The sunbeam crept across the bed and woke Jake Grafton. He turned his head to escape it, but the beam continued its march and burned the sleep from him. Somewhere outside a bird was squawking.
Uncomfortable, he sat up against the headboard. His tongue was like a dust rag. The left side of his head was sore, probably from that punch he had almost stopped with his nose. I’ll never smoke another cigarette if I live to be a hundred, he swore to himself, or take another drink. The pain seemed to lessen if he remain absolutely motionless with his eyes closed. He had begun to doze again when the door to the room opened.
“How’s the hangover?” asked Sammy. He pull some aspirin from his toilet kit and placed them in Jake’s hand. “Take these. They’ll help some.”
Jake pried open one eye, regarded the white tablets and weighed their possible benefits against the effort required to transport himself to the water faucet in the bathroom. Finally he heaved himself up, made the tri and returned to the bed. Lundeen had flopped down on his bed in the shade.
“What time is it?” Jake asked.
“Time for you and me to go to Hong Kong.”
Jake glared at his friend.
“That’s right. You heard me. Hong Kong. You and me. I’ve already been down to the ship and seen the Old Man and filed out our leave forms.” Lundeen bounded off the bed and flourished two pieces of paper. “We’re off to Hong Kong for four days.”
“Can’t you see I’m dying of an alcohol overdose? I’m half-dead now. You can’t be serious. Why do you want to go to Hong Kong, anyway? I don’t have the money to go flying all over the Orient. Nor do I have the desire. Let me die quietly, okay?”
“Goddamn you, Grafton,” Lundeen shouted. “Get your butt out of that bed and let’s go to Hong Kong.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t yell, my head’s about to split.”
Jake exhaled slowly. “You sure you really want to go?”
“Yeah, I really want to go, you old maid. Now let’s get the show on the road.”
Jake stood up. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”
“You can eat on the plane.”
“You’re brimming with sympathy today. You can eat on the damn plane. I’m eating at the club in twenty minutes.”
Fifteen minutes later they were on their way to the club carrying their flight gear-to be sent to the ship-and their overnight bags.
Halfway there Jake dropped his bags on the sidewalk and puked in the grass.
“You’re not going to put food in that stomach, are you?”
“Soup. Got to get something in or I’ll be sick all day.”
“Next time don’t drink so much.”
“You oughtta be a priest.”
“They don’t get enough ass,” Lundeen replied and marched off down the sidewalk.
Once inside the cool darkness of the club, Jake began to feel better. The waitress came for their order, and Lundeen ordered first.
“Eggs Benedict, side order of ham, and a half bottle of champagne.”
Jake’s stomach fluttered. He put on his sunglasses and ordered tomato soup, milk, and plain toast. After the waitress left, he rested his chin on his hands and stared out the window at the harbor. He tried to recall the events of the previous evening but it was all jumble.
Sammy remarked, “I heard all about your little adventure in Po City last night. You might be interested in knowing that that’s one reason you and I are leaving this dump for a few days. Sooner or later someone’s going to shoot off his mouth. It won’t hurt an iota to let that storm blow over while you’re in Hong Kong. When the ship pulls out of port and they need guys to fill the flight schedule, the powers that be will view that little episode in a more forgiving light.” Grafton shrugged, “How’re we getting there?”
“All arranged. Met a guy last night who’s stationed here and belongs to the flying club. About noon he’s flying a Cessna over to Manila where we’ll catch a plane. That’s how I knew we could pull this off. He’ll take us if we pay for the fuel.”
“And how much is that?”
“Ten bucks each.”
“What’re we waiting for?”
Once they had cleared customs in Hong Kong at K Tak Airport and exchanged some money, Lundeen and Grafton hailed a taxi and set off for the peninsula Hotel, a huge old luxury hotel on the Kowloon water front overlooking the harbor. Hong Kong Island was visible across the water, about a mile away. “Why do you want to stay here?” Jake asked.
