Thursday, May 30 1963 - 1:12pm
Beyond the small balcony at the back of the store's first floor, the vast neighborhood of shacks and narrow gardens extends into the urban areas of Dallas that people here only cross on the highway. A frontier zone of low cinderblock walls, tin roofs and bushes. Barbecues gleaming in the sun, a constant reminder that this is Texas. On my lap is the last bite of my lunch: a peanut butter sandwich. I don't know why I prepared it, as I hate it: sometimes it gets to me these days, and that's all I can eat. I even felt like adding marshmallows to it once, which makes no sense at all. And it's no longer a cup of coffee by my side, but a whole thermos.
On Monday, I started working for Metroplex Radio & Electronics, Lloyd's parents' family business, which is kindly known in the neighborhood as 'Merelec'. In three days, I've learned to solder circuit boards, which is an interesting complement to the energy I can feel flowing through the components. I'm doing pretty well, especially if I can see the circuit diagrams. I think I've even managed to get a radio receiver's audio amplifier working on a demodulator, before I've even soldered the two together: just by a flow of energy from my fingers. You get the little satisfactions you can: mine are connecting with people and machines, that's just how things are. Lloyd thinks that perhaps it's all about energy after all.
He, actually has three stores to manage: the one here, the one in downtown Dallas, and the one - in the process of opening - in Houston, in the southern part of the state. I'm allowed to live in the tiny upstairs bedroom of the Glen Oaks store. Lloyd, on the other hand, returns to the family residence every evening - not so far from Kitty's, though less fortunate - and he may leave for several months to the south soon. Klaus hasn't called yet, but I spoke briefly to Jill. They're staying at the estate of a man named Ken Kesey, who entertains San Francisco's elite with LSD. I've got the number, she's got mine. I hope it will work out that way.
I don't spend much time walking in the neighborhood. I'm mostly learning to deal with Mrs. Thompson, the neighbor across the street who - once again - doesn't like me, with the suppliers, including Mason in plumbing, and with Brian: the owner of the hardware store next door at 165-167. The guy who didn't hire me, but who's now happy to have someone fix his toaster. Every Tuesday, this clever little device breaks down - with insolent regularity - and it's always ready on Thursday.
I eat my last bite, then I bend down to pour myself a shot of caffeine from the thermos. And just then, I see a young silhouette pass by on the nearby balcony, making me briefly gaze over the gap separating us. There, beyond the two antique railings gleaming in the June sun above the concrete, Brian's young apprentice is settling into a camping chair in a checkered shirt. With a corned beef sandwich, and a volume of Arthur C. Clarke's 'Childhood's End'. A 50s anticipation book: one of the few styles I like.
He has chestnut hair, straight eyebrows, the high cheekbones of the people here. And blue eyes, shining under a forehead too smart to work in this hardware store. You can tell he'll be strong and tall. I give him a sidelong glance because I know he's spotted me, and I sigh because I don't have much time. But I lean over the edge of the balcony as he opens his book to its very last pages.
"You already know that the Overlords aren't ill-intentioned aliens, I suppose," I say, amused, taking a sip of my coffee.
He smiles as he looks down at his page, and I suspect it's not Brian he's talking with about his SF literature. He leaves the book open on his knees, bites into his sandwich, and nods as he finally looks at me.
"I think it's a good intention to prevent humanity from destroying itself.
In the Cold War world, hearing these words sounds like a crazy hope, and I laugh softly into my mug, which I finish in one gulp. Klaus said the same thing, when he read this book during his sixth rehab. I think he remembered it mainly because it includes a breathtaking ouija board scene.
"This whole book is a middle finger to The War of the Worlds".
"Yes, for once aliens aren't here to exterminate us".
He nods briskly, unfazed by my vivid vocabulary, pleasantly surprised to be able to have this conversation. I suspect he's read it too. And probably Huxley, Asimov, and Bradbury. A cute geek before his time. And he says to me, with the exaltation of someone who hasn't lived much yet:
"I like the idea that what Earthlings thought was the Apocalypse was actually the beginning of their Ascension."
"If only."
I know he won't understand this word that has slipped out of my mouth, and anyway he's already looking at me with a look that says a lot about how this subject resonates with him.
"Sometimes you have to go through hell to live better days".
I blink, because for a moment this candid, disarming optimism seems to me like it could really move mountains. I wish I had that kind of strength, but even after almost three years on a transformative journey, it's still beyond my strength. Klaus is right, I think I've really lost my damn dreams and hopes. But I'm not going to shatter that kid's.
