Hawk Genesis: War (Flight of the Hawk)

by Robert Little

  Some of the class laughed – his was a required course and most of his students weren’t in the slightest interested in history – and she calmly replied, “Yes, Professor Chamberlin, I am particularly attracted, as you put it, in the dawn of the industrial age, and the subsequent centuries leading up to my entrance into your class.”

  Her answer surprised the auditorium into laughter. He couldn’t help himself, and laughed along with everyone else. When the noise subsided, he nodded somberly, “So, modern history, ending at seven fifty nine this morning.”

  She surprised him with a faint smile, “I may have been premature.” That had been five years ago, and he’d never forgotten her smile, or her.

  John and James both pulled out chairs for their other female guests, James unhurriedly beating John to the other young, unattached female in the gathering, apparently a life-long friend of Jessica. John held the chair for his aunt, the unbidden thought peeking out from his subconscious that he hoped the chair was up to the task.

  His mother and Jessica brought out bowls, platters and covered dishes and set them out on the table, then more containers of coffee, tea and a relatively rare container of juice. His mother looked critically at the table, smiled in satisfaction and settled into her chair. After serving three years in the military, John could see that his mother approached that meal as if it was a military campaign.

  Jessica walked over to her chair and paused. John popped up and pulled out her chair for her. She floated down with seemingly effortless ease, and he discovered that his position provided him with a view of the surprisingly exuberant swell of her breasts. He blushed and turned away, berating himself for looking down her dress, wishing he could look again and, a moment later, deeply relieved that he was now seated. His female pilots didn’t wear dresses.

  When everyone was quiet, his mother asked, “James, inasmuch as you and your brother have been away at war, and have yet managed to return safely to your family, would you please offer a blessing?”

  Everyone bowed their heads, and James spoke a few, quiet words, thanking God for being spared, asking His mercy for those who had not. The room was quiet for a moment, then his mother looked up, her eyes glistening, “Jessica, would you please serve yourself, and pass the chicken to that awkward man sitting to your left? Castidad, would you please follow suit with the vegetables, and then assist that equally awkward gentleman to your left?”

  Castidad, the name of their other unattached female guest asked, “Milla, how could such a graceful woman have two awkward sons?” James grinned at her, “Fortunately, she has three sons: I’m the not-awkward one.” Castidad looked a little carefully at him, a faint gleam in her eyes, and said, “We’ll see.”

  Jessica chose a piece of chicken, then turned to John, “May I serve you?” She wasn’t smiling, and her look was suddenly intent. John sighed internally, and said, “I am in your hands.” She nodded, and said quietly, “Of course you are.” Her tone of voice hid any particular one of the many possible meanings of her statement, although all of them seemed quite intriguing.

  She placed some food on his plate, and continued as the platters passed around the table. Neither John nor his brother was able to lift a finger. Their mother could apparently read minds, because she told them, “You have been serving us for over three years, this is our opportunity to do something for you, so shush, my beautiful sons, shush.”

  Their aunt had been uncharacteristically quiet since learning about the genesis of the name Zipper, but she now returned to her norm, which was boisterous, “James, John after you get a little of your mother’s fine cooking inside you, where it belongs, you must tell us more about Elyse and Nasser.”

  James looked quickly at his mother, who moved her head a fraction of an inch to the side. James nodded at his aunt, “Perhaps later?”

  The meal was quiet, the result of excellent food rather than any awkwardness on the part of the guests, but as their mother passed around the table, filling cups with fragrant coffee, she paused at John’s side and quietly said, “Netta is right: after desert, we’ll return to the sitting room. I think you have much more to tell us about this war that has engulfed our world.”

  Twenty minutes later, everyone returned to the sitting room and found a seat. After assuring herself that everyone was comfortable, his mother looked at James and said, “Now, please. I know that you participated in the battle at Elyse. Please tell us what you can.” She nodded imperiously at him, telling him that she truly wanted to know. That, and it was an order.

  James told of the chaotic situation that presented itself as their ancient carrier creaked into the system, of the two huge fleets arriving in bits and pieces, the initial battle and the effective new defensive system, and of their hurried, verbal orders.

  He paused and described the position of their ship near the outer edge of the now immense defensive array of federal ships, of the incredible hash of electronic warfare, and faltered, then shrugged, and said, “Enemy fighters attacked our position several times, eventually with missile boats and even destroyers. We survived, and were relieved.”

  John’s throat tensed as he thought about the blossoms of fire that walked up to and engulfed his friends. He took a breath and took over from his suddenly silent brother, “We were replaced and went to the center of the federal lines. The rebels attacked with…huge numbers of missiles and fighters. They didn’t have a chance, lost hundreds without even reaching our lines. It was very bad for them.”

