Descent from Xanadu (3 page)

“Good,” he said. “We’ll be doing a great deal of it.” He paused a moment, then added, “Dr. Ivancich is a very imposing name. What is your first name?”

“Sofia,” she said.

“I’m Judd,” he said. “It’s very American to call each other by our first names. Would you mind, Doctor?”

“Not at all, Judd,” she said with a half-smile. “After all, my mother was an American and I obtained most of my schooling in the States.”

The maître d’ approached the table. “There is a telephone call for you, Dr. Zabiski,” he bowed.

The little doctor turned to Judd. “Could you excuse me?”

Judd nodded and rose from his seat for a moment as she left the table, then turned back to Dr. Ivancich. “You have a curious background, Sofia,” he said. “America and Russia.”

“Not really,” she answered. “The two countries were the only ones that could afford the research and facilities in which I decided to specialize. If it hadn’t been for the fact that my father spent almost twenty-five years in the UN in New York where I was born, probably none of this would have happened. It wasn’t until we returned to Yugoslavia that I lived in Russia. And then only until Dr. Zabiski’s work was recognized by our government, at which time I was able to come to work with her.”

“That was two years ago?” he asked. “Certainly as a doctor you could have earned more money elsewhere than here in Yugoslavia.”

“Probably,” she said. “But, then, I would not have had the experience of working with Dr. Zabiski, who is, in my opinion, one of the true geniuses in our field.”

“That’s quite a compliment,” Judd said.

“I believe it,” she said.

From the corner of his eye, Judd saw the little doctor returning. He got to his feet. She seemed slightly pale. “Is everything all right?” he asked, as he held the chair out for her.

She looked across the table as he returned to his own chair. “Nothing important,” she said. Then she looked deeply into the dark cobalt-blue of his eyes and that strange chill she felt in her office came over her again. It was as if he had invaded her mind.

She looked down at the tablecloth and placed her napkin on her lap before looking at him again. “Wouldn’t it be strange,” she said softly, “if we discover that death and immortality are one and the same thing?”

Death and immortality. The words echoed in the recesses of his mind. It was more than twenty years since his father had expressed to him almost exactly the same thought.

***

It was 1956. Exactly two days after President Eisenhower had been reelected for his second term. Judd had taken the 8:02 from Boston. The day was crisp and sunny in New York and he went up the back staircase from Grand Central and walked up Park Avenue. New York was exciting and alive, the people busy and hurried. It was very different from the almost lazy pace of the Harvard campus in Cambridge. He looked at his watch. It was not yet eleven o’clock. He had time. His father had asked him to meet at his office at noon.

He was still twenty minutes early when he stood in front of the new office building and looked up at the burnished stainless steel letters over the entrance: CRANE INDUSTRIES. He walked up the steps between the two fountains and through the glass doors. Since he was still early, he leaned against the marble walls and watched the people go in and out of the building.

A few minutes later a uniformed security guard approached him. He was a burly man, self-important in his army Sam Browne leather belt and his holstered gun. “No loitering here, sonny,” he said in a gruff voice.

“I’m not loitering,” Judd said politely. “I’m early for an appointment. So I thought I’d wait here.”

“Sorry, sonny,” the guard said. “If you’re early, come back later.”

Judd shrugged. “I might as well not be early then,” he said and began walking to the elevator bank which indicated the fortieth-floor express.

The guard stopped him. “They’re executive floors.”

“I know that,” Judd said.

“Who do you have an appointment with?” he asked.

“Mr. Crane,” Judd said.

The guard looked at him skeptically. He gestured to another guard standing in front of the elevator bank, who came to them. “This kid says he’s got an appointment with Mr. Crane.”

The second guard looked at him. “Do you have any identification on you, sir?” he asked politely.

Judd opened his jacket, the maroon sweater with the “H” crew letter over his white shirt seemed almost black in the light between the elevator banks. He took a leather billfold from his inside pocket. “Driver’s license, okay?”

“Fine,” the second guard nodded. He opened the billfold, looked at it, then at Judd. He folded it and handed it back.

