City dignitaries and their well-dressed spouses assembled in the grand ballroom of the Wentworth mansion. That night the siege-weary city mustered much pomp and circumstance for feasting and festivities. They had gathered to honor the maimed and brave Major Rollins, who had slain the tribal foe. The long banquet table was covered with silver plates overflowing with the rough food of isolation: poultry, squash, potatoes, and blackberries. It was a tired diet. While their attackers ate well, stealing from far and wide, the San Franciscans were limited to what they could grow in the vestiges of Golden Gate Park.
The assemblage was elegantly dressed, but their faces were creased with the disquiet of a cornered people. Laughter and cheer rang hollow. They came to celebrate the death of the traitor Kout, but, gaunt with apprehension and deprivation, they formed a portrait of despair. Yet the military officers, in full-dress uniforms, black with burnt-orange piping, enjoyed themselves with smug indifference to the despondent citizenry.
Todd Wentworth, his head pounding and his stomach burning, stood smiling and greeting each nervous visitor, each frightened Brahmin. An hour earlier, the pain in the right side of his head had been so acute that he had stumbled, groaning, around his room, unable to see, unable to speak. The house workers persuaded him to smoke some marijuana, which he usually avoided and disliked. In this case, the few puffs relieved his migraine and calmed his vomiting. Todd gratefully eschewed other suggestions for herbal, yogic, and rest advice from these same house workers. He was determined to attend the celebration of Rollins’ accomplishment, and determined to do so in such a way as to lift the spirits of the citizenry. The thick, life-draining cloud of sorrow that filled his heart and body, combined with the pain in his head, left him fit for nothing other than a bed; but a Wentworth, a servant of the city, could not postpone the public side of his life.
Thurston addressed the crowd with the enthusiasm of a winning gymnast. He praised the bravery, stealth, and cunning of Major Rollins. Pacing and throwing his hands and fists through the air, Thurston recounted the minute-by-minute movements of the city’s hero. He orated in exquisite detail how the maimed soldier had wended his way through the Angeleno encampment. When Thurston was done, the chancellor, in full rapture, bellowed about “the hero’s bravery and cunning besting Yahoo numbers and weaponry!” Thaddeus decried the ineptitude of the ALA and excoriated the dead traitor. The crowd roared and Thaddeus and Thurston reveled in their adoration. Meanwhile, Rollins stood uncomfortably between the two brothers. Eventually, during the chancellor’s drawn-out speechifying, Rollins drifted away from the stage and melted into the crowd.
From his spot in the throng, Todd cheered his siblings on, as loudly as the most fervent LA-hater. But the sight of his brothers strutting before the crowd weighed heavily on his temporarily-frail nerves. Todd felt the emptiness of the crowd’s ovations; he saw the falsity of their exuberance, saw that the depression he now suffered (in his case, because of romantic heartbreak) also afflicted the citizens. While the emotional shadows in Todd’s life came from the most intimate quarter, the people of San Francisco suffered from a colossal social threat, and they anticipated destruction. That night, for the first time, he saw that his brothers and their officers were out of touch with the fears of their people. Though to all appearances the assemblage was to a person mesmerized by the speaker’s fast, rhythmic speech and words of glory, Todd saw through the clouded eyes that the people were heartsick and despairing.
Knowing that the chancellor would speak for quite some time, Todd grew desperate to break away from that gloating voice he knew so well. He decided to find Rollins, congratulate him personally, then make his way back to his room, where alone he would sulk with his broken heart. Long-necked and long-legged, Todd saw over, around, and through the crowd. He soon espied the hero, now standing at the back of the room. Todd, holding the side of his throbbing head despite himself, pushed through the smoky crowd toward the major. The commingled smokes of tobacco and marijuana filled and clouded the room and added to the young general’s discomfort.
Despite physical and spiritual distress, Todd smiled at the sight of the one-armed soldier. Surrounded by admirers, Rollins turned his head in confusion as he tried to listen to his master. But he was mightily distracted by the yammering of the new devotees of his nascent stardom. The Wentworths had talked Rollins into tolerating a celebration of his heroism; they impressed upon him how dire was San Francisco’s need for heroes. By the time Thaddeus, Thurston, and Helen were through with him, Rollins looked upon the party as just one more mission for the good of the city. He had marched into the room with head held high. But once the crowd’s attention set upon him, he hated it so much that he longed for the days when he and Irma were isolated in the windy shack on the sea cliffs. The attention, characterized by empty flattery and even a few come-hither looks from some of the older woman, disturbed him. There was nothing in his makeup or training to give him the slightest pleasure in a society gathering. Rollins felt like a zoo animal being gawked at by the hordes.
As Todd approached the hapless celebrated hero, he continued to notice the fear and hopelessness in the people’s eyes. Had they always been so unnerved? But when his eyes met Rollins’, these thoughts drained from his consciousness and a sudden chill crept up the young general’s spine. Never before had Todd felt such chilling portent in eye-to-eye contact. Todd stretched out his hand and the two men shook heartily. In deference to the Wentworth, the crowd backed off slightly. Before Todd could finish his platitudinous thanks, Rollins leaned toward the younger man’s ear and whispered huskily, “Sir, I must speak with you in private.”
Todd waved him off. “Now? But this is your time to celebrate. Savor the moment.” In truth, Todd feared that Rollins would deliver a message from Irma and that the hearing of it would shake him too deeply: He feared hearing words from the woman who had driven high his spirits and transformed his soul. He was resolved not to lose his composure in public, and he feared added misery during an evening that was already difficult enough.
