Death of an Adept

Chapter Six

I can't claim to be an experienced judge of such matters," Adam said the next morning, over breakfast with Ximena, "but in my humble estimation, your niece's nativity play went extremely well."

"Yes, it did, didn't it?" Ximena agreed, pausing to spread wild blackberry jam on a bite of warm croissant. "I hope your memory is in good working order. Dad is going to want a full account."

"I thought that's why you and Laurel took so many photographs," Adam said, amused.

"The photos are just the starting point," Ximena replied. "They don't cover the backstage details - which, as far as Dad's concerned, is where the meat of the entertainment lies. More coffee?"

"Please!" Adam said with feeling. "If only to hone my faculties as a drama critic."

They were breakfasting together in the small dining area adjoining Ximena's kitchen, both wrapped in terry-cloth robes. It was early yet, and the sun was shining diaphanously through tattered mist outside the windows. Watching as Ximena deftly replenished his cup from a glass cafetiere, Adam marvelled anew at the unstudied grace that seemed to invest her every move. Even at rest, she had the lissom poise of a gypsy dancer.

"You make me think of scenes from the court paintings of Goya," he remarked fondly. "It takes very little effort to imagine you in a lace mantilla."

"Ever the romantic!" Ximena laughed. She returned the cafetiere to its place on the starched damask tablecloth, then glanced at her watch.

"Good heavens, is that the time?"

"Why, are we late?"

"Not yet," she conceded. "But we can only afford the luxury of lingering over our fancies for another quarter of an hour. After that, I have to start getting ready to cut a professional figure in the eyes of the workaday world."

At nine o'clock Ximena was scheduled to deliver a lecture on triage procedures for the benefit of new trainees on staff. Following the lecture, Teresa Lockhart would be meeting them at the hospital so that they could all be in attendance together during her husband's morning period of wakefulness. Provisional plans had been made for Ximena and Adam to break away for lunch together out on Fisherman's Wharf, but Adam was well aware how those plans might have to be rewritten at a moment's notice.

While he was finishing his second cup of coffee, Ximena went and fetched the collection of Polaroid photographs from the night before. A whimsical smile played about her lips as she flicked through the stack.

"A penny for your thoughts?'' Adam offered, noticing her expression.

"I suppose I was just… remembering," she said wistfully, jogging the stack of photos into an orderly pile. "Christmas is such a special time for children."

"I know what you mean," Adam agreed. "You may remember that my friend Christopher has two young daughters - incorrigible charmers, the pair of them. I've promised myself the pleasure of shopping for something really special to bring back for them. Something out of the ordinary that wouldn't be available in any of the toy shops back in Scotland."

"I can recommend a good place for you to start," Ximena said. "There's a little shop in the Mission District that does handcrafted wooden toys. I'll be sure to take you there."

"You sound as if you know the place well," Adam said.

"I suppose I do," Ximena said with a small laugh. "Browsing in toy shops has always been a favorite pastime of mine. Having a four-year-old niece is a good excuse to indulge in it."

Adam debated with himself a moment, then decided to speak his mind. "Having children of your own is an even better excuse," he pointed out softly.

Ximena avoided meeting his eyes.

"Yes," she agreed. "I seem to recall my dad saying much the same thing."

She stopped and bit her lip. When she found her voice again, it had the air of one determined to change the subject.

"What was the best Christmas present you ever received as a child?" she asked.

Adam thought before answering. "I'd have to say it was my first pony," he told her. "She was a lovely little dapple-grey who went by the name of Felicity. She was ten years old - twice my age at the time - and my father said she was sensible enough for both of us. The following summer she carried me to my first-ever pony club victory. I still have that rosette somewhere. I suppose it's one of my most treasured childhood mementoes."

He set his cup aside and smiled. "What about you?"

Ximena straightened up in her seat, her gaze reminiscent.

"I think it would have to be the doll's house my father made for me when I was eight. It wasn't just a house, it was a palace. Dad modelled it on one of the Moorish castles he visited in southern Spain. It had arches, and turrets, and trellises - even a facsimile of a fountain in the central courtyard. Needless to say, I was completely enraptured. It wasn't until much later, when I grew up, that I came to understand what a labor of love it was."

"What became of it?" Adam asked. "Is it still in your parents' house?"

Ximena nodded. "Mother's looking after it until Emma's old enough to appreciate it."

Adam cocked an eyebrow at her. "You don't think you might one day have a daughter of your own to pass it on to?''

This time Ximena met his gaze squarely. "I won't deny I haven't fantasized about it now and then," she told him. "But that belongs to a future I can't begin to plan as long as my father needs me. God knows, he devoted himself to my brothers and me when we were small. The least I can do is be here for him now, doing whatever I can to make what life he has left a blessing, not a curse."

