Flight of the Intruder

TEN

The sunbeam crept across the bed and woke Jake Grafton. He turned his head to escape it, but the beam continued its march and burned the sleep from him. Somewhere outside a bird was squawking.

Uncomfortable, he sat up against the headboard. His tongue was like a dust rag. The left side of his head was sore, probably from that punch he had almost stopped with his nose. I’ll never smoke another cigarette if I live to be a hundred, he swore to himself, or take another drink. The pain seemed to lessen if he remain absolutely motionless with his eyes closed. He had begun to doze again when the door to the room opened.

“How’s the hangover?” asked Sammy. He pull some aspirin from his toilet kit and placed them in Jake’s hand. “Take these. They’ll help some.”

Jake pried open one eye, regarded the white tablets and weighed their possible benefits against the effort required to transport himself to the water faucet in the bathroom. Finally he heaved himself up, made the tri and returned to the bed. Lundeen had flopped down on his bed in the shade.

“What time is it?” Jake asked.

“Time for you and me to go to Hong Kong.”

Jake glared at his friend.

“That’s right. You heard me. Hong Kong. You and me. I’ve already been down to the ship and seen the Old Man and filed out our leave forms.” Lundeen bounded off the bed and flourished two pieces of paper. “We’re off to Hong Kong for four days.”

“Can’t you see I’m dying of an alcohol overdose? I’m half-dead now. You can’t be serious. Why do you want to go to Hong Kong, anyway? I don’t have the money to go flying all over the Orient. Nor do I have the desire. Let me die quietly, okay?”

“Goddamn you, Grafton,” Lundeen shouted. “Get your butt out of that bed and let’s go to Hong Kong.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t yell, my head’s about to split.”

Jake exhaled slowly. “You sure you really want to go?”

“Yeah, I really want to go, you old maid. Now let’s get the show on the road.”

Jake stood up. “My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut.”

“You can eat on the plane.”

“You’re brimming with sympathy today. You can eat on the damn plane. I’m eating at the club in twenty minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later they were on their way to the club carrying their flight gear-to be sent to the ship-and their overnight bags.

Halfway there Jake dropped his bags on the sidewalk and puked in the grass.

“You’re not going to put food in that stomach, are you?”

“Soup. Got to get something in or I’ll be sick all day.”

“Next time don’t drink so much.”

“You oughtta be a priest.”

“They don’t get enough ass,” Lundeen replied and marched off down the sidewalk.

Once inside the cool darkness of the club, Jake began to feel better. The waitress came for their order, and Lundeen ordered first.

“Eggs Benedict, side order of ham, and a half bottle of champagne.”

Jake’s stomach fluttered. He put on his sunglasses and ordered tomato soup, milk, and plain toast. After the waitress left, he rested his chin on his hands and stared out the window at the harbor. He tried to recall the events of the previous evening but it was all jumble.

Sammy remarked, “I heard all about your little adventure in Po City last night. You might be interested in knowing that that’s one reason you and I are leaving this dump for a few days. Sooner or later someone’s going to shoot off his mouth. It won’t hurt an iota to let that storm blow over while you’re in Hong Kong. When the ship pulls out of port and they need guys to fill the flight schedule, the powers that be will view that little episode in a more forgiving light.” Grafton shrugged, “How’re we getting there?”

“All arranged. Met a guy last night who’s stationed here and belongs to the flying club. About noon he’s flying a Cessna over to Manila where we’ll catch a plane. That’s how I knew we could pull this off. He’ll take us if we pay for the fuel.”

“And how much is that?”

“Ten bucks each.”

“What’re we waiting for?”

Once they had cleared customs in Hong Kong at K Tak Airport and exchanged some money, Lundeen and Grafton hailed a taxi and set off for the peninsula Hotel, a huge old luxury hotel on the Kowloon water front overlooking the harbor. Hong Kong Island was visible across the water, about a mile away. “Why do you want to stay here?” Jake asked.

“Robert L. Scott strafed this hotel in a P-40 during World War II. The Japs were using it as quarters for their high command.”

“Who’s Robert L. Scott?”

“The guy who wrote God Is My Co-pilot.

“And I thought you just liked the view.”

Lundeen had insisted on a room facing the water. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and there were two large Victorian beds. The enormous, ornate furniture matched the scale of the room. Once the bellhop had been tipped and left, Jake opened the window. A sea breeze filled the room.

“Do me a favor, Sam.”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t mention bombing or the squadron or the war for the next four days. It’s shit. It’s all shit and I’ve had a fucking bellyful.”

“That’ll be easy,” Sammy said. It was not long before they went down to the lobby and headed for the bar.

The next morning Jake stood beside his bed, feeling slightly woozy. He looked at his trembling hands. The screams that had awakened him were still in his ears. He shuffled over to the upholstered chair next to the window and slumped down in the soft cushions.

