The Harp-Weaver by Nexxie PART II "J.R.," Dr. Bradley said entering the waiting room, "We've made her as comfortable as possible. I'm afraid there is little more we can do. There's a hospice..." "I want to see her. She's gonna get better, right? Doctor Bradley, I...when can we go home?" The young man faced the physician anxiously in the small underlit and over-furnished waiting room in the hospital that seemed a second home in recent months. "Son," Charles Bradley put one hand on the boy's thin shoulders, hating to crush the hope that burned almost furiously in the soft brown eyes. "Son, she can't go home. We've done everything we can for her. I'm sorry. She's in room 324 whenever..." Shaking his head in denial, J.R. raced to the elevator and punched the buttons savagely. The indicator at the top showed slow progress down from the eleventh floor. J.R. shifted impatiently from foot to foot as he waited. The doctor had to be wrong. Physicians made mistakes from time to time. Finally the door opened and J.R. pushed his way in, uncaring of the glares received from the other occupants. She would be okay. She had to. J.R. entered room 324 like a tall thin whirlwind. In the bed nearest the door lay an old woman, shriveled and small against the white sheets, wheezing inside the plastic oxygen tent, her eyes closed. An old man sat beside her bed holding the frail hand, his sad eyes never leaving her face. J.R. moved on to the second bed. His mother's head turned to watch his approach and she managed to come up with a smile. "H'lo Baby," she greeted him, her voice barely a whisper. "So, Mom, when are they gonna let me spring you from this joint?" The woman in the next bed moved fitfully at the sound of J.R.'s cheerful voice. Her husband shifted his glance to look reproachfully at the tall, healthy teenager. Never losing the smile, Marnie slowly lifted one hand and reached for her son. Mindful of the many tubes and wires that seemed to surround his fragile mother, J.R. sat on the side of the bed and gave her a quick hug. He took her hand in his as if to will his strength to her. "They're sending me to a hospice, J.R. Doctor Bradley says I'll be well cared for there. Don't frown, I'm feeling better and it will be less work for you. Now there's something I want you to do for me." "Sure, Mom," he choked, eyes filling with tears. Impatiently he swiped them away and focused again on his mother's face, listening intently to her fading voice. "In my bedroom, in the top drawer of the dresser, is a sandlewood box full of old letters." J.R. nodded, he remembered the one. "I want you to read them. They are from your father's cousin Claire. She's the one I stayed with on the reservation. We kept in touch with each other for a while. There is one letter, the last one, that I want you to read especially. It starts out with the words, 'John is a fireman now, in Los Angeles'. Hold on to it and burn the rest after you've read them. I don't want your grandfather to find them. Understand?" Again J.R. indicated compliance. Marnie seemed to shrink further into the bed as she relaxed, her eyes dulling as she gave in more fully to the pain medication. "Good," she whispered. "Now go home. Eat some supper and get your sleep. I'll see you tomorrow after school, okay?" J.R. started to protest, but saw the tiredness in her face and watched her eyes slowly close. He needed to be alone anyway. With an angry glare at the man who sat in the hard little chair across the room, J.R. flew into the corridor, not bothering with the elevator, and took the stairs to the main floor. He ran the six blocks home from the hospital, sustained by the anger that coursed through his being. Stopping in the vacant lot near his home, J.R. let his head fall back and emitted a yell that was at once defiance and despair. "God! Can you hear me? Why? Why does she have to die? She's so good. I won't believe she deserves this! Do you hear me? I won't. My grandparents are wrong! Where is my father? He should be here. He should see her! Does he even care? Does he even know about me? Would he want to? She's so good. God, she's my mother! She's all I have. Help me, please! Please." His voice faded into choked sobs. Head down he continued home. Was it home? How long would he be able to live here without Mom? J.R. made his way to Marnie's bedroom and retrieved the box of letters from her dresser. He opened a can of soup, poured it in the pan and began to read the first letter while he stirred his supper. Without a wasted motion, he continued to read his way through the stack as he finished eating. At last J.R. came to the final letter, the one his mother indicated for him to keep. It gave the details of his father's graduation from high school in California and attendance at the Fire Academy. He carefully put the letter down then shredded the rest before setting them afire in the small barbeque grill on the back