It was early November and life was on cruise control. Midterms were over and most students were too involved in their semester projects to be of any bother. The leaves were turning lovely shades of orange, yellow and red. An occasional leaf would escape early and go scooting down the street on a chilly breeze like a playful spirit off to cause some mischief.
The mystery of the seasons was in the air. The cycles of life, the permanence of impermanence, the change from sameness and the sameness of change all came together to provide an intensely mystical experience that we simply call a beautiful autumn day. If you get up early on an unseasonably cool day in the fall you can take a deep breath and feel the harbinger of winter sting your nose. When you breathe it out again you can see the spirit of the cold in your frosty breath.
The millstone of the seasons grinds up the events of the day into the sugar and flour of experience. From this sugar and flour we make the confections we call memories. The events of the day are substantial, but without meaning. Our memories are meaningful but without substance. It is the pattern of the seasons that makes a life of meaning and substance possible.
"What are you thinking about, Dr. Wentworth?" asked Patience as she approached. "You have such a far away look in your eyes."
I was leaning up against my car on G Street right outside of my office building. It was 9:00 on a Saturday morning and I had asked Patience and Angel to meet me there because we were planning a trip to Lurray Caverns and a drive down Skyline Drive. Skyline Drive is very popular this time of year. It is a mountain road from which you can see deep into the Shenandoah Valley with its impressive array of colors from the changing leaves.
"Nothing," I said. Moments like these were too difficult to explain. Whenever I attempted an explanation, I ended up just feeling foolish. So I kept my musings to myself. "Are you ready to go?"
Patience smiled and threw her backpack into the back seat. Smitty got into the back seat from the other side and Angel got into the front.
"Well, I guess you're my date," I said teasingly to Angel. She gave me an 'In-your-dreams' look but didn't say anything.
We went down 23rd street, across the Roosevelt Bridge and escaped onto Route 66 leaving the hurried pace, concrete buildings and shortage of parking spaces behind us. The sky was clear blue and I cracked my window to let in the fresh fall air. In the back seat there was some bustling, an occasional giggle and noises that I did not care to identify. Angel was staring blankly at the horizon.
"It looks like you have a lot on your mind, Angel," I observed. I wanted to focus on something other than the back seat and couldn't bring myself to say 'A penny for your thoughts'.
"Yeah," she said slowly. "I've been thinking about things a lot lately."
I was getting better at these Mars and Venus conversations and didn't mention that her statement did not add any additional information. Besides this was still better than listening to the slurping noises behind me. "What have you been thinking about?" I prodded.
"My step father died," she observed with the detachment of someone reporting that one of their blue chip stocks did not meet its quarterly earnings forecast.
Life and death; the wheel of the seasons; everything changes and everything remains the same. I was going to share my musing with her, but whenever I did she put on a passive look of feigned interest and never commented. I always felt like I was being tolerated. Instead I took a more direct approach. "So you are thinking about life and death and where it is all going?" I asked. There was a loud wet noise and a giggle from the back seat. It was all I could do to not look in the rear view mirror to see what was going on.
"No," she said. "I am concerned about my mother."
Angel, whose real name is Anjali Chakravarthy, has an Indian mother and an American father. They met in the late sixties when young Americans were making spiritual treks to India. Angel's father was concerned more about his draft status than his spirit and decided to hold up in India till the war in Vietnam had ended. When amnesty was finally granted after the war ended, Angel's father decided to return to the States for a visit. The custom's inspectors at La Guardia airport found a kilo of hashish in his belongings that caused him to bolt from the airport never to be seen again. Angel's mom took it pretty hard but eventually pulled herself together and married a Bengali rug merchant name Chakravarty.
"What's wrong with your mother?" I asked trying my best to be delicate. "I understand that she has plenty of money and that her family has forgiven her for the misadventures of her youth. Why are you so concerned?"
"Because she is trying to locate my real father."
