Hurricane

Chapter 1

On the morning of Sunday, October fourth, the Caribbean Sea lay oily and still under a hot white sun. The water temperature was unusually high. The barometric pressure was low. There was an odd mistiness that merged sea and sky at the horizon line. This flat hot sea was the womb of hurricane.

The sun climbed higher. The heated air rose as a great column. Shortly after midday, in a fifty-square-mile area about two hundred nautical miles north of Barranquilla, the ascending heated air began an ominous spiraling movement, a counter-clockwise twisting. The sky in that area began to darken, and the first winds began.

Ships closest to the area made the first radio reports. Streamers of high cirrus clouds gave warning. Great, slow swells began to radiate from the area, moving with a surprising speed, traveling to the islands of the Greater and Lesser Antilles, breaking on island shores in a cadence of five or six a minute as against the tropic norm of eight.

The Miami Weather Station collated the data from the ships at sea and from commercial airline flights. By Sunday evening it was labeled a tropical disturbance. On Monday morning it was termed an area of suspicion. A search aircraft emerged from the immature cone at 5:20 on Monday evening and radioed a report to Miami. And on the six o’clock news broadcasts the hemisphere was informed that the eighth hurricane of the season was gaining in strength and had been given the designation “Hilda.”

The hurricane gained in force and momentum. As it moved in the long curved path that would carry it in a northwesterly direction, it pushed hot moist air ahead of it, and the moisture of that air, cooled by great height, fell as heavy, drenching rains.

By Monday night, the wind velocities near the center were measured at eighty miles an hour. At fifteen to eighteen miles an hour the hurricane moved north-northwest toward the long island of Cuba. Miami began to prepare. Large windows were boarded up, and extra guy-wires were fastened to television aerials. Gasoline stoves were taken out of storage. Drinking water was stored. Radio batteries sold briskly. There was a flavor of excitement in the city.

On Tuesday, the sixth of October, Hilda changed direction, moving further west than had been predicted. Billions of tons of warm rain fell on Cuba, but the gusts which struck Havana reached a measured peak of only 55 miles an hour. The winds were stronger in Valladolid in Yucatan, as Hilda picked up her great gray skirts and edged through the hundred and fifty mile gap of the Yucatan Channel. Had she continued on that new line, she was a med at the Texas Gulf Coast, at Galveston and Corpus Christi. But the storm turned due north and then began to curve slightly east. In Key West there was heavy rain and not much wind. Precautions were relaxed in Miami. The cities of the Florida West Coast began to prepare as Miami had prepared.

By midnight the sky over Cuba was still and the stars were clear and bright. It was then that the sky over Key West began to clear. In Naples it was raining heavily, as in Fort Myers. The rain had just begun in Boca Grande. The rain did not begin in Clearwater until three in the morning...

Jean Dorn had been awakened by the rain at three o’clock. When the alarm awakened her again at seven, it was still raining. She turned off the alarm before it could awaken Hal. He should get as much sleep as possible; he would be driving all day. She pushed the single sheet back and got quietly out of bed, a tall blonde woman with a sturdy body which was just beginning to show the heaviness of pregnancy. Before she went into the bathroom she looked in at the children. Five-year-old Stevie slept on his back, arms outflung. Three-year-old Jan, still in a crib, stirred as she looked in, but Ker eyes were closed. In the gray light of the drab morning both children looked very brown from the long summer on the gulf beaches.

Yes, the children were brown and healthy and full of a vast surplus of energy, and the three days of keeping them cooped up in the car were going to be less than a joy.

In the morning stillness, while the others slept, she walked in and looked at the living room. There was nothing personal left in the room. They had shipped the few things they couldn’t bear to part with. The rest of the furniture would go with the house. Into the hands and the lives of strangers.

Jean Dorn tried to look at the room with complete impartiality, to see it as a stranger would see it. Yet she could not. Hopes had been too high. This room had become too much a part of her life, and a part of love. She tried to tell herself that she was too much obsessed with things, with possessions. A room and a house should not be this important.