balcony. "She made me promise to burn that one too after she died. She didn't want my grandfather to find it...I guess you can figure out why." Johnny indicated his understanding with a slight incline of his head. He waited breathlessly for his son to finish the account. J.R. shifted position, to look at his father while he finished the account. The late morning sun shone warm on their faces as they lay atop the ridge, side by side. Somehow Dad must have known the words would come easier up here, he thought. "Anyway she improved for a while and was placed in a hospice, but that only lasted a week. During that week, Mom kept asking me to read...that poem to her, over and over. I think it was a talisman to her that after she died things would be better for me somehow. I hated that poem, but I read it because she asked." "Did you bring the book I asked for, J.R.?" Marnie McGuire looked hopefully at her son as he came through the door. The hospice room seemed homey compared to the starkness of the hospital. J.R. nodded and came forward to kiss his mother. "Anything in particular you wanted to hear?" he asked after reciting the day's events at school and the latest news from the neighborhood. "Oh, Mrs. Smith says hello. She'll be in to visit this weekend." Marnie nodded acknowledgement. "Page 47, J.R., read Ballad of a Harp-Weaver." Her eyes seemed to glow with a new strength as J.R. sat down, opened the book of verse, and began to read. At the end of the poem, J.R.'s voice faltered and he closed the book. "Mom, that's really sad, I don't think..." "J.R., when I'm gone, I want you to go to Los Angeles. I have a cousin there, Aaron. He was a good friend when we were kids. Look up Aaron McGuire; he'll give you a place to stay while you try to find your father. Johnny's a good man, J.R. Get to know him and find out how wonderful he is. He's wild and handsome and you look just like him. And he has a good heart; I know." "Mom, don't talk like that. You're getting better. We'll both go to Los Angeles together and look for him, just as soon as you're well." Marnie shook her head almost violently. "Promise me, John Roderick Gage," she said, "promise me that you will go find your father. Promise!" Her eyes seemed to burn in her thin white face. Reluctantly, J.R. gave his word. Marnie seemed to go to sleep, then opened her eyes wide to stare at her son. "Johnny! I'm so glad you're here. You look just the same as the last time I saw you. Remember the old sleeping bag in the back of the truck. I think it was more comfortable than this darned bed. I miss you so much. Have you seen our son? He's growing up so strong and tall. You take care of him, Johnny. He's so much like you, stubborn, determined...and he has a big heart. Take care of our son, Johnny Gage." Marnie's voice trailed off and her eyes closed. Alarmed, J.R. fled the room to fetch a doctor. "That night she lost consciousness and they moved her to ICU in the hospital. She never woke up again, but I stayed with her there until she died three days later. I remember watching the datascope in her hospital room and willing each heartbeat not to be the last. They finally stopped and became a flat line. She...asked not to be revived and the doctor honored her request, even when I begged him to try." "I knew the pain was bad and that each breath was a struggle, but I was so selfish; I wanted her to come back and keep on living just for me. I was lost, then. "My grandparents said it was no more than she deserved for shaming them and breaking their hearts. I hated them both. They took everything we had and sold it or gave it away except for the things I was able to lock in my suitcase. I did as Mom asked and burned Claire's letter; I'd memorized it anyway. Nearly three years later I came to L.A. and went to the Fire Academy. You know the rest." J.R. looked at his father and saw tears running down the man's cheeks. Johnny sniffed and wiped at his eyes. "I'm so sorry, son. I don't know how I can ever..." Johnny couldn't finish the sentence but stared at the sky, crying for the woman whose life he ruined with irresponsible behavior when she was just a girl. "Dad," J.R. put a hand on his father's arm, "Mom never, ever blamed you for any of this." "I blame me!" Johnny sat up and pointed emphatically at his chest. "I knew better. I was just so damned flattered that such a beautiful girl wanted to be with me..." Johnny's eyes grew diamond hard as he disected his character and found it to be much less pleasing than before. He looked at his son and shook his head. There was no way he could be sorry that J.R. existed. "Your mom made you promise to come find me...and you did, after a fashion. Now I want you to make a promise to me. You've seen how bein' reckless and breakin' the rules can affect lives. I don't for one second regret that you're my son; I love you. But if Marnie and I hadn't broken the rules, hadn't...thought