My Father the God

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 6

  Reminiscence

  Boston – Late August, 1946

  Sloan arrived in Boston comfortably in advance of his continued studies at Harvard. Having departed Boston three months earlier in search of answers, he was by now racked with doubt and confusion. He had been so certain during all those years of captivity that Sabrina would be waiting for him when he came home. How, he asked himself, could he have survived such incomprehensible circumstances, only to discover that it was all little more than a figment of his imagination?

  The fall semester having gotten underway shortly thereafter, he was quickly distracted by his studies, a development that seemingly restored his sense of stability. Still, his mind drifted on rare occasions, and at these times his mood shifted to depression.

  One day, as he sat at his table in the coffee shop, Isolde bounded up to him and exclaimed happily, “Sloan, so good to see you!”

  “Why, Isolde, what brings you here to my little corner of the world?”

  “Funny you should ask,” she responded with a giggle, but then, turning serious, she rejoined, “Since you ask, I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Worried? Why ever on earth for?”

  “Surely you recall, when last we met we discussed your efforts to find Sabrina.”

  “Ah, yes, dinner at your house last spring,” he responded.

  “Well?” she queried.

  “Well, what?” he replied vacuously.

  “Did you go looking for her?” she asked bluntly.

  “Oh, that,” he replied and, tugging at a wayward strand of hair, he suggested, “Yeah, well, I did, but it in fact came to nothing, Isolde.”

  “Nothing? Really? How could that be, Sloan? Surely you uncovered something of her. She couldn’t have simply disappeared from the face of the earth!”

  “Right, well, as far as I know, she is in fact alive,” he replied noncommittally.

  “Great! And where is she?”

  “Not sure, Isolde,” he offered and, seeing that she was not going to accept such a lame answer, he admitted, “I suppose I’m going to have to tell you the whole story, right?”

  “Exactly!” she exclaimed, clearly relieved that he was coming around.

  “Well, so where do I begin?” he said pensively and, staring off into space as if organizing his thoughts, he recommenced with, “So, you know Sabrina is from Pittsburgh.”

  “Yes, of course, Sloan. Get on with it.”

  “Right, so I went to Pittsburgh, whereupon I met her mother.”

  “Well, that’s progress of sorts. I take it she wasn’t there,” and not waiting for confirmation, she added, “What was she like, Sabrina’s mother?”

  “I don’t know, just normal I’d say. Seemed like a good mother to me.”

  “That simply won’t do, Sloan,” she interjected with a slight frown of apparent discord.

  “Yes, well, she wasn’t all too nice, if you must know, Isolde.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “She accused me of having caused Sabrina’s expulsion from Bryn Mawr.”

  “What! Sloan! Surely you didn’t maneuver to have Sabrina dismissed from school!” Isolde exclaimed doubtfully.

  “No, nothing of the sort,” he replied matter-of-factly, “But it appears that she was indeed dismissed.”

  “That’s strange,” Isolde put in, “Did she say why?”

  “Well, she seemed to think it had something to do with the prank I played on Sabrina,” he replied evasively,

  “Prank! Prank! That was no prank, Sloan. Even I, who knew you oh so well, was revolted by what you pulled on Sabrina!”

  “So you know what happened the last night she was there?”

  “Of course I do! She came back to the room whimpering in misery. It wasn’t difficult to get the entire sordid story out of her. You were a real bastard that night, Sloan.”

  “Yes, well, that may be, but you weren’t the one she was spying on in the men’s locker room, Isolde.”

  “You know, I’ve never really quite understood what transpired that night,” she murmured, and then, her demeanor changing to one of curiosity, she inquired, “What did actually happen that night, Sloan?”

  “You know, Isolde, she told you.”

  “Humor me,” she responded, crossing her arms in expectation.

  “I caught her spying on me in the shower and, the opportunity presenting itself for turnabout, I exacted such upon her.”

  “Oh, come now, Sloan. You can do better than that!”

  “Like what, for instance?”

  “How long had this been going on?”

  “What?”

  “How long had she been spying on you?”

  “Oh, if memory serves, about a week.”

  “A week! And when during that span of time did you discover that she was spying on you?”

  “What do you mean?” he responded vaguely.

  “Just answer the question, Sloan!”

  “Alright, if you must know, I was aware for the entire week.”

  “Ha! So you knew all along that she was spying on you while you were showering, yet you did nothing to stop her. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, you are quite correct,” he responded, glancing downward in admission of his guilt.

  “I thought so!” she exclaimed. “You were playing her, weren’t you!”

