Chapter

67

Flight 23 sat idle at its gate. The loading bays were receiving conveyor belts full of luggage, an occasional surf board and the inevitable cardboard boxes strapped, wound or taped with every and anything that would keep them closed until arrival.

As Father Stevens stood at the window of the terminal overlooking all the activity, he wondered if some of the crudely secured boxes weren’t destined for his island. It wasn’t unusual for an occasional Melanesian to visit the mainland and return with cherished gifts from relatives. He reminded himself of the gifts he too was returning with. Gifts of another nature. Gifts of value only he could appreciate.

Glancing to the far side of the airport, he remembered his arrival on Charlie’s Lear Jet, the limo, the lunch at the Marina, the long talk, the drive to the hotel, the unexpected night.  And then, the presence he’d felt as he exited the taxi.

“Anxious?” came the voice behind him.

Randall turned and shook his head. “No, Doctor. Just catching up. Reviewing a lifetime that has grabbed me in the last few hours.”

They shoot hands. “Feel like you’ve lived a couple?”  said Mathews.

“Might say that. You?”

“It’s been compelling. Hell of a way to become ‘user friendly,’ don’t you think?”

“Feel used?”

“Oh, no. I just meant it’s been difficult, but rewarding. There were times when I didn’t think we’d make it.”

“Happen often?” queried Father Stevens.

“What? Difficult patients?”

“The ‘rewarding’ part.”

“Not like this. But I don’t think I’d opt to do it over. You’ve been quite a journey, Father.”

Father Stevens nodded, his eyes gazing away. “I kept wondering when you’d tell me to find another doctor. Why didn’t you?”

“Same reason you never told me to find another patient. I’d have been walking out on myself.”

Father Stevens turned and said, “How do two ‘fathers’ say thanks to each other?”

They paused a moment, both feeling the answer, both hesitant to display their feelings amidst the throng of travelers. Mathews finally gathered the man of the cloth into his arms. “Like children,” he said.

They held each other until both had allowed the catharsis to fulfill itself. The past, whose slow volcanic eruption had finally reduced itself to swirling ash, was finally coming to rest.

They walked toward the gate in silence.

“Oh...,” Father Stevens reached in his pocket. “...Here.” He handed Mathews an mp3 cassette player and 2 more long play cassettes. “Thought you deserved this if you were going to spend the next year writing about me.”

“What’s this?”

“Last night. Farnsworth’s cassette recorder going away present at the party. Told me I deserved the latest technology for such a long-winded habit. Latest in ‘detail’ perfection, according to him. Voice activated, lots of gig, the nine yards. Just turn it on, he said, and...well, little did he know. Most of what I said last night should be on there. Julian said I talked like a canary, filled it up, so maybe it will help.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty spilling your guts to Julian and not me, Randall. He always was the right conduit in your mind.”

“It’s not guilt. You were there anyway, right? Clairvoyance didn’t need a ride on the back of a bike. You listen to that just in case you missed anything.”

“I didn’t know, really. Just a hunch I got in the back seat of the limo going home. Unfortunately, the miles and mountains you put between us just gave me a hellish night’s rest. This will be appreciated. Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Doctor.”

“You know, you’ve never called me by my first name.”

“You’re a doctor. Patients don’t call doctors by their first names.” “Just their last?”

“It was easier.”

“Than calling me Charlton?”

“Was kind of close. Could have gotten confusing.”

“Not anymore.”

Randall smiled. “Yeah. You’re right...Charlton.”

“Need I tell you how my friends converted that name?”

“I hate nick names. No. Charlton from here on. Okay?”

“Okay. Just a joke of my past I’ll keep to myself.”

“I can only imagine it was probably a good joke too,” said Randall. “Imagine what two Charlies might have done to me.”

Mathews looked askew at Father Stevens.  “How’d you know?”

Father Stevens shrugged.  Maybe we’re all clairvoyant, eh?

“Flight 23 is now ready for boarding “ rambled the overhead speakers. “We’ll be boarding rows...”

As the voice continued instructing the passengers, the Charlie of now and the two Charlies of the past year walked slowly toward the boarding entrance, the final threshold that would separate them perhaps forever.

“Look in on Sara and the gang when you get back?”

“Father, I expect they’ll be well looked after with all you surrounded them with.”

