The Gold Coast

61

Jim hears about it the next day, from Lucy. “It was Abe who was the paramedic called to the accident.”

“Oh, no. You’re kidding.”

“No, and he drove by to tell the Keilbachers, but they weren’t home, so he came by to tell me. He looked bad.”

“I bet.”

Jim tries to get Abe on the phone, but Abe’s parents are still on vacation and there’s no answer up at the house; the answering machine is off.

He goes to the funeral the next morning, and stands at the back of the chapel at Fairhaven Cemetery. Watches the ceremony dully. He knew Lillian Keilbacher mostly in churches, he thinks. There was a time in high school when he was volunteered by Lucy to help build the Bible school on the back of the church lot; the church was too poor to hire a real construction crew, and the work was all volunteer, led by two churchgoing carpenters who seemed to get a kick out of it all, though it went awfully slowly. Every day that Jim was there he saw a skinny blond girl with braces who had the biggest, most enthusiastic hammer swing you could imagine. The carpenters used to go pale as they watched, but she was surprisingly accurate. That was Lillian. Jim can see perfectly the delighted brace-bright grin of the girl as she knocked a nail all the way in to the wood with one immense swing, Don the head carpenter clutching his heart and spluttering with laughter.…

They move outside into a shaft of sun. The cemetery is under the upper level of the Freeway Triangle, a concrete sky like low threatening clouds, but there is a big skylight gap overhead to let a little sunlight down. They walk slowly behind a hearse as it navigates the complex street plan of the city of the dead. Population over 200,000. Again Jim walks behind, watching the little crowd of people around the Keilbachers, the way they hold together. There is a feeling in their church community, standing on its little island of belief in the flood of twenty-first-century America, a feeling of solidarity that Jim has never experienced again since he stopped going. The camaraderie, the joy they shared, building that little Bible school! And it turned out solid, too, it’s still there. Yes, there’s no doubt Lucy is on to something with her involvement in the church.… But his faith. He has no faith. And it can’t be faked. And without faith.…

Beyond the last row of graves is an orange grove, standing under a big skylight. The procession is in shade now, under the concrete underside of the Triangle, and the wide shaft of light falling on the green-and-orange trees is thick with dust, very bright. The trees are almost spheres, sitting on the ground: green spheres, dotted with many bright orange spheres. It’s the last orange grove in all of Orange County. It belongs to the cemetery, and is slowly being taken out to make room for the dead.

The ceremony at graveside is short. No sign of Abe, Jim notes. He excuses himself to a disapproving Lucy, and slips off; the idea of a wake is too much.

He tracks up Saddleback Mountain, listening to Beethoven’s Hammerklavier Sonata. There’s no one home at Abe’s place.

He follows the road up to the lookout parking lot on Santiago Peak, the easternmost of Saddleback’s two. The western one, Modjeska Peak, is a few feet lower. He gets out of the car, walks to the stone wall on the parking lot’s edge, looks down at Orange County.

There spread below him is his hometown. During the daytime it’s a hazy jumble of buildings and flying freeway viaducts, no pattern visible. Even the upper level in the Freeway Triangle, which dominates the central plain, is hard to pick out. It’s as if they brought cement trucks with their big cylindrical barrels up to this peak, and let loose a flood of concrete lava that covered the entire plain. Western civilization’s last city.

Jim recalls the view from the hilltop in Itanos.

His thoughts are scattered, he can’t make them cohere. Things are changing in him, the old channels of thought are breaking up and disappearing, with nothing new to take their place. He feels incoherent.

Depressed, he drives back down the mountain. He feels he should locate Abe, so he goes to Sandy’s. Abe is not there, and neither is Sandy. Angela has heard of the accident, and she takes Jim out to the balcony, talks to him about other things. Jim sits there dully, touched by Angela’s concern. She really is a wonderful person, one of his best friends, the sister his family didn’t provide.

Now she stares at the palms of her hands, looking troubled. “Everything seems to be going wrong,” she says. “Have you heard that Erica has broken off the alliance with Tashi?”

“No—what?”

