Twahhh?”

  “The airline.”

  Lorna smiled and nodded at her own regained sanity. “That is T.W.A., not Twahhh. Savannah, Savannah, Savannah! T.W.A. stands for Trans World Airlines.”

  “I’m a scatter-brain!”

  There was a long pause. “No, you’re not. I’m sorry I said that without thinking. You are not a scatter-brain.”

  “Then what am I?”


  “You’re Savannah Lane. And you are—in your own wonderful way—unique Savannah. You are different than anyone I have ever known.”

  “I am?”

  “You are marvelous. Don’t forget that.”

  “You’re not mad at me?”

  Lorna, with her slight smile, shook her head slowly. “Marvelous Savannah,” she said softly and with depth.

  It was eight o’clock that night when Anna was alone in her Excelsior Hotel room happily whispering to herself, “Marvelous Savannah!”

  In minutes the phone rang and it was Raj Bhavnani who immediately asked to see her in “half an hour from now” and let him take her on a tour of Rome “to places no American has ever seen!”

  She refused, telling him, “No. I’m asleep.”

  Not too likely. But he asked, “You’re asleep now? You answered in your sleep?”

  “Yes. It’s my habit. It’s a medical mystery. Good night.” She hung up.

  He then said in his own style, “Of course! Of course!” Minutes later her room-phone rang again. “Yes! What now!?”

  But there was no reason for anger. It was a long distance operator telling her that a man named Christopher Straw in the United States was on the line.

  Anna almost screamed, “Yes! Put him on please!”

  Most of the conversation was spent while she was crying with joy at the sound of his voice. When he asked how things were going in Rome she said, “Just okay. It was wonderful to see Lorna,” and she went into no more detail. That “just okay” let him know that she did not seem to be as enthused about the anticipated significant change in her life as she had earlier imagined.

  He let it go. “I miss you so much, honey,” and “I am explosively glad just to hear your voice.”