Valley of the Moon (16 page)

The first thing he said to me was, “Lux Lysander. Tell me everything about you.”

By the end of the night, he was family.

Benno walked through the gate, holding tightly to the hand of his escort, the retired stewardess named Jill.

I greedily took in the sight of him in his denim overalls. He needed a haircut. Even though he'd only been gone for two weeks, he looked older. Taller. Or maybe it was just the distracted expression on his face.

“Benno, Benno!” I cried. “Over here!”

Both he and Jill swung their heads in my direction. Jill whispered something to him. Benno saw me and took a step backward, apprehension in his eyes. This was not the reunion I had planned.

I walked toward Benno, calling to him softly like you would to a feral animal. “It's me, sweetheart, it's me.”

When I got to within five feet of him, he broke away from Jill and started walking in the other direction.

“Where's he going?” I asked.

“He's confused. Don't take it personally.”

She went after him and he let her scoop him up into her arms while I tried not to panic. I'd known it was a mistake to send him to Newport. Had my father brainwashed him against me?

He buried his head in Jill's shoulder, exactly the way he had buried his head in my shoulder two weeks ago while we were driving to the airport. I watched as Jill comforted him, my throat swelling with guilt. After five minutes of Jill reassuring him, he finally took my hand.

We didn't speak on the walk to the car. But once we got on the road and he turned the radio to a song he liked, he relaxed. He leaned his head back against the seat and said, “Hi, Mama,” in the softest of voices.

“Hi, sweetheart, hello.”

“The car smells different.”

“Oh? What does it smell like?”

“Popcorn.”

“Really? Well, I'm not sure why. I didn't eat any popcorn in the car while you were gone.”

“You didn't?”

“Of course not. I wouldn't have popcorn without you.”

I got on the highway and headed into San Francisco.

“So what happened back there, Benno? Why did you run away from me?”

He shrugged. “I didn't understand.”

“What didn't you understand?”

“Time got jumbled up.” He knelt in his seat to see better out the window.

“It did? How did it get jumbled up?”

“It felt like I saw you yesterday. Like we were at the airport yesterday. But then at Grandma and Grandma's house, I was there for so long. And then I was back in the airport and you were there again and that was a surprise 'cause I didn't know if I'd ever see you again.”

“Benno! Of course you were going to see me again. You just went on a vacation.”

“The other grandma was there.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“You told me he wasn't going to be there.”

“I thought he wasn't. I guess he changed his mind. Was that okay? Was he nice to you?”

Benno slumped back down in the seat. “I'm tired, Mama.”

“I'm sure you are. Why don't you close your eyes and I'll wake you when we get home.”

Benno made a big show of closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, his little rounded tummy rising and falling, his plump hand on the seat beside me.

Benno made me take him to the Hallmark store the next day to purchase cards to send to the two grandmas.

Snoopy for my mother and Charlie Brown for my father.

“What do you want to write to Grandma?” I asked.

“Dear Grandma,” he dictated.

I wrote
Dear Grandma
in big block lettering. “You should be writing this yourself.”

“You write better.”

“It doesn't matter. It would mean so much more to them if it was in your handwriting.”

“Grandma says my handwriting is like chickens scratching.”

“Which grandma?” I didn't really have to ask—I knew.

“The other grandma.”

“You mean Grandpa.
Pa
is for the man.
Ma
is for the woman.”

“No, they're both grandmas,” he insisted.

“Fine.” In his grandparent hierarchy, grandmas were the one and only, the most important. Grandpa would just have to settle for being “other.” I have to admit this made me happy.

“Dear Grandma. I miss you. I love you. Have a great day,” he said.

I printed out his message and slid the card over to him. “You sign your name.”

He clutched the pen laboriously and bent over the card.
B E N N
.

“You forgot the
O
.”

“I'm not done.”

E T T,
he wrote.

“
Bennett?
Really?”

“That's my name. My
real
name.” He glared at me suspiciously, as if I'd withheld this information from him.

“Yes, it is. Do you want me to start to call you that? Do you want to be Bennett now?”

His eyelids fluttered, his bravado rapidly abandoning him. He wasn't ready to give up
Benno
.

“That's okay, you don't have to decide now. Do you want to do the card for the other grandma?”