She wished — and sensed the childishness of the wish — that even at this last bitter hour something would happen, something would change, and they could keep it. But there was no golden wand, no one to wield it. There had been other losses, other changes, but this was the first one that had about it the sour flavor of defeat.

She had not let Hal know how deep was her sense of loss at leaving this place. Yet she knew that he sensed it. No matter how she tried to conceal it, he would sense it because theirs was a marriage that was good and close. It had been close. And she thought of the effect this was having on him and she was frightened.

She wished that there could have been some way they could have known. Known way ahead, and with that knowledge they could have been wiser. They would have rented a smaller house rather than bought this one. They would have saved in many little ways and perhaps thus managed to hold on until the turning point came.

Yet neither of them, and particularly Hal, had anticipated defeat. They took for granted the permanence of fortune’s warm bright smile. She remembered before they had left the north the way Hal had grinned at Bob Darmon when Bob had said. “You know it could be rough down there. It might be tough to make a buck. You’re giving up a hell of a good job. Boy. You might take a real drop in your standard of living.”

Hal had grinned. “Don’t stress yourself, Robert. Dorn lands on his feet. It’s a survival instinct. It’s a substitute for the silver spoon I wasn’t born with.”

“If I were doing it,” Bob said gloomily, “I’d keep the job up here and send Stevie on down somehow for a year and see if the climate really helps him.”

“He’s too little to be away from home,” Jean had said indignantly. “I’d never send him away. Bob, we know Hal won’t make as much money. But we’re going to live more simply than we have here.”

And Hal had put his arm around her and looked down into her eyes and whispered, “We’ll make out, honey. Don’t let him get you down.”

“I’m not scared.”

Should have been scared, she thought. Should have had enough sense to be scared. Not on account of me. I can get over leaving the house. I can say good-by to this room right now and good-by to that chair I brought home that day in the station wagon and couldn’t wait for Hal to come home and help me, and I lugged it in and put it right there and stepped back, and it looked just the way I knew it would look.

For sale, furnished house. With a few bits and pieces of heart swept under the rug.

Not afraid for me. Afraid because of what it has done to him.

She turned resolutely away from the threatened sting of tears and left the room. They would have to put this place behind them. She hoped Bob Darmon would never learn how right he had been. Hal’s job in the north had been a good job — an intermediate consultant with Jason and Rawls, one of the larger industrial management firms in New York City. Though he had often complained that his work was a rat-race, Jean knew he enjoyed responding to the challenge of it. He objected to the prolonged out-of-town trips that kept him away from his family, but he took pride in the knowledge that the contracts they assigned him to were the tough ones.

He was an intense man, dark, lean-faced, quick-moving — with ready intelligence. He was impatient with inefficiency, and when he had a problem, he would work doggedly at it until he had it licked. She was, she knew, a good foil for that dark intensity. She was cairn and blonde and placid, with a sense of fun and a quick eye for the ridiculous. Their marriage was seven years old and she knew from observation of other couples that it was better than most.

Had it not been for Stevie, the pattern of their life would have been clear. Hal would have remained with Jason and Rawls. In time he would have become a senior consultant and perhaps later a junior partner. After Stevie had been born, they had moved from the tiny uptown apartment to a small house in Pleasantville. In time, there would have been a bigger house with wider lawns.

But it had all changed in the office of Doctor Gaylin a little over two years before. They had rushed Stevie there. It had been the worst asthma attack he had ever had. Jean had been in panic as she listened to the boy fighting for breath. The doctor had eased the struggle, with medication. They left Stevie with the nurse and went into Doctor Gaylin’s private office.

Jean remembered how pale and upset Hal had been. “Isn’t there anything you can do about this sort of thing, Doctor?” he had demanded.