Pieces of his dream receded beyond the reach of his consciousness as if sinking to the depths of the sea. He did recall that he had been alone in an Intruder and had dived at a target that glittered in the night-a target so significant that by bombing it, he, Jake Grafton, could end the war. What was the target? How could he pull off the attack without a bombardier? He remembered that after pickling his bombs he had felt no Gees tugging at him as he tried to pull up. Instead the Intruder vibrated, then shook wildly, and began to disintegrate amidst a bowling wind that was suddenly overridden the piercing cries of hundreds in mortal agony.

Jake sighed. So, he had screwed it up. He had tried to bomb a target that was, for once, truly important and he had clean missed it, Apparently. Was he supposed to think his bombs had instead destroyed a hospital teeming with people?

He decided that he wouldn’t let the dream lay a guilt trip on him.

To hell with it.

He stood up and stretched. He looked at Lundeen who was sleeping on his back with his mouth wide open, breathing noisily. Jake smiled. Hey, shipmate, he said to himself, you know what I ought to do? For you and Morgan and every other guy who’s hanging his out for nothing? I ought to find a fat target way north and bomb the living shit out of it. One good target. For all of us.

He walked into the bathroom, chuckling at his bravado. But what the hell, he thought. I might actually do it.

He didn’t bother to shave. He found his running shoes, shorts, and T-shirt buried deep in his cloth bag. He dressed in the weak light coming through the window.

He started running as soon as he reached the bottom of the hotel’s back-door steps. It took only a minutes for him to realize how out of shape he was.

His breathing was labored, without rhythm, and his legs wooden. It was not a good day for running; the air was chilly and the fine drizzle would soon soak his cloth. He would take a long hot bath when he got back to the hotel.

On the narrow streets Jake had to dodge and weave to avoid obstacles: bicycles, an occasional automobile pedestrians who looked at him with curiosity, chattering black-haired, shiny-faced children who mostly ignored him, and shopkeepers raising their brightly colored awnings and arranging wares that spilled onto the streets. Jake was surprised there was so much activity shortly after eight in the morning.

He was glad to reach Nathan Road, a four-lane boulevard where the sidewalks were wider. He passed stores selling electronic equipment, cameras, watches, imported perfumes, and clothing; revving buses and honking taxis passed him by. The red-and-white double-decker buses reminded him of London, but the many large unlit neon sign”SONY, WINSTON FILTER CIGARETTES, COCA-COLA-reminded him of Times Square.

After he had run about a mile and a half, a splash of vivid red caught his eye. As he jogged closer he saw a red sweater, worn by a young woman in a straw hat and jeans. She was sitting on a small metal stool beneath a low awning at the entrance to an alley that ran between two apartment buildings.

In her lap was a sketch pad, which he glanced at as he ran behind her. He saw the vague outlines of buildings and the beginnings of some human figures.

He decided that he’d run for ten more minutes, five minutes in the same direction and then he’d circle back and hope to find the woman again. His breathing was rhythmic now, and he ran more on his toes. This would make his calves ache tomorrow. Twenty minutes or so would be a good run. Enough for one day.

When he returned she was still there, sketching under the awning. A crowd of children, ranging in age perhaps from five to eight, played in the alley and on the sidewalk, oblivious to the drizzle. The drawing had progressed markedly. The buildings and storefronts had taken shape and she was working on the children, who seemed to present a challenge because she erase some legs.

Jake stood a moment behind her, then he moved up to her left.

“You’re doing a nice job,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said with an American accent. She looked quickly at Jake, who noticed that her eyes were very dark and that she appeared to be in her mid twenties. “But I’m afraid it’s really not very good.” She brushed away the eraser crumbs with the edge of her hand.

“It’s tough when your models won’t sit still.”

She was working on the children again and didn’t respond right away.

“I’m not sure that it would make any difference if they were still as statues,” she said, not looking up. “I’ve always had trouble with legs-bar human legs, that is. Children always give me fits, dam their pudgy little knees,” Jake chuckled. “I have a solution. I’ll go down the street and buy long pants for all these kids.”

“Including the girls?”

“Sure,” said Jake. “I’ll explain that they’re required to wear trousers in the service of creating great art.”

She gave a short laugh. “I’m sure they’ll be persuaded by that argument.”

“They will be when I give each one a dollar.”

She turned her head and looked at him. “Bribery is very effective in Hong Kong,” she said with a quick smile. Her white teeth contrasted with her tanned skin. and her complexion was clear except for a small dark brown mole on her left temple. She wore no make-up that Jake could detect.

“I don’t know much about Hong Kong,” he said wishing that he had shaved.