“Dear Grandma,” he said. He put his head down on the table and closed his eyes.

I tousled his hair. “You've got jet lag. It's five here, but eight in Newport. In Newport you'd already be in bed.”

“What's eight minus five?” he asked.

“You tell me.”

He stuck up eight fingers and I pushed down five of them. “Three, Benno. There's a three-hour time difference.”

He looked horrified. “What happened to the hours? Where did they go?”

“They didn't go anywhere, Benno. Newport and San Francisco are in different time zones.”

He shook his head. “The hours can't just go.”

On Friday two letters arrived, one for Benno and one for me. He tore open his envelope. Two pieces of Juicy Fruit gum slid out and he yelped with excitement. He tried to read the card and frowned. “What kind of chicken scratch is this?”

“Let me see.” It was written in my father's cursive, handwriting I hadn't seen in years.

Dear Benno,

I am already thinking ahead to your visit next summer. You will have to arrange with your mother to come in July next year, because on July 4, 1976, it will be the nation's bicentennial, and all the Tall Ships from around the world will be gathering in Newport. Eighteen ships from 14 different countries! Imagine! It will be quite a celebration. You must not miss it.

By the time you get this letter you will be back in school, I imagine. You'll be learning about the planets and the constellations, mammals, farm animals and sea animals. You're a smart boy. You already know how to count to 100 and you can read. You will do fine in first grade. Your grandmother sends her love and so do I. Do keep in touch.

Warmly, Grandpa

Warmly,
Jesus. Benno unwrapped both pieces of gum and stuffed them into his mouth. “What's a tall ship?”

“What do you think it is?”

He stuck his lower lip out. “A ship that is tall?”

“Do you want to go back next summer, Benno?”

“I must. The other grandma said so.”

“Just because he said so doesn't mean you have to. It's your choice. Think about it.”

“Okay, I thought about it and I think yes.”

He was so accommodating and easily swayed—how would he ever make it in the world? I glanced at my letter. It was from the San Francisco Public Library.

“Why don't you go down to the Patels'. Anjuli's been dying to see you.”

He raced out of the apartment.

San Francisco Public Library

200 Larkin Street

San Francisco, California 94102

Re: Census records for Martha Bell, Joseph Bell, Fancy Bell, Lars Magnusson, Elisabetta Sala, Matteo Sala, Bernardo Sala.

August 28, 1975

Dear Ms. Lysander,

We regret to tell you there is no record of the person(s) named above in the California census records dating from 1850 to 1910. In fact, there is no record of the person(s) named above in any of the U.S. Census records from 1850 to 1910.

If there is anything else we can help you with, please let us know.

Sincerely,

Lavinia D. Pearson

San Francisco Public Library

So there was no record of what had happened to the residents of Greengage—it was like they'd never existed. But they were a reality: people I'd sat beside, eaten with, laughed with, and learned from. They were flesh and blood, as real as Rhonda or me.

I wondered if it wasn't the absence of the fog that kept Brigette from coming back to Greengage—perhaps it was her lack of knowledge that Greengage was even there. Maybe she didn't return because she had no recollection of the place. No recollection of her daughter or mother. They'd been cast not only out of time, but out of memory.

How would I ever tell Joseph?

That night, Rhonda plunged her hands into a sink of hot soapy water and asked, “Did you hear back from the library yet?”

No, Rhonda wasn't psychic, nor had she gone snooping through my room—she was simply relentless. Until I'd given her proof that Greengage really existed, she'd keep at me. I'd have to deliver something, and soon.

“Not yet,” I lied. “They said it would take weeks.”

Rhonda looked out the window. “The moon's almost full.”

“Tomorrow.”

“You've been keeping track?”

I had, as a matter of fact. Not consciously. It wasn't like every day I got up and checked a lunar calendar. But I was aware that the moon was waxing.
Waxing,
what a lovely word.

“You seem anxious,” said Rhonda.

“I'm not,” I snapped.

She raised her eyebrows at me.

“Sorry, I've just got a lot on my mind. All the excitement of Benno coming home.”

Joseph's formality.
Goodbye, then.
He thought he'd never see me again. The world had deserted them, but I couldn't. It was one of my own deepest fears. That I would get lost and nobody would come looking for me.

