Three points. And then I realized the most important item and carefully wrote it out, not in a quick line like the others, but more detailed so I wouldn’t forget.
Claire’s Remembrance Diary is the key to everything. I don’t know how I know this or how it could be the key, but I know it is.
I stared at point number four for a long time, maybe an hour, before putting my paper down and falling asleep peacefully.
Chapter 34
The next morning, we hit the road, raising all kinds of fuss with the hospital. Doctors don’t like it when you leave their care prematurely. I couldn’t give a damn. I felt weak, but no worse than if I had woken up with a bad hangover.
Jenny still didn’t want me to leave the hospital either, but she reluctantly agreed to go with me. “I can finally prove everything,” I told her. I was holding her face, smiling, looking with love into her eyes as I said this.
Her eyes welled up with tears for a moment, and she blinked them away. “Okay,” she whispered. “Where are we going?”
“Back to Nelson.”
She nodded, expecting this.
Nelson was about fifty miles north of Great Falls, and we made good time. I did have to concede and let Jenny do the driving, because I was still too woozy to do that.
After we got on I-15 North and were sailing along the beautiful scenery, she asked, “What happened this time back?”
I put my hand on her thigh, wanting a connection to her as I told her. “There’s a lot to tell,” I said, trying to remember exactly how things started.
I formed a mental inventory and told her as much as I could about my time. There were the stories of my mother wanting help, then refusing it. The words from Claire’s Remembrance Diary. Talking with my father and finding hints of humanity buried below the surface.
Jenny stopped me there. “I never saw any humanity from him.”
“Yeah. I know.” For some reason I didn’t talk to her about the thoughts and feelings I had discovered about myself. About how much alike I was to him.
“Go on.”
I nodded and held her thigh tighter. She put her right hand on top of mine, continuing to carefully watch the road ahead.
The rest of the story was harder. Meeting Uncle Bob, confronting him, the whole unbelievable meeting with myself and talking myself out of killing Bob.
I finished the tale just as we hit the outskirts of Nelson.
“Your stories just keep getting harder and harder to fathom,” she said. Quickly, she added, “I mean, it’s not that I don’t believe you -- ” She took a quick glance over at me and lifted her mouth into an unconvincing smile. “It’s just so hard.”
“I know. But this time, I do have the proof.”
“Like the buried dollar?” She was smiling.
“Better.”
She nodded again. “Where to?”
I directed her down Main Street, turning left just after we passed a small bridge over an arm of the Montana River. We drove a couple more blocks, and then I had her park the Camry beside an old brownstone building.
She rubbed her eyes and stretched when she left the car, looking at the sign over the main entrance. The Nelson Times-Record.
“The newspaper?”
“Yeah.”
We went inside. The third floor held the microfilm archives. I knew my way around because I had stopped here at the very beginning of my three-day drinking binge, less than a week ago in my subjective time. Even partially drunk then, I knew exactly what I had to do.
The librarian looked like she still belonged in the sixties. She looked to be about fifty years old and wore her reddish hair hanging straight down way past her shoulders. She wore a long paisley dress, the swirling colors mixing like a bad painting by Andy Warhol.
“We’d like to look at some old papers, please.”
“Year?” She wasn’t smiling. Wasn’t happy.
“1968. July 27.” I took a deep breath. “It was a Saturday.”
The librarian wore a white hand-printed nametag that said “Hello! My name is Mrs. McDonald. Can I help you?”
She went into a small room behind the counter and returned with a box of microfilm. “Here we go.” She waved us to follow her and spooled the film into a beat-up projector in one corner. “We don’t get much call for microfilm anymore,” she said. “Everything since 1990 has been put onto CD-ROM, so it’s much more convenient.
“This is great,” I said. “We appreciate your help.”
The screen lit up and she showed us how to scroll through the papers. This reel contained the whole month of July.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
“No, Mrs. McDonald. Thanks again.”
As soon as she left us, I started turning the small crank on the side of the machine, hunting for the 27th. Once there, I slowed down and after a couple of minutes of searching, I found what I was looking for. The classifieds. There in black and white was the ad I had placed just a couple of days ago.
Jenny read the ad and then jumped up and held me closely to her. I felt her shuddering as she clutched me, finally knowing in her soul I had been telling her the truth all along.
To Jenny in my future. This is Sam, just after I had my strange attack in Nelson. We were looking for a silver dollar. You were wearing a light blue sundress and carrying your favorite yellow purse. The last words I spoke to you were, “Six inches from the steps.” I love you.
Chapter 35
We took a circuitous route home. Instead of driving due west back to Seattle, both Jenny and I felt we needed to take a bit of time out.
From Nelson, we drove south-west, ending up in Boise, Idaho, and then continued south-west eventually landing ourselves in San Francisco. We spent the weekend there, mostly just wandering around all the standard tourist sites like Pier 39, Fisherman’s Wharf, Chinatown, even Alcatraz, which neither of us had seen before. It sounds strange to want a vacation in the middle of everything happening, but it just felt right. We needed time just to zone out and not try to solve the mysteries of the universe. That strain would come back soon enough.