“My Trusts and bank accounts can only do so much. When you get back, make sure Max is keeping up his grades, Julian is taking all the recording time he needs with that harmonica—you know how he hates to spend money—and Sara never goes without...anything. You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean. Does she?”

“Hope so.  Best as I could tell her. It was hard.”

“Would it be any easier now?”

“You mean after last night at the cove?  Probably not.”

“Why don’t you let her decide.” Dr. Charlton Mathews raised his chin toward the gate where passengers were saying their good-byes. Standing there was Sara.

Father Stevens stopped.  After several seconds of dumb-struck silence, Father Stevens said, “Think this was a bad idea, Doctor.”

“My professional opinion is you’re probably right. My personal opinion is...you’ve got five minutes to departure.” He gave him one last shoulder hug, “Tell her I’ll wait out front. Love ya Randall.”

“I love you too...Charlie.”

The doctor turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowded terminal.

Randall turned back to the gate. How pretty she looked, he thought. He had never seen her this way. The all white dress, white hat and classic sheer veil was an image he hadn’t even imagined her in.

He walked through the passengers making their way to the entrance and stepped up to her.

They stood silent a few moments.

“Just wanted to thank you again for the beer,” she said.

“What?” answered Randall, still visibly nervous at hearing the voice he thought it best never to hear again.

“The beer you bought me in Death Valley. ‘Thank you for the beer,’ Remember? I think that was the first thing I ever said to you...first time I ever thanked you.”

“The beer,” he sighed. “Haven’t thought about that for a long time.”

“I have...a lot. Then Mathews called me at work this morning after you’d told him about last night, and he shared it all.  I’m sorry. I had to come and make sure I thanked you for all the time in between...all the months…”

“You’ve always been thanking me. We thanked each other a lot this past year. You didn’t need to come here for that.”

“I needed to thank the real you...the you that you realized fully last night. And... “

“And?”

“And see you one last time. Is that a sin, Father, to see you one last time.”

“No. I know how it feels...and it isn’t a sin. Goodbye Sara.”

He gripped her hand a long moment.

As he moved to leave, she held him back. With the other hand, she lifted her veil. Tears hung gently on the edges of her eyes. “On the cheek, Father Stevens. Just the cheek?”

Randall hesitated but a moment, knowing any longer would only make it worse. He leaned under her veil and allowed the touch of her skin to be forever remembered. “I will pray for us...every day and every night. God bless you.”

He turned and hurriedly moved to the Gate. “And you, Father,” came the tearful response.

Just as he handed his ticket to the attendant, he thought he heard Sara’s voice one last time above the many voices of the crowd...

“I love you Charles.”

EPILOGUE

The jungles are not for everyone, and so it was with hesitancy that Father Randall Stevens re-entered his chosen life, realizing the world of Charlie/Charles he had lived out the year before was still a part of him...and would always be a part of him.

As he entered the thatched roof home he had left over a year ago, the smiling faces of villagers peering through the open door made it a bit easier to handle the task that lay ahead of him. People needed to be taught...people needed to be fed...people needed to learn of that higher place in each of them that made all that life asked them to endure...bearable.

Later that first night, under the candlelight that modestly allowed him to see all he ever needed to see in the darkness of his room, he opened the mail that had accumulated over the year.

River boat mail service was once a month, so it was with a certain surprise, then a certain pride, then a certain thanks that he read the accumulated letters from all over the world...letters from one man who was, is and will forever be...the remembered brother he thought gone… but who had once again defied the odds and held on.

He stared into the flickering flame that held its own against the jungle breeze. He closed his eyes, laid his head back on the primitive floor and drifted off to sleep, reminding himself he would have to answer the letters next morning.

Hours later, the candle flame’s light passed, making room for the morning sun. As he awoke, the layers of melted wax covering the letters, envelopes, and cancelled stamps from New York, Las Vegas, Hong Kong, and San Francisco further reminded him of the impatience of time. His eyes drifted to the latest letter bearing but one sentence, “just in case.” Inside the envelope was a Charlie Stevens pass book for a Swiss bank account now bearing the additional name of Randall Stevens.

He could only imagine the hurt and disappointment Charlie must have experienced these past months, not hearing from the brother he had so painfully shared his life with that last night...

...the night that had become the most precious memory...for both.

End