AT 29 (33 page)

Jimmy smirked. “I said it sounds like religion.”

Hines frowned. “I'm not a fan of organized religion, but there are certain tenets of faith that we can rely on. This is one of them. I have found that nearly everyone who comes to me already has the capacity to deal with and learn from the issues in their lives. Your chart says this capacity is highly developed. You asked what you should do. At twenty-nine it's time to face your issues head-on. Listen to what your intuition says is right and follow it through. But always remember your propensity for self-destruction. You don't want to keep snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.”

“Is that what you're doing?”

“I'm being very critical, trying to understand how I might have been smarter about my decisions, a cleansing so to speak. I can't change what might happen, but I can learn from it and be better prepared for the future.”

“A person doesn't need astrology for that.”

“No, that's my point. Nevertheless, if one gives some credence to astrology, Saturn seems to be pressing hard on both of us. Are you in the midst of some self-examination? You mentioned alcohol, yet you look fit and you're about to put your body through a grueling test.”

“I stopped drinking.”

“Why did you come back to Vermont? Is that part of it?”

“Sorting things out. It's a work in progress, but I feel much better about some things, especially in the last few days.”

“Does it involve your singing?”

“I wrote a song for the first time in a long while.”

“After the triathlon, what will you do?”

“I want to resurrect my career.”

Hines leaned back and studied Jimmy's face. “There's one more bit of information in your chart. In a few weeks Mars will arrive at the cusp of your tenth house. Two months from now your sun will also come around and conjunct your tenth house cusp. Both will be trine your natal moon and semi-sextile your natal Neptune.”

“Jeff, it's all Greek to me.”

“I'll put it in a nutshell. With determination your prospects are very good.”

“Then things will go well?”

“It's not a predictor of outcomes, merely an indication that an opportunity is there. There's also something else.

“Of course, there always is.”

“Neptune squares Mars. Did you get help for your drinking problem?”

“It's under control.”

Hines did not respond. Jimmy collected the chart and stood. Hines walked him to the door. “There's more detail in the write-up.” They shook hands. Jimmy took the door handle then paused.

“Do you know anything about dreams?”

“I'm afraid not. That's Freud's area. Troubling?”

“Just something I can't figure out.”

Over dinner he read Hines' analysis. Saturn received special attention in the narrative:

‘Saturn's return, at age twenty-nine, marks the beginning of a new life cycle. We embark upon our life's true purpose. Issues from the first twenty-nine years are often resurrected, not for resolution because the past cannot be changed, but for reconciliation. We may not wish to face these issues, but Saturn will not let us ignore them. Events occur that force us to confront our challenges. Only after this planetary taskmaster has run its course can we move ahead.'

When World War II broke out the Army contracted for anything Aaron grew. The sums he earned found their way into the trunk in the cottage. At war's end he let his fields lie fallow except for a small patch that he continued to cultivate for his own needs. He did not expand production again until a few years later.

In 1949 he began to suffer from a strange ringing in his ears. The lone country doctor in the village could make no sense of his condition and urged Aaron to seek an explanation from a more knowledgeable practitioner in Melbourne. When he could stand the ringing no more, he reluctantly boarded a train to the city.

Melbourne was no longer the provincial town he once knew. It had grown into a vibrant, beautiful metropolis replete with restaurants, shops and entertainments similar to those he had long forgotten from his honeymoon in Sydney. When he stepped from the train onto the crowded Flinders Street platform he stood stunned, gazing at the people scurrying in every direction. Pangs of remorse gripped him as Laura's horrible death returned to his mind.

On the street, he looked at the tall buildings that lined the Yarra River. The sun glowed hot in the Australian summer. He strolled cautiously along Flinders street until he came to a small park speckled with tiny flower gardens and benches. He entered the park and sat on one of the benches, still staring in wonder at the tall buildings and bustling people all around. He could not know that he occupied the same spot where a young reporter interviewed his grandfather eighty years before. In time, he wandered the streets until he located a hotel. The next day he saw a hearing specialist. Tests were done with a follow-up scheduled two days later. Aaron had little else to do so he used the idle time to walk the city from end to end.