  “Nothing of the sort! I was gathering evidence!”

  “Evidence! You smug bastard. You were hoping she’d fall for you, weren’t you!”

  “Bloody hell, I don’t know, Isolde! It was all so long ago…” and, his voice trailing off, he appeared to be reliving the events of that night in his own mind. Then he abruptly recommenced, blabbing uncontrollably, “I say, you may in fact be right, Isolde! I was quite taken with her, you know.”

  “Taken! Taken!” she exclaimed in obvious derision, “I’d say that’s the understatement of a lifetime. You were head-over-heels in love with her, Sloan!”

  “Yes, well, that may be,” he murmured and, eyeing her dejectedly, he suggested, “But perhaps I can be forgiven for failing to recognize it when it happened to me for the first time.”

  And now it was her turn to eye him accusingly, evincing, “Yes, perhaps you can wriggle free from that accusation, but that in no way mitigates the fact that you subjected her to what can only be described as an act of torture that night!” and by now she was very nearly screaming.

  “Please, hold your voice down!” Sloan whispered miserably, “Point well taken. I have no excuse for my behavior that night,” and eyeing her forlornly, he murmured, “There. Does that make you feel better?”

  Staring at him dispassionately, Isolde responded flatly, “No, not particularly. But at least you are now willing to admit it to yourself.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Isolde,” he responded gloomily, “So where does that leave me?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, but I have an idea.”

  “Oh, and what might that be?”

  “Let me talk to James. He may know something that we two don’t.”

  “That seems like a good idea,” he responded hopefully.

  “Alright then, I must be off. I shall let you know when I know something further,” and so saying she rose from her seat to depart.

  “Thanks, Isolde,” he called as she walked away.

  A Week Later

  Sloan was yet again ensconced at his favorite table within the coffee shop, when he glanced up to see James and Isolde coming towards him.

  “To what do I owe this good fortune?” he inquired, rising to take James’ outstretched hand.

  “Long time no see, Sloan,” James volunteered pleasantly. “How is it that we work within the same department on campus, and we never see one another?”

  “Ha! That’s easy,” Sloan replied, “You’re the Lord Chancellor of the Chemistry Department, and I am the night janitor!” at which all three giggled convivially and, turning to Isolde
, Sloan added, “So good to see you again, Isolde.”

  “You, too, Sloan,” and, the three of them taking their seats, she followed with, “I took the liberty of mentioning your conundrum to James, just as we discussed, Sloan.”

  “And?” Sloan interjected expectantly.

  At this, James spoke up himself, exclaiming, “Look, I have no idea what is going on, but I understand from Isolde that you went searching for Sabrina this past summer, and you wound up in Las Vegas.”

  “That is quite correct,” Sloan replied.

  “What is she doing there?” James responded doubtfully.

  “Actually, I’ve no idea,” Sloan responded flatly, “The truth is, I don’t even know that she is in fact in Las Vegas. The only evidence I have is some letters she wrote to her mother post-marked from a post office box in Las Vegas.”

  “Oh, I see,” James put in, “So she could in fact be anywhere at all.”

  “Right. She could either have moved on from Vegas, or she might never have been there at all.”

  “Wait,” Isolde interrupted, “How could she send letters from Las Vegas without actually living there?”

  “Well, for one thing, she might have a friend living in Las Vegas. She could send the letters to her friend and have them sent from there to her mother,” Sloan replied candidly.

  “Why ever on earth for?” Isolde responded with a frown.

  “My guess is she doesn’t want to be found,” Sloan responded matter-of-factly.

  “Why would one not want one’s own mother to find her?” Isolde queried to no one in particular.

  “Actually,” James interjected, “I believe that Sloan is referring to himself, dear.”

  “What?” Isolde exclaimed and, staring first at James, then Sloan, then back toward James, she blubbered, “I don’t understand.”

  James now explained, “For whatever reason, it appears that Sabrina anticipated Sloan’s return from the war and, due to some events that you and I are not privy to, she foresaw that Sloan would come in search of her, all of which has turned out to be quite on the mark.”

  Now paling, Isolde clutched her throat and said, “She must be terribly afraid of Sloan to withhold her whereabouts from her own mother.”

  “Be that as it may, that appears to be the case, Isolde,” Sloan observed sagaciously.

  “Alright then. I have the picture now,” Isolde observed, “So her mother is a dead end. That being the case, I suggest you try another approach, Sloan.”

  “And what might that be,” Sloan responded with obvious interest.