But Rollins was firm. “We must speak now.” Todd saw such sad pleading in the aging soldier’s face that he knew he must accede. Once he was resolved, his view flipped completely and he hungered desperately for some poignant words of love from his stolen mistress. With his heightened sensitivity, Todd read plainly the rough man’s countenance and saw that Rollins hated the message he was to convey. What Todd did not perceive was that that Rollins would have held his silence, would never have burdened Todd with this new pain, except that he had been commanded to do so by the chancellor, Thurston, and Helen.
They walked outside to a spacious patio with a low wrought-iron rail. During the day, this spot was perfect for a dramatic view of Alcatraz and northern East Bay. This night was dark and windy. The two men fastened their jackets, turned up their collars. They moved close to each other so that they could shield their faces from the wind, and so they might hear over its gusts.
Rollins hesitated for a moment. Now that he was out of the crowd, his wits were about him, and he scolded himself for including the story of Isoka and Irma in his debriefing to the chancellor. But Helen had demanded that he account for every minute and, believing that the shrewd woman might recognize importance where he did not, the faithful soldier went into more detail about his mission than he had about any he had recounted in his entire life. His heart sank when the chancellor seized on Isoka’s seduction.
Rollins hesitated so long that Todd shrugged. The young general nodded toward the hampering wind. “Well?”
Rollins seized upon a glimmer of palatable truth he had found shining through this disgusting situation. The general must not crave this woman, not in ignorance. He had found purpose to justify his forced harming of this man whom he admired. He could think no more. He leaned close to Todd’s ear; his lip brushed across Wentworth’s black hair. “Irma has taken Isoka as a lover.”
With both of his hands, Todd fiercely pushed at Rollins’ thick chest. The one-armed soldier fell back. He saw Todd coiled and about to beat him. Rollins held up his own hand to show that he would not fight back. Todd stared hatefully into the faithful soldier’s sad yellow eyes. Rollins looked away.
Todd’s hand went to his temple, which now again throbbed with migraine intensity. Then his head fell backward and he let the merciless wind slap at his face. His eyes rolled up and his irises fluttered as if he suffered a petit mal. “Be careful!” he groaned with weak menace.
“It is the truth,” cried Rollins.
“Don’t say that,” Todd shouted over the wind. He bent down to place his hands on his knees, while his lungs pulled in the dust-laden air.
“The truth, sir,” the soldier repeated, his hand still held up to express his submission. Rollins stayed thus frozen for the moments it took Todd to recoup.
Finally, Wentworth stood. He too now held up his hands to show that there would be no more violence. He said, “Go ahead, Major; twist the knife. Where did you get this crap?”
Rollins relayed, with authenticating detail, the story of the walk through the tunnel (he left out the attempted rape, which he had not witnessed). He described Irma’s greetings of the Angelenos and her tirade against her father, which were last words the traitor had heard in life.
“With Isoka?” Todd blurted.
“She wants freedom, and Isoka convinced her that . . . ” Rollins could not say, for actually, he had heard very little. During his escape back through the tunnel his mind had been focused, not on own his assassinative deed, but on Irma walking off with that well-spoken black devil. For Rollins, who had such avuncular sentiments about her, to see Irma blithely consorting with an Angeleno officer, was, perhaps, the most disheartening thing he had seen in his honest and narrow life. He tried to excuse her. “She held much animosity towards her father. She was striking out at him. Nothing more.”
This man, thought Todd, is too limited to lie; and he has no cause. He treats us with reverence. He barked, “Why did you let this happen?”
“Sir?” It had never occurred to Rollins to blame himself. Irma’s defection was an evil thing he had witnessed. But of course the general was right: He was the man on the ground. Rollins shook his head sadly.
“Irma’s trusted protector!” Todd sneered. “Did Thaddeus put you up to this?”
Rollins wavered, then did what all people in those days did: He found a grain of truth and expressed it as though the one accuracy answered all questions. “To kill Kout? Yes. That was his order, sir.”
Todd stopped himself. He told himself, She has done with me! There was no point in badgering this man; he had done what was within the scope of his instructions and understanding.
Rollins read Todd’s face and saw that he knew the story to be true. What he did with the truth was up to Wentworth. It was only for Rollins to report fully. He was sure that in a better moment the general would remember that. He said with puzzlement, “Sir, I’ve never seen anything like it. As we walked through that cave, they fell in love. I watched it happen. I swear! When we emerged and I saw them with each-- So fast. Really fast.”
“Please, spare me, Major!”
Rollins was disappointed not to be able to share his story in its full color. Now that it was over, he saw the whole thing as the most fabulous episode in his life. Not just the success of his dangerous mission, but the side drama he had witnessed. He would have no grandchildren, and Rollins wondered to whom he would tell his story. Certainly not the troops. Only to Todd or someone involved, so that he would not be gossiping, just reminiscing.
Todd rubbed the back of his neck and thought. Rollins looked inside and saw the intimidating crowd. Finally, Todd said, “I’m going to take her back.”
Rollins stood erect and said, “I will take you to see them for yourself.”
Todd grabbed his arm.
Rollins, chest swelling, nodded firmly. “I can get back in there, sir.” His hour of dangerous service would not yet be ended; he could carry out another mission for his leaders.
“You’re a fine man, Rollins,” Todd said. “You will have whatever you want.”
“Your satisfaction, sir,” Rollins said excitedly. But in the next breath, he said with great caution, “But if she does not want to come back, we must leave her.”
Todd did not hear this last sentence. He turned around sharply and looked through the French doors. The party was now a barrier to his need for quick action.
“Are you ready to go now? Tonight? This hour?”
“Better a tunnel then to go back into that room!”
Rollins saw that Todd was going to ignore the admonition that Irma might prefer to stay with Isoka. Rollins was not sure if he should force his general to see the whole picture. But he decided that his duty was not to advise, but only to report. He had done so.