The silence that followed was painfully brittle. Ximena drew a deep breath before continuing, her voice suddenly trembling under the stress of her emotions.

"Adam, this may be heresy," she said quietly, "but I can't help asking what my father ever did to deserve a fate like this. He's always been a good and upright man, a man of principle and integrity. Surely he deserved better than to end his life like this… suffering so."

The slight catch in her voice was like the first crack to appear in a dike. It bespoke a crisis of faith that had been many months in the building. But Adam had seen enough of human grief, in his personal life as well as his professional experience, to recognize the thorny issue that lay at the heart of the matter.

"What you really want to know," he amended quietly, "is, 'Why do bad things happen to good people?' Or, if you prefer, 'How can any God worthy of the name permit such a blatant miscarriage of Divine justice?' You're hardly the first to ask such questions, and you certainly won't be the last. I pondered the problem long and hard myself when my own father passed away."

"And what conclusions, if any, did you come to?"

To answer obliquely, Adam realized, would be tantamount to condescension. Nothing less than total honesty would do.

"Let me see if I can articulate this without sounding like a psychiatrist," he said. "First of all, I've come to understand that suffering is not to be seen as Divine retribution for some past unatoned sin. On the contrary, it's simply one of the dangers inherent in being the mortal creatures that we are.

"Human beings appear to be unique amid the whole of creation, for having both a spiritual and a physical aspect to their existence," he went on. "As physical creatures, we're subject to the same natural laws that govern the rest of material creation. Nothing stands still in the material world; everything is caught up in a complex pattern of cause and effect. If these overlapping patterns of change now and then give rise to some destructive natural event in our vicinity - say, an earthquake, or an accident, or the encroachment of some deadly disease - we're compelled by our physical nature to suffer the consequences."

"I understand that much," Ximena said. "What I don't understand is, If God is as loving and benevolent as Scripture claims, why doesn't this God intervene and stop us from becoming victims of these natural disasters?"

"Because such intervention would violate the conditions that enable man to operate according to his own free will."

"How does that follow?" she asked.

"A fair enough question. One of the proofs that we have a spiritual, as well as a physical, side to our makeup is our ability to override natural instincts to control our own behavior. In other words, we are free to make conscious, evaluative choices regarding what we do and how we do it. In order for us to exercise that freedom of choice, however, the surrounding world in which we operate has got to be coherent and consistent. Do away with these governing principles, and you're left with nothing but chaos - a chaos as devoid of meaning as it is of morality."

"You're saying that God can't set aside His own law?" she asked.

"Of course He can," Adam replied, "since, by definition, God is omnipotent. But He doesn't; nor should He. If God were to suspend every process that might have destructive consequences, the effect would be to undo creation itself. A world governed by natural laws, therefore, is the only world possible. If, in the process, the physical body falls victim to the operation of those natural laws, that is the price we pay for spiritual immortality - the voluntary ability to seek and find union with God."

"I suppose this is meant to give me comfort," Ximena said miserably.

"It is," he replied softly. "Because this much is also true: that when the physical body fails. God is on hand to guide the spirit home."

She gazed at him for a long moment, then said softly, "You really believe that, don't you?"

"I know it," he corrected.

Sighing, Ximena set her hand on his.

"I wish I had your faith," she said. "Maybe you could spare me some."

"It's been my experience," Adam said, "that those who want faith are given it - and from a source that flows far stronger and clearer than my own."

Ximena had little to say while they dressed and made their way to the hospital. It was plain from her expression that she was deep in thought. What the outcome of her musings would be, Adam could not begin to predict. He could only hope that he had succeeded in pointing her toward some resolution.

While she was off giving her presentation, he made his way up to the floor where her father was in residence. Alan Lock-hart was still asleep - if his drug-induced state of temporary oblivion could rightly be called that. After re-introducing himself to the nursing staff and acquainting them with his credentials, Adam took advantage of Ximena's absence to read over her father's medical records in careful detail. He was pondering the results of his reading when Lockhart's attending physician arrived for morning rounds.

Dr. Andrew Saloa was a big, hearty man whose smooth, coffee-brown skin and almond eyes proclaimed his Polynesian background. Once Adam had identified himself both as a physician and friend of the family, Saloa proved more than happy to discuss the case. Adam could see from the outset that his colleague had a lively sympathy and liking for his patient - qualities which Adam regarded as essential under the circumstances. He was further encouraged by the fact that Saloa made no secret of the fact that he was at a loss to account for the lengthy duration of Lockhart's illness.

