Cypress Point (31 page)

Big Sur, 1967

T
he fog was dense and disorienting. Carlynn drove along Highway One at ten miles an hour, afraid to go any faster for fear she'd sail right off the cliff into the Pacific. It had been a long time since she'd been down this stretch of coast. She remembered it as winding and treacherous, but breathtakingly beautiful, as well. The beauty was lost on her at the moment, though, as she neared the Bixby Bridge. She had never liked this bridge. It was far too high, the expanse between the two cliffs far too long. She had to stop the car before driving onto it, licking her lips and gathering up her courage. “It's just a road,” she told herself and started across. Fog swirled beneath the bridge, and she supposed it was just as well that it camouflaged the distance between herself and Bixby Creek, far below. Once she reached the other side of the bridge, she let
out her breath. Not that the road she was on, which hugged the bluffs high above the ocean, was much better.

Highway One was always a work in progress along the stretch between the Monterey Peninsula and Big Sur. It was subject to floods and landslides and forest fires, and if there were boulders or fallen trees littering the road ahead of her, she wouldn't know it until it was too late because of the opaque, cottony fog. There were also very few other cars. For a summer's day, that seemed odd to her, but she supposed it was the weather that was keeping tourists away. Maybe they knew better than to drive when the fog was this thick. The route to the Cabrial Commune was only thirty or so miles past Monterey, Penny had told her. Carlynn hadn't known they were to be the thirty slowest miles of her life.

Penny Everett had called earlier that week. Carlynn had been in her office at the center, looking over Alan's initial draft for a brilliant research project he was designing, when Lisbeth buzzed her on the intercom.

“Phone call for you, Carlynn,” she'd said. “It's Penny Everett!”

“You're kidding!” Carlynn had set down her pen and picked up the phone. “Penny?”

“Oh, Carlynn.” The voice was a whisper. “I'm so glad I could reach you.”

The woman did not sound like Penny, and for a brief moment Carlynn wondered if it might be a desperate patient scheming to get in to see her. It had happened before.

“Penny? What's wrong with your voice?” she asked. “You sound terrible.”

“I know. That's why I'm calling. I hate to bother you…I know you must be terribly busy. But I was wondering if there's any chance you could help me.”

It most certainly
was
Penny, but her voice made Carlynn wince. It sounded as though her throat was lined with sandpaper.

“What's wrong?” Carlynn found herself whispering as well, and Penny laughed.

“Everyone does that,” she said. “Everyone whispers when they talk to me. It must be catching.”

Carlynn chuckled. “I've missed you, Penny,” she said. “I was going to say it's good to hear your voice, but that would be a lie.”

“I've been this way for four months,” Penny said. Was she crying? Carlynn couldn't tell.

“Four months!” She stood up and walked over to the window, which looked out at the traffic on Sutter Street. “Do you know what started it?”

“It started while I was in a musical,” Penny said. “Just this little off-Broadway thing. I was under a lot of stress. That's what caused it, my doctor said. He said I needed a break and my voice would come back, but it hasn't.”

“Have you alleviated the stress?” Carlynn asked.

“Yes!” Penny sounded as emphatic as she could, given there was no power to her voice. “I left New York. I'm back in California, staying in a commune in Big Sur where there's no pressure, just a lot of loving people and peace and quiet, and I've been here for two months now, and I
still
sound like this.” There were definitely tears behind her words now, and Carlynn felt her own eyes well up.

“Oh, honey, that must be frightening.” She tried to picture what Penny's life must be like on a commune. They were cropping up here and there, filled with hippies who rarely washed and slept around with abandon. The lifestyle sounded unappealing to Carlynn, but she could see her old, unconventional friend thriving in that sort of environment.

“And the worst part is, there's this play I want to do in New York next year,” Penny continued. “I want it in the worst way, Carly. It's called
Hair,
and it's going to be so good and so much fun, and I know they want me to audition for it, but I can't. I'm afraid I may never be able to sing again. Maybe not even
talk
again.”

“Can you come up here to San Francisco?” Carlynn asked. “It wouldn't be a huge drive for you. Come and spend a few days with us and I'll work with you.”

There was a moment of silence on the line.

“I wanted to invite you down here,” Penny said. “I really don't want to leave here right now. I'm afraid of the…you know, the stress. I have a little cabin with twin beds. Well—” she giggled hoarsely “—I have two mattresses, anyhow. On the floor. It could be like a little vacation for—”

“Oh, Penny, I can't. I'm swamped here.” But her mind was racing ahead. A few days in Big Sur. The windswept cliffs above the coastline, the ocean and the fanciful cloudlike fog that put San Francisco's to shame. A week off. She loved the center and adored her work, but still…Time with her old friend on a commune, of all places, would be an adventure. And Penny obviously needed her help. By the time Penny said, “Oh, please, Carly?” she had made up her mind.

Had she really thought of this fog as fanciful? It was positively blinding, and she wondered if this was how Delora felt all the time, unsure of where to place her next step.

The only way she would ever know where to turn off Highway One was by her mileage. She'd set her trip odometer as she passed the Carmel exit, and when it reached thirty miles, she would start looking for the tree. “It's a coastal redwood,” Penny had said. “Sort of out of place right there along the road. You can't miss it.”

Oh, yeah?
Carlynn thought. But just as she was about to
give up and drive to the nearest store or restaurant or anything she could find, if she
could
find one, the tree rose out of the fog to her left. It was massive and truly did seem out of place. An arrow-shaped board, only a foot long by three or four inches high, had been nailed to the tree, and yellow or white letters—she couldn't tell which—spelled out “Cabrial.” That was the name of the commune, she remembered. Penny had told her the land had been owned by a family named Cabrial at one time. Now it was owned by a bunch of out-of-their-mind hippies, Carlynn thought as she turned onto the dirt road. Who would choose to live out here?