“Robert L. Scott strafed this hotel in a P-40 during World War II. The Japs were using it as quarters for their high command.”
“Who’s Robert L. Scott?”
“The guy who wrote God Is My Co-pilot.
“And I thought you just liked the view.”
Lundeen had insisted on a room facing the water. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and there were two large Victorian beds. The enormous, ornate furniture matched the scale of the room. Once the bellhop had been tipped and left, Jake opened the window. A sea breeze filled the room.
“Do me a favor, Sam.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t mention bombing or the squadron or the war for the next four days. It’s shit. It’s all shit and I’ve had a fucking bellyful.”
“That’ll be easy,” Sammy said. It was not long before they went down to the lobby and headed for the bar.
The next morning Jake stood beside his bed, feeling slightly woozy. He looked at his trembling hands. The screams that had awakened him were still in his ears. He shuffled over to the upholstered chair next to the window and slumped down in the soft cushions.
Pieces of his dream receded beyond the reach of his consciousness as if sinking to the depths of the sea. He did recall that he had been alone in an Intruder and had dived at a target that glittered in the night-a target so significant that by bombing it, he, Jake Grafton, could end the war. What was the target? How could he pull off the attack without a bombardier? He remembered that after pickling his bombs he had felt no Gees tugging at him as he tried to pull up. Instead the Intruder vibrated, then shook wildly, and began to disintegrate amidst a bowling wind that was suddenly overridden the piercing cries of hundreds in mortal agony.
Jake sighed. So, he had screwed it up. He had tried to bomb a target that was, for once, truly important and he had clean missed it, Apparently. Was he supposed to think his bombs had instead destroyed a hospital teeming with people?
He decided that he wouldn’t let the dream lay a guilt trip on him.
To hell with it.
He stood up and stretched. He looked at Lundeen who was sleeping on his back with his mouth wide open, breathing noisily. Jake smiled. Hey, shipmate, he said to himself, you know what I ought to do? For you and Morgan and every other guy who’s hanging his out for nothing? I ought to find a fat target way north and bomb the living shit out of it. One good target. For all of us.
He walked into the bathroom, chuckling at his bravado. But what the hell, he thought. I might actually do it.
He didn’t bother to shave. He found his running shoes, shorts, and T-shirt buried deep in his cloth bag. He dressed in the weak light coming through the window.
He started running as soon as he reached the bottom of the hotel’s back-door steps. It took only a minutes for him to realize how out of shape he was.
His breathing was labored, without rhythm, and his legs wooden. It was not a good day for running; the air was chilly and the fine drizzle would soon soak his cloth. He would take a long hot bath when he got back to the hotel.
On the narrow streets Jake had to dodge and weave to avoid obstacles: bicycles, an occasional automobile pedestrians who looked at him with curiosity, chattering black-haired, shiny-faced children who mostly ignored him, and shopkeepers raising their brightly colored awnings and arranging wares that spilled onto the streets. Jake was surprised there was so much activity shortly after eight in the morning.
He was glad to reach Nathan Road, a four-lane boulevard where the si
dewalks were wider. He passed stores selling electronic equipment, cameras, watches, imported perfumes, and clothing; revving buses and honking taxis passed him by. The red-and-white double-decker buses reminded him of London, but the many large unlit neon sign”SONY, WINSTON FILTER CIGARETTES, COCA-COLA-reminded him of Times Square.
After he had run about a mile and a half, a splash of vivid red caught his eye. As he jogged closer he saw a red sweater, worn by a young woman in a straw hat and jeans. She was sitting on a small metal stool beneath a low awning at the entrance to an alley that ran between two apartment buildings.
In her lap was a sketch pad, which he glanced at as he ran behind her. He saw the vague outlines of buildings and the beginnings of some human figures.
He decided that he’d run for ten more minutes, five minutes in the same direction and then he’d circle back and hope to find the woman again. His breathing was rhythmic now, and he ran more on his toes. This would make his calves ache tomorrow. Twenty minutes or so would be a good run. Enough for one day.
