Gift of the Golden Mountain (6 page)

     "No dogs, please God," Hayes Diehl said.

     May asked, "Is that a question or a prayer?"

     "It's one of the problems with my current apartment," he answered. "The landlady has two Dobermans who maintain a curfew and accept no excuses. One minute past midnight and you don't get in."

     Laughter spilled out of Karin, who was pulling up the rear.

     May turned to look at him, one eyebrow raised, and asked, "Dobermans who tell time?"

     "They even know which way to set their clocks for Daylight Savings," he answered.

     When the door to the cottage was pushed open, a musty smell rushed at them. May propped the door with a stone so the air could get in. There was one very large room with a Pullman kitchen at one end, and at the other a huge stone fireplace that rose to the top of the vaulted ceiling. A single bed filled an alcove. "The sofa makes into a queen-sized bed," Karin explained, "and there is a bathroom and a large walk-in closet—and that's about it. It has more charm than space, I'm afraid." It troubled Karin that she and May had not come to a decision about the cottage, or if they would let Sam have it.

     Hayes stood silently in the middle of the room, taking his time, looking carefully but not, as May had expected, checking out any of the details.

     "You said the Dobermans were 'one' of the problems," she broke in.

     "I'm also active in the Stop-the-Draft movement." He grinned. "My landlady calls me 'a rabble rouser.' Actually, I'm not very good at rousing, but I have been involved politically in the peace movement—I guess I'm what the papers would call an antiwar activist, in case that's a problem for you."

     "No," May said, and Karin broke in to add, "The hot water heater works fine and the stove is okay, too. I'm afraid the refrigerator is a little small, and noisy."

     He said, "I would like to rent it," surprising both of them.

     "You haven't asked how much," Karin chided.

     "How much?" he asked.

     "Two-fifty a month," she told him, and he said, "Does that include the birdbath?"

     It was May's turn to laugh. He looked at her, as if he were trying to remember something, and then he said, to make sure they knew he was serious, "I do want to rent it."

     May shot a glance at Karin, who looked away, so she said, "Don't you think it's going to be a little cramped for the two of you?"

     He looked puzzled. "Two?" he asked, confused.

     "I thought you said Sam told you—" Karin began, then started over. "I had understood that Sam was looking for someone to share the cottage."

     A look of surprise passed over his face. He thrust his hands into his pockets and for a moment looked away, but recovered quickly. "Sam was talking at his usual fifty miles a minute, and my brain doesn't operate at those rpms—I must have missed a turn." He grinned then, and shrugged. "It looks like I'm going to have to make peace with the Dobermans."

     At that moment Sam pulled into the driveway. He was driving the "Winged Victory," his old Dodge truck, well past its prime, which he had painted a bright blue, with Day-Glo pink angel wings sprouting majestically from each door.

     "Hayes," he said, jumping out of the car in one long fluid motion, smiling with real delight. "Sorry I'm late . . . you've met my friends."

     "I talked my way into the cottage," Hayes told him, "and it is as terrific as you said it was, but a little tight for space, I think. I've got too many elbows, need a room for each." His tone was easy, friendly. It was clear that Sam had not told Hayes about the plan to share the cottage. May glanced at Karin, and wondered if she realized that Hayes was saving face for Sam.

     
Saving face.
Her father had taught her how important it was to give people a graceful way out. Why had she remembered that now? She wondered if Hayes was doing it because Sam was Asian. Did that mean that Caucasian-Americans perceive Asian Americans as requiring a different kind of treatment? And isn't that racist?

     May was lost in thought, and Hayes had squatted to rub the ears of a friendly black dog which had wandered into the yard. A silence seemed in danger of settling in, so Karin asked, "Are you two old friends?"

     Sam spoke before Hayes could: "We went to high school together. Actually, I know Andy better—Andy is Hayes's younger brother. You are what, three years older?" he asked, turning to Hayes, but not waiting for an answer. "I remember you were a senior when I was a freshman. They called Hayes 'Big Diehl,'" he told them, "and Andy was 'Little Diehl.'"

     Sam was acting now, he had figured out what must have happened and his high spirits had crashed. "You ladies should know that Hayes here really was a Big Deal—Rhodes scholar, Ivy League, Peace Corps, all round Big Man. Now he's leading the charge against the Establishment."

     Hayes shifted uncomfortably. "No, now I'm just hungry and I think I'd better be moving . . ."

     "You can't do that," Sam cut in, his voice suddenly urgent. "How about a cup of coffee?" he asked, and when it appeared that Hayes was going to decline, he insisted, "Listen, pal, I'm sorry about the cottage—that it wasn't right, I mean. I should have figured . . . but listen, really, no harm done. Let's all go down to the Cafe Med for an espresso. I'm buying." It was not a casual invitation; May wondered haw Hayes would get out of it.

     To her surprise, he didn't try. "Sure," he answered. May couldn't resist saying, "We promise to have you home by midnight."

     Hayes and Karin and May laughed together; Sam wasn't in on the joke. Karin, contrite, quickly invited them to the house for coffee. "It's silly to go out," she said to Sam, "when we've just brewed a whole pot. And I was just about to make French toast."

     Sam started again almost as soon as they were settled around the little table in the dining alcove off the kitchen. "Let's play get acquainted," he announced with game-show cheerfulness. "You first Hayes, why don't you start by giving us a rundown—really, May and Karin want to know, don't you?"

     Hayes was fingering a ginger jar, taking the lid off and then putting it back on again, as if it were a puzzle.

     Sam smiled too brightly. "Hayes is reticent, refreshingly reticent."

     May saw the annoyance in Hayes's eyes; he was not going to answer, she could tell, and she wondered why. Sam's barbs were purposeful, she knew that, though it took her awhile to realize that he was punishing Hayes for not wanting to share the cottage.

