Searching for the One

by Gabriella Murray

"Tell me the essence of Raku?" Ken had asked in their first conversation.

  "It's about freedom from confinement," Sara answered quietly. "Allowing the clay a life of its own."

  Ken loved that. "A worthy pre-occupation," he murmured.

  "In Raku you must find the essence of clay."

  "Wonderful," he said excitedly. "I, too, search for the essence, always. The essence of women, that is."

  Thrilled at his receptivity, Sara felt, finally was someone she could talk to about what she held most dear. She and Ken spoke at great length about the need to be open to many strains of thought, find essential meanings.

  "Otherwise, the eruption of violence could happen at any moment," Ken said.

  "And you are opposed to violence?" she asked.

  "Not necessarily," he replied. "In the face of grave danger, I approve of any means necessary."

  "I am opposed to violence," Sara replied, "except in art."

  Ken chuckled. "I believe violence can be beneficial when handled with care. Nature is based on violence, isn't it? As a doctor dealing with disease, I see it all the time."

  "But there is also a Higher Law we must answer to," said Sara.

  "Perhaps," he replied. "Perhaps."

  It struck Sara at that moment how odd it was that Ken had chosen his line of work, having such a broad philosophical interest.

  "Your interest in philosophy doesn't match your profession," she had said.

  He'd cleared his throat. "Most women don't notice that. They're just glad to get a doctor on the line."

  "What an odd way to put it - on the line. . ."

  "Like a dangling fish."

  Sara had shivered.

  "The telephone line, I mean, of course," he'd added quickly, an odd smirk in his tone.

  After their first conversation, Ken didn't make a date, but promised to call back the following week, so they could get to know each other better. "My time is precious," he had said. "There's no need to meet immediately, or to rush anything."

  Sara had been relieved. Their conversation had been unsettling; she wanted time to take it in, and wasn't really sure if he'd call again anyway. However, true to his promise, he did call one week later. The second time they talked mostly about medicine, his research on male impotence. It can be solved, he'd told her emphatically.

  "I certainly hope so," Sara said.

  This phone call was less unsettling. Ken called back a third time in a few more days and at the end of that call they decided to schedule lunch at The Swan.

  She dressed with care for the date, choosing a lovely wool, amber dress, high heel boots, and a new, bronze lipstick. She brushed her hair for an extra long while, until it was thick, and shiny.

  They had scheduled the lunch for noon, before the real lunch crowd arrived. Sara felt comfortable at The Swan. Both the hostess and Maitre D, Nick, knew her well. Whenever she came in, Nick winked, as if to say, I'm keeping an eye on you.

  Sara was excited to finally meet Ken in person and left early. She went outside and slipped into her car, snapped on the radio, and drove very slowly to the diner. It was mid- February, and people were calling in songs for Valentine's Day to those they loved. As Sara listened to the songs, she wondered if Ken would be the one.

  At the diner, she turned into the back parking lot, where there were still plenty of spots. She planned to wait in the car until noon, listen to the radio, and think about what he would be like. As she turned left up the small hill leading to the lot, she noticed a car behind her, turning in as well. It was a very old car, in a sky blue color one hardly saw anymore.

  As she got to the top of the hill she turned right and noticed, out of her side mirror, the pale blue car trailing her. Her stomach sank as it came closer, and she had a sudden flash that it was Ken.

  Sara quickly slipped into the nearest parking space and the pale blue car did the same. It's him, she told herself. She looked at the bizarre make and model of the vehicle and knew in an instant he'd lied. All sorts of possibilities flickered through her mind. She figured that if she drove away, he would follow. She snapped off the radio, locked the doors, and waited for another car or two to arrive.

  In a few minutes two more cars arrived, parked a few spaces away. As soon as the other people got out, Sara got out of her car. It was windy and raw outside, as if wet snow was about to fall. At that very moment, the man in the pale blue car opened his car door and came out as well. Sara stood motionless. Then she looked down to the ground and saw, in shock, that he was barefooted, wearing broad, flat, earth sandal his feet were big, covered with mud and dirt, and looked as though they had been eaten by insects. Sara straightened her skirt, stood taller, and looked slowly up at him. He was tall, with dark, greasy hair, and wore a crumpled overcoat which hung open.