“Sorry, Mr. Crane,” he said apologetically. “We have to be careful. In the last few weeks we’ve had some problems with people who had no reason to be here.”

“I understand,” said Judd, returning his billfold to his pocket.

The second guard turned a key to the elevator bank switchboard. One of the elevator doors opened. “Forty-fifth floor, Mr. Crane,” he said, stepping back.

Judd walked in and pressed the button. The doors began to close and the second guard’s voice came to Judd’s ears. “Asshole,” he said to the first guard. “That’s the boss’s son, you were—”

Judd smiled to himself as the voice became lost in the rush of air as the elevator moved up. He leaned back and watched the indicator lights climb. It was five minutes to noon when he came out of the elevator.

The receptionist was waiting at the door. “Good morning, Mr. Crane,” she said. “Your father is expecting you.” She opened the doors to the private elevator to his father’s office, the only one on the penthouse floor.

His father’s secretary met him as he came from the small elevator. “Judd,” she smiled.

“Miss Barrett,” he said, leaning to kiss her cheek. “You’re looking younger and prettier than ever.”

She laughed. “That’s sweet,” she said warmly. “But I’ve known you since you were born. You don’t have to give me that standard Harvard line.”

“Believe me,” he laughed. “I mean it. This is not Harvard.” He followed her through the outer secretaries’ room to her office next to his father’s. “How is he?” he asked. “It’s been almost six months since I’ve seen him.”

“You know your father,” she said, a strangely noncommittal sound in her voice. “He always seems the same.”

He paused and looked at her. “What kind of answer is that? Is something wrong?”

She didn’t speak. Instead, she opened the door to his father’s office. He thought he saw her eyes glisten with moisture as he went past. She closed the door behind him.

His father was standing at the windows looking out, his back toward him. “Judd?”

“Yes, Father,” Judd called from the door.

“Come here,” he said, still not turning to him.

Judd came to the window and stood next to his father. They hadn’t faced each other yet.

“It’s very clear. You can see the Battery, Staten Island beyond, and northeast to Long Island Sound and Connecticut.”

“Yes,” Judd said quietly. “It’s very clear.”

His father paused a moment, then turned to him. He held out his hand. “You’re looking well, Judd,” he said.

Judd took his father’s hand and, still holding it, tried to keep a lightness in his voice. “Have I grown too old to kiss my father hello?”

Suddenly his father embraced him and kissed his cheek. “Never too old, I hope,” he said.

Judd returned his father’s kiss. “That’s better,” he smiled. “I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

“That’s silly,” his father said. “I love you, my son.”

“I love you, Father.”

His father stepped back. “At first I thought we’d have lunch at ‘21’, but then I thought it might be better if we had lunch at the office. We haven’t talked for a long time and we’ll be more private here.”

“The office sounds good to me.”

“Hungry?”

Judd smiled. “I’m always hungry.”

His father pressed a button on the desk. A set of sliding doors opened and a small dining room with a round table appeared, large enough for eight but at this time only set for two. He turned to the switch at the interphone. “We’re ready for lunch,” he spoke into it.

He turned to Judd. “I’m having a Scotch and water. How about you?”

“Make it two,” Judd said, following his father into the dining room.

A small black man in black tie came through another door into the dining room. “Mr. Crane?”

“Two usuals, Fast Eddie,” Judd’s father said.

The thin little man lived up to his name. The two drinks were brought from the small bar almost before they had been requested. “Fast Eddie, this is my son, Judd,” his father said, taking his drink.

Fast Eddie handed Judd his drink. “My pleasure, Mr. Crane.”

“Thank you,” Judd said. He watched Fast Eddie disappear through the dining room door. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” his father said.

They sipped their drinks. “How long has Fast Eddie been working for you, Father?” Judd asked.

“About three months. He’s old Roscoe’s grandson. Roscoe has been training him for two years. The kid’s very good. It’s hard to believe that he just turned eighteen.”

“He seems nice.”

“He’s like his grandfather,” his father said. “He’s always there.” His father sat down at the table. He looked at Judd opposite him. “Surprised that I called?”

Judd nodded.