we were smarter than our parents, you might have had a father all your life, and she might have had a husband. It might even have been me..." Johnny's voice broke. He couldn't imagine, didn't really want to imagine J.R. having somebody else for a father. "Son, promise me you and Jennifer will play by the rules. Promise me you'll wait until you are married before...you know. That way, if you don't end up getting married, there won't be...regrets." "Dad, do you think I should marry Jennifer?" J.R. looked earnestly at his father. Johnny refused to be sidetracked. "I want your word, J.R." "I promise," J.R. said in a husky voice. "I never know what's going to happen, being a fireman, and I don't want Jennifer to ever have to go through what my mom did. I love her too much." After a moment's hesitation, Johnny said, "Then I think you should marry Jennifer...when she's out of high school...or college if she decides to go." Johnny was surprised by a look of relief on J.R.'s face that turned into the sunniest smile he'd ever seen. The boy obviously wanted his approval. What have I done now, Johnny wondered? John Gage's feet were numb. Letting them dangle over the edge of the precipice for the last couple of hours wasn't very smart, he admitted to himself. He pulled his dead limbs back up to sit Indian style and munch on a granola bar, his legs experiencing an attack of pins and needles as circulation slowly returned. It would be a few minutes before he felt like walking. There is some justice in this world, Johnny thought, watching J.R. grimace as he mimicked Johnny's actions and underwent the same discomfort. The two men sat a while longer until their legs felt normal again, then stashing their packs behind a rock, they hiked the top of the ridge chatting companionably. The air was crisp and clear, the day beautiful and they returned tired and contented in the early evening. After sharing a cold supper of sandwiches, apples and peanut butter and bottles of juice, they settled down to watch the sunset. As if to gratify a secret wish of J.R.'s, a hawk appeared circling majestically on the breeze over the valley below them. It was a time of peace and beauty as the sunset bathed the world first in bright gold, then orange and pink before it faded to deep purple and finally black. Johnny took the opportunity to share some of his past as they gazed up at the stars. The night sky sparkled, brilliant with stars, the distant points of light not hidden by the artificial illumination from street lamps or the glow from the city. The story he told his son presented a side of his mother the boy had never heard before, and filled in a few blanks he always wondered about, but never dared ask. "When Claire introduced your mom to me it was at a family gathering. I think your mom either felt sorry for me or was as reckless and perverse as me back then. I know my relatives must have warned her to stay away from me, but she and Claire walked right over to where I stood alone under a tree, trying my best to look cool." Johnny Gage attempted to look disinterested as the beautiful girl with long chestnut hair climbed out of his uncle's station wagon. Mom and Dad said she came to visit Claire. Yeah? Another tourist come to see the Indians? Well she probably has a rich football player boyfriend somewhere anyway. She won't even notice I'm alive. "Hey, what do you do around here for fun?" Johnny startled, looked down into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. He struck a cool pose, not looking as he leaned casually back agains the tree...and missed. She giggled. "Well, sometimes we fall down," he replied. "...just for fun, you understand." With a flash of his best crooked grin, Johnny stood up and brushed the dust from his jeans. She hadn't left. "Johnny, you idiot. I bring Marnie over here to meet 'that mysterious-looking boy by the tree' and you go and fall down." Claire put her hands on her hips, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief, and gestured to her tall, lanky cousin. "Marnie McGuire, from Kansas City, this is Johnny Gage, the family's blackest sheep." The look of annoyance Johnny flashed his cousin melted as Marnie McGuire held out one slender hand. "I've never had a guy fall for me so quickly," she said in a husky voice. