“I don’t think it’s ever too soon to think about issues dealing with one’s passing,” responded Keoni. “With no family of my own, I’ve been considering several non-profits to which I might leave my small estate. For me, the big decision is whether to choose an organization focused on education, or one directly involved in public safety. In the long run, an educated public actually reduces the need for the latter.”
“You’re certainly right on that issue. While Nathan and I have Brianna to consider, he’s got an irrevocable trust to cover whatever monetary issues she and her future family may have. And since she’ll be inheriting both this cottage and our parents’ old home in Kāne`ohe, I’m thinking of designating a non-profit to receive any cash that might be left when I go. You know Miriam worked for UNICEF during part of her career and they’re the recipient of the residual of her irrevocable trust, once the women die or move on.”
“Does that mean they’ll be staying in the cottage?” asked Keoni.
“It looks like it. I think they’ll know for sure after their appointment tomorrow. But I doubt that Miriam’s attorney would have told them to have Samantha move back in with them if that were not the case.”
“I’m sure that’s a relief to them—if anything can be—after Miriam’s murder,” observed Keoni.
We continued our discussion of our legal issues and decided to fill out forms to set up living wills. Then I said I would ask The Ladies for their perceptions of Miriam’s lawyer. Fortunately, we had reached the point in our relationship where we knew we could rely on one another to make decisions in accord with our mutual desire to be released from this life if we had reached a vegetative state. We were lucky that with proper paperwork, the state of Hawai’i is reasonable about unmarried couples being able to make end-of-life choices for one another.
The next day, after what Auntie Carrie would have called a “constitutional walk,” we returned from the beach for a little morning delight in the shower. Later in the morning, we embarked on our individual assignments for the day. With Keoni facing a couple of long days in town, we agreed he should spend the night in Mānoa and I would enjoy a girls’ night with Miss Una. It reminded me of when my husband Bill had had twenty-four-hour duty. I have never minded having time to myself, and the current situation suited my desires perfectly.
With a thermos of chocolate Kona coffee and notebook in hand, I went over to Mokulua Hale, where I found Miss Una asleep under a plumeria tree.
“Well, I see you’ve got my schedule pinned down. I can’t really let you into The Ladies cottage unless they are there. I left fresh water on our lānai and plenty of food in your bowls in the kitchen.”
She looked up at me with complete disinterest and stretched before turning to lick her tummy. As expected, there was no response to my knock, so I let myself into Miriam’s home with the key John had given me and went upstairs. With our beautiful weather, it was no surprise that someone had left a window open and the fragrance of Miriam’s beloved lavender wafted up from the flower bed below.
As I again settled into the rocker, I pulled a small footstool over to hold my coffee, notebook and the last of the journals from the shelf below the window seat. Before beginning my work, I paged through my notes to put my mind in tune with Miriam’s thoughts in the last volume I had reviewed the preceding day.
As I thought about her life as a young adult, I realized that growing up in war-devastated Europe had given Miriam a great deal of sensitivity to the challenges faced by many people around the world—even when they were well mentally and physically. Like so many people of her generation, Miriam had been forced to mature at a younger age than most of us after World War II. It made me feel rather spoiled.
Looking over my notes, I considered life experiences that Miriam and I had in common. A major component that separated us from most women in the twentieth century was that for very different reasons, neither of us had had children:
As time passed and my work assignments with the International Court changed, I had many occasions to review innumerable films recording Nazi life. It has always amazed me that the National Socialists never thought a day of reckoning would come when they enacted the Nuremberg Laws in 1935. I might have become numb to the vocabulary they used to excuse their policies for achieving lebensraum and to attain and maintain a “pure” Aryan race. But, what rassenhygiene led to in their avoidance of rassenschande, cannot be denied: Their own maniacal need for keeping flawless records delivered the most damning evidence of their war crimes.
I was appalled when I realized that if the Nazis had achieved world supremacy, any children my gentile husband Henri and I might have had would have been declared michlings. In fact, for even marrying me, Henri would have been charged with rassenschande, a grievous crime against the state. And that was without his converting to Judaism (another horrendous crime in the eyes of the Nazis), which I know he would have done if I had wanted it—for he had no religious affiliation, or even a firm philosophical orientation.
Once we knew I could not conceive a child, the issue of religion was a moot point. I do not know the level of my parents’ religious practice in Russia, but growing up in Sweden we paid only superficial homage to the high holidays. And when I was young, we celebrated Purim, a holiday mistakenly considered by some gentiles to be parallel to All Hallows Eve, since children usually dress in colorful costumes. Throughout my childhood, we nominally celebrated Chanukah within our home. After my Mother died and I had moved away from my father to attend college, it had been easy for me to slide into non-practice of any faith, other than my innate belief in the goodness of the human spirit, when it is nurtured.