When he returned she was still there, sketching under the awning. A crowd of children, ranging in age perhaps from five to eight, played in the alley and on the sidewalk, oblivious to the drizzle. The drawing had progressed markedly. The buildings and storefronts had taken shape and she was working on the children, who seemed to present a challenge because she erase some legs.
Jake stood a moment behind her, then he moved up to her left.
“You’re doing a nice job,” he said.
“Thanks,” she said with an American accent. She looked quickly at Jake, who noticed that her eyes were very dark and that she appeared to be in her mid twenties. “But I’m afraid it’s really not very good.” She brushed away the eraser crumbs with the edge of her hand.
“It’s tough when your models won’t sit still.”
She was working on the children again and didn’t respond right away.
“I’m not sure that it would make any difference if they were still as statues,” she said, not looking up. “I’ve always had trouble with legs-bar human legs, that is. Children always give me fits, dam their pudgy little knees,” Jake chuckled. “I have a solution. I’ll go down the street and buy long pants for all these kids.”
“Including the girls?”
“Sure,” said Jake. “I’ll explain that they’re required to wear trousers in the service of creating great art.”
She gave a short laugh. “I’m sure they’ll be persuaded by that argument.”
“They will be when I give each one a dollar.”
She turned her head and looked at him. “Bribery is very effective in Hong Kong,” she said with a quick smile. Her white teeth contrasted with her tanned skin. and her complexion was clear except for a small dark brown mole on her left temple. She wore no make-up that Jake could detect.
“I don’t know much about Hong Kong,” he said wishing that he had shaved.
She didn’t take up his remark but held a pencil to he and studied her sketch. Waiting for a reply, examined the children in the drawing-they floated above the sidewalk, unconcerned that they had no legs. Finally Jake said, “Ever try taking photographs?”
“No,” she said, not looking up.
“I meant that you could take pictures of the kids and work on your sketch at home. You could even trace the legs to get the hang of it.”
Jake moved closer to her and squatted down with his forearms on his knees. “Hey, I don’t know anything about art. Paintings, drawings, what do I know about it? If I made a dumb suggestion just’ “Do you always run around in the rain in your shorts?” she said, regarding him with raised eyebrows. “Maybe you should go down the street and buy long pants.” There was a hint of a smile. “I’ll give you a dollar if you do.”
Jake grinned. “American dollar or Hong Kong? While I’m at it, I’ll buy you a camera.”
“Touched,” she said. She swiveled on her stool to face him, and smoothed her jeans as if she were wearing a skirt. “You’re in the service, aren’t you,” she said, stating it as a fact.
Jake was surprised. “How’d you know?”
“Your haircut. It’s easy to spot a military man. But your T-shirt threw me off. Are you really a member of the Jersey City Athletic Club?”
“No, I stole this T-shirt from a guy named Cowboy Parker. He stole it from a guy named Little Augie. It’s only mine until someone steals it from me.”
“‘Cowboy,” ‘Little Augie’-which service are we talking about?”
“Navy. I’m a pilot.”
“A carrier pilot? Do you fly over Vietnam?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Why unfortunately?”
“It’s a lousy business.”
“Then why do you do it?”
jake looked down. “You wear the uniform, you take the pay, you fly where they tell you.”
“That’s not very illuminating,” she said. “So you’ here on leave. How long will you be in Hong Kong?
“Just a few days. I have to leave Monday morning. With a groan, Jake stood up slowly. “I’m a little stiff.
“You must be chilled to the bone,” she said. “Better get something hot in you.”
“Aren’t you chilly too?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I think I’ve had enough sitting and this weather.” She turned from Jake an gathered her pencils and sketchbook into a large floppy leather bag. From a side pocket she yanked out a bundled-up khaki raincoat.
Jake put his hands under his armpits for warmth “What would you say to getting something hot to drink? Coffee, tea, or whatever. I think we both need it.”