It was like a cloud moving across the sun. Angel constantly battled conflicting forces in her personality. Part of her was a rebellious hip child in the tradition of the sixties. The other part was a very traditional Indian woman. Her calm composure was like snow cover on the side of a mountain. It looked stable and peaceful. But a small disruption would set off an avalanche. Having her father come back into her life would be more than a small disruption. It would likely send her into a tailspin of inner conflicts.
A dark mood settled over the car. The noises from the back seat desisted. Patience and Smitty were staring out of their side windows lost in thought. Apparently the mood was ruined.
About a half an hour past Chantilly we stopped at the Dew Drop Inn for brunch. "It's my treat," I offered trying to perk up everyone's spirits. As we got out of the car, the cool air helped a bit. It was about ten degrees cooler than it had been downtown and the air was much cleaner.
The tables in the Dew Drop Inn were coated with about a half an inch of clear lacquer. The cream was in a picture shaped like a cow and three varieties syrup were available in pitchers shaped like trees with the spouts coming out of the trunk like branches. The waitress was wearing a pink uniform dress and white walking shoes. She walked briskly over to our table, smiled and stood nearly at attention. Her order pad was held up prominently with a sharp pencil ready to record our midmorning culinary desires. On her pocket was a black enamel nametag with white letters spelling out the name Mabel.
"What can I getcha?" she asked with perky syncopation and a country friendliness that did not instinctively mistrust strangers.
I ordered buckwheat pancakes and country sausage. Smitty got the same. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. Patience ordered oatmeal with a biscuit on the side and Angel order a half a cantaloupe with corn flakes. I cannot understand how they could pass up the country sausage. But, there we go with that Mars and Venus thing again.
"I hear you nailed the guy on the Oxenstein case," Smitty offered, trying to get some table conversation going.
"We sure did," I agreed. "And we got most of D.J. Calahan's money back too!"
Angel shifted in place just slightly.
"Thanks, of course, to Angel and Patience," I added quickly.
We congratulated ourselves and recounted significant events of the story over and over again. Each retelling made us look even more brilliant and more heroic than the previous. If we had ordered desert we could have embellished the story until we single handedly saved mankind from destruction. But the more we went over the facts of the case, the more uneasy I was getting. There was a loose end somewhere and I couldn't put my finger on it.
"Too bad Gita couldn't join us today," Patience observed.
"Yeah, it is too bad." I agreed. But my thoughts were somewhere else. Loose ends on a case are like loose threads on a knit sweater. If you don't secure them the whole sweater will unravel. I had a sinking feeling that my airtight case might well be unraveling as we spoke.
I paid the bill and left a generous tip for Mabel. Patience and Smitty headed for the bathroom while Angel and I walked out to the car.
"It's such a beautiful day," I observed. "The clouds are hanging in the blue sky like fluffy cotton balls."
Angel tried to force a smile but just couldn't make it. I wanted to hug her or do something to make her feel better. But I also try to keep my distance from my teaching assistants, lest it be misunderstood. So instead, I opened the car door and held it for her. Patience and Smitty piled into the back seat. Off we were; Skyline drive or bust. There was some occasional giggling from the back seat but the noises had stopped so I didn't mind.
An hour later we were on Skyline drive. It was a natural roller coaster ride. As you wound up the mountainside some of the curves left you looking deep into the valley below. I got dizzy a couple times and had to drive a little more slowly. In the city you loose your appreciation for the magnificence of nature. We stopped at a roadside overlook and looked down thousands of feet into the valley below. I could imagine early settlers overlooking the valley from this very place. No wonder they were religious. It is hard not to believe in a God when you see nature looking this magnificent.
A few miles past the overlook we stopped at a roadside stand and bought apple butter, apple cider and some fresh apples. The fresh apples we crisp like the cool air. Somehow breathing the air and eating the apples made us all a part of nature.
Finally we arrived at Lurray Caverns. There was a line to get in so we went immediately to the end, hurrying slightly to get there before the other people who had arrived at the same time. Next us was a sign on a white pole that was stuck in a bucket of hardened concrete. The sign said "Your tour group will leave in 15 minutes." There was a stick figure on the sign pointing to a sundial watch. I wondered how well that sundial worked inside the caverns.
