Raising the Baton

by Herschensohn, Bruce;

  “Venu-ji, I will do everything you just said. Everything, everything. I am so grateful for your wisdom, Venu-ji. It is part of you. My wisdom is simpler. I wish it were deeper than I may sound to someone like you but mine is that, as Popeye always said, and I paraphrase for you, Venu-ji ‘I yam what I yam and that’s all I yam, I’m Raj Bhavnani, India’s man.’ But Venu-ji, I do feel I need a vacation.”

  “Alright,” he said with some dismissal as well as a smile. “Take a week or two and rest and then then go back on the air, my friend, and talk to your constituents.”

  After a while Raj cleared his throat and extended his hand and said, “You are the definition of a friend, Venu. You always have been. You even allowed me to go to New York City and arranged my free room at the Algonquin and you knew—you knew I would never go to Rochester to be in Cornell University’s Hotel Administration School or whatever it was. Yes, I will go to the Trivedi Club and to the American Embassy with you. And I will go back on the air after no more than a two-week vacation. Thank you. Thank you, Venu-ji. And thank you, Mahatma Gandhi-ji for giving me Venu-ji as an eternal friend who is real.”

  “Get on the air, my friend, and when we get back from the Trevedi Club and the Embassy, you can start preparing for those coming talks to and for the millions of those who appreciate you.”

  THEME THIRTY-NINE

  ON AIR

  IN THEIR SUITE AT THE BAHI A, Anna turned the television to mute. That caused Chris to look up from a wrapped package he had received in the mail. He knew it was a book he requested from NASA about its projected future events. The wrapping of the package was so heavily double-taped that he was having difficulty opening it while he balanced it on his lap. He was at one end of their couch and she was at the other end with her feet on his lap. Chris looked over at Anna and in a disgruntled voice said, “I used to be able to open packages like these with my bare hands. Now I always have to use a scissors because they wrap things with a different kind of tape. You can’t rip it—or anything. You can’t open things anymore without a pair of scissors or some other device or something. I bought a Snickers candy-bar yesterday and I couldn’t even open that without using my teeth. By the time I bit into it I didn’t even want it anymore.”

  Anna was not overridden with interest in his observations of modern times. She looked over at him from her comfortable position on their couch and said, “Huh!” and that response was most likely to be her unabridged thought on the crisis of new packaging techniques over which Chris had no control.

  Nodding at the muted television set Chris said, “What’s up, honey? I thought you were listening to that. Wasn’t that the show you like with all the women talking at the same time?”

  “Yes, but then you started talking,” she said in attempted explanation beyond any solid reporting of what had happened. No matter as she rushed to a change in subject to something that was on her mind: “Honey, I have a premonition.”

  “Oh? A premonition? What is it? Is it about that show or my package?”

  “Neither.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s about Raj. Have you heard from him lately?”

  “No. I haven’t but I think he’s still in India. Why?”

  “I don’t think we will ever see him again.”

  At that Chris closed his eyes and slowly opened them with his lips tight together. “Anna, he’s not a member of the family. He can do what he wants and he doesn’t have to let us know those things that are his business. He’s in India.”

  “You’re right. But I’m bothered. At times he just disappears and sometimes I am relieved by his disappearances but lately he’s been a friend to both of us and honorable to both of us—even to me—and I got to thinking that now he seemed like something was wrong—deeply wrong.”

  “Really? I didn‘t catch that. Raj seemed normal for being Raj.”

  “It was because he wasn’t his usual happy self. As much as I could get disturbed by him, his happiness was always welcome and fun. He makes you laugh, doesn’t he?”

  “Or cry.” And then the non-jealous Christopher Straw practiced his trait of never exhibiting public jealousy. “Then I’ll call Voice of America and find out if he’s okay.”

  “Really? When?”

  “Right now.”

  “Do that, Chris. I want to get this off my mind. Do you know where he’s staying in India? Could he have gotten in trouble there?”

  “I don’t know where he’s staying. And I’m sure he’s in trouble. He always is. If he isn’t, then he’s really in deep trouble.” He picked up the phone and dialed NASA in D.C. and whoever he talked to at NASA gave him the phone number of the Voice of America. He then dialed it and it was a very brief call because the operator at Voice of America was a robot. “Your phone call is important to us and will be answered in the order of calls received.” Then there was a piece of music and, with relief it was interrupted by a live woman human being. She said, “Good Afternoon; Voice of America.” He asked if Raj was there. She had no difficulty at all in telling him that “we don’t give information on our hosts or other talent but I can tell you that he has no scheduled return to the Voice at the moment. Call us back at any time.”

  He hung up and told Anna what the operator said to him. Anna nodded slowly as if to say, “I told you.”

  “Anna, are you fond of him? What’s your interest?”

  “No! I’m not fond of him in the way it sounds to you. Are you finally jealous or something?”

  “No. I‘m not jealous at all. I’m just asking because, unlike you, you’re the one who’s asking.”

  “Chris, he has come in and out of our lives back and forth and he’s given me some problems but he always accepted the slightest shake of my head. He accepts that I like him but that I love you and I do appreciate that he doesn’t insist on anything at all and that he has an inborn courtesy. Maybe that’s an Indian characteristic; I don’t know, but he has manners. He never puts me on the defensive.”