"How old are you?"
I have my suspicions about the answer.
"Eighteen this fall."
He's seventeen. The same age Granny is now, somewhere on the other side of the Atlantic. I nod with a friendly twitch of the lips: I really fear that this decade will painfully bring his generation to its senses. Both the hippies and those who think fighting is the answer. Damn. I'm thirty-two years old, and I feel like I've lived a hundred. But - he - has his whole life ahead of him, and with a carefree look on his face that is no longer that of a child and not yet grown-up, he asks me:
"Was Brian harsh with you on Friday? I didn't hear all of it."
I frown a little.
"Brian? He's not your father?"
"He's my uncle."
I wonder what's in his tone. Something between admiration and bitterness. I sigh. He must already know why his uncle didn't want to hire me. But he seems not to give a damn.
"There are already two of you running the store, that's enough," I tell him, but he shrugs.
"I probably won't be here forever."
A flight of pigeons flies in from the garden next door, barely glancing at the crumbs of our meals. He chews his sandwich with an expression of kindness four light years ahead of Brian's. Sometimes the apple does fall very far from the tree. He's the kind of person who comes easily to people, even newcomers, with no more preconceptions than I do. He's suprisingly kind to someone who's just arrived in his landscape. I smile at him but I look at the time on my wristwatch, which I repaired myself.
"I have to reopen the store at 1:30."
He nods, still chewing his corned beef:
"I always eat lunch here. Except on Mondays, because we eat a burger at Stadler's."
I purse my lips in a smile.
"Perfect, I hope you'll lend me some books."
I stand up, stretching one last time before picking up my thermos, and finally turn to him, quite happy with this unexpected encounter over balconies in the June sunshine.
"My name is Rin".
He smiles, reopens his book and finds the paragraph he must have stopped at last time. And as the clock inside Brian Katz's hardware store chimes half past one, he answers me with his simple name:
"David".
Thursday, July 4 1963 - 9:52pm
Against the almost black sky, an explosion rips the first curtain of night and falls in a myriad of orange sparks, as if shooting stars were raining down on the sheds' tin roofs. I wonder if the Destiny's Children are enjoying the fireworks tonight, as they have little desire to live in society. But I know that here - in Dallas - this fourth of July will be the last to be joyous for a long time. Four months from now, Kennedy's assassination will plunge the city into a mournful stupor that will last for the years to come.
Tonight, however, no-one knows about this 'Snippet of Destiny', and neither does Lloyd, who didn't attend the last "Ceremony" on the last new year's eve. He doesn't need to know. Tonight, on the balcony where I've sown the last of Wayne's wallflowers, we're just enjoying the breathtaking view from the back of the store. I think - from here - we can see three displays at once: Dallas, Garland, and probably Plano, in the distance, all three slightly out of sync. Below the lotus tattoo, which is visible above my summer blouse on my back, his arm simply goes around my waist, a gesture neither of us is surprised about anymore. Another firework explodes in the sky, this time in blue.
"How long will the work take, in Houston?"
Lloyd shakes his head slowly. We both know that this is an important expansion for his family's business, and that his parents' health doesn't allow them to supervise it.
"The store opening is set for Novembre 13th, and I'll be back right afterwards".
I nod. I'm not afraid to run the shop on my own here. And if a complex repair is required, I can send it to the store in downtown Dallas.
"You'll do just fine," he adds. "And I'll be here for the worst week: you'll see that by the time Kennedy comes, everyone will have a TV set to get fixed."
As another burst of fireworks is fired in the distance, I nod, closing my eyes for a moment, and I choose not to say anything, again.
"I'll come home on some weekends," Lloyd whispers. "And maybe in August, we can..."
Garland's grand finale explodes, yet I can see him frowning. On the balcony next door, David has just passed by, appearing downcast, a stark contrast to the clamor and laughter of the joyful gatherings taking place throughout the neighborhood.
"You okay, kid?" says Lloyd, and I go and lean over the balcony railing, looking at him as I do almost everyday at lunchtime.
"Brian brought in Trisha Mason."
I frown.
"Trisha... Mason... as the plumbing wholesaler?"
He nods and sighs, while Lloyd crosses his arms, guessing what this is about:
"To go to the West Avon community ball with you?".
And David clenches his fist as if to restrain himself from raging, or perhaps crying.
"I've never understood the point of those balls," he says. "Brian claims it's important for business, because her father negotiates with the factories, and we can get the best prices."
"David!"
