by Liam Fialkov
That evening, they decided to go to a restaurant located on a promenade near the ocean. They walked slowly, letting the breeze flutter their hair, talking about forgotten childhood memories, and perhaps looking for common ground. They sat next to a window overlooking the water and ordered a meal of fish, noodles, and vegetables. It turned out that they had similar taste in food. Irene ate fish but avoided poultry and beef, and Jonathan ate beef, but only on rare occasions. After the meal they were not in a hurry to go anywhere, so they ordered coffee and cake and enjoyed sitting, exchanging memories, and watching the lights of the bay.
Jonathan related a distant memory. “I loved my grandmother. On her arm, there was a tattoo of a number with a few digits, and she said that the Germans marked her that way when she was in the camp. I was little, and I didn’t understand why they had to mark her. She said that her son, my father, was Jewish, which is why I have a Jewish family name, Lishinsky. But she also said that my mother wasn’t Jewish, which is why I am not Jewish. It was quite confusing.”
“Oh my God!” Irene said.
“What happened?” Jonathan was worried he might have said the wrong thing.
“Suddenly I remembered something,” she said slowly, like looking at a forgotten memory that surfaced from the obscurity of her subconscious.
He looked at her and patiently waited, allowing her to process the memory.
“It’s really strange,” she said, “I didn’t think about it for years, and suddenly, while you were talking, it brought up something in me.”
“What was it?” he quietly encouraged her.
“When I started to learn reading, writing, and math, it became apparent to me, my teachers, and my mom, that I have a quick grasp and understanding of the subject matter, and I absorbed the material easily. One time my mother said, ‘You are clever, just like your father,’ I remember being surprised, as she hardly ever mentioned him, and then she added, ‘He was a smart Jewish man.’”
“So your father was Jewish too?” Jonathan was amazed, and felt chills going up his spine. And then he dared to bring up the question that was on his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he is doing the right thing. “Tell me,” he said with some hesitation, “is it possible that my father and your father are the same man?”
She looked at him fondly and said, “If so, then we are biologically half-siblings, but it’s possible that we’ll never know, I mean, you could do a DNA test, but at this stage, I don’t see a reason to hurry.”
“There’s no reason to hurry,” Jonathan agreed.
Chapter 21
Sarah and Jonathan
Sarah came home from work early, and she decided to take the dogs for a short walk in the forest. She took Bono, the aggressive Doberman; Bucky, the easy-going wolfdog; and Narla, a small and old female dog whose previous owner had left with them for the summer when he went to work in Alaska five years ago and didn’t return. The dogs loved the trips, loved to poke around and discover the magical world that was concealed among the forest’s trees. Still, they didn’t like to go to the woods by themselves, but only if they were accompanied by one of their two-legged owners. The dogs were excited as they were digging between the tree trunks and disturbing small forest animals, who were busy with their daily routine.
Sarah led the dogs on a trail bordering their neighbor’s estate when every once in a while she heard the crows warning against the danger that is penetrating into their territory. When they got close to the creek, which in that section was the border between the two estates, Bono suddenly charged forward, and while furiously barking, he stormed down the hill in the direction of the creek. Bucky ran after him, barking as well and wagging his tail. Sarah ran after Bucky, and last was Narla, plodding along, barking and trying to look irate.
“Bono!” Sarah called, “Stop! What is the matter?” He stopped when he reached the bank of the creek, which at that place was quite deep and difficult to cross.
Breathing heavily, Sarah arrived at the creek, where she saw the reason for the commotion. Across from her, on the other side of the creek which was usually desolated, stood three men, talking among themselves, and they seemed busy tying yellow ribbons around the trees.
Sarah silenced her excited dogs, who panted and looked angry. “Hi,” she called toward the strangers.
“Hello to you,” responded one tough-looking big guy, and examined Sarah and her dogs.
“What are you doing?” Sarah inquired in a suspicious tone of voice.
“The landowners are planning to log the trees on their property,” answered the guy, “and we are conducting a survey for them.”
“To log?” She was disheartened. “My husband and I know old Bruce Jensen, and there’s no chance he would agree to such a horrible action.”
“Lady,” the big guy politely responded, “old Bruce Jensen died three months ago, and the property was inherited by his son Kevin, who intends on cutting the trees that are in his possession; I was just hired to conduct the survey.” He turned his head to his colleagues and uttered in a low and disdainful tone of voice, “Women—they like to grow plants and get all emotional about it.”
“That’s right!” feisty Sarah heard him, “And freaking men like to chop them down for money!” Sarah was overcome by worries; she loathed forest logging with all her heart. As far as she was concerned, it was a crime against the environment for the sake of greed. For years, she’d felt a sense of identification with the trees, saw them as innocent and helpless living entities, and thought it was her duty to protect them. She knew that the wide sequoia trunks were worth a lot of money and that the landowner stood to make a fortune. Now they would have to harness themselves to the justified cause and recruit other neighbors who might care about the environment.