“I think you need it more than I do,” she said grinning. She bent over her stool. “Sorry. I have a date to go shopping this morning with a friend.”
She pushed a catch on the stool, and the seat flipped vertical. “I’m meeting her at ten.” Gathering the legs together, she fitted the stool into her bag.
“Amazing,” Jake said. “That’s some gadget. Any chance we can get together later? For lunch or dinner I’d like to get to know you better.”
She stood facing him now, with her arms crossed in front of her.
“Well, you’re off to a rocky start, I’m afraid. It seems that I’ve been asking most of the questions. I know something about you, but you don’t know anything about me.”
“You didn’t ask my name,” he said.
“Got me there. What is it?”
“Jake. Jake Grafton.”
“Hello, Jake.” She began unfolding her raincoat. “It was nice talking to you.”
Without forethought he put his hand lightly on her left shoulder. Her shoulder fit in the palm of his hand; he felt the smallness of her bones and the warmth of her body through the sweater. She took a step away from him.
Jake said, “Hey, that was a bum rap you laid on me. I guess I’m not the kind of guy who naturally asks a lot of questions.” She started putting on her raincoat. He didn’t want her to leave. “I really would like to know you better. It would help if I knew your name.”
She took a deep breath. “Callie.”
“Callie?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
“Last name?”
“McKenzie.” Jake nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Well,” she said, “don’t you think Callie is an unusual name?”
“I’ve never heard it before.”
“Don’t you want to know how I got it?”
“I’ll bite. How’d you get it?”
“I’m glad you asked something,” said Callie. “When I was little, my brother, who was just a tot, had trouble saying my name, which is Carolyn. So Theron-my brother called me Callie. It was easier for him to say. Jake smiled. “Theron?”
“Yes, Theron,” she said. “By the way, let me tell you the fascinating story behind my brother’s name.”
“Uh oh.”
“When my brother was a little boy his younger sister-when she was just a tot-had trouble saying his given name, whic
h was-uh-Aloysius. So … She began laughing. Jake joined her. They stood facing each other as pedestrians moved around them.
“Really,” said Jake, “how’d your brother get that name? How do you spell it?”
Callie spelled it out for him. “My father got it out of a book he was reading when my mother was pregnant.
“I think that he … Jake! You’re shivering.” She touched his chest, near his heart. “No wonder, your shirt is soaked. You’d better get back where you can put on dry clothes. Where’re you staying?”
“The Peninsula Hotel.”
“Oh, the Peninsula. It’s a wonderful hotel. Absolutely first class. Do you like it?”
“Yeah, but it’s expensive. I guess you get what you pay for.” “You do at the Peninsula. I had a room there for a few days when I first came to Hong Kong, before I moved into an apartment. I enjoyed it so much that I was reluctant to leave. But I got a nice place only a couple of minutes from where I work.”
Callie lifted her straw hat and brushed her hair back with her hand.
Her hair was curly and reached to her shoulders; it was dark brown, but her eyes were darker and shone like black marbles.
“Well,” she said, “don’t you want to know where I work?”
Jake smirked. “Sure. Of course I do. I’ve been wondering about that.”
“Since you asked, I work at the American consulate.”
“What do you do there?”
“I do a variety of things. But mostly I examine the cases of mainland Chinese refugees who want to obtain visas to the U.S.”
“Do you like the work?”
“It’s okay. The State Department requires a lot of paperwork for these visas, and sometimes I feel as if I were papering over the human misery of the Chinese refugees. These people have risked everything to escape to Hong Kong.”
“Paper shufflers! Well, they’re everywhere. They’re the ones who’ll really inherit the earth.”
“Too true. Listen, Jake. I really do have to go. And you need to get back to the Peninsula.” She picked up her bag and put her arm through the straps.
“Callie, could we get together for lunch?” She shook her head.
“How about dinner?”
“Thanks, but I’m afraid I can’t make dinner.”
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