  He took a sip of coffee while his mother looked intently at him, then asked, dread evident in her voice, “John, how many?” He took a breath, “We started with eighty fighters, ended with twenty-one, no missiles, our laser systems dead, no way of stopping any more attacks.” A tear streaked her cheek, but she asked, “And, of our enemy?” John looked down at his lap, then back at her and said, “We destroyed nine missile boats, two destroyers, and approximately two hundred fighters. We also destroyed five carriers and damaged at least two others. We have no way of knowing how many died, but it would have been in the hundreds. Many, many hundreds.”

  His mother sat, still as a statue, but both Jessica and Castidad were visibly shocked. Castidad asked, “Do you…think about…?” She faltered, and John said, “I write letters to the families of my crews, and some of them maintain a correspondence with me. They…it’s a way for them to…feel that the loss of their husband or wife, son or daughter, or in a few cases, their father or mother, has some meaning.”

  Castidad turned to James and softly asked, “Have you had to write a letter?” He shook his head, remaining silent.

  Netta, no longer loud, asked, “And, Nasser? What of that battle?” John flicked a glance at his brother, who nodded, and answered, “Our fleet launched a big attack, and got our tails handed to us. The admiral asked us to sniff around and see if we could find a back door into the system. He gave John some more carriers. We found a number of rebel freighters trying to bring in munitions, probably missiles, and cut off the flow. We kept them busy, and forced them to beef up their defenses. They got sneaky and tried to distract us while they sent a force around behind us, but John figured it out in time, and they backed down before losing a lot of fighters. While we were keeping them occupied, the main fleet attacked on the other side of the planet and punched through, forcing the rebel fleet to abandon the system.”

  Jessica asked, “Did you lose many crews that time?” John looked at the golden-eyed woman he’d known for five years, and had just met as if for the first time, “No, we were careful. I had to write two letters.” This line of questioning ended with that dismal answer.

  For the next forty minutes John and James talked with their visitors, discussing the immense changes the war had caused, some bad, some good, some very bad.

  Eventually, their guests stood to leave. John’s mother subtly gestured to the two young women to remain behind, although John hadn’t seen any indication that either had any intention of leaving.

  After the h
ugs and kisses came to an end, and the front door closed on their departing guests, John’s mother entered the sitting room and sat down. Jessica stood and without comment went into the kitchen, returning with more tea, a glass of water and a pill case, which she handed to Milla.

  John looked at his mother, who smiled, “Yes son, Jessica has been a frequent guest in my home.” John turned to look at Jessica, who simply asked, “Do you remember the first day I came into your class?” John said, “Yellow sun dress, sandals, your hair was longer then than now. You said that you were interested in history up until you entered my classroom.” James laughed, “I feel the same way.”

  Jessica grinned at James, once again stunning John with the force of her personality, her heat, “James, you are an engineer, you wouldn’t understand, and in fact probably can’t spell the word, any of them. Actually, in answer to the question put to me by Professor Chamberlin, I stated that I was particularly interested in modern history, beginning with the industrial revolution and terminating with my entrance into the auditorium your brother so passionately commanded. He surprised me by taking a meaning I hadn’t intended, and I finished by saying something to the effect that I may have been a bit premature. In fact, I was: his lectures were the high point of my entire school year.” John started, “They were?”

  Jessica nodded somberly, “Why do you suppose I sat in the fourth row, to the right of center? If you knew anything about psychology, you would have known what any reasonably bright student knows: in every classroom or auditorium, there are a handful of seats that are referred to as the “A” seats. Those are the ones where the student can catch every word, every nuance – assuming the professor is capable of that – and can easily ask questions.” John blushed, “I didn’t know.” He actually knew about the seating, but not her reason, or reasons for sitting there. She said, quietly yet firmly, “I knew.”

  In the intense silence that followed her statement, John asked, “What now?” His mother stood and said, “Now, you escort our guests home. Tomorrow, if you are reasonably bright, and of course you are reasonably bright, you shall begin your courtship. You only have twelve days, so I suggest that you don’t sleep in.”

  Jessica stood, somewhat suddenly, and for the first time, John could see that she was tense. That knowledge exploded in him like a bomb. She was nervous! Only then did he catch the significance of “courtship.”

  John automatically stood, his mind racing to catch up. He finally asked, hesitantly, “Is that correct?” The tension in her eased a little, and she said, without hesitation, “Yes. Same question.”

  John spoke, without even checking in with his brain, “Yes. Yes.”

  She smiled brilliantly, “This is going to be so much fun. You’ll see. I promise.”

  John nodded mutely. In the sudden silence James asked Castidad, “Are you…seeing anyone?” She smiled confidently and happily at him, “I am now. Comm me. Early.” James looked positively startled, and blurted out, “Seriously?” She smiled so demurely it had to have been a pretense, “My best friend had company.” James looked confused, “Company?” She nodded, “Yes, on the days that your mother had company, Jessica

  had company as well.”

  James gawked, first at Castidad, then asked plaintively, “Mom?” she waved her hand, “Son, your guests are proper young ladies and need to get home. Any questions you may have, you can ask tomorrow, after calling on Miss Castidad Florencia Padilla at her home. Now, shush and scoot, in that order.”