That evening, Jonathan came home from work and found his wife troubled and upset. With tears in her eyes, she told him about the occurrence that took place by the creek.
“We will fight it,” Jonathan assured her, and hugged her warmly. “They need to get a permit from the county, and we’ll be there, and we’ll also engage other residents who will join the struggle.”
Later, Sarah started to call neighbors and other Corralitos residents she thought might be sympathetic to her cause. The phone calls were an opportunity to talk about the issue at hand, to convey her worries, and to win support, sympathy, and understanding.
Two weeks later, residents near the property destined for logging received a notice detailing the wide-scale logging plan at the Jensen’s Estate, and the time of the hearing at the county offices.
Sarah and Jonathan met with a few of their neighbors who supported environmental issues, to plan their moves and to think of all the reasons why the project must not get underway. The two became the leaders of the opposition to the logging plan. They knew they were dragged into the fight against their will, and they would much rather if the threat was not hovering over their heads. But deep inside, they recognized one good thing that came out of the situation. The joint struggle unified them, and once again there was friendship, appreciation, and affection between them, after a long time of being in an alienated relationship.
About thirty people came to the meeting that took place during evening hours at the county offices. Most of them were invited by Jonathan and Sarah and sided with their point of view. There were also several people that represented Kevin Jensen, the land owner who wished to execute the logging.
Jonathan asked to address the meeting. He went up to the small podium and held the microphone stand. His conduct conveyed self-confidence, but when he started to speak, his voice trembled. Even so, he expressed his opinion in a clear, concise way. He spoke about the devastating effect the logging would certainly have on the vegetation—that it would be many years before the trees would reach their present size. He explained the harmful effect on wildlife, especially birds, when their habitat would be ruined. He described the destructive impact on life in the creek, because the roots of the trees filter the rainwater
flowing into it, and it was known that in areas that had undergone timber clearing, the fish in the rivers had disappeared. Jonathan also mentioned the damage that would be inflicted on the paved and dirt roads in the area, due to the many heavy trucks that were expected to pass through them, and he raised the question of who was going to pay for the recovery.
Sarah avoided speaking. She knew that if she tried to express her opinions, she would get overcome by emotions, start crying, and say harsh and unpleasant things about the other side, and that would not serve the cause.
The council members wrote down the arguments of both sides. They announced they’d send their decision in the mail in about six weeks, after checking all the aspects associated with the plan.
Sarah hoped and prayed that the trees would survive, and Jonathan recognized that the threat of clearing the forest was troubling him as well. Sarah thanked and respected Jonathan for supporting her along the way, despite the difficulties in their relationship, because he knew how valued the issue was for her heart and soul. And Jonathan appreciated the devotion and totality that she showed toward the helpless trees.
But after six weeks, they received the disheartening notification that they had lost the fight, and that the logging plan would commence during the upcoming summer dry season.
Large, heavy trucks started to rumble on the dirt roads around their property. During the first phase, the tracks carried bulldozers and other heavy equipment to the parcel destined for logging. Later, the trucks drove on the dirt and paved roads transporting their prize: the boles of the felled trees, which were sawed without mercy. Some of the trees were hundreds of years old; their trunks were so wide that a truck could not carry more than three logs at the time.
The noise was horrible. The electrical saws roared from the early morning hours, rattling without a break, followed by the sounds of the helplessly falling giant trees, crushing in a muffled bang that echoed their outcry over long distances.
Sarah tried to leave for work early in the mornings in an effort to minimize her exposure to the awful noise and the jarring clatter. She couldn’t bear the scenes that brought tears to her eyes, and engulfed her with rage that was directed at the injustice that men were committing against nature—against Mother Earth.
One morning, before Jonathan and Sarah went to work, they noticed the silence that prevailed all around.
“Could it be they’ve already finished?” Sarah wondered. She was relieved that she could sit comfortably and drink a cup of coffee, without the rattle of the saws and the pounding sounds of the falling trees.
“Maybe they took a day off,” Jonathan suggested.
When the two came home from work, they found their land still immersed in blessed silence, and Sarah enjoyed listening to the birds that were busy preparing for their night’s sleep. At about 7:30 p.m., a police car quietly rolled into their parking area. The dogs immediately burst with deafening barks and furiously ran toward the intruders, and Sarah ran after them to harness them.
“What’s the matter?” Sarah approached the cops while holding the collar of the upset Bono and quieting the other two dogs.
“Good evening,” said one cop, “Are you Mrs. Lishinsky?”
“Yes,” she answered, and looked at the two policemen suspiciously.
“I am Officer Frank Shaver, and he is Sergeant Brent Workman. We are investigating the severe and massive sabotage of the equipment of the logging company last night, and your husband is the prime suspect.”
“What is this about?” inquired Jonathan, who stepped out of the door.
“Honey, they claim you sabotaged the logger’s equipment!” she said, and he trembled because it had been a long time since she had called him honey.
“Sir, are you willing to allow us to enter into your house to ask a few questions?” asked Officer Shaver.