Highway One was nothing compared to this road, she thought as the dirt road climbed and plunged and twisted through the foggy forest. She would hate to drive it in the muddy season, and she said a silent prayer that it didn't rain while she was at the commune or the road would be completely impassable.

For four miles, she drove through ruts and over rocks, and it was only then that she noticed her gas gauge: the needle was a hairbreadth above empty.

“Idiot,” she said out loud to herself. She would never get out of here.

She spotted another wooden arrow affixed to a tree, and turned in the direction it pointed to find herself in what appeared to be a clearing, or at least a parking area. She could make out a green truck and a battered white Volkswagen van. Then she spotted a building, a large cabin, perhaps, to the right of the vehicles. It wasn't until she'd parked her car next to the van that she saw a woman run down the few steps of the cabin toward her car, and it took her a moment to recognize her.
Penny!
Her dirty-blond hair was long and straight, parted in the middle, and she was wearing a white halter top with strands of beads dangling from the shoulders. Even in the hazy fog, it was obvious she was wearing no bra. She looked more
like twenty than thirty-seven, and only when Carlynn got out of the car to hug her old friend did she see the fine lines on her face.

“You look beautiful!” Carlynn said as she drew away from Penny.

“You, too,” Penny whispered.

Carlynn hugged her again, this time in sympathy at the weak sound of her voice. “Poor Penny. We've got to see if we can get you well again. It used to be hard to shut you up.”

“I know,” Penny said. “Everyone back home is teasing me that I must have used up my lifetime allotment of words already. The weird thing is, no one here knew me before, so they all think I'm this quiet little person.”

Carlynn laughed. “I can tell them the truth about you.”

“Let's take your things to my cabin, and then I'll give you a tour.” Penny grabbed Carlynn's hard-sided suitcase and guided her down a trail through the woods.

“Carly,” she said, looping her free hand through Carlynn's arm. “I just want to make sure you know that I don't expect a miracle from you. I mean, I know you can't always make things better. I read that in an article.”

“I'll do my best,” Carlynn said.

“You are
not
dressed for a commune,” Penny whispered. “Do you have some other clothes with you?”

“Of course,” Carlynn said. She'd left the center midday, so she still had on her work clothes—navy blue slacks, a white blouse and a white-and-blue checked cardigan. She'd brought jeans, jerseys and a sweatshirt with her, and she couldn't wait to change into them.

“How's the medical center you opened?” Penny asked as they walked.

“It's great,” Carlynn said, missing it a little already. “It's
my dream come true. We're hoping to prove that many so-called healers can really heal.”

“Well, you're the one for that job. I'll never forget how you fixed my leg after I fell from the terrace at your house.”

Carlynn laughed. “I'm not sure I did much,” she said. “I don't think your leg was really broken.”

“You're too modest. And speaking of modest, this is my abode.” Penny let go of Carlynn's arm and stepped onto the porch of a small cabin. “Come on in.”

Carlynn followed Penny into the cabin, noticing the wooden sign that read “Cornflower” hanging above the door.

The cabin was tinier than Carlynn could have imagined. It contained a minuscule living room, with an old sofa and a woodstove taking up much of the space, and an even smaller bedroom. Two twin mattresses, their sheets and blankets in disarray, were pushed together on the floor, leaving mere inches of floor exposed around them.

“Wow,” Carlynn said. “Cozy.”

Penny laughed. “No television,” she whispered. “No radios. Just birdsong and the sound of the ocean on a still night.”

Carlynn noticed the lanterns on the floor and the one tiny dresser. “Is there electricity?” she asked, thinking of her hair dryer. “Plumbing?” She hadn't noticed a bathroom in the small cabin.

“No and no,” Penny said. “There are a couple of communal latrines.” She must have seen Carlynn's look of dismay, because she laughed again. “You'll get used to it after a couple of days,” she whispered, then looked at Carlynn's navy-blue pumps. “Do you have anything that would be easier to walk in?” she asked.

“Sneakers,” Carlynn said. “I'll put them on.”

She changed her clothes and her shoes, and they left the cabin and wandered through the woods and open spaces of
the commune. Penny obviously knew her way around. She pointed out the different cabins to her, and after a while they reached a clearing, where children swung on rope swings hanging from the branches of mammoth trees and darted in and out of the fog. The latrine was not far from the clearing and it was worse than Carlynn had expected, an open area where everyone was expected to defecate side by side. She now understood why hippies had the reputation of being dirty, as they passed the one shower that served the entire community. The showerhead was rigged up to a tree, and it was connected to a huge barrel of water resting above a fire that someone would have to keep stoked, if anyone was to ever have a hot shower.

“Guess what, though,” Penny said in her anemic voice. “The main cabin—the one near where you parked—is where we cook meals, and it has plumbing, so you don't have to freak out about germs when you eat.”

Carlynn was secretly relieved by that fact. She was wondering how quickly she could help Penny with her voice so that she could leave this place. Being here was like stepping back—
way
back—in time. She decided, though, that she could only get through the next few days by taking on a positive attitude, and so she followed Penny to the large cabin for dinner that night with a smile on her face and her appetite intact.

They sat on benches at one of three long wooden tables, and Carlynn enjoyed the vegetables and rice and tofu, which she had never eaten before and which was not as bad as she'd expected. Penny introduced her to a few people at their table, but then leaned forward to tell her about her other friends sitting elsewhere in the room.