The Last Pilot: A Novel (5 page)

Okay, she said.

Okay, he said, then, what’s the matter?

I need to pee, she said.

He laughed. She slipped out of bed. He sat on the edge and stared into the empty room. The toilet flushed. He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled off his clothes, and got back into bed.

Not the eye mask, he said as she got back in.

It’s too damn bright in here with a full moon, she said.

You a werewolf?

Werewolves change shape with a full moon, she said, not have a hard time sleeping.

You look like a giant fly.

Come here and kiss me, she said, lying down.

No way!

C’mon.

I don’t want to kiss an insect.

She sought him out, buzzing through her teeth. He laughed. She climbed on top of him.

There you are, she said.

Get off, he said, laughing.

No.

Get off!

Never!

She stuck out her tongue and moved it toward him.

This is gettin weird, he said.

She took off the mask.

That’s better, he said.

She bent down and kissed him and he turned her gently beneath him.

Oh, now you want some? she said.

I love you, he said.

I know, she said, giving a gentle gasp, and he kissed her.

She looked up at him, and he at her, and she touched his face, and he kissed her again, then said, but I’m on the flight line at five, so—he rolled onto his back—I gotta sleep.

You pig! she said.

Can I borrow your mask?

I can’t believe I married you!

You are one lucky girl.

Go to sleep, she said.

Already halfway there, hon, he said.

She stretched out her arm and switched off the lamp. In the darkness, she said, Jim? Do you still love me?

He turned to look at her and stroked her face and said, I do.

They sat with six others on hard benches in silence. Stenciled in black on clouded glass spheres were three surnames, each hanging from a different door like droopy flower-heads. There was no clock.

The middle ball lit up and a loud buzzer sounded. A woman stood, folded her magazine, placed it back on the table and walked through the door.

Then there were five, Harrison said. Who we following?

You didn’t have to come, Grace said.

What’s the matter?

I said I’d be fine. Margaret Anderson. And nothing’s the matter. Keep your voice down.

You don’t sound fine.

I’m just saying you don’t need to be here; I know you want to get back.

When did I say that? Old man said take what I need.

Doesn’t matter.

Right.

How much longer? she said.

Want me to ask? he said.

No, she said.

What’s the time?

No clock.

You not got a wristwatch?

At the base.

What time we get here?

Ten before ten.

Must be gone eleven.

Uh-huh.

You want to get going? she said. I can get a ride back.

Nope, he said.

I know you don’t like doctors.

I don’t.

So go back. I’m fine.

I’m taking care of you.

I can take care of myself.

Knock it off, would you?

You’re not the one they’ve poked and scraped.

I’m just trying to look after you.

I know.

Okay.

I’m sorry.

Let’s just see what they say, he said. Find out what the hell’s going on.

I don’t want to know, Grace said, staring up at the door.

Two years, you don’t want to know?

I want kids, Jim; I want to have kids.

I know you do, honey, so do I, but, you know, it isn’t always possible for everyone.

A ball lit, the buzzer sounded. Another woman stood and disappeared through a door.

How much longer we gotta sit here for? Grace said.

Harrison got up and walked around the room. He peered at posters of dissected hearts and warnings about liver disease. Ten minutes later, Margaret Anderson rose and, twenty minutes after that, so did they.

Mrs. Harrison, please, take a seat.

The doctor gestured toward a chair in front of his cherrywood desk.

I don’t believe we’ve met? he said, holding out a hand to Harrison. He shook it.

Jim Harrison.

Bob Roberts, pleasure.

Your name is Robert Roberts? Harrison said.

Yes it is, he said, removing his reading glasses from his front pocket and sitting down behind his desk. Care to take a stab at my middle name?

Harrison glanced at his wife.

I’m just kidding; it’s David. Please, sit down.

Harrison sat down.

So, Doctor Roberts said, tucking the stems of his glasses behind his ears and flipping open a gray file. We have some results. I’m sorry to tell you that our suspicions were correct.

He removed his glasses.

You have Stein-Leventhal Syndrome, Grace, he said. Anovulation; that is, absent ovulation, excessive androgens and, from the X-rays—he pulled the glasses back to his face—ovarian cysts; a pretty thick covering, looking at these.

What can you do? Harrison said.

Not much, he said, lowering his glasses.

Can you fix it?

No.

Why not?

There’s no cure; it was diagnosed only ten years ago.

So what have you been doing for the last ten years? Harrison said.

Jim, Grace said. Do you know what causes it?

We don’t, Doctor Roberts said. We think it’s an anatomic abnormality; a disorder, if you will. The ovaries produce excess androgens—male hormones—and develop thick cysts that cover the surface, preventing ovulation. And, as you are no doubt aware, with no egg, there can be no—

I get it, Harrison said. Honey?

I’m okay, Grace said.

It’s not something we know much about, unfortunately, Doctor Roberts said.

Wonders of modern medicine, Harrison said.

It has its limits, it always has. Stein-Leventhal affects maybe four, five percent of women; maybe less. Out of those, some certainly go on to have children, but they
are
ovulating, if sporadically.

Is there anything we can do? Grace said. Anything at all?

