Vitae
They cleared the table. Wanda apologized for the lack of dessert. “Connor hasn’t much of a sweet tooth, so I’ve gotten out of the habit.” Another idiosyncrasy to note and file away.
Connor said, “I blame it on a bad ahn experience.”
Elly laughed. Wanda asked what ahn was. Connor said, “Think refried beans with a chocolate bar thrown in.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Do you like it?”
“Well—”
“And it’s worse when some ward member offers you what looks for all the world like a chocolate Fudgesicle and you bite down and—well, my palate has never recovered from the trauma.”
Elly giggled. “They do that on purpose. Greenies are such easy targets.”
“Yeah, now I know.”
They returned to the table. “What mission did you go to?” Elly asked.
“Tokyo South.”
“Were you ever in Hiratsuka?”
“No, but we always arranged for zone splits the second week of July.”
Elly’s eyes lit up. “Isn’t the Hiratsuka Tanabata matsuri so incredible!”
A silence followed. Connor cleared his throat. Elly said, “I lived in Hiratsuka till I was eight. My father was the corporate liaison at a power plant GE was building in Yokohama.”
“Your handwriting is a dead giveaway. Japanese kids have to practice their penmanship.”
“You’re not kidding. After we moved to Yokohama, I was happy to attend the International School. And then we moved back to Utah. Sometimes I think my entire life can be explained by my having a third-grade Japanese education.”
“I think the key to my life is that I’m the youngest son of a youngest son. The only son of a youngest son. My whole life’s a generation off.”
“I’m the oldest. I get to be looked up to. But being the only son still makes you ch nan, the eldest boy.”
“With all of the responsibilities and none of the perks.”
The conversation sank into a moment of quiet. Connor said, “Are you going to the fireside tonight?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got to worry about class tomorrow.”
“Prepare, don’t you mean?”
“I prepare, then I worry.” She checked her watch. “I should probably get going.” She didn’t have to and didn’t especially want to. But she didn’t want to push a good thing. They got up from the table together.
“Do you live nearby?”
“I’m right across the park, on Ninth East. Melanie—she was my first senior companion—her parents got her the condo.”
“It’s faster if we go out the back,” he said, leading her down the stairs to the basement.
Elly stopped on the landing. The house was a split level. To the left, a door exited onto the back yard. To the right was a living room of sorts. A couch was set against the stairwell at right angles to a well-worn armchair. Between the armchair and the couch was a coffee table. Along the west wall (beneath the window) a bench served as a desk. A laptop and printer and a collection of textbooks. Decorating the wall separating the living room from the bedroom was an Osaka Metro subway map. A soba shop noren curtain hung from the top of the doorframe to the bedroom. The bedroom door was open, revealing the foot of a queen-sized bed.
The east wall (below the upstairs hall) separated the rooms from the rest of the basement. Against the wall were two bookcases, a boombox, and CDs that filled two shelves of the bookcase. On the wall next to the television was a framed Hokusai print.
“You can’t complain for lack of space.” She scanned the CDs: Eric Clapton, Mark Knopfler, Amii Ozaki, several Enka collections. She picked up an Off Course CD, Back Streets of Tokyo. “I loved this album when I was a kid.” A row of Joe Cocker, another of Sada Masashi. “Queen?” she said aloud, “Pink Floyd?”
“You can thank Billy Bragg, the token bad influence in my life. He really wasn’t that bad of an influence. It was the contrast that mattered. In my house, Neil Diamond was considered hard rock. Instead, it was the Metropolitan Opera every Saturday afternoon on the radio.”
The second shelf was devoted to Puccini and Mozart operas. She never would have guessed. What’s this—?” She picked up a toy sports car parked next to the Turandot CD case.
He said in an offhand manner, “A Mustang GT Coupe. I’ve had it ever since I can remember.”
“A Mustang,” she repeated to herself. She examined the front of the car. Gracing the tiny grille was a galloping silver horse. She felt goose bumps on her arms. She carefully placed the model car on the shelf and joined Connor on the landing. He opened the door for her. The blast of light and heat made them both wince.
Connor said, pointing, “You follow the path to the Olsen’s driveway, then down Apple to Birch.”
She took a hesitant step. Was he giving her directions? He stayed by her side. She almost sighed in relief and resisted grabbing hold of his arm. She said, “Your aunt mentioned something about black sheep in the family. That’s too intriguing not to ask about.”
“That’d be the first Connor McKenzie.”
“Good heavens,” she said with mock alarm, “there’s more than one of you? Does that make you a junior then?”