“Rhonda, what are you doing tomorrow night?”

She rinsed a plate under the tap. “Don't know. Ginger and I talked about going out for Chinese. You guys want to come?”

“Maybe you could have takeout. Maybe you could watch Benno.”

Rhonda pulled the drain and the water glugged out noisily. “Let me guess. You want to go back to the Valley of the Moon?”

“I'm thinking about it,” I admitted.

“What for? The fog won't be there. You said it would take years.”

“I know. I just want to go. I don't know why. Just to be there. I'm the only one who knows about them.”

“Except me,” said Rhonda.

“Right, but you don't believe me.”

Rhonda lit up a cigarette and leaned against the sink. She blew three perfect smoke rings. “Okay. Ginger and I will babysit. You'll be back on Sunday, right? In time for dinner? I'll make pork chops.”

“Yes, I promise. I swear.”

She picked a piece of tobacco off her lip. “All right, then. Say hello to the ghosts for me.”

T
ime is a construct, one we all inherently begin to abide by the moment we are born. Yes, we will live our days hanging from its invisible scaffolding. Morning. Noon. Night. Weeks. Months. Years. Time civilizes us. It brings order to chaos. Without it, there isn't any gravity, and no longer pinned to the world, we float away.

Lux Lysander had catapulted me out of my own time, and so, like a fool, I waited for her to return. I'd been slowly resigning myself to our fate before she'd come, but now that she'd given me a taste of the world that lay beyond the fog, I despaired.

Martha's prescription for my malaise: a change in diet. Fewer baked goods, more vegetables, fruit, and nuts. She took away my nightly glass of wine and replaced it with a tisane so foul tasting I did not dare ask its ingredients.

“Banish what she told you from your mind,” she said, staring at me intently, watching me drink every last drop. As if she could hypnotize my restlessness away.

In my day I was considered a futurist. I'd had the foresight and vision to imagine a community where people of all races and classes could live together, not only peaceably but happily. I'd imagined it, planned for it, made it happen. I'd always prided myself on being a man ahead of his time.

But on the other side of that fog, I'd be a relic. From my suspenders to my bowler hat, my once progressive views on women, politics, religion, and civil rights might even be considered antiquated now. I'd be laughed out of the salons, if they even had salons anymore, and judging by what Lux had told me, salons had long gone the way of the horse and carriage. Access to what she knew was the only thing that could save me from intellectual irrelevance.

The next three weeks dragged on interminably. I threw myself into work, joining a different crew every day: fields, building, kitchen, orchard. I was the first to arrive and the last to leave. I was so exhausted I would often skip supper and go directly to bed. Sleep, that prickly bastard, played tricks on me, though: I'd fall asleep instantly and wake an hour later. I spent the early mornings on the porch, smoking the last of my cigarettes, brooding.

Finally the morning of the full moon arrived. It was impossible to believe that 13.8 years would pass in the next twenty-four hours. Approximately 3.5 days a minute. The sheer density of it was mind boggling. I had no choice but to surrender to it.

The morning after the full moon, I was spent, blurry-eyed with fatigue. We'd just finished our breakfast when Nardo yelled, “She's back!”

I watched Lux run across the meadow and my desperation finally gave way to relief. She wore a knapsack that bobbed up and down as she ran. She'd promised to bring me a surprise. I tried to wipe the anticipation from my face as she burst into the dining hall.

“Jesus, you're all here!” she shouted, searching through the crowd. Her eyes landed on me. She should be thirty-nine now, but she still looked young, preternaturally young.

“You're not going to believe it,” she cried, easily reading my face. “It's only been three weeks.”

“Three weeks?”

“Three weeks,” she confirmed. “Well, nearly four, if you count the days I spent here.”

The room filled with low but urgent whispers.

“What made you come back last night?” I asked.

“I don't know. I just had a feeling, I guess. Like something was pulling me here.”

“So you're telling me we're back on the same time? One day here equals one day out there?” I said.

Had I only imagined the sensation of time speeding up yesterday? Had time begun to reset itself?

“This month, that's what happened,” warned Martha. “You don't know what next month's full moon will bring.”

“The fog looks different, doesn't it? Less dense,” I said.

