On Fire
Page 35
“And I thought my trip to Venice was off the hook! Never mind.” exclaims Ethan upon hearing more details from Zak and Kim about their experiences in China.
“And where are you off to now?” asks Asobi in her quiet manner.
“I think the less we know the better,” interjects Rashida from the driver’s seat of her old van. Outside the van’s windows the lights of San Jose fly by on the 880, which is what Route 17 coming back from Burning Man turn’s into.
“There you go, Rash. You know, but you don’t think we should know. Is that really fair do you think?” rejoins Kina.
“It is if you want to stay alive,” Rashida replies.
“Stay alive! Stay alive? O come on!” says Artie. “Are you sure you’re not one of those government pukes always saying we have to strike the extremists or they will attack us where it hurts most? We end up labeling everyone who disagrees with us a dangerous extremist, don’t we? If we really hate you then you’re a terrorist and we have to annihilate you before you can even think of doing anything to us. Isn’t that how it works? Pre-emptively smash any possible threat as soon as it raises its ugly head, whack-a-mole style, first one, then the other. Sounds like a prescription for the assertion of empire and the waging of perpetual war. No, I don’t think anybody is going to kill anybody. That’s ridiculous!”
“What did you say your major was?” asks Ethan, disingenuously.
“Pontification 101,” replies Rashida so quickly Artie hasn’t got a chance.
“Yeah sure,” replies Artie, who is not exactly willing to give up his point.
“Guys, really. We’re going to LA. Rashida is dropping us off in San Jose,” Kim informs everyone.
“What’s in LA?” asks Kina.
“We’re not sure, but we’ll keep in touch,” says Zak, turning Delphic, trying not to put anyone at risk with too much information.
Rashida turns off onto Alameda, a closed up, nearly abandoned, neighborhood commercial corridor on their way to Diridon Station and downtown San Jose. They drive past massive parking lots which are empty at this hour of the night, but which are part of this transportation hub for Silicon Valley. Rashida makes a right turn and they pull up in front of a small, historic two-story brick depot building, the entrance to the station.
Zak and Kim pull the packs they have had with them since China out the side door and step under the entrance awning. It is the early hours of the morning and the ghostly station seems deserted. An abandoned bike leans against the wall nearby. The chain on the flagpole in the center island of the drive bangs rhythmically in the gentle breeze against the steel pole, the only sound on a quiet night. Light from the tall windows of the depot floods the sidewalk. Ornamental street lights and a string of lighted bollards line the wide, gently curving drive of the drop off zone.
“Well, this is it,” says Rashida, stepping down from the driver’s seat to say goodbye.
They say their goodbyes and give each other hugs. The moment lingers. Then it disappears as Zak pulls the heavy entrance door open for Kim and they enter a harshly lit train station. A big American flag drapes the opposite wall to the side of a large Christmas tree. The flag is centered below a roman wall clock. Vending booths are spread out on the station floor. Signs direct below to the mezzanine concourse where they find ticket machines and an escalator going further down to the boarding platform. The Caltrain HSR arrives, a white bullet train with red trim that compares favorably to Chinese trains. As the train doors open, a small number of people get off and those waiting on the platform rush to board.
For Zak and Kim the train represents an opportunity to get some rest. It doesn’t take long before they are asleep in three seats near a window. They hardly stir until hours later the train’s announcements jar them awake.
“What?” asks Kim groggily.
“Welcome to LA.”
“You’re kidding? Really? We’re there?”
“Over five hundred miles. Less than three hours at about two hundred miles per hour.”
Kim is running a comb through her hair and putting it into a loose braid.
“Thanks for the fact check.”
“My stomach feels weird.”
“Yeah, I think they call that hunger.”
Zak runs a finger over his teeth.
“You know, I’m really sorry about all this,” he says.
As Kim finishes stowing things in her pack, she returns Zak’s gaze.
“Well it hasn’t exactly been kid’s day at Toys R Us.”
“Maybe it’s time for me to be figuring this thing out on my own,” Zak offers, a thought he has been having for some time.
Kim is not about to be maneuvered in this way.
“Okay, I get it. You suffer from an exaggerated sense of self-worth.”
Zak throws his hands up as if surrendering.
“You’ve got me. I’m self-centered to the end!”
“Exactly. And what, people find this charming?”
They can feel the train decelerating and in the window see Southern California kudzu streaming by as they come into the station. After the train finally stops there is a short wait, everybody standing and crowding the doors, before they get off and enter a Union Station which still looks early twentieth century. The waiting hall is very distinctive, with heavy craftsman seating, rounded yellow archways, circular period chandeliers hanging from chains, an elaborately cross braced oak ceiling, a highly polished terra cotta floor with an art deco design running down the middle of the seating areas and tall, rectangular two story windows. The hall glows warmly at night, a tribute to the many films it has appeared in over the years, and to how distinctively different it has looked in every one of them.
Zak and Kim find their way through a high arch to the front sidewalk of the Spanish colonial revival station. Landscaping lights cast eerily on the façade. A commanding clock tower rises high into the dark night sky at the corner of the building. In front is a landscaping court of native palm trees. They take a cab, noticing how much cooler it is in LA as they get in.
Wilshire Boulevard is quiet in the early hours before dawn.
“I’m beginning to think maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea,” says Zak.
“There you go again. You didn’t make this decision. We did,” replies Kim, hugging the backpack on her lap.
“Well then? Do you still think it’s a good idea?” Zak asks.
Kim drops her chin onto the pack, considering.
“Maybe you are right. I have to admit that this made more sense last night. Promise me that after this guy calls the cops, we won’t be taken alive.”
Zak nods agreeably.
“You’re on, Sherrie.”
“Let’s see if we can get the driver to stop at a coffee shop somewhere,” Kim suggests.
They compete with their phones to find one, choose the Children’s Museum, and direct their driver directly to it. They load up on coffee and Danish, which they begin to consume hungrily before getting back in the cab.
Streets start to meander, twisting their way around green hillsides. They enter an expensive neighborhood and stop at a gate with a street number designed in large numerals into the gate’s black wrought iron. Twin white pilasters book end the gate, each with a lighted globe fading in the morning light. Sun stretches the gate’s long shadow across the driveway apron.
After paying the cab, they stand there, surveying the situation, substantial walls of carefully tended fir trees hemming them in.
“Unbelievable!” Zak exclaims, gazing around.
“Where’s the Queen?” asks Kim, hoisting the strap of her pack to her shoulder.
“It’s just the American version of royalty,” Zak replies drily.
Zak and Kim walk over to a steel control box. It has an arm that extends for drivers to use their keycards and activate the opening of the gate.
The box also has a voice button labeled intercom.
“Shall we?” asks Zak.
“We might want to wait for them to wake up. It’s kind of early.”
“You have a point, but can we really risk staying here that long? There have to be house cameras somewhere around here.”
This persuades Kim. She nods.
“Punch it.”
Chapter 36