  “Well, who does? Do I ever put you on the defensive, Anna?”

  “Never. Never in all these years except for just now!” And she smiled and quickly added, “No! You don’t!”

  “I’ll call the Embassy of India in D.C. Let’s tackle this strange premonition of yours right now. Let’s find out if he’s alright so you can be sure you don’t need to have premonitions of something terrible.” He picked up the phone’s receiver again and repeated, “Let’s tackle it.”

  It was not tackled since he did not find out as the Public Affairs Officer at the Embassy of India told him that, “at least for the present, Raj Bhavnani is not doing his usual radio broadcasts” and “we have had a lot of calls of those listeners who are trying to find out if Captain Bhavnani will be back on air. As of now, we don’t know. You might call us back as time goes on and see if we know more. We can call you if you prefer, Mister Straw, as long as you leave a number.” Chris gave an unseen nod and gave the Public Affairs Officer the telephone number of the Bahia.

  The weather in Delhi was marvelous as most winters are generally the most comfortable of seasons there, and Raj Bhavnani was back to what had become his longtime habit of doing nothing. Raj was going back to radio as both stations agreed to revive the schedule he once held. The great difficulty was that Raj had little to talk about when his radio schedule was to begin. He didn’t know much of anything that was going on in the world around him and that included his absolutely total blank of political events in both the United States and India. In fact, he didn’t even know who had run for President of the United States. He knew so little about what was going on in world events that he knew he had no business to host a talk-show anywhere. He decided to put on radio those philosophizing subjects that were simply on his mind while being aware that some may think he had gone berserk and he had his own recognition that he had brought on his own berserkness.

  Finally, like an unlocked and opened door of a prison cell along with a few bars of “The William Tell Overture�
� being played by an invisible orchestra, the two weeks of vacation were done. He would start with “The Voice of America.”

  ANNOUNCER: “And coming in just one minute is Raj Bhavnani back from vacation! And if you want to phone in to talk with him and, as always if you also live in a place where you hear this program live rather than a recording, we will give you the phone numbers for your phone-in.”

  Then interrupting in Raj’s earphones he heard the far-away director saying to him, “Ten seconds to ‘Go’, Raj! We are at—Ten—Nine—Eight—Seven—Six—Five—Four—Three—Two—One—‘Go!’” It wasn’t exactly a rocket going into liftoff, but it had its share of drama.

  With inspiration still coming from listening to Chris during the Shelter Island evening, and later guidance from Venu, Raj had his subjects itemized. “This is Raj Bhavnani back with you after I have had a wonderful time on vacation!” For good luck he felt obligated to start off with a lie by saying he had a wonderful time on what he called his vacation as though it filled that requirement perfectly. “And I thank you all for being back at your radios, my friends. And I want to devote this session with you to thoughts that I believe are important—thoughts that are under the broad umbrella of what I call philosophizing.

  “After thousands of years, there is the proposition that no longer should there be a word used to define a union solely between a man and a woman. The word ‘marriage’ is on the ‘gallows for old words’ to be exchanged for a union between persons. No substitute word has been proposed. The generation with that objective also believes in the acceptance of the smoking of marijuana with no smoking of cigarettes. Third, there has also started the adherence to cowardice and selfishness devoid of fighting for the liberty of others.

  “Let’s change the subject because I do not want to hear your hostile telephone calls. Let’s turn to the topic of my current awareness; ageing. I have talked about political topics for many decades, and during that time I was often threatened by others. For those who have not had my occupation or do not currently share my age, it’s not fun knowing that no one wants to kill me anymore.

  “For any person, regardless of background or career, if you are getting older you will likely find that the trouble with talking with young Millennials is that everything they say makes you think of something else that you believe is amazingly fitting and appropriate for what the Millennials just said. But after you say your statement, you realize that what you said has nothing at all to do with what they said. They are mystified and there is nothing you can do about it.

  “When told by a doctor to take a pill in the morning and also at night before going to bed, the new patient is inclined to accept that directive easily not realizing as little by little they will be given those directives for other medicines until the duties of medication at morning and night begin to expand and to merge with one another and in time the patient has little if any time for anything else. With enough of those directives, there is no clear space between the bookends guarding your time.

  “To some, the phrase ‘Merry Christmas’ goes unsaid but I don’t understand why. Just because it may not be part of a person’s religion, can’t a Merry Christmas be wished by anyone or everyone? What’s the risk? January the First has nothing to do with one religion but that doesn’t prevent anyone from wishing people a Happy New Year and no one seems to get angry at receiving that greeting. How about ‘Happy Labor Day?’ Let’s get Labor Day stopped immediately unless the recipient of such a greeting is a proven laborer.

  “Some warnings: Don’t ever place any object where you do not normally place it—even for what you think will be for a moment. That moment can last beyond the day.

  “What you say to others in these years may not any longer be tempered by thoughtful common sense as in earlier days. Common sense can too easily be traded for a new common stupidity where anger is king and queen.