She didn’t take up his remark but held a pencil to he and studied her sketch. Waiting for a reply, examined the children in the drawing-they floated above the sidewalk, unconcerned that they had no legs. Finally Jake said, “Ever try taking photographs?”

“No,” she said, not looking up.

“I meant that you could take pictures of the kids and work on your sketch at home. You could even trace the legs to get the hang of it.”

Jake moved closer to her and squatted down with his forearms on his knees. “Hey, I don’t know anything about art. Paintings, drawings, what do I know about it? If I made a dumb suggestion just’ “Do you always run around in the rain in your shorts?” she said, regarding him with raised eyebrows. “Maybe you should go down the street and buy long pants.” There was a hint of a smile. “I’ll give you a dollar if you do.”

Jake grinned. “American dollar or Hong Kong? While I’m at it, I’ll buy you a camera.”

“Touched,” she said. She swiveled on her stool to face him, and smoothed her jeans as if she were wearing a skirt. “You’re in the service, aren’t you,” she said, stating it as a fact.

Jake was surprised. “How’d you know?”

“Your haircut. It’s easy to spot a military man. But your T-shirt threw me off. Are you really a member of the Jersey City Athletic Club?”

“No, I stole this T-shirt from a guy named Cowboy Parker. He stole it from a guy named Little Augie. It’s only mine until someone steals it from me.”

“‘Cowboy,” ‘Little Augie’-which service are we talking about?”

“Navy. I’m a pilot.”

“A carrier pilot? Do you fly over Vietnam?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why unfortunately?”

“It’s a lousy business.”

“Then why do you do it?”

jake looked down. “You wear the uniform, you take the pay, you fly where they tell you.”

“That’s not very illuminating,” she said. “So you’ here on leave. How long will you be in Hong Kong?

“Just a few days. I have to leave Monday morning. With a groan, Jake stood up slowly. “I’m a little stiff.

“You must be chilled to the bone,” she said. “Better get something hot in you.”

“Aren’t you chilly too?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I think I’ve had enough sitting and this weather.” She turned from Jake an gathered her pencils and sketchbook into a large floppy leather bag. From a side pocket she yanked out a bundled-up khaki raincoat.

Jake put his hands under his armpits for warmth “What would you say to getting something hot to drink? Coffee, tea, or whatever. I think we both need it.”

“I think you need it more than I do,” she said grinning. She bent over her stool. “Sorry. I have a date to go shopping this morning with a friend.”

She pushed a catch on the stool, and the seat flipped vertical. “I’m meeting her at ten.” Gathering the legs together, she fitted the stool into her bag.

“Amazing,” Jake said. “That’s some gadget. Any chance we can get together later? For lunch or dinner I’d like to get to know you better.”

She stood facing him now, with her arms crossed in front of her.

“Well, you’re off to a rocky start, I’m afraid. It seems that I’ve been asking most of the questions. I know something about you, but you don’t know anything about me.”

“You didn’t ask my name,” he said.

“Got me there. What is it?”

“Jake. Jake Grafton.”

“Hello, Jake.” She began unfolding her raincoat. “It was nice talking to you.”

Without forethought he put his hand lightly on her left shoulder. Her shoulder fit in the palm of his hand; he felt the smallness of her bones and the warmth of her body through the sweater. She took a step away from him.

Jake said, “Hey, that was a bum rap you laid on me. I guess I’m not the kind of guy who naturally asks a lot of questions.” She started putting on her raincoat. He didn’t want her to leave. “I really would like to know you better. It would help if I knew your name.”

She took a deep breath. “Callie.”

“Callie?”

“Yes. That’s right.”

“Last name?”

“McKenzie.” Jake nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Well,” she said, “don’t you think Callie is an unusual name?”

“I’ve never heard it before.”

“Don’t you want to know how I got it?”

“I’ll bite. How’d you get it?”

“I’m glad you asked something,” said Callie. “When I was little, my brother, who was just a tot, had trouble saying my name, which is Carolyn. So Theron-my brother called me Callie. It was easier for him to say. Jake smiled. “Theron?”

“Yes, Theron,” she said. “By the way, let me tell you the fascinating story behind my brother’s name.”

“Uh oh.”

“When my brother was a little boy his younger sister-when she was just a tot-had trouble saying his given name, which was-uh-Aloysius. So … She began laughing. Jake joined her. They stood facing each other as pedestrians moved around them.

“Really,” said Jake, “how’d your brother get that name? How do you spell it?”

Callie spelled it out for him. “My father got it out of a book he was reading when my mother was pregnant.

“I think that he … Jake! You’re shivering.” She touched his chest, near his heart. “No wonder, your shirt is soaked. You’d better get back where you can put on dry clothes. Where’re you staying?”

“The Peninsula Hotel.”