Miriam and Henri may have hoped for children. But when it was clear they would never have them, the poor and suffering of the world became the focus of their personal, as well as their professional lives. Henri’s photos of conflicted regions and Miriam’s work for several committees of the United Nations brought attention and resources to the plight of those who could not plead their cases directly to global leaders.
I continued to examine her life for anything that would have caused someone to want her dead. I found nothing she had done professionally to bring her into the spotlight as a threatening individual. None of the relationships she discussed indicated a level of animosity that would have generated hatred or jealousy…let alone a motivation for a coldly-calculated execution order. Beyond the absence of an individual or event begging to be red-flagged, Henri had been dead for nearly a decade and he and Miriam had been retired for several years before that.
With each journal, the pace of my reading sped up. Eventually I reached the bottom shelf to the left of the windows, where entries focused on her later career, spanning the 1970s. I may have been tired by that point, but I was riveted by many of her remarks. Besides addressing the end of the Vietnam War and the horrible discoveries of Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia, she noted uplifting events like Nixon’s visit to China and the launching of Skylab, America’s first space station. In passages long and short, Miriam laid down her inner feelings about the headlines that had dominated each of her days. Through her cogent and sensitive words, I continued to explore the world I had known as a young adult.
Around noon, I was finishing my thermos of coffee. As I reached over to set my cup down, I was startled to look up and see a hummingbird tapping its beak against a mullion paned window from its perch on the Hawaiian wedding flower vines that climb a trellis on that side of the house. As I shifted in the rocker, my knee edged into the bookshelf and dislodged several journals. When I bent to gather them, one fell open to reveal an envelope of fine linen paper.
Two lines of small print in black ink declared the contents’ topic: Some Thoughts on My Passing; Miriam Sofia Reznik Didión. With a sharp intake of breath and shaking hands, I opened the thickly stuffed envelope and removed the personal stationery featuring wildflowers and birds.
* *
* * *
If you are reading these words, I have passed beyond this plane of existence. I cannot, of course, know when or how I have made my transition. Nor can I begin to guess who you may be. Are you a stranger to me? Or, have we known one another? If so, in what capacity might that have been? Are you a professional acquaintance, or perhaps a long-time friend? Our single known bond lies in your reading of these words. Although you may eventually share my thoughts with others, it is with you that I am now communicating.
The most important thing I wish to share with you, is that regardless of what may have triggered my transition to the next plane, I have enjoyed a rich and satisfying life. There are, of course, events that arise in every life that cause momentary anguish and a desire that one’s thoughts, words or actions might be recalled and negated. But that can seldom be done, and I have no desire to recall any of my words or actions.
Therefore, I am affirming that both my personal and professional living has been fully satisfying. Indeed, my academic, marital, and career choices have all proven to be rewarding and as full of joy as I, or any other human being, could possibly expect within a single lifetime. As to other, less public activities I have undertaken, each has been considered with circumspection and executed with concern for achieving the greatest good for those who may be impacted.
Even within the unpredictable events in my life, I have been saved from the disasters that have devoured many around me. From the dim morning when I sat with my parents in a small boat watching the receding shores of Denmark, I knew that I was a person destined to have luck as my constant companion. Snuggled between the love of my father on one side and that of my mother on the other, I knew that I was safe, despite the fear I could sense in those who surrounded us.
Lulled by the lapping of water against the boat, I dozed through most of the short journey to safety. I awoke only once, sensing an intense wave of fear spreading through my companions. Looking to the family in front of me, I saw what would become the beacon of reality that guided the direction of my studies and career. In that fog-filled moment, I heard the sound of another, motorized vessel across the waters and then, to my horror, watched in slow motion as the hand of the father in front of me tightened across the face of the baby in his arms until the bundle lay limp like a sack of rags.
Frozen in fear and uncertainty, I knew that no one else had observed what I had. I closed my eyes and mind to the most terrorizing sight I had seen in my years of war. Through my family’s escape from Russia, across Germany, and on to Jutland, I had never seen such savagery up close. No, this event was my first agonizing experience of war, my personal encounter with the inhumanity of mankind. Perhaps it was triggered by the most understandable of causes. As I discovered through the writings of authors like Pearl Buck, it was the need to sacrifice the life of one person in order to preserve the life of one’s entire family, as well as the lives of everyone in the boat.
I have never told this story to the public, only vaguely citing my experiences as a refugee as a motivating factor in my inspiration to find a way to help bring peace to the lives of those who have suffered the most from war, torture and other mayhem. During studies in England, I met my beloved Henri, and was only too glad to leave my personal angst behind me. Together, we highlighted ways in which leaders of business and nations could work to bring greater harmony to people who suffer across what can be a truly beautiful world. Through Henri’s camera lens and the writing and personal consulting I provided, we passed our years together in personal peace and harmony, despite whatever evil may have been circling around us.
Today, I sit in my chair at the top of a wonderful cottage in the beach home of my dream retirement. I am content with all that has gone before in my life and only wish I could have stretched my years of active involvement in certain things a bit longer. At this time, my only desire is to have a little more time to enjoy the occasional bird who visits at my window and the nearby blue sea and white sands.