“Yeah. She did it at last. She’s stopped coming by here, too. I guess she decided on a total change.” Angela isn’t bitter, but she does sound sad. They sit on the balcony, looking at each other. The hum of the freeway wafts over them.

“It’s no big surprise,” Angela says. “Erica’s been unhappy now for a long time.”

“I know.… I wonder how Tash is taking it.”

“It’s so hard to tell with Tash. I’m sure he’s upset, but he doesn’t say much.”

He does to Jim, though. Sometimes. “I should go see him. My God, everyone!…”

“I know.”

The doorbell rings, and through the houseplants comes Virginia. “Hello, Jim.” Quick kiss on the cheek. “I heard about your friend. I’m really sorry.”

Jim nods, touched by her concern. Seems everyone pulls together at times like these.

Virginia looks lovely in the hazy afternoon light, hair banded white gold, flashing with an almost painful brightness. It’s all part of the pattern, Jim sees. This is what it means to have friends, to be part of a functioning community. And that’s what they are; another island poking out of the concrete.…

“Let me take you out to dinner,” Virginia says, and gratefully Jim agrees. Angela sees them off with determined cheerfulness. They take Jim’s car and track down to the Hungry Crab in Newport Beach.

Since they haven’t talked in a while, there is a fair amount to say; and as they work their way through two bottles of wine and a crab feast, they get more and more festive. Jim can even describe the various comedies of the European jaunt; their fighting is past, they’re beyond that, into a more mature stage of their relationship. Jim watches Virginia laugh, and the sight of her is more intoxicating than the wine: perfect glossy hair like a cap of jewels, deep beach tan, snub nose, freckles, wide white smile, a perfect match for the decor, perfect, perfect, perfect.

So he is quite drunk, both with wine and with his proximity to this beautiful animal, when they pay the bill and leave. Out into the salt cool of a Newport Beach evening, lurching together, holding hands, laughing at a pair of goggle-eyed sunburnt tourists—thoroughly enjoying themselves as they approach a group of students walking their way.

Then Jim sees Hana Steentoft in the group, head down in characteristic pose. As the group passes them she looks up at him, looks down again. The group walks by and into the Crab.

Jim has stopped, and at some point jerked his hand free of Virginia’s. Now as he looks back at the restaurant the old sardonic smile is on her face. She says, “Ashamed to be seen with me, eh?”

“No, no.”

“Sure.”

Jim doesn’t know what to say, he can’t concentrate on Virginia right now, he doesn’t care what Virginia thinks or feels. All he wants to do is rush into the Crab and try to explain things to Hana. It’s like a nightmare: somehow trapped in an old disaster alliance, which poisons the new relationship—he’s had nightmares just like this! How could it be happening?

But it is happening, and here he is, standing on the sidewalk with a furious Virginia Novello. Abandoning her in Newport Beach and running in to throw himself at Hana’s feet in a group of friends is just too melodramatic for Jim, too extreme, he can’t see himself doing it.

So he stays to face Virginia’s wrath.

“You really are rude, you know that, Jim?”

“Come on, Virginia. Give me a break.”

How easily they fall back into it. All the variations on a theme: It’s all your fault. No it’s not; I’m not conceding a thing to you; it’s all your fault. Back and forth, back and forth. You’re a bad person. No I’m not, I’m a good person. You’re a bad person. There are a lot of ways to say these things, and Jim and Virginia rehearse the whole repertory on the way home, the little moment of camaraderie completely and utterly forgotten.

Their favorite coda, as Jim tracks into South Coast Plaza and stops the car: “I don’t want to ever see you again!” Virginia shouts.

“Good!” Jim shouts back. “You won’t!”

And Virginia slams the door and runs off.

Jim takes a deep sigh, puts his forehead down on the steering switch. How many people can he hurt at once? This day…

He sits for several minutes, head miserably on the dash, worrying about Hana. He’s got to do something, or he’ll… he doesn’t know what. Abe. Can’t find Abe. Tashi! Man, it’s hitting everywhere at once, as if the whole island is threatened by flood. All falling apart! He tracks down Bristol, heading toward Tashi’s place.