“Oh, the Peninsula. It’s a wonderful hotel. Absolutely first class. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, but it’s expensive. I guess you get what you pay for.” “You do at the Peninsula. I had a room there for a few days when I first came to Hong Kong, before I moved into an apartment. I enjoyed it so much that I was reluctant to leave. But I got a nice place only a couple of minutes from where I work.”

Callie lifted her straw hat and brushed her hair back with her hand.

Her hair was curly and reached to her shoulders; it was dark brown, but her eyes were darker and shone like black marbles.

“Well,” she said, “don’t you want to know where I work?”

Jake smirked. “Sure. Of course I do. I’ve been wondering about that.”

“Since you asked, I work at the American consulate.”

“What do you do there?”

“I do a variety of things. But mostly I examine the cases of mainland Chinese refugees who want to obtain visas to the U.S.”

“Do you like the work?”

“It’s okay. The State Department requires a lot of paperwork for these visas, and sometimes I feel as if I were papering over the human misery of the Chinese refugees. These people have risked everything to escape to Hong Kong.”

“Paper shufflers! Well, they’re everywhere. They’re the ones who’ll really inherit the earth.”

“Too true. Listen, Jake. I really do have to go. And you need to get back to the Peninsula.” She picked up her bag and put her arm through the straps.

“Callie, could we get together for lunch?” She shook her head.

“How about dinner?”

“Thanks, but I’m afraid I can’t make dinner.”

“Why don’t we take a walk this afternoon, maybe see some sights?”

“It doesn’t look like a good day for it.” She sighed.

“Tell you what. I could meet you for tea.”

“For tea?”

“Haven’t you ever met anyone for tea before?”

“Nope, but I’m game. Where do we meet?”

“At your hotel. In the lobby. They do a lovely tea there. Four-thirty?”

“Four-thirty would be fine,” said Jake. “I’ll be there.” She walked away briskly, into the drizzle. When she was half a block away she stopped and turned. He was still watching her. “Don’t just stand there!” she shouted. “Go get some dry clothes on.”

Jake waved. “See you at the Peninsula!”

He walked away in the opposite direction. After a few minutes he broke into a trot, and he didn’t really mind that he was cold and creaky.

“At least you could’ve asked her if she had a girlfriend,” Sammy called from the bathroom where he was shaving.

Jake stood by the window watching the rain and the low gray clouds scudding across the harbor. The water was so calm and dark it appeared oily, and the clearly defined wakes left by sampans, barges, and ferries were like ripples made by toy boats on a pond. After he returned to the hotel, he had spent a long time luxuriously soaking in the tub. Now his calves were beginning to tighten up. “I wish this rain would stop.”

“If it had been me, I would’ve asked if there was a spare girl stashed somewhere for you. The world is full of lonely women pining for a chance to meet some swell guy with a wad of bucks. Here I am, eligible, hand some, modestly well-heeled, and you didn’t even give one of those languishing females a chance. Now I as you, is that friendship?”

Jake turned his head toward the bathroom. “Hey, I was lucky to get a date.”

“A date? You call meeting a girl for tea a date?”

“It was the best I could do.”

“Did you ask if she had a friend? Huh? Bet you didn’t even fucking try.”

“It wouldn’t have worked, Sammy.”

Sammy came out of the bathroom in his skivvies “Okay, Grafton, I’m beginning to get the picture. You just don’t want me around mocking up things between you and your tea-and-crumpets girl.”

“Nah, that’s not it. Like I said-“

“Just forget it.” Sammy dismissed Jake with a wave of his hand. “I can find a date for myself. I don’t need your help with my romances. I’m just pointing out this little blot on our friendship.”

He wore a hurt expression. “But I’ll never forget this, Grafton.

Never.

I might even tell Parker that you’re the guy who stole his towel and locked him out of his room.”

“But you did that!”

“Yeah, but when roommates get on the outs they start telling lies, and who knows where it’ll stop.”

“Better not,” Jake said, “or I might have to tell him you’re the Phantom.”

Lundeen shot him a hard glance, and went over and sat on his bed.

He looked at Jake and grinned. “That just happens to be true.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I’m the Phantom,” he said, laughing. “You never suspected, did you?”

“Are you crazy? They’re looking for some pervert to ship to a mental institution. If they catch you, you’ll go back to the States in a straitjacket. My God….

You’re kidding me, right?” He carefully examined Lundeen’s face. “You’re pulling my leg again.”

“Nope. It’s the truth. I am the Caped Crusader. No, that’s Batman and I don’t have a cape, although I could use Cowboy’s towel.” He stood on the bed and struck a pose. “I am the Winged Wraith, the Ghost of Bureaucratic Stupidity.” He sat down heavily. “No, I gotta think of something else.”

“You’ve flipped out, you stupid jock. Why in the name of God did you do an insane thing like that?”