  Pretending she didn't know who he was, Sara started walking past his car to the front entrance of The Swan. As she passed, she glanced at his license plate out of the corner of her eye. No M.D.

  "Sara?"

  She stopped dead in her tracks. She turned.

  "Ken?"

  "How can you tell?" he mumbled.

  Closer now, she could see him clearly. He had hazel eyes and deep pock marks all over his face. Sara shuddered as he held out his hand.

  "Hi," she said lightly, as if nothing were off.

  His hazel eyes narrowed at her.

  "How did you know it was me?" he repeated.

  "Who else would know my name?"

  "You still want to have lunch?"

  "Why not?" She decided to act as if everything were normal.

  "Good," he mumbled, and walked beside her, wavering back and forth.

  "It's nice to meet you," she said, desperate to fill the stony silence and put them at ease.

  "Everything is different on the telephone, isn't it?" he said.

  "It can be," she answered as they walked to the front steps of the diner.

  "You're so wise," he said in a garbled tone as they rolled through the revolving door, they were greeted by Nick, who stared at Ken, cocking his head to the side. Sara stared back at Nick fervently, signaling something was wrong.

  "A booth for two?" Nick asked.

  "This is Ken," Sara said.

  "Introducing me to the waiter?" Ken mumbled, uneasy.

  "This is my friend, Nick," Sara said, and Ken grimaced forcibly. "I know him well. He looks after me," she talked without pausing as Nick led them to the familiar booth on which sat a few fresh red carnations in a small vase, in honor of Valentine's Day.

  "Pretty fancy," Ken said, eyeing her as they sat down. A waitress came over and set down two large menus.

  Sara suddenly realized that Ken never expected to actually go into the diner, sit down and have lunch. She wondered briefly what he did expect.

  "It's weird you're friends with the waiter," Ken said, drumming the menu with both hands. "Come here often? See lots of guys?"

  "Some," Sara said politely, picking up the large menu and hiding behind it for reprieve. She wondered if Ken was also picking up his menu, but didn't hear a sound from the other side.

  Finally, she dropped the menu slightly and looked over the edge. Ken sat there, watching.

  "I'm not what you expected, right?" he said.

  "No one is," said Sara, trying not to stare at his pocked mark face.

  "Liar. Put the damn menu down."

  Sara smiled uneasily. She was determined to remain centered, no matter what he said or did. She was determined to refuse terror, to remember she was in a public place.

  "I must say you are calmer than the others," Ken continued. "A real lady. I could even like you someday."

  "Thanks," Sara said. Despite herself, she felt pleased, though

  she had no idea why. In some peculiar part of herself, she noticed that she liked him too. She was fascinated by him. She wanted to know who he really was. What was he doing here? As he spoke further, she noticed he had a slight lisp.

  "Most of the women leave as soon as they see my
car," he said. "I'm sorry," said Sara.

  "They realize I'm not a doctor."

  "So why do you say you are?" Sara looked at him boldly. "How else am I going to get to meet the ladies? They're hot shots out there, all of them, after someone with money or a big reputation." He laughed, revealing small, uneven, broken teeth.

  "Not all women."

  "Oh no?" he was belligerent. "Well, about 99 per cent. Besides, I used to be a doctor."

  Sara almost believed him. "Really?"

  "Yes." He leaned forward. "How do you think I know so much about medicine? You think I read up on it just to meet some lousy broads?"

  Sara winced. "Of course not."

  "Right. I was a doctor. . . I had a breakdown one night, after a fire, when I was working in the emergency room for twenty six straight hours, looking at one cadaver after another. I couldn't do it anymore. I just sat there and started crying, asking why God did this to us?"

  "I'm sorry," Sara said, meaning it.

  "I asked for hours. . . never got an answer."

  "I'm very, very sorry," said Sara.