"Why do some cancer patients succumb within a few weeks or months, while others manage to hold out long past what anyone might expect?" he observed to Adam with a genial shrug. "If I could come up with an explanation for that, I'd be well on my way to a Nobel prize. What we do know is that those who have some strong reason to live tend to hold out far longer than those who simply give up. But then, as a psychiatrist, you probably know far more than I do about the power of mind over matter."

Adam could only agree that Lockhart must have some powerful motivation for hanging on, though he could hazard no guesses, based on so short an acquaintance.

"Well, he's hanging on, for whatever the reason," Saloa said. "I can't but admire his fortitude, but I have to tell you that I'm not at all satisfied with his pain management."

"I believe young Austen intends to speak to you about increasing his father's medication," Adam offered.

"Believe me, I'd love to," Saloa replied. "Unfortunately, Alan is a very stubborn man. I tried him on patient-controlled analgesia, but he wouldn't use it often enough. He contends that the level of painkiller he really needs leaves him too muddle- headed to make the most of the time he has left. I respect that decision, but I know it periodically makes his existence a living hell. I wish there were an alternative."

"Perhaps there is," Adam said. "Has anyone suggested trying hypnosis?"

"Funny you should ask that," Saloa replied. "Only yesterday, I was reading a Lancet article about using hypnosis as an alternative - or at least an adjunct - to drug analgesia. But I've no experience with hypno-technique, and don't know anyone on the staff here who does. Unless you might possibly have some expertise in that area?" he added, with a shrewd glance at Adam.

Adam smiled. "As luck would have it, it's rather a specialty of mine. I'd be more than happy to offer my services, if you think your patient might benefit."

"I'm certainly willing to give it a try," Saloa said. "But the deciding vote will have to come from Alan himself, of course."

"Then, if you have no objection, I'll put the suggestion to him at the first likely opportunity."

"You do that," Saloa replied. "I'll leave you to choose your moment."

Adam accepted the other doctor's cordial invitation to be present during his morning visitation. Lockhart was just rousing when they entered his room. A night's rest had brought the sick man a fragile measure of restoration, but the sunshine streaming in through the window only served to highlight the parchment-like transparency of his skin.

Lockhart greeted both doctors warmly, though his expression indicated some surprise at seeing Adam in the absence of his family. Saloa conducted his routine examination with relaxed efficiency, his medical inquiries deftly intermingled with bantering small-talk. When he was finished, he bade his patient goodbye and absented himself in a show of breezy good humor. Left alone with Adam, Lockhart quirked an ironic eyebrow.

"I gather you've been powwowing with Saloa," he observed. "He's a good man. You've also managed to give my daughter the slip. What brings you back here all on your own?"

Adam smiled. "She's busy teaching just now. Besides that, I got the distinct impression you wanted to speak with me further. I thought you might find the conversation less tiring if there were just the two of us present."

Lockhart's gaze conveyed full appreciation for what Adam was suggesting. "You're very perceptive," he said. "Pull up a chair. Now, where were we, when we were so rudely interrupted by my obstreperous granddaughter?"

"I seem to recall being encouraged to go on at length about my pet restoration project," Adam said, settling into a chair close beside the head of Lockhart's bed.

"The tower-house, yes," Lockhart murmured. "Ximena tells me that the property itself has been in your family for many generations. It must be very satisfying to see this monument to your family's history brought back to life."

"My workmen and I have met with our share of obstacles along the way," Adam said, "not least of which is the problem of how to incorporate such modern-day necessities as electricity, plumbing, and heating, without doing violence to the structural design. But we're making progress. One day I hope to be able to take up residence there, at least for part of the year. Your daughter has been gracious enough to indulge my bit of whimsy."

This observation drew a wan grin from his listener.

"Hardly whimsy, where my daughter is concerned," Lock-hart replied. "She has a lively interest in history. Even as a child, she was fascinated by ruins. When she was twelve, we took her with us on a trip down to Chichen Itza. The expression on her face when we arrived at the city was something I've never forgotten."

Adam listened with complete attention as Lockhart reminisced about this and other trips he had taken with his wife and children. The recollections helped Adam begin to build a comprehensive picture of the relationship the older man shared with his daughter. Lockhart was manifestly proud of Ximena's personal and professional achievements, but it troubled him that, for all her talents and abilities, she had yet to find a place to anchor her affections.

"She's always been in love with a challenge," Lockhart mused, almost as if he were thinking out loud. "When she was little, I thought I was doing the right thing by encouraging her to exercise her intellectual curiosity. Now I begin to wonder if I pushed her too far in that direction. In nurturing her academic development, did I also, unwittingly, encourage her to neglect her emotional growth and satisfaction?