Not much. Eat well, stay active. You know, I see women from time to time, struggling to conceive a child, and they sit in that chair and they tell me it’s their right to have children; they want a baby and it’s their right. I tell them it isn’t a right; it’s a privilege. Some women can’t have children. That’s a sad fact, and it isn’t fair, but that’s how it is. I’m telling you this, Grace, because I think you understand. Live your life. Don’t waste it lamenting what you think is required to complete it. That disrespects the miracle of your own birth, and that of your husband’s. Now, go, both of you, and get on with it. I’ll see you again in six months for a checkup. You can make the appointment with Mrs. Webber on the way out.

Thank you, Doctor Roberts, Grace said.

You’re very welcome. If you have any questions, anything at all, you can call me and we’ll talk. That goes for you, too, Captain.

Outside, she leaned against the car and held her head. The car was hot from the sun.

Hey, he said.

She pulled herself into him.

I know, but just let me, let me—

It’s okay.

She drove him back to the base. The car was an old Model A coupe that Harrison had been given. The engine idled. Outside the window, mountains rose in the distance.

You got any? she said.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. She sighed.

You okay? he said.

She shrugged, tucked one behind her ear and put the other between her lips. She looked at the sky.

Here, he said, striking a match from the box on the dash.

Go on, she said. I got things to do.

He got out and she drove away.

Ridley was in his office, boots resting on his desk, reading and smoking. The sound of mechanics and technicians working in the hangar leaked up through the floor.

Mornin, Ridley said.

Everything okay? Harrison said.

Everything dandy.

Harrison sat down.

Jim.

Harrison turned to see Yeager in the doorway, young boy at his side.

Chuck, he said, and why if it isn’t Don too!

Hi, Uncle Jim.

Don was three, dressed in blue, tatty cap on his head.

How’s it goin, Don? Harrison said.

Good, Don said.

Here to see your daddy fly, ain’t you? Ridley said.

Don nodded.

My Daddy never takes long, he said.

Ridley chuckled. All set? he said to Yeager.

Jus need to get changed.

The intercom on Ridley’s desk buzzed, calling Yeager down.

Harrison stood.

You can watch me from here, Don, Yeager told his son. I’m goin that way. He pointed west, out the window.

You can stand on the radiator, Don, get a better view, Ridley said.

Let’s get this over with, Yeager said. Jack? Be right back, Don.

Okay Daddy.

The two men left. Don tried to climb onto the radiator. It was too high. Harrison watched him look around; he watched him walk across to Ridley’s desk, pick up an old flight helmet and carry it back to the radiator to use as a step. He stared at the boy, on the radiator, hands flat against the window, steam expanding and contracting from where his face pressed against the glass.

That night, at Pancho’s, Harrison sat with Yeager, Ridley, Cardenas, Kit Murray and Bob Hoover and went over the flight plan for the morning. The men drank beer and felt good. When they were finished, Ridley stood up and said to Yeager, don’t push her past point nine-eight-eight unless you’re sure you can handle it. And we’re on an unrestricted frequency, remember, so if the Machometer reads one or more, tell me the thing’s playin up or something; I’ll know what you mean.

Sure thing, Jack, Yeager said. Jim an me stayin for another; Glennis be here in a bit.

Don’t you kids go stayin out too late, now, Hoover said, rising. Murray and Cardenas laughed as they stood.

After they’d left, Yeager said, jeez, I’m beat.

Yeah, Harrison said.

Old man took me aside yesterday an said, Chuck, lot of scientists, engineers still of the opinion that, at the speed of sound,
g-forces become infinite
.

What’d you say?

What we said. That the buffeting may decrease and things get easier as you approach Mach one.

What he say to that?

He opened the door to his office, where a bunch of fellas were waitin on him, and yelled, no rudder, no elevator, buffeting severe at one speed, mild the next, nose-up at point eight-seven, nose-down at point nine-zero: that airplane is liable to go in any direction, or all of them at once, but Yeager, Harrison and Ridley anticipate no difficulty, no difficulty at all, in attaining Mach one on Tuesday.

He sounds pissed.

Couldn’t tell what he was; he was smilin half the time.

I noticed that about him. Says take it easy one minute; next he’s champing at the bit.

Hell, Boyd’s a pilot through an through. If it was up to him, we’d have done it a week ago.

The men sat for a moment in silence.

Harrison saw the door open; it was Glennis. Over here, he said. Yeager looked around.

His wife approached the table. Hi, hon, Yeager said.

Where’s Pancho? she said.

Out back, in one of her rages, Harrison said. Some cop pulled her for having misaligned headlights.

Yeager chuckled.

Says she’s gonna take him to court.

There’s a woman you want on your side, Glennis said, sitting down.

Not sure bout that, Yeager said.

Pass me some of that, would you? she said to him.

He pushed his bottle to her. She took a swig and looked at Harrison.

What happened? What the doctor say about Gracie? she said.

He leaned back in his chair.

Jim?

There’s a problem, Harrison said. It’s rare.

Goddamn. How rare?

Four, maybe five percent.

Five percent?

Maybe less.

Can they do anything?

Nope.

Why the hell not?

Doctors don’t know much about it. Only gave it a name a decade ago.