“Technically, the third. But I’m Connor Carroll McKenzie. The first two Connors were just Connor, and they skipped a generation each time. So the first Connor was my great-great-grandfather, the second was my grandfather.”
“And the Carroll?”
“The first Connor’s third wife, Katherine Anne Carroll.”
“He was a polygamist? There are a few in our family on the Packard side. Though my great-great-grandfather Oh was rumored to have a mistress or two. What made him a black sheep?”
They came to Birch Lane and filed down the walk to the park. Though still nearly empty, the park showed some signs of life: a family decamping from a minivan to the picnic area—a guy and a girl playing tennis—sunbathers on beach towels painting bright splashes of color on the grass—a couple making out under the maple tree.
“Hard to say what made him that way. He has an amazing biography. He emigrated from Scotland in 1844, joined the Mormon Battalion in Nauvoo, and walked all the way to Utah by way of San Diego and Sacramento.”
“That is hardly a disreputable resume.”
“The disreputable part comes later. According to the version I was told, he was running a dry goods establishment in Springville and buying into a larger store in Provo. Unfortunately ZCMI was founded that same year, 1868. I remember the date because—”
“—it was the year of the Meiji Restoration.”
“ZCMI promptly put him out of business. For a good capitalist Scot, it was an injustice of apocalyptic proportions.” Connor clenched his fist and struck a defiant pose. “The story seems funny now, but it must have been devastating at the time. We’re such a not-cause-driven bunch, maybe because of Connor-the-First’s example. At any rate, he didn’t just inveigh against ZCMI, but against the entire Church hierarchy, especially Brigham Young. He eventually got himself excommunicated.”
“Really? Excommunicated?”
“There’s a happy ending. As it turned out, the Carrolls hailed from the Isle of Man, and Katherine Anne’s father was a friend of George Q. Cannon, the Apostle, whose parents were also from Man. I guess Elder Cannon had no little experience with obstreperous Celts. He was sympathetic to the plight of the late Connor McKenzie. Posthumously, Elder Cannon had his temple rites restored.”
“That is an amazing story.”
“If you’re going to kick against the pricks, it pays to be on good terms with a General Authority.”
They stopped to watch a guy playing Frisbee with his collie.
Elly said, “Your Aunt Wanda gave me the idea there was more than one black sheep.”
“My grandfather, she meant, the second Connor. Not that he spoke or did anything against the Church. I don’t think he was ever active enough to care. But from what I knew of him, he was a real—”
Son of a bitch, Elly thought.
“—kareta otoko,” he said instead. A dried up old man. “But that’s being ungrateful. After Grandma died, he sold the house to Lynne and Glenn, and split the proceeds among the grandchildren. It paid for my tuition.” Connor brightened. “How about your great-great-grandfather? The one with the mistresses? He sounds a lot more interesting.”
They reached the backstop. Elly said, “Here’s the sidewalk.” She led the way. Melanie’s place was located between the second and third row of condos.
They stood in the slanting shadows. Elly was beset by self-consciousness, and at the same time filled with a painful longing. She wished for him to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. What if she kissed him first? How would he react? Could she even bring herself to do such a thing?
She caught his arm. “Oh, thank your aunt for me. I left without saying anything. That was rude of me. I hope I didn’t inconvenience her.”
“I got the impression that as long as you’re the one inconveniencing her, Aunt Wanda wouldn’t mind being inconvenienced every day of the week.”
“I do like her.” She smiled. “Though she thinks I’m tall.”
“You’re not short. How tall are you?”
“Five-five.”
He took a step closer and put his hands on her shoulders. Elly caught her breath in anticipation. He frowned. “I’m five-ten. You can’t be more than three inches shorter than me.”
“Okay, I’m five-six. And a half. Hey, you try growing up in Japan with a dad who’s six-two.”
“How tall’s your mom?”
“Five-three. Not short for a Japanese woman, but definitely shorter than my dad.”
“One of my companions, Elder Bunderson, was six-six. He practically knocked himself out a couple of times running into door frames.”
“Dad’s gotten good at ducking.”
Connor laughed.
Elly would have stood there exchanging small talk for the next hour if she believed there was any chance of the being-swept-into-his-arms part happening. It was a totally irrational expectation and it annoyed her, yet she could not rid herself of the desperate hope.
She backed to the front steps of the condo and raised her hand in a half-wave. “Mata.”
“Ashita,” he replied.
Mata ashita. Again tomorrow. A smile lit up her face.