“Why did you throw that guy in the alligator pond?

Because you were fed up with senseless blockheads like him! Well, I’m a little fed up, too. ‘Lieutenant Peckerhead skillfully and courageously avoided heavy, accurate enemy opposition and pressed home a devastating attack on the Bang Whang Tree Farm. His courage and tenacity reflected great credit, blah, blah, blah, and were in the highest traditions of the naval service.”‘ His voice rose to a shout. “I’ve had it up to here with that kind of crap.”

He stared at Grafton. “So I got to thinking about all this shit and decided to take a shit. And I got a big laugh out of it and I felt a lot better about the whole thing and I wrote another half dozen recommendations for medals and sent them to Rabbit Wilson and the jerk loved them and I didn’t puke.”

Jake turned toward the window. Through the mist he could barely make out the batwing of a junk.

He watched a merchant ship with sampans and bardges clustered around it, unloading goods. “Everybody’s a fucking hero,” he said.

“That’s the crazy part of the whole thing,” Sammy said. “All those guys are heroes. They’re out there risking their asses on every damned flight.

They dodge the flak and SAMs, they press the targets, they put the bombs right on the money. Flight pay sure doesn’t cover it. They deserve the medals.” He stood up and kicked the footboard of the bed.

“For what? Tell me what! I sure as hell would like to know.”

“I wish I knew . . .” Jake turned to face Sammy “You ready for lunch?”

Sammy didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. I guess so.

They were alone in the elevator. “I didn’t do that last job,” said Sammy.

“I retired before the skipper of the ship got really pissed. Somebody else did that last one.

“I hope you stay retired.”

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna. I like to fly too much. The elevator doors opened at the lobby level but Sammy didn’t move. “Maybe there’SAReason for it all-some kind of reason that makes sense-and I’m just not smart enough to figure it out.”

“I hope so,” Jake said, thinking of the flak, the missiles, and of Morgan. “I really hope so.”

They walked into the lobby. “I wish you had asked her if she had a girlfriend.”

“Next time.”

Jake munched on a cookie that was too dry and sweet for his taste.

He was thirsty but the darkening tea was still too hot to drink. He wanted a beer. His eyes wandered to the ivory-colored pillar behind her.

It was as thick as four men and mounted on a marble base and gilded at the top. The high ceilings were gilded as well “I can see you don’t want to talk about it,” said Callie. Her chair faced the same direction as his and they had to turn awkwardly to speak. The tea and cookies-“biscuits” the Chinese waiter had called them –were on a low table between their chairs. “Tell me about the flying part. You really like that part of it, don’t you?” She sipped her tea, waiting for him to answer. Without her hat her face was rounder, softer; she seemed younger. Her hair, which she had neatly brushed out, was less curly.

The many voices in the spacious lobby reverberated, and Jake had to speak uncomfortably loud to be heard. “Sure, I like the flying.” Why had she brought up the goddamn war? “I used to think that I was the luckiest guy in the world-to be paid by the navy to do something I’d be happy to do for free.”

“You don’t feel that way any more?”

“Sometimes I do. Sometimes.” Jake sipped the tea. it needed sugar. He put down the cup knowing he would not pick it up again.

“Tell me more, Jake. What sort of feeling do you have when you’re flying?

Do you feel exhilaration? Is it like the feeling I get when I ride a roller coaster?”

“Sometimes it’s like a roller coaster. But that’s not the true feeling of it.” As Jake sought the words, Callie’s eyes peered at him above her teacup.

“Well,” said Jake. “It’s like when you were a kid and you pretended you were sick so you could stay home from school. The rest of the world is working, at school, in factories, in offices. But there you are, sitting in your cockpit, feeling like you’re getting away with something, flying smoothly along enjoying the sky and the clouds and looking down at the earth. You are free and unfettered and feel privileged you can fly.” Jake paused. “But on the ground a pilot is like a man waiting for a train. He’s restless, anxious to get away. A pilot just bides his time until his plane can take him away again, into the air. He feels like a visitor when he’s on the ground.”

Callie put down her cup. “I like the way you put that.” Jake had felt his voice growing hoarse as he talked “I’m awfully thirsty. Why don’t we move to the bar?

They could sit facing each other now, and the chairs were more comfortable than those in the lobby. Callie had ordered a gin and tonic, and Jake was halfway through a bottle of San Niguel beer. There were only a few people in the bar, and the piano was unmanned “I’m not sure you enjoyed the tea,” Callie said.

Jake smiled. “I guess I felt out of place. they don’t have many teas where I come from.”

“Where are you from?”

“A small town in Virginia, called Ridgeville. It’s in southwestern Virginia, not too far from the North Carolina border. Not a hell of a lot happens there. Jake took a swig of beer. “Where’re you from, Callie?

