The Meadowlark Sings

by Helen Ruth Schwartz

  After returning to the briefing room, they were pleased to learn that they would not have to endure any more classroom days. In an effort to confuse the American media, already hyping the arrival of the homosexuals from Cali, the travel plans had been changed. They would be leaving three days ahead of schedule—the next morning.

  Before leaving the Bremmer Building they were summoned to the office of the prime minister. Miriam Ekstrom was standing with her back to them, looking out the south window, when they entered. Turning, she nodded to the two chairs in the middle of the room and resumed her seat behind the massive plastic desk.

  "So," she began, "you have been briefed and now you know all that there is to know about the United States and your assignment." She paused and when there was no response, she continued. "It must be very exciting for you to be going off to the land of your biological parents, but I want you to know that it is we who are your real family, who will be thinking about you and watching your progress with great interest. As the navigator of your career," she looked directly at Cara, "I will be watching you with particular interest."

  Squirming self-consciously in her seat, Cara grimaced as she tried to cross her ankles, her left still swollen from the sprain. "Thank you," she repeated after Tim.

  "Oh, Cara, forgive me for not mentioning this sooner. I was very pleased to learn of your athletic prowess aboard the Fantasia the other day. If not for you, that child could have been very badly injured. How is your ankle?"

  This woman knows everything, thought Cara silently. "It won't affect the trip. Thank you for asking, Ms. Ekstrom," she responded. Placing her feet side by side, she vowed to sit still.

  "Good, hut that's not the question I asked. Let me repeat. How is your ankle?" Miriam was surprised at her own bad-mannered response. Embarrassing a subordinate was not characteristic of her. My irritability has something to do with the United States and Barbra, she theorized.

  For the briefest moment Cara felt her eyes water like those of a reprimanded child, but quickly she regained her composure. "My ankle is much better. I'm walking with only a slight limp. And the discomfort is barely noticeable."

  "Good, I'm glad to hear that." Turning to face Tim, she asked, "And how is Glen?" She didn't wait for an answer. "I understand that the two of you had already applied to be parents, so the visit aboard the Fantasia must have been of particular interest."

  "Glen is fine. Yes ma'am, we have applied and we're very excited about it. Actually, since my visit aboard the Fantasia, we've been thinking about changing the application to twins."

  While the prime minister exchanged pleasantries with Tim, Cara glanced around the office. It was, she thought, an appropriate reflection of Miriam Ekstrom. It was a strong office, decorated in bold colors. Deep blues, maroons, and browns. No delicate pastels for this woman. The heavy plastic furniture, so much in style in this country without forests, was placed hither and yon. Conversational chair groupings were not in evidence. Looking at the marbleized plastic desktop, her eyes were drawn to the lonely framed photograph of the light-haired young woman that sat in the upper corner, angled so it could be seen by visitors and the PM. The devil is making me do this, Cara thought. Pointing, she said in a voice designed for Tim's ears, "What a wonderful photograph. Is that you, Ms. Ekstrom?"

  "No," said the PM succinctly. She continued the conversation as though the question had never been asked. "And what about you, Cara, do you plan to adopt children?"

  Bingo, thought Cara. That's Barbra. Seeing a photo of the real person strengthened the kinship she was feeling with the American woman. Looking at the prime minister, she answered the question with no hesitation. "Not yet. I think I'd better find a mate first." She wondered whether the PM knew about her past relationship with Jody. Probably, she did. Her familiarity with the backgrounds of her staff members was legendary.

  Suddenly, as though remembering another appointment, the prime minister stood, signaling the end of the meeting. That was quick. thought Tim, the fastest interview I've ever had with Ekstrom, "Well, I'd better let you attend to your packing and last-minute arrangements," the PM said as she walked them to the door. "I want to wish you both the best of luck. This is our first effort in eight years to improve relations with the United States. I'm counting on the two of you to make it meaningful. Have a successful trip. Be proud of who you are and the country you represent." She shook Tim's hand, and turned to Cara, saying, almost as an afterthought, "I'd like to see you privately for just a moment."