  “And don’t ever retire if you can prevent it. Unless, of course, you enjoy absorbing yourself in the petty.”

  Through the earphones Raj heard the Director: “A News Alert, Raj. We have to interrupt your show. You remember—we always have to interrupt you for a live speech by the President of the United States. I turned off your mic and volumed up the reception of the President.”

  “Did you tell him I was on and he’s going to get my audience angry by his interruption!?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re back alright! And in seriousness, it’s good to have you back, Raj.”

  “Who’s President?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yes, of course I’m kidding you! Thank you, Alex. I thought it might be Adams or Jefferson. I knew that Hoover didn’t have a chance this time. Alex, it is so very good to be back! You know that I enjoy kidding you.”

  “I always enjoy your gags! I turned up your earphone volume, too, if you want to listen to the President.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “You should know that the entire switchboard is lit up to talk to you. All lights are red and blinking. It seems like you hit some subjects your listeners are aching to talk about.”

  “I’m glad we’ve been interrupted and I know that it’s just the President helping me out so I don’t have to answer those screaming listeners right now.”

  lowering the baton

  THEME FORTY

  DANCING IN DARJEELING

  CHRIS ANSWERED THE TELEPHONE and instead of saying his usual “hello” he gave a sudden and unexpected answer to the telephone’s ring by saying what he used to say many, many years back when he was in the Armed Forces picking up a telephone receiver while sitting-in at headquarters—and it was even unexpected to hear himself say it again—“Christopher Straw here, Sir.”

  “Sir? I’m no sir, Mr. Christopher Straw!” a woman’s voice said.

  “Excuse me; Ma’m, I’m sorry. For some unknown reason I picked up the receiver without even thinking and I suppose the rewind button quickly found some old times in my brain.”

  “Well, I’m flattered!”

  “Who’s this?”

  “A voice from your past! Does the name Nancy Benford mean anything to you?”

  Chris said nothing until his brain reacted with a giant spurt, “My God! Nancy Benford! School! McConnellsburg!! Mrs. Zambroski’s class! My God! How are you, Nancy?”

  “Then you do remember me.”

  “How could I forget you? You hated me!”

  “I did not!”

  “You said so!”

  “Oh, Christopher! I never hated you. In fact I had a terrible crush on you! My crush wasn’t even destroyed when you put my pigtail in your inkwell! Remember?”

  “I apologize. A little belatedly but I apologize. How the devil did you get my number?”

  “A long and tedious procedure which started with Google.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Google?”

  “Yes. I don’t know who he is.”

  “Where have you been!?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Google is a search engine on the internet.”

  “Oh, I don’t know those things. I worked in our space effort. I haven’t talked about goo-goo in decades!”

  “Oh, I know you work in our space effort. Google answered my query by telling me all about you being in NASA and they gave me your work number and from there I went through a procedure too long to go into now. But I found you tonight! Since finding out your number—finally—after dialing a lot of C. Straw’s and names similar to that—I found you! And I couldn’t help but phone you to finally find out if you are going to drive that green Chevrolet to get to the moon!”

  “You do have a good memory—but it wasn’t a green Chevrolet.”

  “It was too!”

  “No, it wasn’t. I ought to know.”

  “Then what was it if it wasn’t a green Chevrolet?”

  “It was a yellow Plymouth. That’s what I wanted to drive to the moon, and that’s what I told Mrs. Zambroski and you laughed!”<
br />
  “I’m sorry I laughed at you in class but it was a green Chevrolet! And you are still as stubborn as you were when we were in school. Now can you see why I hated you?”

  “You just said you didn’t hate me! Women have memories that drive me nuts! They get everything all mixed up from the way they were when they happened.”

  “Christopher Straw! And, of all things, you did pretty well—you married Savannah Lane, didn’t you?”

  “Not really married but—it works between us—it’s everything but marriage.”

  “I better not comment on that as I’m on my third.”

  “Third what? Goo-goo?”

  “Two divorces is what I mean. I’m now married again and this one is number three and it’s forever.”

  “Well, what do I say, congratulations three times?”

  “You are really terrible. I’ll bet if I saw you, you would stick my hair in ink again.”

  “Probably.”

  “It was just my bad luck that they didn’t have ball-point pens back then. You would have stabbed me.”

  “Where do you live now? In Pennsylvania as you started out when you were a little girl?”

  “Alaska. Juneau, Alaska.”

  “Wow! Like it?”

  “Love it!”

  “Nancy! I really am so glad to be talking to you. This is so unexpected and I’m thrilled.”

  “It’s a dream to talk to you again, Chris. And will you tell Savannah Lane that I’m a big fan of hers? Not a real big fan under the conditions that she got you and I didn’t—but I’m just a woman who—when I was a girl—who turned old blank scrapbooks into something wonderful by pasting pictures of movie stars in them—filling them up: Gable and Lombard; Bogart and Bacall; Tracy and was it Katherine Hepburn? And just think a real movie star turned out to be my competition; Savannah Lane of all people. Well, she’s beautiful and such a talented singer and dancer and actress and all that and I should never have told you I hated you! I was crazy about you. It was a real girl’s crush—and they can be pretty difficult.”