Jenny had been under a lot of pressure, too. I hadn’t really appreciated just how much stress until after she read the classified ad. Later that night, all her tears spilled out. When I tried to ask her what was wrong, all she would say was that she was sorry she had doubted me.
Hell, I’d been doubting myself all along.
The time alone together seemed to cement our resolve to work through things. Jenny had always been there for me. Even when I hadn’t appreciated it.
We reluctantly left our small vacation and drove back home. It was a two-day drive to our comfortable house in the outskirts of Seattle. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to be home.
After we got unpacked, Jenny barbequed some chicken for dinner and added green beans and a tossed salad. She liked simple meals.
Over dinner, she asked the big question. “Where do we go from here?”
Nodding, since I knew the question was coming, I answered, “I’m going to research some things. I tried to figure this all out after the first trip back and got nowhere. Now I’ve got some other ideas.”
“Can I help?”
“You’ve helped more than I can say. Right now, I think I need to do this part alone.”
My astronomy class in college was an overview course. It covered all of the main celestial bodies like the moon, stars, comets, planets, etc. We even had a chance to use the thirty-inch telescope at the university observatory to really see the rings of Saturn and the moons of Jupiter. I’m sure there were many other things we saw, but they’ve been lost in the mists of time.
The class came easy to me, as I knew it would, and I mainly took it to have an easy course to mix in with my business and financial courses, which were a lot more difficult.
But the course wasn’t all practical. The professor was a guy named Gryseels, who had shocking white hair, made all the more noticeable with the thick black frames of
his eyeglasses.
Gryseels knew a lot of the students were there just for an easy mark. He didn’t particularly care, especially since he had received tenure two years earlier. Even so, he did manage to spend a bit of time on the history of astronomy, and since that was closely tied to physics, we were forced to absorb a bit of that too.
I remember Gryseels trying to explain Einstein’s theory of special relativity to us. We all nodded, but none of us really had much of an idea what he was talking about. All I remember now is that it had something to do with the speed of light.
He also spent one lecture talking about quantum mechanics. And it was that one lecture now pinging in my mind like a dim flashlight a mile away, drawing me closer.
I went to the library and pulled out all the books I could find on the subject, including a book for dummies and an idiot’s book.
After a week, I had as good a handle as I was going to get, which wasn’t saying much.
An idea started to jell about what had been happening to me, but would take some time for me to know if it really made any sense.
Three days later, I was getting ready to tell my thoughts to Jenny. The dissolving came first.
Part 8
Memory is a complicated thing, a relative to truth but not its twin.
Barbara Kingsolver
Chapter 36
There was a note in my mailbox, a single sheet of pink paper, folded twice. It was from my mother and addressed to my fake name. I took the note inside my room and read her handwritten words.
Dear Mr. Johnson:
I’m sorry I ran from you a couple of weeks ago. I don’t understand everything that’s been happening this summer, but I do know you’re not to blame for any of it.
Bob is to blame. Jimmy is to blame. The government is to blame for sending my darling son so far away. I’m sure I’m to blame for some of it. You just happened across a family in turmoil, and sometimes it’s easier to blame a stranger than to look in the mirror.
I would like to talk to you about Marty. He needs our help. I don’t know what to do, especially since he wants to fight for his country. What Vietnam has to do with our country is something I just don’t understand. Maybe you can explain that to me. But mostly I need you to tell me how I can stop him from going.
I’ll be in Crippling Park at 7:00 tonight. Please come.
I re-read the note, wondering what she could possibly expect me to do. Then I checked my watch. 6:12. Shit. I went for a quick shower, and then headed out to meet her.
My mind was flooded with mixed feelings about my mother. Marie. I need to get used to calling her by her first name, I thought.
The streets were quiet, almost somber. I guessed most folks were having dinner.
I walked slowly, thinking about her. My memories were full of bad thoughts. How she could be so mean when she was drunk. Or other times, how she could be so silent, almost catatonic, lost in the wastelands of her mind.
At other times, admittedly few, she was a great mom to me. If nothing else, she made sure I had food, clothes, and, sometimes at least, affection. I had thrived on the crumbs she would toss me: a quick hug out of the blue, a smile, or even a kiss on the cheek for no reason. I didn’t know what other kids lived like, but those scarce signs of affection were gold-plated to me.
Years later, after Dad died, Mom -- Marie -- changed. The albatross she had been carrying for forty years was gone. She never touched a drop again, moved into a small apartment she kept clean and tidy, and wrote long letters to me and Jenny (since I was in Seattle by then), letters I only rarely replied to. The past wouldn’t let me get close to her.
Within a year, she died. She had barely tasted freedom when it was ripped away from her.
I could see her at the far end of the park, as I walked through the front gates. Twilight was just hitting and there was a handful of lights scattered around that had just flickered on.
I was early. She was earlier.
“Hi, Marie.”
“Mr. Johnson.” She shook my hand formally. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“Sam. Call me Sam.”