  Returning to the office, she did not sit, nor invite Cara to sit. Standing awkwardly, Cara tried not to shift weight to her left foot as she waited for the prime minister to speak.

  "You and I," the PM finally began, "have worked together well these past several years. In addition to being a top administrator, you are an excellent advocate for the aging. Some of the programs you have introduced represent great progress in the way we relate to our older citizens. You have been chosen for this assignment because you earned it." Motioning Cara not to interrupt, she walked to the south window and sat on the ledge. "But you are also very young. And very beautiful. American men will have great difficulty accepting your homosexuality. Be careful. You must carry yourself with pride, dignity, and a small measure of aloofness. Be polite, but be the consummate professional. Most important, do not let them mistake your enthusiasm for romantic ardor." She stopped briefly to observe Cara's reaction. "Always remember, men from other countries are heterosexual and they will view you as a love object. You cannot relax in the safety of a dispassionate relationship the way you can with Calian men," she finally concluded.

  A blush slowly crept up Cara's neck until it covered her entire face. Crimson, she thought. I must be crimson. Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she restlessly rocked back and forth, praying that the PM would not start telling her about the birds and the bees. Her discomfort was especially severe because of the high esteem in which she held Miriam Ekstrom. Her reverence for the woman had once bordered on a childlike infatuation which her secretary, Esther, teasingly referred to as a crush. Being spoken to this way by her idol produced an embarrassment of great intensity.

  "Yes," she stammered, rubbing her hands together with nervous energy. She felt little beads of perspiration forming on her forehead. "I will be very careful. I'll keep a lot of distance between me and the men. Thank you for speaking to me about such personal matters."

  "Why Cara," she responded, "I do believe you're embarrassed. Well, don't worry about it. I feel about you as I do my daughter, and these things need to be discussed."

  Cara smiled bashfully. The PM smiled knowingly. The two women parted after warmly shaking hands, Miriam Ekstrom laughing to herself as she closed her office door. I guess this old girl can still get a rise from the younger set, she thought proudly.

  Eight

  Anisette, alternately meowing and purring, trailed Cara as she-walked from room to room. "How do you always know when I'm leaving?" she asked aloud, bending to scratch the calico's ears. "I don't even have the travel bags out yet and already you're yelling at me. Now listen," she said as she sat in an armchair and Anisette jumped into her lap, "Vanessa is going to take very good care of you while I'm gone. She's going to feed you all your favorite fish dishes, play with you, and give you catnip treats. You're going to be a very spoiled kitty by the time I get home. What am I talking about? You're already spoiled." She started to get up to begin packing, but sat down again as the cat began kneading her arm. "Okay, okay, I'll make my phone calls instead."

  Her first call was to her neighbor, Vanessa, to let her know that she'd be leaving early the next day. "Remember, this cat is my child," she said repeatedly.

  "If you say that once more," chided Vanessa, "I'll have you committed to a home for the mentally ill."

  After speaking to her mothers and again trying to assuage Sue's fears, she decided to call Esther. Although she had seen her secretary in the office earlier that afternoon, their meetings the past few weeks had been bri
ef and she wanted to have a little more contact with her before she left.

  "Hey, Marge," she began when the image of Esther's lover appeared on the screen, "Cara here. You know, I haven't spoken to you in a long time. I'm glad you answered. It gives us a chance to say hello. How are things?"

  "Good. Good. Essie, it's Cara," she yelled, sticking her head out the kitchen door into the hall. "Everything's fine. Look, I'm pleased you called. It gives me a chance to wish you good luck in New York. Essie is a bit out of joint, but I'm very excited tor you." As usual, Marge barely paused for a breath, chattering away nonstop. "I'm really pleased that she's not going with you. I'd worry the entire time the two of you were gone. This way, I only have to worry about one person. Know what I mean? Look, don't forget that as soon as you get back we want to have you over for dinner. How about that, I said 'don't forget' as though you'd already been invited. I think I forgot to invite you. Well, it doesn't really matter. You are invited. I told Essie I'd make you your angel hair pasta dish. So plan on it. Oh, here comes your favorite secretary now. Let me put her on."