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Black Sheep." Wow, Johnny thought, this can't be happening. This girl is beautiful. Gage wiped his dusty hands on the back of his jeans and extended the right one to Marnie. She allowed her eyes to take a long, slow inventory before clasping his hand. "Claire! Bring your friend over here and introduce her to the rest of the family." Johnny looked up to see a chorus of brown eyes glaring at him as his Uncle Jay motioned Claire and Marnie back to the main gathering. Johnny shrugged and leaned back against the tree in a defiant pose. "Will I see you later, Johnny?" Marnie asked before she followed Claire toward the picnic tables groaning with food and hungry relatives. "You can count on it," he returned with a smile. Then slowly, deliberately, Johnny walked to his old truck and got in. He sat there throughout the picnic, a deliberate move to irritate the rest of the family. "How come they let you stay in the truck? Didn't anybody come over to invite you the table?" J.R. asked his father, intrigued. "My family didn't have much use for me, not that I gave them any reason to. I was a spoiled brat and sometimes I could be a real pain in the ass. My father's parents didn't like my mother and my mom's folks never forgave her for marrying my father. You didn't corner the market on insensitive grandparents, son, ya know? I don't remember being called 'Indian brat', but it would have been an improvement sometimes." "Anyway, your mom and I were attracted to each other right off. She and I and Claire piled into my old truck and we gave Marnie a very...unromantic look at the reservation. That was the last time we took Claire with us. After that day, I drove up to my uncle's house and honked the horn whenever we had a date---which was just about every day. Marnie would climb in the truck and scoot as close to me as she could get. We'd take off and drive until we found a secluded spot, then climb in the back and...um...you know." "Work on making me?" J.R. couldn't see his father's face in the dark, but he could just bet it was brick red. Dad still has a problem with the word 'sex', J.R. thought in amusement. From what I've heard about Dad's reputation with the ladies, all second-hand information admittedly, I wouldn't have thought him to be so easily embarrassed. This version of 'Mom meets Dad' sure is different from the way Mom told it. Johnny's son decided a little teasing was in order. "So, basically you were a juvenile delinquent and my mother was 'easy'. "What the hell? That's not what I said at all!" Johnny recognized belatedly the teasing tone of his son's voice. "Yeah," he grinned in the dark, "somethin' like that." "Actually," the senior Gage reflected aloud, "I was kind of a 'geek'. I made good grades in school, worked for my dad on the ranch, and never got in trouble with the law. I only acted like some kind of punk in front of my relatives. I figured since they didn't like me anyway, I'd give them something not to like." "Boy, you and Mom sure tell the story differently...about how you courted her...dated, I mean. She practically had you climbing to her balcony window spouting poetry." J.R. snickered at the divergence in detail. Johnny snorted and began laughing with his son at the image of him playing 'Romeo' to Marnie's 'Juliet'. "That would have been difficult, J.R., since my uncle lived in a one-story bungalow and about the closest I ever got to poetry was 'Three Blind Mice'." "I wonder if Mom ever imagined you in tights?" J.R. giggled. "Hey, I would've probably looked great in tights!" Johnny retaliated. "Nope! We wear the same size jeans and mine are tighter!" J.R. boasted. "What's that got to do with anything?" Johnny asked, mystified. "This morning you told me to get my 'scrawny butt' into the Rover. I just wanted to point out that if anybody has a scrawny butt in this family..." "Yeah? Well, scrawny or not, I can still take you!" his father informed him. With a quick movement, Johnny heaved a tightly rolled blanket in the direction of his son's mid-section and was pleased to hear a satisfying, "ooomph" in response. "Call me scrawny, again, ya fresh kid!" Johnny muttered in mock anger. He was knocked backward when the blanket returned to him at top speed and with deadly accuracy. Johnny cocked his ear to listen as J.R. moved to get out of the way of any retaliation and aimed for his estimated new location, then heaved the blanket with all his might. A muffled and indignant exclamation from his son testified to the accuracy of Johnny's aim. The battle continued until the two men dissolved into helpless laughter. Tired and at peace with the world, by common consent they made out their bedrolls and settled down to sleep. J.R. heaved a contented sigh, glad he came. Johnny Gage stuck his head in the screen door of the farm house and called out loudly, "Goodbye, I'll be back around ten," before turning to jog in the direction of his old truck. He reached in his pocket to withdraw the wad of bills pulled from the fruit jar on his dresser. The stash he'd been compiling to pay for a paint job on the truck dwindled to near nothing. Girls are sure expensive, he thought. A devilish gleam came into his eyes as he anticipated the night ahead. This girl is worth it though. The old gray ford stepside truck came to a skidding halt next to the huge boxelder tree in Uncle Jay's front yard. Planks of the treehouse Johnny and his cousins Claire and Billy built still clung to the sturdy branches about twenty