“Chicago. Hyde Park. The neighborhood around the University of Chicago.

My father teaches in the business school, and my mother’s in the foreign languages department.”

“Did you go there?”

“Most certainly. It was preordained. I did both my undergraduate and graduate work there-in foreign languages, of course.”

“A real family affair,” said Jake.

“That was the problem. Both Mom and Dad assumed that I would pursue an academic career. They were pretty upset when I took the foreign service exam and more upset when I passed it. They pleaded with me to go on for a doctorate, but-as the saying goes I wanted to see the world,”

“And you wanted to be your own person.”

“That was a good part of it, sure.”

“You must speak Chinese, then,” said Jake.

“Uh-huh. I speak Mandarin mostly, and I’m studying Cantonese here.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Chinese-spoken Chinese, that is-isn’t as difficult to learn as many people think. The grammar is easy Reading it, though, is quite a challenge.”

“Can you read it?”

“Only a little. It takes years to develop competency. Basically it’s sheer memorization.”

Jake looked at Callie’s glass. “Guess you’re not ready for a refill.”

“Go ahead. Please don’t wait for me.”

Jake merely looked up and a young Chinese waiter came immediately to their table. He pointed to the empty beer bottle. “Just mine.”

“I’d like to know about your hometown,” said Callie. “What do people do there?”

“They farm mostly, grow a lot of vegetables. Those who don’t farm sell stuff to those who do.”

“Tell me something that captures the flavor of the place.”

Jake thought a moment, then said, “The last time I was home on leave, the big news in Ridgeville, VA, was that the movie projector in the Plaza had been broken for two months. The guy who owns the Plaza, who’d been promising everybody for months that he’d buy a new projector, finally admitted that maybe a new projector was too expensive-and the Plaza’s the only theatre in town.”

“What a tragedy!” said Callie with a laugh.

“Yep- And the other big news was that Sam Chaplain’s sixteen-year-old daughter-Sam runs the Ford dealership-had gotten pregnant.”

“No!”

“For the second time.”

“Really?” said Callie, breaking up. “I bet I know when it happened.”

Jake grinned. “You do?”

“Uh-huh. It happened one night soon after the projector broke down at the Plaza.”

Jake laughed. “You got it! And you know what There were about fifteen other women in town who also just happened to be about two months pregnant.”

“I think we should drink to the Plaza.” Callie lifted her glass. “May it quickly get a new projector.”

Their glasses clinked.

“But be honest, Jake. Do you like Ridgeville?”

“Actually I do. I grew up there, went to high school there. I liked working on Dad’s farm, and I like the hunting and fishing, which I did a lot of. Maybe everybody knows too much about everybody else, an you have the feeling of living in a goldfish bowl, but the people are friendly and ready to help you if you’ve got a problem. Sure, we’ve got our bad apples, but most people are okay. I’ve got a few friends there who I’ve known all my life and I feel they’ll be my friends, and I’ll be theirs, until I die.”

She asked about his friends and he told her about the impromptu beer and skinny-dipping party at Caldwel Lake following a church-sponsored picnic; he told her about the time he lost his brakes in his ‘57 Chevy on Hodam Mountain when he and his buddies were returning from a hunting trip and how he wiped out an historic marker; and he told her some other stories that made her laugh.

She laughed easily. When she asked again about his flying he told her how he had learned to fly, not in the navy, but in a Cessna 140 at a grass strip on the edge of town. He’d taken his first lesson at fifteen and had gotten his private pilot’s license on his seventeenth birthday, the first day that he could legally take his flight exam. The next day his father agreed to go flying with him, to be Jake’s first passenger.

“Were you nervous?”

“I was excited, confident. Eager to show off.”

“What about your dad?”

“Well, he was pretty nervous at first. Kept asking me about the instruments and controls and whether I’d checked everything. But after a while he realized I Knew what I was doing, and he enjoyed the rest of the flight.”

“Was he proud of you?”

“I guess he was. I know I was.”

“That’s quite an accomplishment, getting your pilot’s license on your seventeenth birthday.”

“It’s not unusual, others have done it.”

“I think you’re just being modest.”

Jake gestured to the waiter for another round of drinks. He noticed the bar was busier, and he heard crisply enunciated British voices.

“I’m going to be in great shape for tonight,” said Callie. Jake looked at her quizzically. “A CODEL-A congressional delegation-arrived yesterday. The CG, sorry, the consul general-is having a reception for them tonight at his place. I don’t think he’d appreciate it if I passed out on the carpet.”

“Do you want to go?” said Jake. He had a sinking feeling.

“I’m not terribly excited about going.”

“Why don’t you bag it, then?”

“I should be there. It’s part of my job.”

“How’s that?”