“No, Joseph,” said Martha.

“What if this nightmare is over? What if we can get through?”

“Nightmare?” said Martha. “Greengage is not a nightmare. Our lives are not a nightmare.”

“That's not what I meant. I meant being trapped—”

“I know what you meant.”

“Then you know I have to try,” I said.

“We can't afford to lose another pig,” she said.

“We're not going to lose another pig.” I ran out of the dining hall and across the meadow.

“Joseph!” shouted Fancy as my intentions became clear. I was going to test the fog myself.

“Stop!” screamed Martha.

“Goddamn it, Joseph!” yelled Magnusson.

The giant Swede was the only one fast enough to catch up with me. He tackled me and pinned me to the ground.

“Get a runt,” Magnusson growled to Nardo.

The boy ran to the pigsty and was back in a minute. He handed the piglet to Lux.

“Again?” she said sadly.

“Again,” echoed Fancy and Martha.

“How long?” she asked.

“Thirty seconds should do it,” said Martha.

“Are you going to behave?” Magnusson asked me, loosening his grip.

I staggered to my feet and slapped the grass off my trousers angrily.

Lux plunged into the fog. It was over in ten seconds. She stepped back into Greengage, distraught, the dead pig in her arms.

I don't know how long I stood there, frozen to the spot. I cursed my foolishness, my embarrassing, ridiculous, and all-too-public display of emotion. The fog was no less dense. We were still trapped.

The bell rang, announcing the beginning of the workday. People drifted off to their crews. Soon Lux and I were standing alone at the edge of the meadow.

“I've caused you all such distress. I shouldn't have come back.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Yes, I shouldn't have come back?”

“Yes, this is bloody distressing. I don't understand. It makes no sense.”

She nodded. “I couldn't believe it either. When I crawled into my tent last night, the sky was clear. I could see every constellation, from the Big Dipper to Cassiopeia.”

“But why were you even there? We thought the fog wouldn't appear on your side for years.”

She bit her lip. “I just felt like I should come. I didn't expect to be let in.”

“Did you do anything differently?”

“No. It was exactly the same. I woke up freezing and I had to pee. I stepped out of the tent and the campsite was fogged in. I watched for the light. I followed it. When I came through the fog, it was morning and I was back in Greengage.”

It wasn't her fault the fog had returned, and it wasn't her fault we now knew less than we had before she first came. We'd have to wait yet another month to discover if this was a new pattern, if she even agreed to continue this little experiment. San Francisco was nearly forty miles away. She had a young son. How long could she keep coming every full moon?

“It was good of you to make the effort to get here,” I said. “I'm sorry for my—”

She cut me off. “You must stop apologizing every other minute. It's a very unattractive trait in a man.”

I couldn't bring myself to smile. I extended my hand. “Farewell.”

She refused to shake it. “I could stay for a few hours.”

“Don't you have to get back?”

“Not really. Well, not immediately. My roommate, Rhonda, is taking care of Benno. Surely you can use some help?”

Yes, we could use some help. Even though it was Sunday, ordinarily a day of leisure, most of us were working. It had been a particularly bountiful year for fruit.

“You could help in the apple orchard.”

“Oh, apple picking! I'd love to.”

She adjusted her knapsack and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ears. She was dressed more conservatively than last time, in a baggy pair of white pants and a nondescript blue jumper. Her face was bare. She smelled faintly of soap—rose, not Martha's lavender.

“How was your month?” I asked, suddenly aware of our one-sided conversation.

“Not great. Same old same old.”

Was she saying this to make me feel better?

“I don't need to talk about it,” she said.

No, she wasn't just consoling me—I could see she'd indeed had a difficult month. I felt a strange sort of kinship with her. Both of us suffering on opposite sides of the twentieth century.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not since—”

“Last night. Let me guess. A few spoonfuls of Jif?”

She grinned. “A few shots of CC, for your information. Whiskey. I brought you a bottle. And a case of cigarettes. I thought you might be running low.”

A pang of pleasure, not just because she'd replenished my supply of cigarettes but also because she'd noticed how carefully I'd parceled them out.

“The orchard crew is leaving.” I could see them piling into the wagon. “If you're serious about working today.”

“Of course I am,” she said.