  "Any problems, Cara?" Esther asked when she took the phone.

  "No, none at all. I just wanted to review some of the things that may come up while I'm in New York. And I wanted to give a few minutes of special attention to my favorite secretary."

  "Thank you. That makes me feel better."

  "Esther, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were upset. Until Marge just said something about you being out of joint I didn't have a clue that anything was wrong. Now tell me, what's bothering you?'" She was surprised when Esther turned off the visual.

  "Look, I don't know how to say this, but I'm really hurt. I've always traveled with you as an escort until now." Cara sensed Esther's pain as she visualized tears welling in the eyes of the robust woman with the moon-shaped face. "It's as though the PM thinks I'm good enough to escort you in Cali, but not good enough for New York. It's not right."

  Damn, thought Cara. What an insensitive jerk I am. If I had made an effort to spend more time with her these past two weeks. I would hare known she was hurting. "But it has nothing to do with your qualifications Esther. It has to do with your sex. The powers that be thought it would be better if I was escorted by a man, lest the Americans think that Cali's homosexuals travel with their lovers." She paused, waiting for her to mull over the information. "With Tim, there can be no questions about our relationship and our status as representatives. Oh Esther, I'm sorry. I should have explained this to you right away."

  There was a long pause. "I never thought of that. Of course. It makes perfect sense," she exclaimed, taking a deep breath. "Oh, I really must apologize to you. I thought maybe you said something to the PM about not wanting me to go with you. Maybe I was getting too old for the job. Maybe I was being put out to pasture. I should have known better than to think such things of you. I feel like a fool."

  Cara breathed a sigh of relief. In Cali, where people bonded closely with co-workers in the shared absence of an abundance of relatives, she had developed a particularly close relationship with Esther. Repairing the crack in their friendship was important.

  "Don't worry about it. I'm the one to blame for your confusion. If I had explained things to you immediately, you wouldn't have spent the past two weeks agonizing. Or feeling rejected. I'm the one who owes apologies."

  "Hey, you know something?" interjected Esther. "I'm really kind of flattered that someone might think I was your lover. Wait until I tell Marge that one."

  After a good-natured chuckle, they got down to work and discussed some of the things that might come up in Cara's absence. The conversation ended much more pleasantly than it had begun, with each woman vowing to be more up front with the other in the future. "Our relationship as co-workers and friends means a great deal to me. Let's not mess it up with a failure to communicate," beseeched Cara as she ended the conversation.

  She remained sitting for a long time after hanging up, berating herself for her insensitivity. Neglecting to explain to Esther why Tim had gotten the assignment was inexcusable. Cara had never been a thoughtless person. Quite the contrary. She had always been an individual who cared a great deal about the feelings of the people she loved. Maybe I'm just overwhelmed with this assignment, she thought, or maybe I'm getting too big for my britches and need to put things in better perspective.

  Placing a meowing Anisette gently on the floor, she walked into the kitchen, pressed a few buttons on the cookery machine, and awaited the preparation of her food. Although 7:00 p.m. was an early dinner hour for her, she wasn't quite ready to begin the arduous task of packing. After eating a leisurely meal of sesame chicken and noodles, commenting aloud on how good they were making home-cooked foods lately, and reading the evening newspaper, she found herself pacing again, almost tripping over a sleeping Anisette who had finally settled down in her favorite spot near the armchair. "I just know I'm going to kill myself tripping over you one of these days," she mumbled.

  Sitting in the armchair once again, she stroked the cat, who allowed it with sleepy indifference, and thought about how much she enjoyed her apartment. In crowded Cali, where space was a premium, Cara had the good fortune of occupying a corner two-bedroom apartment overlooking the Pacific. The living room, framed by a wall of glass, offered incredible views on two sides. But it was the master bedroom that was her special joy. Lovemaking in the surround-stereo bed augmented by the sounds and sights of the ocean made for superlative orgasms. Vanessa teasingly referred to it as "the best fuck room in the west."