On the evening of his second day, he found a pub that served inexpensive meals and an assortment of lagers. It was a crowded place at dusk when the city's workers finished their day and sought refuge from the high summer heat. Aaron took a stool at the end of the bar, ordering beer and meat pie from a pretty girl behind the counter. He followed her with his eyes as she turned to give his order to the kitchen. He continued to look at her when she turned back to pour his beer from the spigot attached to the wooden bar. Aware of his stare, she smiled at him in that kindly way that some women are able to communicate wordlessly. Aaron averted his eyes, embarrassed. He unfolded his newspaper and spread it out before him to pass the time. The thick Australian Times was made to order to keep him occupied for the evening hours. Later, after the crowds thinned, he set the paper aside and looked around the pub, trying to decide if another lager was warranted. The beer won out when he spied the pretty girl watching him as she toweled a glass. He beckoned.

She, to his surprise, started the conversation that would unite them, with one interruption, for the next three years. Her name was Melissa. She came from Adelaide, a third generation Australian whose grandmother was among the last convicts transported from England. Prostitution was the family assumption, but no one was sure. Her grandmother could just as easily have been a deserted wife who was left with her husband's debts. Many who fell into similar circumstances chose servitude in the colonies over England's rancid debtor prisons. Melissa was twenty-eight, once married to a cruel man who failed to return when the Second World War ended. Good riddance.

She asked Aaron about his missing arm, where he was from and what he was doing in Melbourne. She put him at ease and he gladly answered every question. He was honest about his inability to recall anything before his moment of awakening in an Egyptian military hospital. He described his work on the Great Ocean Road and his return to the farm outside Apollo Bay. She peppered him with questions about the farm, citing her own upbringing on a farm outside Adelaide. In time, her engaging interest compelled him to describe Laura, the first time he had spoken of his great love since her death thirty-two years before. The conversation went on for hours until it was time for the pub to close. He left oddly buoyant, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The ringing in his ears was diagnosed as a late life repercussion of the thunderous shelling at Gallipoli. Little could be done to ease its impact, but he was told that it would not be constant. It would come and go, which to Aaron's reasoning was true, as it had eased since his arrival in Melbourne. The doctor told him to lighten his workload on the farm. He also cleaned an enormous amount of wax from Aaron's ears, even dislodging a tiny piece of shrapnel that had been in place since his wounding.

He did not head for home right away. He found Melbourne too enchanting to escape, not in small part because of the young woman at the pub. He returned each evening for several days, careful not to interrupt her during the busy dinner hour, but waiting eagerly for the crowds to wander out in hopes that she would be free to strike up a conversation with him once again. To his delight, she seemed equally eager to chat, attending to him often. She made sure his glass was always topped off, smiling over her shoulder as she scampered off to fill another patron's order. Later, when business slowed, she returned to him, as he hoped, to linger and talk. She made him feel special, almost carefree. He talked to her openly about anything that came into his mind, sometimes reaching back to the darkest hours of his time alone, clearing a path through the peaks of the Otway Ranges. He sensed her fascination with his saga, which impelled him to tell his story with ever deepening detail, surprising himself with the long hidden emotions that came forth.

One night, at closing, she asked him to wait while she finished her final tasks. He dutifully stood outside on the sidewalk, not sure what she had in mind. He knew he could go on talking with her all night long, but he was fearful of imposing, mindful that he was still a stranger and regardless of his growing feelings for her, an old man, easily capable of being her father. His emotions were a confusion of racing thoughts and a desire to let go of all that had shackled him for so long. He did not want to be alone anymore. After some minutes, she appeared, apron gone, with a small cloth purse in her hand. She came outside and turned the key, locking the door. Then she took his hand. “Where is your hotel?” she asked.