“One of my collateral duties is that I’m the CODEL control officer and-“

“Why aren’t you out controlling them now?”

“They wanted to go shopping, so I have some time off. Theoretically, they’re here to look at what differences Nixon’s trip has made in Chinese attitudes toward America. We always have a difficult time figuring out how to handle CODELS.”

“Handle ‘em roughly. Without mercy. Just the way the voters handle them.”

He enjoyed her laughter “Maybe take them on sightseeing tours.”

“You’re right. I’m sure we’ll roll out the red carpet but that red carpet is going to lead straight out of the consulate.”

“Smart. Keep ‘em busy and out of your hair. Probably all they want is to shop anyway.”

“That’s part of it, no doubt. But there’s political hay to be made, too.

If relations with China open up, they’ want to take some of the credit.”

The bastards, Jake thought, staring into his glass. They go on junkets while good men die going after targets that aren’t worth a pint of piss.

Callie said, “A penny for your thoughts?”

Jake looked up and met her eyes. “A plugged nickle would be more appropriate.”

“Is something wrong?”

He didn’t want to get into it. “No,” he said finally “What about your other work at the consulate? You work involving visas? How do you like it?”

“There’s a lot of paperwork, a lot of drudgery. But there’re things about it I like, too. I work in the nonimmigrant visa office and enjoy talking to the young people who want to study in the U. S. Often the people are recent refugees from Red China who unfortunately cannot prove that they’ll return to Hong Kong when they finish their education. And that’SARequirement for a student visa. These refugees give a picture of the mainland you can’t get elsewhere. Some of the stories they tell about how they escaped are awesome.” Callie had been holding her drink in her hands. Now she put it down and leaned toward Jake. “Let me tell You about a boy I interviewed last week. A nice looking boy, named Wang Chiang. Eighteen years old, small for his age but strong. He escaped six weeks ago by swimming across Deep Bay to the New Territories. He and his-“

“How far did he have to swim?”

“About seven miles.”

Jake whistled. “That took a lot of stamina. And guts.”

“A lot of guts,” said Callie. “Chiang, which is his given name, and his older brother-by a year, I think hid in the hills of China for days, waiting for the conditions to be right to swim the bay. They wanted a dark night so they couldn’t be easily spotted and not much wind so they wouldn’t have to fight the waves. On a night when the weather was overcast and drizzly like today, I imagine-they slipped into the bay. They didn’t take the shortest route, about three miles, because it’s heavily patrolled. Partway across, Chiang’s brother began to tire, then he got severe cramps.”

“Oh, no.”

“Yes. Chiang told his brother to float, to rest, hoping that the cramps would go away. But the cramps stayed bad. The brother swallowed water and coughed a lot. Chiang tried to hold him up, but eventually they both went under. Chiang couldn’t see anything-the water was black-and his lungs were about to burst. His brother was clutching at him. He had to fight loose of his grasp.”

“Jesus!” said Jake. “I don’t know how he managed to swim the rest of the way after that.” Jake could envision the terror in the darkness as the boy fought the panicky clutches of his drowning brother. He remembered that Morgan had also clutched at his arm. “At least Chiang’s brother knew what he died for.”

“I guess he did know. Mainly he wanted a better way of life. And the family had prepared both the boys. Their father had told each son to go on if the other ran into serious trouble. Chiang’s family was very practical. They knew the risks. At least they didn’t encounter any sharks.” She leaned across and touched the back of his hand. “Are you okay?”

Jake took a deep breath. “Oh, yeah. But Chiang didn’t really follow his father’s instructions-which I can understand. I’m not sure I would’ve either. Although I see that it would be much harder now on Chiang if his father hadn’t given him those instructions. Does the family know what happened?”

“Uh-huh, they know. There are ways of communicating across the border.”

He looked around the bar, at the tables, the British gentlemen in expensive suits tossing back their pint the Chinese bartender washing glasses, the mirror reflecting and enlarging the room. He thought of struggling to stay afloat at night in a running sea waiting for the sharks. “Can you get Chiang to the States?”

“I’ll do my best, Jake.” She sipped the last of her drink and sighed. “Well, I’ve enjoyed talking to you.”

“You have to go?” Jake said.

“Alas, I need to get home and change for the shindig tonight.”

“I’d like to see you home.”

“Thanks, but there’s no need to go through all that It’d mean two ferry rides for you.”

“No problem. Riding boats is one of the things they pay me for.”

“No, it’s really too much trouble.”

“I want to see you again.”

Callie looked down at the table. “I have a clear day tomorrow.”

“So do I.”

She raised her eyes. “Why don’t you walk with me to the Star Ferry? We can talk on the way.”

The rain had stopped. Callie and Jake passed by Rolls and Mercedes sedans parked in the curved driveway of the hotel. Although the harbor was only a short distance away, Jake could not see it, so thick was the fog.