  Watching the sun set over the ocean, she turned on the phone with vague deliberation. Although Jody had not been one of the people she had originally planned to call, she found herself dialing the confidential number with a comfortable familiarity. To her delight, the conversation was much warmer than she had anticipated. Warmer and more relaxed.

  "Here, take my international phone number with you," Jody volunteered. "Don't hesitate to call should you need me or my legal advice. Remember, these may be our parents, but some of them hate-lesbians."

  "How did you get an international phone number?" Cara asked.

  "I'm an advisor to the Prime Minister on international law," she responded, quickly adding, "I got the appointment before I met Margo."

  "I wasn't going to say anything."

  "Like hell you weren't. Don't forget, I'm here if you need me."

  After completing the phone calls, she began packing. It was a task made more difficult by the fact that she hated almost every article of clothing she was taking. I'm not going to a fashion show, she reminded herself with annoyance. Then she had problems deciding what other things she needed in New York. Did she need to bring a hair dryer or would New York hotels have built-in hair dryers? How about her electric toothbrush? Did she need to bring the base charger or just the brush? It was too late to call anybody to check. Finally, she decided to just take whatever she might possibly need. At 1:00 a.m., she removed a complaining Anisette from her travel bags, zipped them shut, showered, and climbed into bed next to the cat.

  Sleep did not come easily that night. Nightmares became dreams and became nightmares and became dreams. The prime minister laughed at her. The woman in the photograph on the PM's desk, waving with both hands, transformed into Mother Sue while in the background, Esther kept yelling, "I told you so. I told you so." Tim, with identical twin boys sitting on his shoulders, kept zipping and unzipping her bags, a laser patch visible on the back of his arm. She floated in and out of a restless state, turned the soft sleep music on and off, listened to the rain and the raging ocean, and moved a purring Anisette off her head and on to the adjoining pillow. Finally, she surrendered to the alarm clock at 7:00 a.m. and groggily got out of bed to begin the preparations for putting on her American clothes.

  Nine

  The plane left Cali Airport in the early afternoon for the two-hour ultrasonic jet trip to New York City. As the only passengers, Cara and Tim had the luxury or the spacious airliner to themselv
es. Immediately upon boarding, he began reading the New York Journal, which had been placed on their seats while she went into the VIP lounge and stretched out on the air bed. Grateful that they had been scheduled for the two-hour ultrasonic G-l flight rather than the half-hour G-2, Cara decided to try to get in a short nap. Pressing her watch for a pulse check, however, she realized that her excitement level was much too high for sleep and she sat up and opened her briefing papers instead.

  Although her role at the conference had not yet been confirmed, it was anticipated that Cara would be presenting research documents attesting to the success of Cali's care facilities for the elderly.

  Begun in the early 2020s, Cali's state-of-the-art program of facilities for the aged had been the work of Miri Mills, Cara's predecessor, who in 2018 had been the head of the Bureau of Nursing Home Affairs in the United States. On the day that Miri learned she had the Scarpetti gene, she unhesitatingly applied for transfer to Cali, although it was affectionately rumored that Miri would have applied for transfer even if she had tested negative. The opportunity of establishing an elderly health care program from scratch was more meaningful for her than sex.

  As Cali's new director of the Office for the Aging, the first thing the tiny woman did—even before Cali had a constitution—was legislate-that the new country's facilities for the aged could be established only in association with universities. The rest was easy.

  At each university it became a mandatory part of the curriculum for students in health and human services to spend four hours weekly in the affiliated nursing home, guaranteeing that each elderly patient had his or her share of direct contact with young adults. At almost any time of the day, there was a ratio of seven or eight people under the age of twenty-five for every one person over the age of eighty-five.