  As the two stunned men walked down the stairs to the street, James said, possibly to himself, but loud enough to be heard, “We’ve been had.” Castidad giggled, “Don’t get your hopes up – it’s not going to happen.”

  They walked up the little street to an intersection with another narrow street and its people mover, reminiscent of the ancient cable cars in San Francisco, minus the cable. A car quietly hummed past, sensed their approach and slowed to a walking pace, and the four stepped up onto the platform.

  John stood facing Jessica. She looked at him, and blushed at the expression on his face. She said, looking at the passing street instead of his intense gaze, “Be quiet. I knew the instant I sat down. I was your student, and it would have been wrong, although I felt you wouldn’t have considered it even if I had wanted to. So, I’ve waited, and since you’ve been gone I’ve gotten to know your mother. She’s alone nearly all the time you know – your father is away on the other side of the planet, and she…well, she didn’t transfer with him. I think you can guess why.”

  John did know why, but his mother had never said a word, nor had he allowed himself to even speculate. However, now that the subject was out in the open, he asked, “You have become close to my mother?” She turned back to face him, “Yes. After the third visit she finally forced me to open up. She can be highly…persuasive is the polite way of saying it. She of course already knew; she just tired of waiting for me to come clean.”

  John felt like a moth being drawn to a candle, “You say she knew? What exactly did she know?” Jessica shook her head and tensed, but she looked directly into his eyes, “I think the expression goes something along the lines of, ‘the woman has feelings’.”

  John instinctively knew that she was holding back something, but what she had just revealed was a great deal more than he was accustomed to dealing with. She continued to look at him and when he remained silent she began to blush. However, she had a strong backbone, because she didn’t look away, and asked, very quietly, “Well? Do I travel alone the rest of the way to my home?”

  Once again, John was stunned. He was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that a mysterious young woman he’d idolized for years was standing just a foot away from him on a gently swaying jitney, telling him that she cared for him, and, demanding a response.

  In that moment, John saw himself with fresh eyes. He realized with a searing clarity that he was not the same man he had been, that he had changed in important ways. He had learned to rapidly gauge odds, life-giving and blood-taking odds, and unflinchingly go with the highest percentages, but he’d also lost a great deal.

  He opened his mouth, shut it, and then said, “If you are serious about this, if you actually, astonishingly, have feelings for me, then…yes. I accept whatever you offer me. I promise you that I shall try to be the man you seem to think I am.” She trembled, and smiled, “If that means you won’t try to take advantage of my...of me, I’m not quite certain how I feel about that.”

  His eyes almost popped out of their sockets and she tried and failed to suppress a quiet giggle. It sounded very nice. She said, “I apologize. I’ve thought about your homecoming for a long time. I was away the last time you came home, and so I’ve had to wait patiently until I could get an opportunity to tell you how I feel, and see if you might reciprocate. We don’t know each other in the traditional sense of the meaning of that phrase; yet, I feel that I know your character very well, and of course I know that you can spin bullshit with the best of them.”

  John was in a continuing state of emotional overload, so it took him a second to realize what she’d just said. He gasped, “What?” She giggled again, “John Chamberlin, you stand up in front of over one hundred bored college students and you are so passionate, so funny, so whimsical, so…I don’t know what! You take a dusty course that no other professor wanted and turn it into a New Years party! You have all these odd little facts about boring people – you turn them into living, breathing, and vibrant human beings. When I took your first course I came to suspect that you invented half of those little quirks. You make those people so fascinating that you force us to actually study and learn. In fact, when we were studying for your mid-term, I went to a lot of trouble to track down one little tidbit I was positively certain was made up. The one about Rumi, the Persian scholar who was so passionate? I never discovered whether you in fact told the truth, but I spent three hours of crucial study time reading his poetry, and it drove me crazy! I still remember the poem you quo
ted.”

  Her eyes never wavered from his, and she softly began reciting, her oddly raspy voice clear as a bell in the night,

  “Should Love’s heart rejoice unless I burn?

  For my heart is Love’s dwelling.

  If You will burn Your house, burn it, Love!

  Who will say, ‘It’s not allowed’?

  Burn this house completely!

  The lover’s house improves with fire.

  From now on I will make burning my aim,

  for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.

  Abandon sleep tonight; traverse for one night

  the region of the sleepless.

  Look upon these lovers who have become distraught

  and like moths, have died in union with the One Beloved.

  Look upon this ship of God’s creatures

  and see how it is sunk in Love.”

  She continued, “You have a lot to answer for you know. There were over one hundred students in that auditorium, but I felt as if your words were for me alone. John, I know that Rumi was speaking of God, yet with that poem you made love to me that long ago day, and you forever changed me. I’ve always wanted to know, but every time I approached you, you were either surrounded by other students, mostly lovesick if you didn’t know, or I did the very thing Rumi talks about, I lost my courage: so, what I want to know is, were you…were those words for me?”