"You haven't been a father - yet," he continued, "so I'm going to tell you something about parenthood that you may not realize. You'll want your children to have everything you never had, everything you ever had, and then some. You'll want them to partake in full measure of all the joys, wonders, and pleasures you've ever tasted in this life. And so far, Ximena's only halfway there."

"What do you feel she's in danger of missing?" Adam asked quietly.

"A family of her own," Lockhart said bluntly. "What my daughter needs now, more than anything else in her life, is a reason to look beyond the day after tomorrow. Having a husband and children would give her that change in perspective. Responsibilities like these would encourage her to shift her sights toward a future greater and more far-ranging than her next career move."

"Do you regret her professional success?" Adam asked.

"Good heavens, no! That's just the point. She's woman enough to have it all. I want her to have it all. But she has to find it for herself. And I'm not sure she's looking in the right places - or if she is, she's blinding herself to what's staring her in the face."

As the older man paused to gather his strength, Adam wisely said nothing, for he sensed that Lockhart was building up to some point in particular. That suspicion was confirmed when Ximena's father spoke again.

"Adam, I have to tell you something. I've always been a man of my word, and I know enough not to give that lightly. Upholding one's word is, after all, a matter of personal honor. I've never made a promise I didn't mean to keep, and I've always done my best to follow through. And that puts me in a very difficult position now."

Adam raised an eyebrow in inquiry but did not speak.

"Ximena probably doesn't remember this," Lockhart continued, "but when she was eight she made me promise I would come to her wedding. I gave that promise solemnly, in good faith. And it goes hard with me now that I may not be able to keep it."

"I see." An inkling of the reason for Lockhart's continued survival suddenly became clear to Adam. "Does that mean you wish you hadn't made it?"

Lockhart gave a gasp of laughter. "God, no! But that's one reason why I've been looking forward to your visit - wanting to see what kind of man you are. I've been hoping you'd be the one my daughter's been looking for all her life. Are you?"

Adam did not allow his gaze to waver, for Lockhart deserved an honest answer.

"I don't know," he told the other man truthfully. "For my own part, I think she's what I've been looking for - and we've certainly talked about marriage, if mainly in the abstract. But so far, she hasn't seemed disposed to commit herself."

After an uncomfortable pause, Lockhart whispered, "It's because of me, isn't it?"

"If so," Adam said quietly, "you may be sure it was only out of love."

"Dear God," Lockhart said, almost inaudibly - for, like Adam, he now was forced to consider the ironic possibility that, by postponing all decisions regarding love and marriage, Ximena might unwittingly have made him feel impelled to cling to life long past all reason - and thereby sentenced him to needless suffering.

"Adam," he said softly, "maybe it's time to talk to my daughter again."

"Does this mean I have your official permission to renew my suit?" Adam asked.

A ghost of a smile touched Lockhart's ashen lips. "Of course you do - and I won't ask you to promise me anything. But if you're even half the man I think you are, and my daughter has even half the sense I give her credit for, the two of you ought to be able to come to some understanding."

"I'll do my best to justify your faith in me," Adam said, smiling. "And here's my hand on it."

He reached down, enfolding Lockhart's skeletal fingers in a firm, light hold that was more than a handshake. Recognizing the grip of a Master Mason, Lockhart shot Adam a look suddenly luminous with pleasure and surprise.

"You…" he breathed.

Adam nodded, meeting the older man's gaze with steady reassurance. "Yes, I am your brother, sworn in faith. As your brother - and I hope as your friend - I swear that I will do everything in my power to safeguard the welfare and happiness of the daughter you love."

Lockhart's frail hand returned the clasp, tears welling in his eyes, beyond the need to speak. For a long moment, the two men remained thus, in silent affirmation of their common bond.

Then the sound of the door latch broke the spell. Their hands parted only seconds before Ximena and her mother entered the room. Adam rose easily to his feet.

"Oh, there you are, Adam," Ximena said, as she and her mother came to greet her father. "Good morning, Dad. Did you have a good night?"

"Actually, a bit better than most," he assured her with a smile. "Teresita, did you bring me the pictures from Emma's play?"

"I did," Teresa replied, "and I can assure you that our granddaughter performed exactly like an angel!"

While she sat down at her husband's bedside to share the photos, Ximena slipped an arm through Adam's and casually drew him aside.

"It looks as if you and Dad have been finding plenty to talk about," she remarked.

"We continue to discover how much we have in common," Adam said. "He's a fine man. Tell me, is there someplace we can go, away from here? A chapel, maybe?"

Ximena looked at him slightly askance. "There's a meditation room downstairs."

"Then let's excuse ourselves, shall we?" Adam said. "I'd like a few words with you in private."