“I want to talk to both of you. I don’t think we’re going to be able to do much with medication. He may eventually grow out of it. Or it may get worse. I’d like to recommend a different climate, a warmer place. Florida. Arizona. Southern California. These winters up here are more than he can take. But I know how difficult it is to pull up stakes. I was wondering if you have any relatives you can send him to.”

They had talked it over later. Doctor Gaylin had made it clear that the next few years were crucial.

Hal said, that night, “I don t see why we even have to talk it over very much. We’ve got to do it. There’s no one we can send him to even if we felt we could. We’ve got to go. Good Lord, Jean, this job I have is just that. A job. It isn’t a dedication. I’m thirty-one. Stevie’s health isn’t the sort of thing you can take a chance on: a job is.”

They had planned as carefully as they could. Hal had taken a quick exploratory trip, had seen the opportunities on the Florida west coast and had decided on Clearwater. They had received less for the Pleasantville house than they had hoped. The firm had been sorry to lose him, but Mr. Rawls had been very understanding when Hal told him about Stevie.

Once they had sold themselves on the idea of change they began the new life with optimism and excitement. Hal had been a specialist in accounting procedures, and so, in downtown Clearwater, he had opened a small office. Harold Dorn, Consultant. Jean had found the house, for a little more than they had expected to pay. A nice home in the Bellaire section where there were other small children.

It had all started out so perfectly. Hal was confident and full of tireless energy. He acquired some small accounts. Neighborhood stores, a gas station, a small boat company, a few bars. He told Jean it wouldn’t take too long to get over the hump. His reputation would spread. He was selling a service they could use. Sometimes fie was able to get to the beach with them, but not often. He spent the days soliciting new accounts, and the evenings working on the accounts he had acquired.

And then he told her that it was foolish to maintain an office and a secretary. It was delaying the break-even point. Better to rent desk space in an office. The phone would be answered. It would cut expenses. He’d found he could make a deal on the office lease. It was then that she had first detected something uncertain, perhaps even a bit frightened, behind his smile. And she began to worry.

Later he gave up the rented desk and used his home phone as his business phone. He told her they nearly had it made. Another month or two and income would be ahead of their living expenses and his business expenses. She had long since inaugurated stricter economy measures, studying the papers for bargains in food, repairing children’s clothing she would previously have discarded.

She watched Hal more carefully and was shocked at the change in him. He was leaner, and the lines bracketing his mouth had deepened, and his eyes seemed to be set more deeply in his head. The grin of confidence became a grimace. She knew their meager reserve was dwindling.

“I’ve lined up a job,” he told her. “It will start Monday. Not much of a job. Warehouse work. I’m sort of a stores clerk. The pay isn’t much, but it will help. And I can work on the accounts at night.”

But she learned it was more — or less — than a clerk’s job. He came home dulled by weariness. His hands became calloused. That was the worst part, watching him tear himself apart, watching him fight and use every reserve — often falling asleep at his desk at night as he worked on his clients’ accounts. He became thinner, more silent, and he was irritable with the children. She tried to find a job, but could find nothing that would leave her any surplus after paying a sitter.

Two weeks before, they had come to the end of the line. The children were in bed. Hal came out into the living room.

“Finished with the books?” she asked.

He sat on the couch, hands clenched between his knees, looking at the floor. “With our books,” he said in a dead voice. “We’re finished, baby. We’re licked. We can’t make it. We’ve got to go back while we can still afford to go back or I don’t know what’s going to become of us. We’ve got to get our money out of this house and go back. And hope the two years here have fixed Stevie up for good. I... I’m so damn sorry, Jean, I...”

And he had looked up at her for a long lost moment and then had looked down again and begun to cry. She knew they were tears of exhaustion, of defeat.

Today was the day of departure, when defeat would be certified by the act of leaving. She could see the loaded station wagon in the carport, the same car they had driven down. It was packed to the roof. The luggage carrier on top was full, the tarp roped tightly. There was a small nest for Stevie and Jan just behind the front seat. And room for the crib and the bedding and the final suitcase.

With all my worldly goods...