“We have a lot to talk about.” His father hesitated a moment. “Like the man said, ‘Which do we talk about first? The good news or the bad news?’”

“Whatever you think best, Father.”

“Then the good news first. I’ve been alone since your mother passed away fifteen years ago. Sure, there have been women, but that was something else. Now, I’m getting married. And I think you’ll like her too.”

Judd looked at him. “If you like her, Father, that’s all that’s important. I’ll be happy for you.”

His father smiled. “You haven’t even asked her name.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Barbara.”

Judd’s voice filled with astonishment. “Miss Barrett?”

His father laughed. “Is that such a surprise?”

“Yes,” Judd said, smiling. “But a good one. In some ways I don’t understand why you didn’t marry her sooner. It’s like she has always been a part of the family. May I go inside to tell her how happy I am for both of you?”

“She’ll join us at lunch in just a minute,” his father said.

“When are you getting married?”

“Six o’clock this afternoon,” his father answered. “Judge Gitlin is performing the ceremony at our apartment.”

“I know Uncle Paul,” Judd laughed. “I’d better hurry to get a black tie.”

“It’s not that important. Just a few of our close friends.” Then his father’s smile turned serious. “Now the bad news.”

Judd was silent.

“I have Hodgkin’s disease,” his father said.

“I don’t know what that is,” Judd said.

“It’s a kind of cancer of the blood.” His father waited a moment, then added, “It could be worse, however. The doctors tell me I can still have five or six years in reasonable comfort, and who knows what they may discover in that time? They may turn up a cure anytime.”

Judd was silent. He took a deep breath, holding back his tears. “I hope so. No, I’m sure they’ll find a cure.”

“And if they don’t,” his father said, “I won’t complain. I still would have had a good life.”

Judd was silent, looking into his father’s eyes.

“I’m not afraid of death,” his father said softly. “Death and immortality have always been very much the same to me.”

4

The Jeep with the customs officers led the limousine through the air-cargo gates to the field. They followed the road in front of a long row of warehouses past the commercial planes parked at the far end to where the field was reserved for military aircraft. The midnight blue B-747 seemed like a giant queen bee standing beside the cluster of tiny Yugoslavian fighter planes around it.

Judd stepped out of the limo and held his hand to Sofia. She looked up at the plane. The white insignia of the whooping crane—its wings outstretched as it lifted into the air, and followed by the words CRANE INDUSTRIES—was clear in the light from the airport windows. A painted American flag was under the pilot’s window and an even larger one stretched across the giant rudder.

She looked at Judd. “I’ve never seen a jumbo plane except in a film,” she said. “That one had a big staircase to it.”

Judd smiled. “Usually it’s rolled over to the plane if they aren’t parked at airports that have moving ramps. But this one’s special. It’s been built to my specifications.”

The customs officers came to them. “If you would be kind enough to give us your passports, we’ll stamp them,” one of them said.

Judd handed his passport from his jacket pocket and Sofia took her own from a purse. The customs officer walked back to the jeep and looked at the passports under a flashlight.

The chauffeur brought three valises from the car trunk. One was made of aluminum. He placed them beside her. At the same moment, an elevator supported by stainless steel rods descended from the wheel bay with two uniformed men on it who came toward them.

Judd introduced them. “Sofia, this is Captain Peters and Chief Steward Raoul. Gentlemen, Dr. Ivancich.”

Captain Peters shook hands. “Welcome, Doctor.”

Raoul tipped his hat in a sort of salute. “And I welcome also, Madame Doctor.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Sofia replied.

One of the customs officers returned. “The passports are in order. But we have to inspect Dr. Ivancich’s baggage unless we receive a special export license for her medical equipment.”

Her voice sounded annoyed as she spoke quickly in Serbian. The officer spoke apologetically, his hands expressive. She turned to Judd. “I’ll have to go back to their office,” she explained. “They’re like all bureaucrats. The export license was supposed to be ready. But, as usual—”

Captain Peters turned to her. “I’ll go back with you, Doctor. I have to get the flight plan approved anyway.”

“Take the limo,” Judd said. “I’ll meet you on board.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No problem,” Judd said. “It’s just the usual fuckup.”