  “I should say that a visit to The Orchard Inn is in order,” she offered.

  “What! Why ever for?” Sloan queried in confusion.

  “Ah, I see!” James put in, “Very good, if I do say so myself, Isolde!”

  Eyeing each of them in turn, Sloan interjected, “I’m lost.”

  “Isolde thinks it’s possible that the complaint filed against Sabrina at Bryn Mawr originated at The Orchard Inn,” James observed.

  “I say, that is an excellent notion!” Sloan blurted.

  “I thought you’d think so,” Isolde rejoined with obvious satisfaction, “See, I’m not as dumb as I appear to you two geniuses,” thereby soliciting yet another round of laughter.

  “Wait a minute, I still don’t understand,” Sloan observed in apparent confusion, “Who from the inn would have filed such a complaint. Surely no one there had any knowledge of what transpired among the four of us that summer.”

  “Actually, Miss Struthers was in the loop on several issues,” James retorted.

  “Like what?” Sloan said suspiciously.

  “Well, she knew about the missing panties, as well as the hole in the wall in the men’s locker room,” James supplied and, seeing Sloan’s look of disappointment, he countered, “Don’t look at me that way, Sloan. I was just trying to do my job. Remember, I worked directly under Miss Struthers.”

  “Well, then, it’s settled,” Sloan volunteered, “I shall go up to New Hampshire and see Miss Struthers as soon as humanly possible.”

  The Orchard Inn - October

  Sloan pulled his car to a halt and, clutching his overnight bag, he approached the door to the inn. But before he could push the doorknob it opened on its own, Miss Struthers appearing in the doorway, as always bright-eyed and gay.

  “Sloan! Sloan Stewart,” she commenced, “So good to see you again after all these years.”

  “Oh, hello, Miss Struthers,” he responded submissively.

  “I understand you’re a war hero. Kudos!” she observed and, gesturing him forward, she added, “Please, come inside. We must discuss old times.”

  Once inside, she guided Sloan to the bar within the restaurant, saying, “I must say, I was mystified by your phone call,” and then, taking a seat opposite his, she observed, “My, but the world has changed in these five years. So tell me, what have you been up to all this time? My, can it have really been five years?” but before he could respond, she answered her own question with, “Why, of course it’s five years. I remember it well, you and your friends worked here the summer before the war began. And to tell the truth, the inn hasn’t been the same since. And you, Sloan. Just look at you, all grown, and such a handsome young man! So, tell me everything!”

  Somewhat taken aback by her meandering preamble, Sloan responded blankly, “There’s not much to tell, Miss Struthers.”

  “Oh, come now, Sloan, you’ve been halfway round the world!”

  “Yes, well, there is that,” he replied thoughtfully and, unable to comprehend the reality that she had been right here during the entire span of time that he was in Burma, he suggested, “I can assure you, Miss Struthers, you fared better than did I.”

  “Oh, I know, dear Sloan, I’m so sorry! Was it ever so difficult for you, the war?”

  “I should prefer not to discuss it in detail, if you don’t mind,” he responded defensively and, seeing her reaction, he added, “Don’t get me wrong, Miss Struthers, I’d just rather let it stay buried in the past for now.”

  “Of course,” she responded and, placing an empathetic hand on his, she added, “We who stayed behind are so proud of our boys. Had it not been for the Americans in that war, we might not be speaking together now.”

  “True, true,” he replied and, hoping to move along to more pressing matters, he inquired, “And how have you been?”

  “I’ve done well, thank you. I served as an interpreter in Washington for three years. I speak French fluently, you know. And with my savings, I was able to purchase the inn last year. It had fallen into disuse, and I got it at a bargain price.”

  “Oh, I say! Good for you, Miss Struthers!” he responded.

  “Thank you, and perhaps I should correct you before moving along to other matters,” she put in, “You see, I am now Mrs. Adams. My husband George and I were married last year. George worked for the State Department during the war.”

  “I say, that is indeed wonderful news!” Sloan exclaimed.

  “Yes, well, things have worked out well for me. But from your phone call, I gather you didn’t come here to talk about that.”

  Seeing his chance had finally arrived, Sloan responded, “Correct, Miss…er…Mrs. Adams.”

  “So, please - begin, if you will, Sloan.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sloan replied and, gathering himself, he commenced with, “Er, well, I assume from James that you were well aware of certain goings-on that summer.”

  “Yes, of course,” she responded, “I was quite taken with the lot of you, you know. But especially you, you were so full of energy, so young and alive.”