feet up. It was a great place to play. Sometimes we pretended it was a castle, Johnny remembered. Claire played a captive princess and Billy the ogre that kept her prisoner. Boy, she sure screamed her head off. I bravely stormed the fortress to rescue her. Sometimes it was a burning building with Billy and I being the fearless firemen, rescuing the hapless victim. One of us hosed the tree down while the other brought Claire down in our best imitation of a fireman's carry. I wonder what Marnie would do if I asked her to meet me in the tree house. Actually, I can guess. Now that, he grinned in appreciation of his own thoughts, would be an adventure. Marnie McGuire is the best thing that's ever happened to me. Here I am, a skinny geek at school who's best talent is running away. Heck, I've never been popular with the girls. Marnie sure is fascinated with me being an Indian. What, are we so different from other guys? Of course, Indian guys aren't exactly hard to find around here. But, man, she's gorgeous; soft and curvy in all the right places with skin like velvet and long, thick hair the color of Dad's prize mare. Her lips are so soft, and I just love those dimples that peek out when she's up to something...and that's most of the time. Sounding the horn twice, his signal, Johnnny waited, holding his breath for Marnie to appear. A tight sweater and stretch pants in powder blue emphasized her curves as she hurried across the yard to jump into the truck. He licked his lips nervously. I just know that one of these times she's gonna tell me it's all a joke; that someone dared her to go out with me. I don't think I could take finding that out. "Hey, Brown Eyes," Marnie greeted him in a sexy low voice before sliding into the cab beside him and cuddling up for a kiss. Johnny knew it was most likely for the benefit of his aunt and uncle who invariably watched in frowning disapproval from the porch, but he didn't care. He felt strong and handsome and loved when Marnie looked up at him with adoring eyes as blue as the evening sky. They drove in silence for a while, content to just cherish their time together. Johnny knew they would end up in the bed of the truck as darkness fell. Marnie was no tease and gave herself to him in uninhibited abandon. She was perfection. She was grace. She drove him to the brink of insanity, and then gave him release. Tonight, Marnie seemed unusually subdued. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Johnny asked, concern evident in his voice. Was this it? Was this the night she would tell him it was all over? Marnie turned in his arms as they lay on the old sleeping bag in the bed of his truck. Her eyes filled with tears, she reached up to smooth the frown from his brow and touch his full bottom lip in a gentle caress. "It's the twenty-second, Johnny. In just two more days I have to go back to Kansas City, back to reality. I don't want to go. I want to stay here forever with you and watch the sunsets, count the stars and hear the stories your grandfather told you about your mother's people. I want to...to...but I can't. I have to go back to cheerleading and math and yucky Mme. Poulet's French class. Kiss me, Brown Eyes. Hold me and love me and make me forget." Two tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes and dampened Johnny's white T-shirt. Unable to deny her anything, he complied. Sober, troubled and thoroughly confused by his own turbulent emotions, Johnny was unprepared, when he drove into the farmyard at ten minutes after ten, for the large numbers of cars in the yard. Lights blazed from every window of the farmhouse and a crowd gathered on the porch. He knew his parents went to his aunt's birthday celebration, so the place should have been dark. A chill crept up Johnny's spine at the sight of his grandparents seated in the yard, surrounded by several of his cousins. "What's going on?" he asked, afraid to hear the answer. He searched the crowd of people for his parents. Normally Mom would have been scurrying around offering everyone something to drink while Dad made sure the peace was kept. "A lot you care! Running around with that tramp all hours, breaking your poor mother's heart..." his aunt disolved in tears and was led away while at least half of the gathering fixed Johnny with reproachful glances. Johnny looked in bewilderment toward his cousin Billy for some clue. Tears running down both cheeks Billy turned away swiping at his face with one sleeve. His father's father, known as a hard man in many circles, left the group that clustered around the porch steps and approached Johnny. His walk was slow and angry, his bulk towering over the slight young teenager as he approached, a malevolent gleam in his eyes. "Your folks ain't here," he spat. "They ain't ever gonna be here again. They're dead, whelp, and I wish to hell you'd been with them." Rod Gage turned and walked away from his