Callie ran her hand through her hair. “Ugh! This weather. And I won’t have much time to do anything with my hair.”

As they crossed the street three teenaged boys came toward them. Their black hair was slicked down and they wore open-collared, long-sleeved shirts in bright, solid colors. They talked loudly and one tried to bump into Callie, who adroitly sidestepped him. “Teddy boys,” she said to Jake. “Hong Kong’s version of juvenile delinquents.”

They edged onto the sidewalk, which was packed with people. Callie and Jake, joining the crowd, had to slow their pace. High-pitched, sing-song voices beat against his ears. Jake felt clammy, and his stomach tightened. “So many people,” he said. “There are five thousand men on my ship and it’s never this crowded. How do you stand it?”

Callie laughed. “Did I say I could stand it? It’s like living in a closet with five million people. Stay with me; it’s not much farther.” Passersby jostled him, sometimes roughly.

There were fewer people as they neared the terminal landing, but directly ahead was a dense crowd that Jake assumed was waiting to board the ferry. He caught glimpses of the harbor. Callie stopped. “Look,” she said. “See that building? That’s the Ocean Terminal where the passenger liners dock and disgorge crazed shoppers.” Jake said nothing and they went on.

She told him as they walked about the excellent shops, the many fine things for sale in Hong Kong, and the restaurants-Maxine’s Boulevard was her favorite.

She talked about the Star House Arcade, next door to the terminal, where there were other interesting places to shop, including a store devoted entirely to Seico watches. If he wanted a good watch, that was the place to buy it. She chattered on, and Jake thought she sounded like a tour guide.

“Callie,” he said, interrupting her. “Cool it. I’m not some idiot congressman.” Callie stopped and looked up at him, astonishment spreading across her face.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t come to Hong Kong to shop. I came to get away from the goddam war. Now all I want is to be with you.” He cupped her head in his hands; his palms pressed lightly against her ears, his fingers entwined in her springy hair.

He brought his lips to hers. So soft, he thought. So gentle. He felt her arms encircle his waist; he put his arms around her, drawing her closer. She smelled fresh an springlike as lilacs. She broke off the kiss and said “That was a surprise.”

Because of the crowd it took five minutes for Jake and Callie to get near a turnstile for the ferry. They decided on their plans for the next day while two ferries filled up and left. Jake escorted her to the turnstile an she went through. Turning back toward him, she called out, “See you tomorrow!” When she smiled broadly and waved, a pleasant warmth suffused him, like the first swallow of a mellow scotch. He watched the green and white ferry slide into the fog.

By the time Jake got back to the hotel it was dark. His stomach felt queasy again. He was glad to enter the lobby and leave the hordes and the humidity behind When he got to his room he was disappointed that Sammy wasn’t there, but not surprised. He had wanted to tell him about Callie.

After a long shower he changed into fresh clothes. Feeling better, he went down to the Swiss restaurant in is the hotel, the Chesa, and had a steak and a beer. It settled his stomach. He returned to his room and, lighting up his last cigarette of the day with hands that shook slightly, watched television before going to bed.

At first he thought about Callie, replaying as best he could what they had said to each other and what they had done. Then he recalled those crowds of Asian faces, those voices. They had pressed their flesh against his. Their babble had assaulted his ears. It was as though they wanted him to know they were real.

What you try to do, Jake thought, is to keep it fuzzy in your mind that you kill real people. You pickle the bombs and you don’t see them fall and you don’t hear the explosions. You see only silent puffs of smoke sometimes and how could they kill anyone? It’s not real. You begin to think that maybe Orientals don’t breathe, don’t eat, don’t shit, can’t feel pain, don’t cry out. You begin to think they’re not real. You try to keep it fuzzy in your brain where the truth of it all resides because you know that you don’t want to kill-God, you don’t want to kill. But yet you do kill, maybe as many as fifty at a time. You have bombs and there are no fair fights and you know it’s wrong. You live with shame. It would be different if you knew that if you didn’t kill a man he would kill you, like gunfighters facing off or fighter aircraft dueling in the sky. Sometimes you get to attack those who try to kill you with flak and missiles and if you kill them you can handle it. But you have bombs. Mostly you kill those who aren’t trying to kill you. It’s the children you’ve maybe killed that give you the worst dreams of all because you can see what your bombs do to their small bodies and you can hear their screams. But you don’t really know if you’ve killed children-maybe you haven’t. You can tell yourself you haven’t unless you learn that you’ve screwed up and your bombs have hit a hospital or a school. So you try hard to keep your mind fuzzy about all this, about the truth, about what the truth might be. And you want to rip the balls off a grinning bastard who tells you how many, precisely you’ve killed.