  At this, Sloan replied with evident embarrassment, “Er, yes, well, we were all taken with you as well,” and attempting to deflect the conversation away from himself, he added, “I don’t mind telling you, we learned a great deal under your tutelage.”

  “Why, thank you, Sloan. I tried my best. It’s good to know my efforts may have
struck the mark.”

  “Yes, well,” he said hesitantly, “So, to the point…”

  “Yes, to the point, as they say.”

  “I assume that James told you that Sabrina’s panties were stolen?”

  “Yes, indeed he did! Such a sordid affair! Actually, if memory serves, it appeared at the time that you were the prime suspect, Sloan. But as you well know, boys will be boys.”

  “Yes, well, be that as it may, it most assuredly was not me,” Sloan denied firmly, “As you must know, one pair was found in the men’s locker room,” and, at her nod of concurrence, he added, “Did you perchance ever discover the remaining pair?”

  Shaking her head forcefully, she replied, “No. Sadly, no.”

  “Yes, as I expected,” he responded.

  “What about the hole in the wall?” she inquired surreptitiously.

  “Right. James said he’d informed you of it. I, being Head Lifeguard, took it upon myself to expose the culprit responsible for such a dastardly deed,” he volunteered.

  “Just so,” she responded, signaling her awareness of the situation.

  “Well,” he continued, still fumbling for the right words, “It took about a week, but eventually I discovered that it was Sabrina who was the culprit.”

  “Ah, and I had thought all along that it must be Isolde,” she responded.

  “Why ever for?”

  “I’m not a fool, Sloan. Anyone could tell that Isolde was after you that summer. For her part, Sabrina was to all appearances singularly disinterested in you.”

  “Goodness, were we all that obvious?”

  “Well, let’s just say, we were all gathered in close quarters for more than three months,” she observed.

  “Just so,” he replied, “Just so.”

  “So what did you do when you discovered it was Sabrina?”

  “Right. Without going into excessive detail, let me just say that I, in my role as Head Lifeguard, meted out punishment that was commensurate with the crime.”

  “I think that I shall let sleeping dogs lie, sir, but let me just say that in the State of New Hampshire lifeguards have no legal rights to ‘mete out punishment’,” she responded disapprovingly.

  “Yes, I must in all candor agree with you. Although my motives were just, I can in retrospect admit that my methods were somewhat flawed.”

  “Well said, Sloan. Now please, carry on.”

  “So, to the point of this meeting, Mrs. Adams - it seems that Sabrina was expelled from Byrn Mawr shortly thereafter.”

  Crossing her arms in despair, she blurted, “Oh, my, that is dreadful news, sir.”

  “Can I take it then from your reaction that you had nothing to do with her dismissal from college, Mrs. Adams?”

  Clearly offended by such an accusation, she exclaimed, “What! Absolutely not! As I had no knowledge whatsoever of the affair in question, there is certainly no way that I could have undertaken to affect her expulsion. Besides, I quite adored her. I even anticipated early on that she might set her cap for you, you being quite a catch in my view. But, for reasons that remain mysterious to me, she appeared to loathe you quite singularly. What was that about, I ask you?”

  “Oh, well, as you said, boys will be boys, Miss…er…Mrs. Adams,” he responded circuitously.

  A smile now spreading across her features, she offered knowingly, “Ah, so there was indeed cause for her mistrust of you, I take it.”

  “I didn’t say that,” he denied, “But, let’s just say, she did indeed find me loathsome.”

  “Yes, well…” she responded, her voice trailing off and, the silence settling in, she eventually continued with, “And, pray tell, where is Sabrina now?”

  “Oh, that is the underlying reason for my visit, Mrs. Adams. We three, Isolde, James, and myself, we are on a quest to locate Sabrina. It seems that she has disappeared, and we hoped that you might be privy to some sort of information leading us to her whereabouts.”

  “Hmmm,” she replied thoughtfully, “To all appearances, Miss Sabrina Dewhurst has been profoundly hurt by you, sir. If so, then it would seem proper that her disappearance, if as you say it is purposeful, would be best honored by all parties.”

  At this, Sloan dropping his face to his hands, responded with a single muffled sob of despair, “But, can you not see? I simply must find her!”

  “My dear Sloan, some things are better left as is. You have a long life ahead of you. If you take my advice, you will cease this senseless endeavor and move on.”

  “Yes, I am quite certain sure you are right, Mrs. Adams,” and so saying, he stood, adding, “And now, I shall take my leave. But thank you so much for seeing me today. You have been more helpful than you can possibly imagine.”