namesake, so unlike him in appearance and demeanor, without a backward glance. Johnny reeled from the impact of the words as if from a blow. He searched frantically through the crowd of relatives for some indication that it was a lie, some glimpse of the parents he loved so, and now would never see again. A few gave him almost pitying glances, seeing the devastation on his young face, but no one approached. No one offered comfort. "Nooooo!" Johnny cried. "You're lying! You're lying! They aren't dead...they can't be dead!" He stood alone in the yard, the moonlight shining on him like a weird spotlight. Faces rushed in to accuse, "You killed them, John." "If you'd been there, they wouldn't have died." "It's your fault." His grandparents, aunts, uncles, all pointing fingers and shouting at Johnny in a macabre chorus. "You killed me too, John," Billy pointed his finger. "If you'd stayed with me I would have lived." Another face appeared in stark relief, ghostly white with flaming hair...Marnie. "You killed me too, John. If it hadn't been for you, I could have married a rich man and had all the treatments I needed for cancer. My son would have been white and acceptable in society. You've ruined his life too. You kill everyone you touch, John Gage. "Dad! Dad, stop! Wake up, now. Hey, it's all right. Wake up. Open your eyes." J.R. held Johnny by the shoulders, pinning him to the ground as he attempted to wrest his father from the nightmare that held him in its grip. It was a struggle to hold the man down, but he finally managed to wake Johnny from his dream. John Gage sat up abruptly, his eyes open wide in confusion, breathing hard in panic, sweat glistening on his brow and upper lip. He tried to focus on the moonlit ridgetop, unable to separate it from the horrible visions that haunted his sleep moments before. J.R. watched him in concern, troubled by the wild cries that erupted from his father's lips. "Hey," Johnny's son said softly, "you all right?" Raking a trembling hand through hair already tousled from sleep, Johnny attempted to bring his panic under control. I haven't had that dream in years, and never with Marnie McGuire as an accuser. I suppose that piece was added after J.R.'s description of Marnie's death. Shaking his head to clear it, Johnny reached for a canteen and took a long drink of water to relieve the bitter taste in his mouth that faintly resembled dirty tin. He wiped away an annoying trickle from his chin. Blood! I must have bit my lip. Well, it wouldn't be the first time. "I'll be okay, J.R. Go back to sleep." As his son gave him a doubtful look, Johnny lay back and closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He hoped J.R. would believe him. The elder Gage never truly rested after these nightmares for fear they would return, but years of pretending to his partner that all is well gave him the necessary practice to deceive his son. This version of his nightmare was more vivid than ever before. This time it added yet another dimension to the guilt he'd carried with him in his dreams for the last twenty years. This time hot tears of self-recrimination slipped out to splash on his sleeping bag. He'd never really believed the accusations until now. Somewhere toward morning Johnny slept. Both Gages hit the trail at sunup, anxious to return to the Rover---and the food supply. Unable to decide whether to have a cold breakfast while they fished or make a fire for a hot breakfast and go fishing that evening, Johnny tossed a coin. J.R.'s stomach growled as he waited for the result. "Son," Johnny said, "grab your pole." Whistling offkey, Johnny paused to collect his fishing rod and the tackle box before setting off down the path to the lake. J.R. cast a regretful look a the cold firepit then followed his father juggling a cooler, the fishing creel and his own fishing rod. "We'd better catch something," J.R. grumbled before biting into a granola bar. Visions of pancakes and eggs danced before his eyes as he repeated the motions of casting and reeling in his lure. J.R.'s mood sure improved after catching his third trout, Johnny noted. He managed to shake off the remnants of his nightmare and put on a cheerful demeanor for the day. Bright sunshine and fresh air helped a lot. Even his appetite returned to normal, as his growling stomach soon attested. I sure hope the talk we had last night helped. Neither of us had it easy as kids, but at least my dad was around when I was growin' up. We both ended up alone in the world at sixteen and we were both rejected by our grandparents. At least he doesn't have a kid somewhere...I hope. Otherwise, we have a lot in common. Johnny looked fondly at his son concentrating on the lake, determined to hook another fish. "Your jeans are not tighter than mine!" he said. "Shhh..." his son retorted, "you're scaring the fish!" After a minute, J.R. said softly, "Are too!" END OF PART II onto the conclusion