"Oh, good." They entered the elevator relieved to be still together. He
took off his shoes in her room and lay down on the bed. Daisy slid next
to him and turned on her side. He rubbed her shoulders and upper back
for a long time, but she did not relax. He reached over and turned out
the light. She said nothing. He continued and then, without thinking,
he put his teeth on the muscle above one of her shoulder blades and
shook her slightly. She winced and he bit harder. She cried out and
spun around, drawing him tightly to her.
"Hold me," she said. "Hold me." He put his arms around her as she began
to shake and sob. She beat softly on his back with her fists, and he
held her more tightly. Gradually, her shaking eased and she breathed
more evenly. Without speaking, they undressed and lay side by side. She
had helped him once in a similar way. How strange, he thought. And how
right.
"I've been brave," she said.
"I'll bet you have." Her hand moved down his stomach, almost as an
afterthought. She urged him over on top of her and guided him into her.
They lay complete. Sometime later, out of no particular necessity, he
began to move slowly in and out. It was better than talking.
Reassuring. I am right here, he was saying. I love you. He went on and
on.
"Oh," she cried. "Oh . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . " Her head fell back on
the pillow. "Oh . . . " And then, "Joe?" She put her hands on his
buttocks and pulled him deeper into her. "Joe?" He gave in. Near the
top of the wave that picked him up, he put his mouth on her open mouth
and felt her calling, drawing him over. He poured into her, tumbling,
giving her everything.
"My hero," Daisy said. She was leaning on one elbow and looking into
his face. It was morning.
"Nah . . . " Joe said.
"I thought I'd forgotten how."
"No way," he said, waking up. "Don't you look great! You look like a
little girl."
"I've got a favor to ask," she said. "I want to remember you like this.
I can get myself to the airport."
"Uh--when will I see you again?" Joe asked.
"I'm going home through France," she said. "You know, I have a studio
on the property in Woodstock."
"Woodstock," Joe groaned. "Maybe you'd like to spend some of the winter
out here?" They were too experienced to let the future spoil the
moment. They smooched. Joe took a shower. He dressed, and they talked
for a few minutes before he hugged her.
"Goodbye, beautiful," he said.
"Goodbye, Launcelot, Lochinvar . . . " He started toward the door and
turned back a step toward her.
"Strider," he said.
"Strider," she drawled, smiling. They let go of each other with the
total release that binds across any space or time.
Joe walked along Kalakaua Avenue. It was still early; most of the
tourists were in bed or eating breakfast. Daisy. How unexpected! How
great! He wasn't going to live in her studio. She had her life, and he
had his, now. But he would see her again, he was pretty sure of that.
What was between them was real and had remained this long; it wasn't
going to go away. He sang "Scarlet Ribbons" several times and was good
and hungry by the time he reached the shopping center.
Portuguese sausage. Coffee. Ah. The waitress, fiftyish, smiled at him
as though she understood perfectly where he had just been. Life was so
fine, in fact, that after breakfast he put off going home and wandered
over to Fisherman's Wharf. He sat with his feet dangling over the water
and watched a man fish. His line went out between two high-bowed
sampans, the San Carlos and the Woniya. He had short grizzled hair and
a round head with compact Asian features. He was sitting on his heels,
motionless. He could have been 55 or 75. A small cardboard box on the
ground next to him was neatly packed--a can of soda, a knife, a bag
that probably held his lunch. The sound of traffic on Ala Moana was
muted. The sun was full but not yet hot. The straight dark fishing line
met the end of its reflection wavering on the green harbor water. He
fished in silence for nearly an hour.
Joe finally stood up and stretched.
"Three days now, not biting," the man said.
"You get 'em, huh," Joe said and watched him turn back toward his line.
He would never give up. The image of his bony head, his quiet eyes on
the water, stayed with Joe.
He wrote it down when he got home, and in the morning, after he ate a
bowl of cereal, he crossed out words and added a few, holding the
fisherman in front of him. While he was imagining the fisherman, the
aging bus boy appeared with his cart. Alphonse jumped off his fork
lift. Whistling Ed Swaney walked over, sweating. Jade Willow Lady
turned toward him from the grill. The bottle saint kneeled. They
watched him with interest and concern. My teachers, he realized with a
rush of feeling. My teachers. All this time and I didn't know.
He heard a noise at the door.
"Never mind, Batman. I'll get it." But no one was there, not even a
baby in a basket. The morning air was vibrant. Doves called. His
teachers and so many before him had done their best.
He bent his head.
"Aloha," Joe Burke said and took his stand beside them.