In recent years, I have opened my home to two women who join me in this phase of my latter-day living. In proper legalese, I have ensured that they, and any others who may have joined us in our haven, shall be taken care of until they too pass beyond the light of this good earth. Thereafter, any assets remaining in my estate shall pass to UNICEF to continue their vital work in the world.
As to how I may have passed, I cannot know at the time I am writing this. If there is something in my passing that is disturbing to you, let me assure you that I will have been at peace with myself and any fellow travelers at the time. Further, I would not have knowingly shortened my life—as I have many friends in the medical community who will ensure I have not suffered inordinate pain. And I could choose to go to a state like Oregon, if this journey truly became unbearable. If my demise has not been through peace-filled dreams in the night, perhaps I have simply been in the wrong place at a wrong time.
And so, having shared these thoughts from before my passage to another plane of consciousness, I wish you, my final reader, as pleasant and peaceful a life as I have known.
Good night and good morrow, Miriam
* * * * *
Again I was shocked. Miriam had confirmed that the infant in the boat had been smothered by its father. I sat in silence for a while. I pictured her sitting in this very chair looking out at the view she had loved so much. Growing tired, my eyes closed and I found my thoughts returning to the sepia-toned images of my first vision of Miriam as a little girl fleeing with her parents before the Nazis could snatch their lives from them. Then I pictured her as she might have been as a young woman, with her long, blond hair flowing around her as she and her beloved Henri danced at their wedding.
In a second, my eyes opened to the stark realization of the truth behind Miriam’s death. For at the clearing of a throat, I looked up to see Samantha standing hesitantly at the door with a question forming on her lips. Previously, I had always seen Samantha’s hair braided or coiled on the top of her head. In bright sunlight coming in through the panes of the window between the tall bookcases, I saw her long, blond hair hanging straight down, well below her shoulders.
With the clarity of line and light, my mind flashed to the moonlit image of my horrific vision of Miriam’s murder. From the doorway into the maid’s quarters, my eyes again followed the moonbeam from the window to the blond tresses that spilled over the arm of the wingback chair. In silent shock I sat for several moments, simply staring at the real target of a murderer’s hands—the mild-tempered woman standing before me. Here was someone who was supposed to come to a secure place, a veritable haven in which she could put her life in order and plan for the future. How on earth was I going to put what I had just realized into terms that would make sense to her, or either Joanne or Izzy…let alone to Lieutenant John Dias?
CHAPTER 15
…Explanations take such a dreadful time.
Lewis Carroll [Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, 1832 - 1898]
Difficult as it was, I think I managed to keep the shock I was feeling from showing on my face. Rising, I swallowed my desire to blurt out what I was thinking and said, “Uh, hi, Samantha. It’s good to see you.”
“I didn’t want to bother you, but I know you’ve been working for a couple of hours, and I wondered if you’d like something to eat?”
“Oh, don’t worry that you’re interrupting. I think I’ve finished my work for the morning, and I really couldn’t eat a thing right now.”
I picked up my coffee carafe, notebook, and keys and exited the room. As we descended the stairs, I was grateful she did not ask any questions or try to make small talk. Entering the kitchen, I sought a closing remark with which I could quickly exit. I needed to get home immediately to call Nathan and John Dias.
“Have you heard from Joanne or Izzy?” I asked.
“Yes, Izzy called just before I came upstairs. She said they had good news and would be home to share it with me shortly.”
“That’s great,” I replied. “Why don’t you have them ring me after you’ve heard their news.”
“Okay.”
Walking home quickly, I thought about how it all made sense. Samantha had left her previous life to find shelter at Hale Malolo. I wondered whether she had withheld something about her past life, with or without awareness that someone in her past might want her dead. In terms of sheer logistics, had Miriam not broken her leg the previous week, she would have been upstairs in her suite at the top of the cottage. Samantha would have been in the maid’s quarters the night the man in the scuba suite entered the house.
As I entered the backyard, I again found Miss Una perched on the lānai table, intently watching Mokulua Hale, as she had before Miriam’s death.
“What’s up doc?”
She looked up at me for a split second and immediately reverted to her stakeout stare over the back gate. I moved on to my kitchen and picked up the landline to place a call to Nathan. After I apprised him of my theory about Samantha being the real target of the man in black, he agreed that I should call John Dias without delay.
Unfortunately, I got no answer at John’s cell number and had to leave a message. “Hi, John. Natalie Seachrist here. No news to report on Miriam Didión’s journals, BUT there has been a major development. Please call me ASAP.”
Next, I called Keoni, but he did not answer. Knowing he was probably enjoying a working lunch with a client, I did not leave a message. I had barely assembled my own lunch of Caesar salad with crumbled boiled egg, when John Dias called.
“I’m so glad you could get back to me so fast.”
Murder on Mokulua Drive Page 18