     "Karin is a getting her master's in art history," May cut in, wanting to take the lead away from Sam, "and I'm in geology."

     "Geology?" he repeated, and once again it seemed as if he was trying to remember something, groping for some connection. "Nick Vergetti!" he said, "That's it. You were on the Thera project he ran a couple of summers back—I knew I'd heard your name before. Nick said he'd never seen anyone fall so hard for a volcano in his life."

     She laughed, pleased. "Well, that particular volcano is easy to fall for—there is a very credible theory that the lost city of Atlantis is buried there, under a blanket of volcanic ash and pumice—you know Nick?"

     "He's a family friend. I was supposed to meet him in Greece that summer, but . . ." he paused, as if he had suddenly run out of steam, and ended lamely by saying, ". . . it didn't work out."

     "So," Karin said, smiling, "you guys should already have met."

     "Fate," Sam cut in. "Real Kismet Kids, the two of you. The jet set crowd, summers in Greece, winters on the Cote d'Azur. Ah, the good life."

     Abruptly, he changed the subject. "How does Andy feel about going to 'Nam?" he asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. Instead he explained to May and Karin, "Andy is my age, you could almost say we grew up together. Andy got me in trouble in more ways than I care to remember . . . to give you some idea, his last big splash—literally—involved a truckload of bubble bath and five naked girls on Ocean Beach. I won't go into the details, but that was Andy's style."

     Hayes carefully sectioned a piece of French toast, dipped it deliberately in syrup, and answered Sam's question. "Andy seems to feel that Vietnam requires his services."

     "Jesus!" Sam blurted. "Didn't anybody tell him to head for graduate school, like the rest of us?"

     Karin was frowning. "Not every male at the University is there to avoid the draft," she said.

     "However," Hayes put in, smiling at Karin to take the edge off, "that does happen to be a good reason for being here. I don't think we should be in Vietnam at all. I wish my brother agreed with me."

     "So do I," Sam said, suddenly sobered. "God, it must have been rough, trying to reason with Andy—I mean, once he sets his mind to something . . ."

     "I know, he wrote the book on stubborn," Hayes said, and having reached this agreement both of them seemed to relax.

     The conversation moved from one subject to the next, without any particular plan, as it does when people get to know each other. Karin started to break more eggs to make a second batch of toast, and Sam pulled her away, telling her to take it easy for a while and let him take over. The talk drifted aimlessly. At one point Sam asked Hayes, "Didn't you manage to pick up some tropical bug in Africa or something, when you were in the Peace Corps?"

     "He seems to know all your secrets," May said to Hayes. He didn't answer, he was looking out the window, seeming to concentrate on the birdbath where several small birds were flicking water over themselves.

     Then he said, in a whimsical tone: "It's only a little asthma I got skating against the wind in Flanders."

     May had been sipping coffee, and she choked. It took her awhile to get her breath. Karin rose to pat her on the back, but she was laughing, both of them were laughing so hard they couldn't stop, and May couldn't catch her breath. Hayes watched, amused and puzzled. Finally, Karin was able to gasp,
"Tristram Shandy
!"—and the two dissolved into another round of uncontrollable laughter. Sam gave May a glass of water and waited.

     Finally May, dabbing her eyes, was able to speak, to explain how she and Karin had read
Tristram Shandy
out loud to each other in college, how much fun they had with it. They had memorized several passages—including the one about skating against the wind in Flanders. It had become their personal code—for a while they used "skating against the wind" to describe any ridiculous situation. If they missed the last bus from town, that was "skating against the wind." When Karin, fuzzy from staying up two nights in a row studying, had accepted not one but three dates for a Saturday night and all of them showed up, that was definitely "skating against the wind." And now, with Hayes coming out with their phrase without any warning whatsoever, well . . . She laughed weakly. "You can see how incredible . . ."

     Hayes was grinning, but Sam was not. Sam was quiet. He waited for May and Karin to calm down, to finish, to pay attention. When they did he said, "The reason I know so many of Hayes's 'secrets,' as you put it, is because my mother cleans house for the Diehls. She has been their housekeeper for fifteen years now, isn't that right, Hayes?"

"The Diehl housekeeper," May said, shaking her head, when they were alone.

     Karin replied, "Poor Sam."

     "Why 'poor' Sam?" May asked, irritated.

     "Because he is, well . . . ashamed, don't you think?"

     "I don't know if it's shame he feels, or envy."

     "Probably both," Karin came back, "and that's why I said. Poor Sam. What did you think of Hayes?"

     "You tell me first," May answered.

     "I think he is
interesting
," she began, deliberately. "We've been disconnected from all of the turmoil, the social movements on campus these past three years, and I'd like to know more about what's going on—and God knows, Berkeley is in the middle of it all. He seems like the sort of person who understands complications, who can figure out things quickly . . . he understands diplomacy, if you know what I mean . . . and yet he's funny, too. Smart and funny and yet . . ."

     Karin was silent for a long moment, until May prompted her. "And yet?"

     "Well, there was something else about him, as if he were backing away, not wanting to get too involved. With Sam, certainly, but with us, too . . ."

     "I'm not sure about that," May said. "After all, he wanted the cottage—until he found out that Sam came with it. I just think he seemed tired . . . Sam said something about him being sick, and I
think maybe he hasn't recovered. But I know what you mean . . . he isn't terrifically good looking, but he looks . . . finished."

     "Finished?" Karin said, "What do you mean, finished?"

     "I don't know, I guess that's the wrong word. Substantial, maybe. Sort of impressive."

     "A big deal?" Karen laughed.

     "That's it, how original of us." May laughed back.

     "I wish Sam hadn't been so abrasive," Karin put in, "He just doesn't seem quite to know how to handle social situations—"