While we waited, we talked about the terrific views that we had seen and how scary it was going around some of the corners. We wondered what it would be like living in one of those houses in valley and having to worry all the time that a car would fly off the curve and come through your roof. After exactly fourteen minutes and forty-seven seconds we boarded the elevator that would take us into the caverns.
Our guide's name was Myrtle and she told us about the history of the caverns like we where the only ones she had ever told the story to. She was fresh and enthusiastic even though she had probably done this pitch hundreds of times. I wish I were that fresh and enthusiastic giving my lectures.
Caverns are formed when underground water begins running through crevices in limestone or dolomite rock. If the water starts at the surface it absorbs carbon dioxide making it slightly acidic. Over thousands of years this slightly acidic water wears away and dissolves the soft rock. Then the water table drops leaving a cavernous hole in the rock.
The wheel turns. Years become decades. Decades become centuries and centuries become millennia. The water slowly and persistently wears away at the rock. When this cave began humans were wandering around the plains of central Europe. In the same time people built impressive building and the water made an impressive cave.
We were standing in a cavern where the ceiling was 140 feet high. A ten-story building could fit in this one.
By the time we got back up to the surface it was dark and quite chilly. Patience and Smitty went to the souvenir stand. I walked out side with Angel and looked at the clear autumn sky.
"The cave, the sky," she began. "It makes you feel small and insignificant." Her voice wavered and I saw a tear running down her check. "Very small and very unimportant."
I looked at her in the moonlight and could see her stoic face trying to mask the pain. "This is about more than the sky and the cave," I said. "This is about your father, isn't it?"
Tears began to flow freely down her cheeks but her sobs were not detectable. "Yes, it is." She said. "It about my father. What if my mother finds him?"
"O.K. say that your mother finds him. What is the worst thing that could happen?" I asked.
"He could run away again," she blurted. Her tears were coming in torrents and her chest was heaving with sobs. She looked small and vulnerable.
I wanted to do something but I felt totally inadequate. I looked at her and couldn't help but feel her pain. I put my arm around her and pulled her close to me. "It will be O.K." I said simply because I had no idea what else to say. "Everything will be O.K."
She held on to me for a minute or so more and then sniffed and laughed a little. "I'm being silly." She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of a tissue and forced a slight smile. "Of course, you're right, Dr. Wentworth. It will be O.K."
Of course, I wasn't at all sure that it would be O.K. If I had been honest I would have said "Brace yourself. You are probably in for the worst shit you'll ever face in your life." But then that would not have made her feel better so I let it slide.
Patience showed up wearing a T-shirt that said "I'm with Stupid" and an arrow pointing to the right. Smitty was wearing a T-shirt that said "I'm with Beautiful" with an arrow pointing to the left. Both T-shirts said Lurray Caverns across the bottom. I thought they both should be wearing "I'm with Stupid" T-shirts, but I kept it to myself.
On the way back I took Route 81 North to Winchester and Route 7 East. I didn't want to brave those mountain roads in the dark. Angel fell asleep and I was glad that she found some peace in slumber. There was still an occasional giggle from the back seat and I wondered to myself if those two were ever going to get tired.
Finally we arrive home. I dropped everyone off at their apartments because it was late and I didn't want them to have to ride the subway. The subway isn't that dangerous, but it is a bit of a hassle. It was midnight by the time I finally got home. I was both renewed and exhausted. All I wanted was to take a hot shower and fall into bed. I noticed that the red light on my answering machine was blinking and I debated whether to check it now or leave it for the morning. However, knowing how I am I wouldn't sleep until I knew what the message was about. I pressed the play button.
"Professor Wentworth, this is Joe Wilson at the DCPD. I need you to give me a call when you have a minute. The Oxenstein case fell apart. McNulty has an airtight alibi for the night of the murder.
"Damn," I thought. "Must be one of those loose ends. But what ever it is, it will wait till tomorrow."