She wondered why she had thought of that phrase. There was no ceremony to this parting. Not like the parties and silly parting gifts when they had left Pleasantville — people saying. “Going to live in Florida? Wish I had it so good!”

When you’re licked, you sneak out. The Dorns? Oh, they couldn’t make it. Had to go back north. Too bad. Nice folks. But you know how it is. Too many people down, here trying to scratch out a living. If you got a retirement income, or a big wad of dough for a tourist trap, you can make it.

So you don’t say good-by. You write letters later, from the north. Full of ersatz confidence. See you again one of these years. The way Hal said we’d try again later. But you can see in his eyes the knowledge that we won’t. Because it has taken something out of him. Some essential spirit. He’ll never have that sure confidence again. And others will sense that lack of certainty, and so the bright and golden future is forever lost. It could not change her love. But she felt sick when she thought of what it was doing to him and to his pride in himself.

She woke Hal and then went in and got the kids up and dressed. Stevie woke in a sour mood. He did not want to leave. He could not understand why they had to leave. He liked it here. Jan sang her placid little morning song and ignored the querulousness of her brother.

When Jean went back to the bedroom, Hal was still sitting on the side of the bed, staring out at the morning. “Dandy day for a trip,” he said.

“It can’t keep on raining this hard,” she said. “Rise and shine, mister. I’ve got to fold those sheets you’re sitting on.”

He stood up slowly. “Very efficient this morning, aren’t you?” The way he said it made it sound unpleasant.

“I’m a demon packer,” she said lightly.

He looked at her and looked away. He rarely looked into her eyes of late. “At least the old bucket won’t overheat on us. It feels sticky though.”

“I guess it’s the tail end of the hurricane.”

“We’ll be out of it soon enough.”

“And be back into autumn in the north. Leaves burning. Football weather. All that. I’m kind of looking forward to it.”

“How extremely obliging of you.”

“Please, darling. Don’t.”

“Then please stop being a Pollyanna and trying to make everything come out nice and cozy and perfect. It isn’t cozy and perfect, so why not admit it?”

She felt unexpected anger. “And go around wringing my hands and moaning?”

“Like I do? Is that what you mean?”

“I didn’t mean that, and you know it. We ought to try to be a little bit cheery. Even if it’s false.”

He clapped his hands and said sourly, “Oh, goody! We’re going on a trip, on a trip, on a trip.” He looked at her almost with contempt.

“Hal!”

His expression softened, changed. He took a half step toward her. “Damn it. I’m sorry. I know what it means to you, Jeanie. I know what it’s costing us.”

They put their arms around each other and stood quietly for a time. “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

“It’s all right. It isn’t your fault.”

He trudged to the bathroom, his shoulders listless, his pajamas baggy on his body.

She hoped it would be different in New York. He didn’t think Jason and Rawls would take him back. It wouldn’t be good policy. But Brainerd might take him on. Or Romason and Twill. Then maybe a measure of confidence would return.

She put on her dacron skirt and a light-weight blouse, folded the bedding and put it in the kitchen. She packed the last bag. They left the house at eight o’clock, dropped off the house keys at the real estate agent’s office and breakfasted at the diner. Jean kept remembering that, when they had driven away from the house, she had not looked back. Stevie had wept, but the hard sound of the rain had muffled it.

They turned north on Route 19. The heavy rain restricted visibility. All cars had their lights on. The wipers swept solid water from the windshield. She touched Hal’s arm lightly and was pleased when he gave her a quick absent-minded smile.

A few miles from Clearwater he turned on the car radio “...to give you the latest word on Hurricane Hilda. Hilda is now reported to be in the Gulf about a hundred miles west and a little north of the Tampa Bay area. The central west coast is experiencing heavy rains as far north as Cedar Keys. Though the experts predicted that Hilda would begin to lose force during the night, it is reported that wind velocities near the center have actually increased and are now as high as a hundred and fifteen miles an hour. After moving on a predictable course for many hours, the northward movement has slowed and it is less easy to predict the direction the storm will take. The Louisiana and Texas coasts have been alerted. We now return you to the program already in progress.” Hal clicked off the radio after two bars of hillbilly anguish.