Through the wide-open window, Brian can be heard calling, slightly muffled by the closed bedroom door. Trisha must be downstairs in the store, from which David has clearly escaped. He sighs, taking his head in both hands as if he might try to bring himself to reason.
"You don't want to go, do you?"
He takes a step to go back downstairs, but changes his mind again. Clearly, some inner force beyond his reason is preventing him from going back.
"David, stop being a goddamn brat. You're a man now, with responsibilities!"
My face gives way to a pained expression. I don't like that kind of bellowing, and I certainly hate it when a kid is forced to get it on with a poor girl for business purposes. Besides, 'Trisha Mason' probably didn't ask for it either.
"DAVID !"
David shudders, and Lloyd looks up, sensing the tone rising downstairs. He blinks, looks at me, then says to both of us, already taking a step back into the house towards the staircase:
"I just remembered we have a fixed toaster to return".
I nod. Keeping Brian busy is certainly the right thing to do, and Lloyd would be capable of dragging it out long enough to get Trisha to back off. He'll probably do better than me, who'd opt more directly for the knee-in-the-nuts approach. The division of labor seems right to me, and I lean back against the railing as David says, as if talking to himself:
"Last year it was with Deborah Stadler and she wanted to..."
He quivers, in a way that makes me raise my right eyebrow.
"... no, really, I'm not doing that again."
"DAVID! DAD GUM IT!"
I put on an innocent face, in the midst of this Texan swearing storm sprinkled with the crackling fireworks of the Plano final. What David needs is certainly no dramatization.
"Reminds me of my prom, what a hell," I tell him in a friendly way. "Granny set me up with Finn Flanders. She never did that again."
"Granny?"
"My grandmother. She's old school: she was born in '46."
"That's my birth year, '46."
I cough.
"Sorry, I mean 86. 1886."
He doesn't dig any further. And - thoughtfully - he asks me instead:
"How did you manage to avoid it?"
I shrug, smiling at him.
"I went there with Lisa Fontanarosa."
He looks up, frowning above his small blue eyes, certainly staring at me far too long. In a world like this, with a family background like his, the established order would have him turn on his heel, return to the store floor and never speak to me again. But for some reason he will probably remain unaware of for a few years yet, he doesn't. And he gazes down at the concrete balcony.
"Brian would probably kill me with his own hands," he murmurs.
And I joke again, my palm casually resting my chin above the gap that separates us.
"Oh? Too bad for him. Lisa Fontanarosa was great".
He doesn't laugh, but his face no longer bears the same twisted expression as when he came out a little earlier. We can't hear Brian shouting anymore, and I'm pretty sure that Lloyd is making him retell this morning's military parade with a toaster in his hands, and that Trisha will soon be turning tail if she hasn't already. It's time for the downtown final bouquet to start exploding, over the skyline of tall buildings, at the end of Avon street. We both watch the glittering fallout, which disappears like fireflies in a thunderous sound.
For a moment, we don't say anything, but he seems quiet now, maybe even ready to go back down to the store. I'm sorry he's going through this, but it certainly won't be the worst. Another 'Snippet of Destiny', that I can guess without needing to know anything about the future, and which I'll keep to myself once again.
"Remember how you thought keeping humanity from destroying itself was a good intention?"
He sighs, but agrees, looking in the same direction as me. I blink, I take a breath. And with a sincerity I hope will one day help this kid, I tell him:
"It won't be Trisha Mason, but... I hope you find a person - or two, or three - to keep you from changing your mind about this."
Notes:
Rin hasn't yet realized that this is Dave, whom she's never heard of as David. But I do believe that he touches her intuitively, for the part of her that remains in San Francisco.
I've chosen - through this chapter and the next - to give a glimpse through Rin's eyes of Dave's qualities that will make Klaus fall for him in five years' time. I wanted these chapters to tell a little of what might have happened between them in Vietnam, without showing it head-on.
I hope that all Dave's kindness and openness shows through here, including with newcomers and those who are not like him. His crazy hopes and dreams, which Klaus already mentioned in season 1, chapter 22, which probably saved him. His passion for books, which he finally shares with Klaus, who read a lot of them in rehab and who will one day advise him to read Dune, under the bombs. His attraction to anticipation litterature and his proto-geekiness, which will undoubtedly predispose him to accept more readily the supernatural side of Klaus. A sexual identity he's still unaware of, but which a kind word over a balcony may one day help him to accept. I hope to pay tribute to him, because I knew that one day I'd have to go through this.
Any comment will make my day!