The unexpected tryst with the fair-skinned beauty from Adelaide delivered all the joys that Aaron once felt with the first love of his life. Melissa took no notice of his rusty ways, gently guiding him as they let the glow of physical unification take hold. Gradually, his confusion left him as he explored her body and let her love inside his long dormant heart. He banished all the whys that tried to enter his mind as he gave in to her touch. When morning came they remained together, basking in pleasant exhaustion. It continued this way for several more nights, bright cheery conversation at the pub followed by silent soft touches ‘til dawn.

Their last night together was marred by an episode of tremors. At first, Melissa laughed at his quirky movements as he writhed, arm whipping all around. When he did not respond to her playful entreaties, she grew alarmed and sprang naked from the bed, drawing away in terror as his eyes rolled glassy and white. The sight of him, perilously close to smashing anything or anyone nearby, frightened her to the point of panic. Having seen many a drunken bar fight, she was no stranger to violence, but this was different. She stifled a scream and rapidly dressed, unconcerned with how she might look if a button remained unclasped. Her only thought was escape as she left him unconscious and alone.

When the tremors subsided he instantly knew what had happened. Her absence did not surprise him. He was accustomed to the fear his uncontrolled behaviors produced. Over the years it had caused him to grow cynical. He expected no sympathy or patience from anyone, particularly a pretty woman. He let the morning drift by, resting in the now cold bed.

In mid-afternoon, he packed his clothes, checked out of the hotel and went to the train station to buy a ticket home. The evening train did not leave until ten, giving him the afternoon to wander the streets. He debated what to do about Melissa. His emotions had been stirred for the first time in many years. He hated to leave his feelings unclosed although he knew she had fled from him in terror. Perhaps the episode opened her eyes to the other faults of their sudden coupling, especially the oddity of it all - him a sullen introvert over two times her age with incomplete limbs and a tortured mind and, her, a bright-eyed, cheery extrovert, deserving of a better man. As evening approached, he returned to the pub for one last word before leaving Melbourne behind.

She was not there when he arrived. He ordered a beer and settled upon his customary stool. He let the hours pass, expecting her to appear at any moment. He did not know what he would say, but he hoped to bring closure to his confused feelings. That he would depart for home that night was certain regardless. When there was no sign of her by nine, he knew he must leave. He paid his bill and left a note containing his name and address. Perhaps she would write to him. Then he could respond with an explanation and let her go in peace. No letter came.

He resumed life on the farm, but the interlude with Melissa changed his outlook. He no longer spurned contact with his fellow citizens of Apollo Bay. Few people approached him, but he did not avert his eyes when they passed. When he purchased seed for planting, he freely engaged in conversation with the men and women who filled his order. He even began to patronize local restaurants, meeting the gaze of those who took his order and responding politely, even cheerfully, to their attention. Melissa had reawakened a semblance of sociability that he had long stifled. He was beginning to enjoy living.

One day, six months after his return from Melbourne, he stopped by the church at the top of Main Street. He had never returned to that place after Laura's death. He didn't blame God for what happened. In truth, despite his upbringing, he never felt any religious bond. Perhaps his tangled memory could not retrieve it from his youth or, as he believed, it just never existed. No, this visit was part of a healing process that seemed to overtake him. He had allowed himself to live with pain for too long. It was time to let it go.

The visit was brief. He climbed the steps and entered the vestibule, remembering the spot where Laura waited for the wedding march to begin. Then he crossed into the
church and walked to the foot of the altar where he watched her come to him. He held back a tear as he looked about the church, recalling everything about that day, especially Laura's stunning beauty amidst the sound of his father's wonderful music. After a few minutes, he felt the lonely longing for his lost love drain away, replaced with joyous memories of that happy celebration. The community gave the Whitehursts a spectacular honor on their wedding day. He let its memory sweep through his mind, picturing every moment, finally allowing the visions of happiness to return. Then he left that empty place of worship, freed, at last, from his many years of self-imposed isolation.