“Could it come back in toward the land ahead of us?” Jean asked.

“Could what come?” Stevie demanded, leaning over the front seat. “Could what come, huh?”

“The hurricane, dear,” Jean said, knowing it might take his mind off the woes of leaving Clearwater.

“Wow!” Stevie said, awed.

“This rain, Stevie,” Hal said, “always comes ahead of a hurricane, but we’re sort of on the edge of it. It’s going up the Gulf and I don’t think it will cut back this way.”

“I hope it does,” Stevie said firmly.

“And I most fervently hope it doesn’t,” Jean said.

“It would be sort of improbable,” Hal said. Ahead of the car, in the gloom, he saw the running lights of a truck. He eased up behind it, moved out to check the road ahead, accelerated smoothly, dropped back into his lane ahead of the truck.

Here’s something I can do, he thought. I can drive just fine. I can boil right along in this old wagon without endangering my three... my four hostages to fortune. And I can shave neatly and tie my own shoes and make standard small talk. And I can, or at least I used to, make a living in a very narrow and highly specialized profession. A pleasant living in an area where my son could not exist.

We went down there with seven thousand dollars and now we have sixteen hundred and the car and what is in the car. So that is a fifty-four hundred dollar loss in twenty-six months which averages out to... just about fifty dollars a week.

It had taken him a long time to realize that he had failed. Harold Dorn had failed in something he wanted badly to accomplish. He had wanted it more than any other thing in his life. And it was the first failure.

He hadn’t failed the other times. Not the first time in that Pennsylvania coal-town which in all its history had known so few years of prosperity. His father, as a company clerk, had had none of the benefits the union had acquired for the miners. The old car had skidded on a wintry hill, a long skid into a post and it had rebounded from the post and tipped over onto the company clerk who had been thrown free at impact. And you saw how few of the kids went on to college and got away from the town. You saw there was only one way to do it, and two years left to do it in. So there were two years of straight A’s and the scholarship and that was the first victory.

The second victory happened on a hillside in a German forest in the snow. In a deep hole you shared with a dead man who had been your close friend for thirteen months. The barrage was over, and you could not control your trembling. You heard the lieutenant and the platoon sergeant, and you knew nothing could ever get you up out of that hole into the naked air where whining things sought your flesh. But you climbed out for the blundering run on half-frozen feet, running crouched, seeking cover and concealment, stiff hands clumsy on the trigger, running where you were told to run and doing what you had to do.

Then there was the victory of the girl. The blonde girl named Jean. Seeing her on campus, and knowing that she had no time for a student who had to work long hours.

But you won the scholarship and the degree, and you found your own courage, and you found the job you wanted with Jason and Rawls, and you won the tall, calm, blonde and lovely bride named Jean.

These were victories, and you were marked by victory. Marked with confidence and a sort of arrogance. You knew none of it had been luck. You went after things. And got what you wanted.

And so this defeat became, a shocking thing. He wondered how and why he had failed. If only they’d been more careful, at first. Then he wouldn’t have to be a jobless man heading north with an old car, a pregnant wife, two small kids. He wondered if he’d be able to get a job as easily as he hoped. It might be a long time. The money could run out. There wasn’t much of it. The trip would make a hole in it. The wagon needed a new set of tires. Maybe they would last.

He drove through the heavy rain and there was a grayness inside of him as bleak as the color of the day. And he felt ashamed.

A quick burst of rain and wind slapped hard against the side of the station wagon. The wagon swayed and he brought it back into the lane. Palm tops, dimmed by the rain curtain, swayed in the wind.

“It’s getting a lot windier,” Jean said, and he detected the slight tremor in her voice.

“Is it a real hurricane?” Stevie asked. He had a small and grimly logical mind. He wanted no substitutes.