She looks at me and frowns. "You're not quite ready."
Leaving the airport, we come upon a field of wildflowers. Ramona picks a bunch and weaves them into a garland, which she places on top of my head.
"Now you are," she tells me.
On our way to the intersection of Haight and Ashbury streets, we see a group of young people holding signs and marching and chanting. "Hell, no! We won't go! Hell, no! We won't go!"
One of the young women sees us and waves. "Hi, Ramona!"
A couple of the young men are burning something.
"Draft cards," Ramona tells me.
"But won't they get arrested?" I ask.
She shrugs. "Happens all the time, but which is worse, spending one night in jail or getting sent home in a body bag?"
The closer we get to the intersection, the denser the crowd becomes, until finally we can walk no further. Surrounding us are vast numbers of people wearing tie dyed clothing or colorful shawls, feathers or flowers in their hair, dancing, singing, playing guitar, and smoking funny looking cigarettes. Someone passes one to Ramona, and she inhales deeply, closing her eyes, then passes it on to me. I do the same, and a warm, syrupy feeling flows through me.
"I feel like I'm floating on clouds!" I tell Ramona.
She giggles. "Grass is groovy, isn't it?"
A group standing nearby takes up the chant. "Grass is groovy! Grass is groovy!"
A man with a bushy beard and lavender tinted eyeglasses who's standing in a truck bed holds a bull horn to his mouth and begins to speak.
"Listen up, all you freaky people. What are we here to celebrate?"
"Peace and love! Peace and love!" the crowd chants, growing louder and louder.
The young woman who greeted Ramona earlier walks over to us, accompanied by a young man with long hair, a beard, and dark glasses. They both exude a musky odor, and their arms are around each other.
"And just who is this beautiful specimen of manhood?" the young woman coos, stroking my chin. To my surprise, I see her companion grinning, then realize he's under the influence of 'grass.'
"This is Christian Schneider, the new violinist for the Satin Subway," Ramona tells her.
The young woman nods, blowing smoke from her nose and mouth. "I can sure dig that!" She turns to her companion and gives him a passionate kiss. He returns it, and the two begin to shed their clothing. No one seems to notice what they're doing at all.
"So what do you think about the war?" another young man asks me, in between puffs.
"All war is terrible," I reply. "My grandfather told me over eleven thousand people died when Darmstadt was bombed."
"Bummer!" the man replies.
"That sucks!" Ramona agrees.
"Don't worry about it," I tell her. "It's all right. My country never would have been rebuilt if not for yours."
"No, it's not all right! More than a hundred thousand innocent Japanese died when Hiroshima and Nagasaki were bombed," she replies. "War is stupid!"
A group of people standing near us take up the chant, each of them holding up the first two fingers of both hands. "War is stupid! War is stupid!"
Ramona's friend and her companion are now lying in the dirt, the man on top of the woman. His pants are down off his rump and he's thrusting into the woman, who cries out with every thrust. Ramona pulls me close and kisses me, sticking her tongue into my mouth. Desire floods my body, every nerve springing to life in eager anticipation. Lightly her hand brushes my fly, and the contact makes me feel as if I'm about to explode. I feel myself straining against the tight confinement of my clothing as a soft moan escapes my lips. She reaches to unzip my pants, and I pull away from her touch.
"No!"
She frowns. "What's wrong? Don't you want me?"
"I want you so bad it's killing me," I confess. "But I can't! Not right out here in the open like this!"
"Flash and Harmony said we can use their van."
"Even so - " I sigh. "When I was a little boy, one of my classmates called me a kind der liebe, and my cousin Willi gave him a bloody nose. Later I asked Willi what a kind der liebe was. 'It's somebody who doesn't have a Papa,' he told me. 'But I do have a Papa now!' I reminded him. 'Otto's my Papa!' He just shook his head."
"I thought you said your father was a butcher."
"My stepfather is," I tell her. "I never knew my real father. He was an American soldier. He went away before I was born."
"And you think he has something to do with my Mom's fancy egg."
"I know he does! But you see, that's why I can't take the chance I'll make another kind der liebe!"
"No worries." She takes a package from her pocket and shows it to me. It's a condom. Relief surges through me.
"Am I ever glad you brought that!"
She takes my hand and leads my toward the van, and I offer no resistance.
I have taken an extended leave of absence from the orchestra, but in my heart I know I'll never return to it. As the Satin Subway has yet to sign a record deal, money is tight. William and Eunice offer to let me move into Ronald's bedroom, and I gratefully accept. We are both on our best behavior when one or both of Ramona's parents are present, of course. As Eunice is a housewife, the only real chance we have to share our love is when she and William go out together, and we're always meticulous about cleaning up afterwards so no one suspects anything.
I feel somewhat guilty but ease my conscience by reminding myself of how much Eunice seems comforted by my presence, almost as if I'm a substitute for her missing son.
In October Satin Subway is finally signed to a record label, and the psychedelic version of 'She Waits' soon becomes a hit.