  Ken grew quiet. "You are, aren't you?"

  "Yes, I am."

  "Well, that's nice of you."

  Both of them paused and took a deep breath before Ken continued, "But you must be crazy to be sorry for me. You must be crazy to be sitting here listening. I bet down deep you're as nuts as I am."

  "Maybe I am," Sara smiled.

  The waitress came over and interrupted, asking for orders. Sara ordered a large Greek salad and Ken ordered tea. Without lemon. Without anything.

  "Dutch treat, right?" he said loudly.

  "Sure," Sara flushed. She didn't want to inflame him. She decided it would be best to act as if everything were normal, as if there were no waves of terror pushing at the edge of her mind, as if she had lunches like this often. On top of all that, to her total amazement, Sara felt badly for him. "If you want something more for lunch, I can get it for you."

  "Forget that," he snarled.

  "Just offering."

  "I hate when people feel sorry for me."

  "I don't feel sorry."

  "Sure you do. I can see it in your eyes."

  "So tell me more about your interest in philosophy," Sara changed the topic as the waiter went for the food.

  "It's perfection I'm seeking," Ken looked at her deeply. "Not pity."

  His mouth quivered as he spoke, and his skin looked more ravaged than ever.

  "Since I was little I sought perfection; nothing else really interested me."

  The waiter brought Greek salad and tea. Behind the waiter, Sara saw Nick glide by, inspecting them.

  "Everything all right?" Nick stopped and asked politely. "Need anything else?"

  "We're fine," Sara said uneasily.

  "Good."

  "I don't like being interrupted," Ken said the moment Nick went away. "There are lots of things I don't like. That's why I had a breakdown. Ha."

  "Tell me some things you do like," Sara thought fast. "How do you enjoy spending your free time?"

  "Walking on deserted, rocky beaches in the North Shore of Long Island - winter or summer," Ken said, gulping his hot tea. "Going there with a hot shot lady. Someone I can talk philosophy with."

  Sara just ate her salad.

  "You're eating fast."

  "I'm hungry," she said.

  "You think I'm dangerous, but I'm not," Ken said finally. "I'm a connoisseur of life in this century. I know the depths of a woman from the moment I see her. I make these dates so I can keep learning, so I won't completely lose the natural prowess I was born with. If you don't use it, you lose it." He grinned.

  Sara planned to simply finish the meal and leave him feeling as if she enjoyed their time. That way she could get into her car safely, without leaving a trail of pain in her wake. That way she might even leave him just a little bit stronger than when they met.

  Sara stuffed the last bits of lettuce and olives in her mouth and drank a glass of cold water.

  "Enjoy your lunch?"

  "Very much."

  "You're finished and you want to leave now, don't you?" he said.

  "Yes, I do. I have to."

  "I know. But you're kind," he said. "That's unusual these days."

  The muscles of Sara's face grew tight. She fought unexpected tears from falling. "Thank you."

  "Most women aren't this nice to me."

  "I'm sorry."

  "I know you are. Okay, so go. I won't call you again."

  Sara bowed her head.

  "Unless you want me to."

  Sara couldn't answer.

  "Just once in awhile, to tell you how I'm doing?"

  "That would be fine," Sara said slowly.

  "I won't call too often. Just once in awhile."

  Sara smiled.

  "I enjoyed meeting you," Ken said in a little voice then. "I really did. It's not often I get company for lunch."

  Sara felt a mixture of fear and sorrow, stood up slowly, and put bills on the table.

  Ken didn't stand, just sat there playing with his own dollar bill. Finally he said, "I'll always remember you."

  "So will I," Sara said.

  Sara walked slowly to the front of the diner and slipped through the revolving door. Once outside she fled to the back parking lot and, without looking behind her, quickly got into her car and pulled away.

  While driving home she felt light-headed, and kept looking out the side mirror to see if Ken was following, but only the usual afternoon's traffic rumbled behind. She felt an odd mixture of relief and sorrow.