She nodded. She wasn’t yet fifty years old, about the same age I was now, but she looked like an old fifty. Thin crows feet spread out from her eyes. Her thin lips were painted with bright red lipstick, and I knew the rest of her face wore a mask of makeup as well. I remember Marty telling me once that she hadn’t worn makeup when he was very young. Only when age crept into her face. Somehow, she still kept an aura around her that made people think she was pretty. Her smile could do that.
She stood against a concrete planter that held brightly colored carnations and zinnias. I could see her hand playfully rubbing the leaves of the plants, unbeknownst to her conscious mind, which was just staring pleadingly at me.
I stood beside her and said, “I’m not sure how I can help you.”
She tried to smile. “I know. But I don’t know who else to ask. I have a bad feeling about Marty. If he
goes . . . ” She shook her head. “I just want him to come back alive. That’s all.”
“What about Jimmy?”
She paused before carefully replying, “He has too many other things on his mind to worry about Marty.”
Marie turned slightly to face me. “Sam, I know you’ve got connections. You’re from a big city. We don’t know how to do things here. How to get him out of the draft or whatever we need to do.”
I didn’t have a clue about that myself, and I almost said so, but I couldn’t find the words. Looking into her eyes made me want to help, need to help. Her eyes didn’t leave mine; it was like she had me hypnotized. I just wasn’t sure how to help.
“I’ll do anything I have to,” she said. She moved to me. All at once, she put her arms around me and kissed me on the lips. I was shocked but couldn’t do anything. She kissed me hard and pushed her tongue into my mouth.
And by God, for one second, I kissed her back, before I regained my senses. I pushed her away from me. “Don’t do that,” I said. “That’s not -- ”
She stared wide-eyed at me. “I really will do anything, Sam. Anything you want. Please. Help my son.”
“I only know one thing for certain.” I put another few inches between us and tasted her lipstick on my own lips. “If we get Marty to Canada, they can’t do anything.”
“Canada? How can we do that?”
“We can’t do it unless he wants to go.”
She leaned back against the planter and seemed to think. “Will you talk to him?”
We left the park separately a few minutes later, Marie first and me five minutes after. Yes, I had agreed to talk to Marty. I wasn’t happy about agreeing, but I didn’t want him to join the army either, so it didn’t take a lot of convincing.
Chapter 37
Mid-August and the heat was stifling. I had forgotten just how bloody hot it could get in Montana. I had been back in 1968 for a week this time but it felt more like a month. There hadn’t been a hint of rain, not even in the long-term weather forecast.
I had my first ever glass of iced tea on a Saturday afternoon. For some reason I had always avoided even trying it, but it was surprisingly good. It helped take a bit of the heat away.
Mornings weren’t too hot, but in the afternoons, I stayed in Mrs. Williamson’s basement suite, out of the direct sun. I’d go outside at about four o’clock, when the day was just becoming bearable again. This was so different from Seattle, where a hot day was 75 degrees.
Monday night was August 12. The Perseids.
Back in my time, Jenny and I occasionally tried to spend the night of August 12 watching the Perseid meteor shower. We’d plan to go down to the waterfront or to a high hill or just about anywhere we thought we might get a good view. But when it came around to midnight, it was usually cloudy or smoggy or rainy. Or I was too tired. Or grumpy. Or drunk.
We only actually saw the shower twice, and both of those times now seemed like a very long time ago.
Tonigh
t, I started walking out of town about ten o’clock. I followed the same road I had walked on that very first day I landed in Nelson.
After an hour’s walk, I was far enough from town. The night was pitch black. I had carried a small flashlight with me to help me find my way, and I had Claire’s Remembrance Diary in a small brown bag, along with two bottles of Coke.
I moved off the road and into a small clearing. I hadn’t walked as far as the sunflowers. The fields here were covered in tall stalks of corn, ready for harvesting.
The clearing was meant for tractors and other farm equipment to be parked during the harvest, but none were there right then.
The fields abutted onto a forested area. That actually felt a bit spooky as the trees swayed in the dark, but that sense dissipated as I sat and rested against a tree trunk, facing northeast.
I turned out the flashlight and after a few minutes, my eyes adjusted to the darkness. There were stars everywhere. Uncountable. The night sky was blacker than I thought possible, and there were so many stars that at first I couldn’t even find the constellations I was used to. They were hiding behind tens of thousands of other stars.
The first meteor screamed by within a few minutes. It flew from about halfway up the horizon and zipped over to the other side of the sky before disappearing. It seemed almost bright enough to cast a shadow and left a momentary smoke trail. It was dead silent.
Then another one shot past. And another. They were everywhere, flying out like spokes in a giant wheel. I stared openly, dumbfounded at the sheer majesty of the display.
I sat for two hours, drinking one of my Cokes as I soaked in the beauty.
Next year, I promised Jenny silently, we’re going to find the darkest place we can to watch this. Even if we have to drive to the middle of Arizona.
The Memory Tree Page 13