Soul

This act of creation has made me a good man. This life is the payment for all the lives I have taken, the Colonel vowed silently, now determined to protect and nurture his child in a way that his own parents never had.

As he cradled his son in his arms, the opiate transformed his thoughts into grandiose declarations that seemed to wind around the pattern of the wallpaper.

13

California, 2002

JULIA LEANED AGAINST THE railings, her hair a whirling furore that caught at her lips and snaked across her nose and eyes. The memory of their lovemaking suddenly spread through her body; the intensity of her orgasm now resounding. The couple stood on the deck of the Catalina Express ferry, buffeted by the wind. Klaus had organised a surprise visit to a jazz concert at the Ballroom on the island. He had a habit of orchestrating mysterious events: the whole of their courtship and marriage had been peppered by such occasions—day visits to Napa Valley vineyards, rock concerts, picnics in unusual places, sailing trips, his proposal in the hot-air balloon, a tour of the haunted sites of Los Angeles, a night visit to William Randolph Hearst’s castle; once he had even taken her on a tour of the city’s sewers. These occasions had come to frame their relationship—emotional and geographical reference points that became mythologised by memory.

Julia loved him for it. It was as if she was discovering her own country again through his eyes. Klaus’s child-like delight in astonishing her, as well as his sense of adventure and thirst for the unusual, kept her from complete absorption in her work. Without him, she suspected she might lose her sense of play altogether.

They had taken the ferry from Long Beach. It was one of those spring afternoons when the light seemed to cut a clear edge around everything. As the boat sliced through the water, Julia watched the frothing waves descending away from the prow, exciting ripples that raced across the surface of the turquoise bay. Mesmerised by the rhythm of this constant movement, she found herself wondering about nature and the continuous renewal and atrophy that made up the physical world.

‘You have to grasp your own piece of time and ride it, ride the whole wave until it peters out onto the foreshore,’ she said out loud, forgetting herself.

Klaus, standing against her, his face turned into the wind, only caught every third word.

‘What?’ he asked, but, deafened by the boat engine and the sea, Julia only saw his lips move. Looking up, she smiled back reassuringly, then pressed herself against him. His arms curled around her, his face now in her hair, a hidden swirl of confusion and sadness.

Oblivious, Julia leaned over the railing and was instantly reabsorbed in the submerged cosmos beneath the parting waves.

It was typical of Julia, Klaus thought, she had this rare capacity to be completely captivated by the act of observation and, like a chameleon, become an invisible watcher. He glanced at her profile: the strong nose that arched nobly, the jet-black straight hair that hung to her shoulders, the blue hunger of her eyes. Almost as tall as him, she had broad shoulders that could cradle a large man like him comfortably. She was everything he had wanted—intellectually stimulating, funny, ambitious, sexually adventurous—and yet here he was, torn between this moment and a parallel existence that pulled violently at his instinct. Where would he be at fifty, even sixty? He shut his eyes, trying to imagine the three of them as a family, his son’s tiny hand linking the two of them—he couldn’t visualise it. He should be able to know it, to see their future. He swallowed, fear bobbing in his throat like an apple in a barrel.

‘There’s something else…’ he mouthed into the roaring wind, knowing Julia couldn’t hear a word. He’d planned everything, and now he’d arrived at this junction he found himself gripped by an irrational terror. Could he do it? Was he capable of such a finite decision?

The blasting horn of the ferry momentarily obliterated his anxieties as the boat swung towards the small harbour of Avalon.

They were standing right in front of the stage in the Catalina Ballroom—a circular neo-classical building positioned on a peninsula originally built as a small opera house by the chewing gum magnate Wrigley when the family owned the island in the 1920s. The building—now a ballroom and casino—was spectacular. A balcony, with pillars and arches, ran all the way around, providing a 360-degree panorama of LA harbour and the luxury yachts and boats twinkling and swaying in the small port of Avalon directly below.

Julia loved Catalina, the quaintness of its immaculately maintained small cottages and fishing shacks that ran up its slopes. A haven for celebrities during the 1920s and ’30s it had somehow retained its individuality. It had a fairytale quality, an old-worldliness that seemed unimaginable given the bustling proximity of Los Angeles.

The band’s saxophonist was dwarfed by the alto saxophone she was welded to; swaying, it was as if she was making love through the instrument itself, its rich tones spilling out into the treacly, humid night. She broke into the first notes of ‘My Funny Valentine’; as the double bass plucked at the backbone beneath, Julia’s body thrilled to the music. A Spanish guitar, keyboard and drums joined in, building the refrain with a poignant tenderness.

Julia and Klaus were pressed between a group of four young girls and a middle-aged couple who sounded as if they might be from the Midwest. The wife, well over fifty and about twenty stone, began to sing along loudly. Determined to block her out, Julia stayed focused on the saxophonist, on the interweaving notes soaring up toward the chandeliers. The song ended and, turning, Julia suddenly noticed that Klaus had left her side.

She found him out on the balcony, leaning against one of the arches that framed the view. He was staring towards the city—now a twinkling mirage of distant lights set against the fading crimson of the sunset.

‘You’ve been really quiet since I got back. Is everything okay?’

He glanced at her then back out to sea. ‘A lot changed while you were away. I guess I found the time to find myself.’

Wondering at this sudden despondency, she wrapped her hand around his arm. ‘Am I that demanding?’ she joked.

‘Not demanding so much as all encompassing. Somehow you manage to fill a space completely. I guess it’s like uneven magnetic fields—I am always in your orbit.’

‘Not from my axis: you’re all that’s on my horizon.’ She searched his eyes but found them vacant. Shivering, she nestled into his jacket. ‘You know, I used to think happiness was something dramatic, something that happened suddenly. Now I think it’s like a constant note you’re barely aware of until those rare and wonderful occasions when it suddenly intensifies and you find yourself standing on a balcony in some tiny opera house at the edge of the Pacific, and you think, wow, how did this happen?’

Now he looked at her. ‘Julia…’

She waite

d, wondering at the strange play of emotions that ran like scene changes across his face.

‘What, sweetheart?’

He hesitated, then, shaking his head, pulled away from her. ‘Nothing. I have to go to the restroom. I’ll see you back inside.’

As he left, she turned back to the glistening skyline and vowed to take him with her on her next research trip.