  As she turned into her block, she felt the urge to call her mother, realizing she had to tell her whether or not she was going to meet Arnold Beane for dinner Friday night. The thought of going home to meet an accountant seemed suddenly comforting after the harrowing afternoon.

  Sara opened her door to Berta carrying piles of laundry in her arms across the living room.

  "What happened to you, Miss Sara?" Berta gasped.

  "Nothing."

  "Looks like the dead came back and paid you a visit!"

  Defeated, Sara sat down at the table and put her head in her hands.

  "Come now, tell me."

  "I met a very strange man, Berta," Sara whispered.

  "Good Lord Protect All Your Beautiful Children!"

  "He was actually not a bad person. . ."

  "Miss Sara, you deserve better than this. The whole world's gone astray!"

  "He was just lonely, so mixed up."

  Berta put down the laundry. "I'll make you hot water with lemon and garlic. Could be somebody's sending you the evil eye. I've seen it happen in my country."

  Berta immediately started bustling around.

  "There's no evil eye here, Berta."

  "Garlic's good for the evil eye," Berta said to herself as she prepared the tea. "You also got a message from Mr. Melvin on the answering machine today. I was here when it came in. He sounds peculiar."

  Another message. Sara started trembling. "What did he say?

  "Hear for yourself."

  Sara got up and switched on the answering machine. Melvin's voice sounded higher than she remembered.

  "Hello, this is Melvin. Just checking in. How are you doing, anyway? I heard from Matt that you're dating a lot of weird men now. I'm calling to see what's really going on. Call back as soon as you can."

  Sara stared at the telephone. Berta came up behind her.

  "He's not right in the head," Berta said.

  "I'm going to call him anyway," said Sara. "He sounds upset."

  Berta left as Sara dialed Melvin's number at work.

  "It's Sara," she said.

  "Oh yes," said his secretary, "he said to put you through the second you called."

  "Well, finally, you're calling back," Melvin started as he picked up the phone.

  "I just received your message."

  "A likely story. Anyway, I'm hearing all kinds of disturbing things, Sara."

/>   Sara hated it when Melvin said her name, as if she were an unruly child who had to be chastised.

  "Life happens, Melvin."

  "Really? Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

  "Are you my judge and jury?"

  "How like you," he murmured, in a suddenly confidential tone. "My analyst said I should expect resistance when I confront you about anything."

  "Your analyst?"

  "Naturally. You think I'd go through this trauma alone?"

  "Trauma? It was you who chose -"

  "Ah, the blaming game. We're at it again!"

  "I'm not blaming anyone. I'm just curious what trauma you're talking about? Trauma to who?"

  "You don't think losing your entire family is a trauma for a man?"

  Sara was silent.

  "Don't you?"

  "Of course I do."

  "So have a little sympathy."

  "Melvin, what did you call about?"

  "I hear you're dating like mad."

  Sara cleared her throat. "I wouldn't describe it 'like mad'."

  "Matt's usually pretty accurate. He sleeps at his friends because the whole thing is making him edgy."

  Sara was disturbed to hear that.

  "My children are living with you! Everyday you set an example and I want them growing up healthy and whole."

  "I'm aware of that, Melvin. And for the record, you are setting an example as well."

  "Yes," Melvin said, after a long moment. "That's why I'm seeing Dr. Rose."

  "Very good. I'm glad you're working out your issues."

  "My issues?" Melvin snarled. "And what about you? First you hide in your shed, then you go crazy dating."

  "I'm not going crazy! I'm going sane!" Sara slammed down the phone, breathless.

  A minute later it rang again. Sara reached for it to warn him not to call again. When she picked it up it was Tova.

  "So, you're coming home? To meet Arnold? You said you'd let me know by three."

  Sara looked at the clock: 2:45. She took a long breath, circulating it in her chakras, picturing gold light running up and down the channels in her body. She chanted "Om" silently, breathing deeply, in and out ten times.

  "What are you doing? It sounds like a backed up pipe."

  "I'm centering, mom."

  "What?"

  "Clearing my aura -"

  "Don't say that to Arnold!"

  "Mom, give me a break. I can't come home this Friday night."