copyright 2007 Gerhard Skutsch

 

SUSAN

(from Chapter 10 - Alive in St. Louis)

 

    Susan is sitting at this table, doodling on a sheet of letter paper.  She is a talented doodler.  She has filled the page with bearded men in different poses:  standing and waiting, stooping over an attaché case, handing over money to buy something essential, and holding someone very gently in his arms.  The actual bearded man is standing by the window with his back to her.  She has no trouble guessing what he is thinking.  She has had a great deal of practice reading the minds of middle-aged men.  Getting what she wanted, and sometimes even her survival, depended on this ability.

    Susan knew Izzie-Howard was looking at the shadows rising around the pointing horseman in the middle of the square.  They had both gone up to the statue after the taxi had let them off in front of the hotel, which the driver had highly recommended.  “Comfortable and quiet.  You can’t go wrong.”  It was easy to walk to the statue before going into the hotel because each only had one light piece of baggage.  Susan had not had time in New York to claim the large suitcase with the expensive dresses, skirts, blouses, perfumes, and jewelry that two admirers, one Italian and one French, had bought for her, in Rome and Paris respectively.  Ordinarily to have lost this suitcase would have been a major tragedy for her.  But when she mentioned it to Howard, it was with a tone of indifference.  She still had the claim check.  She might eventually claim it.  It didn’t matter.  “Easy come, easy go,” she had said to him when they left the terminal.  But she pinched his cheek and added with a laugh, “Except for you!  I’m not going to let you go!”

    The statue was properly old-looking and heroic.  On the plaque on the pedestal, under the great man’s name and dates, were only three words:  “EXPLORER.  GENERAL.  VISIONARY.”  “Which direction is he pointing?”  Susan had asked.  “West, of course,” Howard had answered.  She made him put down her handbag and his attaché case, and she took his hands.  “Which direction are we going?”  “West, of course.”  “All the way, Howard?”  “All the way.”

    Now he was thinking about what “all the way” meant.  He wasn’t having doubts, as Susan knew he had had after the captain’s original announcement about the “bomb.”  He had passed that test too.  He had passed every test she had set for him.  He was the first man in her life, and that included her father, who had been able to do that.  At some point each of the others had betrayed her, either in small matters or in a life-and-death turning point.  She made a prediction to herself that this man with his back to her, whose figure she was now doodling on a third sheet of paper, would never betray her.

    Suddenly he turned around, as if he’d decided on something.

    Susan got up and faced him.  She tilted her head downward and to one side.  She kept her arms by her side and her feet slightly apart.  She patiently waited, ready to accept whatever he said.

    “You are not my daughter.”

    “No.”

    “But I’m responsible for you.”

    “Yes.”

    “If you did something, then I did it too.”

    “Yes.”

    “Come here!”

    “Yes!”

    A few steps and he had his arms around her shoulders and she had her face buried under his chin against his chest.

    “If you want to be a star, if that’s your heart’s desire, then I’ll do whatever I can to help you.  But you have got to promise me something.”

    In a muffled, small voice she answered, “Yes, Howard! I’ll do whatever you say!”

    “Never never never do anything that could hurt innocent people!”

    She began crying, and it was not part of any script.  After a while she thought, You must be a very effective father, Izzie!  No punishment could be more effective than that admonition.

    She pulled back from him just enough to look up and let him keep his arms around her.

    “I felt what you felt in the plane, Howard.  And I felt what the captain and the passengers and the stewardesses felt.  I wasn't prepared for that.  I had to do something.  That’s why I volunteered to help.  That wasn’t planned.  Even the calls weren’t planned.  I just saw those phones and I went up to them and there was no one else there.  The idea just came to me.  It seemed so simple.  It would be exciting.  But I caused all of you pain.  I’m truly sorry for that!”

    But she couldn’t help justifying herself as well.

    Izzie-Howard kissed her on the forehead.  Was she really all these women at the same time?  Ambitious and innocent; sophisticated and simple; sultry and vulnerable; Machiavellian and playful; cold and compassionate.  Was it possible for one seventeen-year-old girl to be all that?  Or was she really only seventeen?  She had held that plane and everyone on it in the palm of her hand, and later most of the media did exactly what she wanted.  He did exactly what she wanted.  She drew them all into her game and made them feel privileged to be allowed in it.  He was going to help her to be a star?  She didn’t need any help.  He would just be along for the ride.  Yet her eyes told him she needed him.  They were still moist.  He couldn’t define, couldn’t put a word to what he felt for this ancient young woman in his arms.  It went beyond affection and even love.  Was it idolatry?  Did he worship her?  No, he didn’t think so.  It was simpler than that.  He pulled her against him again.  He didn’t want any distance between them.  He knew she didn’t either.

    She thought, No, Howard, you will never betray me.