“All right by me,” answered Jonathan reluctantly, “I have nothing to hide.”
The policemen entered the house, sending suspicious looks all around, examining the place, and they sat across from Jonathan at the dining room table.
“Where do you work?” Officer Shaver asked.
“In Excel-Part,” Jonathan responded shortly.
“You mean in San Jose?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do over there?”
“I maintain the computers and related accessories.”
“Did you sabotage the equipment of the logging company?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“No.”
“Where were you last night?”
“At home with my wife.” Jonathan tried not to show hesitation while replying. He knew his answer was not accurate because Sarah had yet to come home when he went to bed.
“I’m asking you to come with us to the police station to take a polygraph test,” said Officer Shaver with a somber facial expression.
“Now?” Jonathan asked.
“Yes,” the officer answered. “According to the law, you are not obligated to take the test, but let me advise you that if you refuse, it might look like the behavior of someone who has something to hide, and can intensify the investigation against you.”
“I have nothing to hide,” Jonathan repeated. “I’ll come with you, but you are wasting your time by checking the wrong person. If there was sabotage, it wasn’t me.”
Jonathan entered the police car and rode to the police station with the cops.
Sarah spent the evening alone, and she felt how the anxiety was overwhelming her. She wondered how she’d manage on her own if Jonathan were sent to prison. She realized how much she needed him, and understood how important he was for her and how much she appreciated his quiet manners and their life together—the life she was destroying.
Jonathan returned home late, slightly past midnight. He told his worried wife, who breathed with relief, that the polygraph test was not very long. But after it was conducted, the cops continued to investigate him for hours. They claimed that the result of the test was not decisive, and did not point toward guilt nor for innocence.
Jonathan assumed that the polygraph was just an excuse to continue the investigation in a more intensive way. Finally, they had to release him and drive him home, after failing to break his spirit and get him to admit that he was the one who had committed the sabotage.
Sarah was filled with amazement and admiration for her husband, who kept his self-control. She thought that if she were in his place, she wouldn’t endure the ordeal with such bravery. She decided not to ask him if he had anything to do with the sabotage; to herself, she hoped he did, and that he did it for her.
Chapter 22
Sarah
Her father was dying. Sarah and her sister, Julie, felt obligated to go to their home city of St. Louis, Missouri, to be at his side during his last days. Sarah drove alone to her sister’s house in San Francisco. Jonathan didn’t try to hide that he was not interested in coming along. “It should be your time to be with yourself and with your memories,” he said.
Sarah didn’t argue; she knew that her husband was a strong man, but in situations of emotional stress, which no doubt awaited in the forthcoming family encounter, she didn’t know to what extent she could count on his mental resilience.
When she arrived in San Francisco, she was disappointed to hear that Edmond, her sister’s husband, had chosen to join the long journey. She was hoping to spend the flying time with Julie, to exchange thoughts and memories and to prepare together for the complicated family meeting that lay ahead of them. At the airport, they learned that their flight was delayed, and Edmond immediately lost his patience and announced that he was going to sue the airline company. Sarah tried to ignore him.
Finally they boarded and Sarah had a window seat, far from her sister. She tried to remember the good experiences she’d had with her father. How he had taught her to ride a bicycle, how he used to take her with him when he went fishing and told her stories of his navy service in
the Pacific Ocean.
Upon arrival, they took a taxi from the St. Louis airport to her parents’ house—the house where she grew up—to meet her mother and her older brother, who lived nearby. Sarah hoped that the drive would be prolonged. She wondered if she had the mental strength required to deal with the intricate family dynamics, with the questions that would probably hover but wouldn’t be asked. Why doesn’t she have children? For a moment she felt envious of her husband, who didn’t have a family and didn’t have to deal with unrealistic expectations.
As she expected, she didn’t revel in being with the family. She felt like an outsider, a stranger who didn’t belong. She had a hard time contributing to conversations. She realized how different she was in her perceptions and points of view. Her mother, big brother, and nephews identified themselves as Protestant Christians. They held conservative opinions and didn’t hide their loathing of blacks, gays, hippies and everyone who didn’t think like them. They also expressed their unwavering support for the Republican Party and the Second Amendment of the Constitution: the right to bear arms.
She visited her father in the hospital, and when she saw him, she was shaken. He was lying in bed, scrawny and withered, connected to life support equipment, and it looked like the life force had already left him. He was dying of lung cancer and had a hard time recognizing her. He needed to collect all his strength to plead with her to comply with his wish, to light a cigarette for him.
She looked at him—a thin piece of meat, which used to be her strong, energetic, and admired father—and didn’t know why she had a hard time feeling love and compassion for him. She knew she should remember him in his good days when he was still healthy, but for some reason, she couldn’t drive away the memory of the time when her parents had betrayed her. They had sent her to a faraway monastery so that their friends wouldn’t see her, wouldn’t see the embarrassment. They had accused her of dishonoring them at the time she needed them the most.