The Blackberry Bush (17 page)

Kati

A
M
I
HALLUCINATING?
I am soaked. But with rain, not salt water. And sitting in a European church, like the one I went to with Opa, but different. There’s something bad outside. Very bad. But somehow it hasn’t happened yet.

I’m a young man in this vision. That doesn’t seem strange, somehow. I’m sitting on the wooden bench, deeply emotional for a reason I can’t put my finger on. Everyone else is singing and standing. I’m thinking and feeling in German, but the vision isn’t Germany.

A woman’s hand, from my left, touches my shoulder....

The vision evaporates.

Josh

C
AN
’
T GET AROUND IT
. No leash, so I can’t ditch the board and dive under the wave. Only one thing to do. I jump off the board and flip it over, fins up, and hang on to the rails. A turtle move—I go underwater and hold tight from underneath. I put all the strength I’ve ever had into gripping the board as I feel the wave start to roll over me. If the tiny muscles in my fingers fail and I lose my grip on the slick, wet fiberglass, I’ll be lost. There will be no way to make it back to shore; the rip current will pull me straight out to sea.

So I’m going to die out here, and no one will ever see it happen. There are thousands of sharks out in the deep channel between here and Catalina Island. No one will even find a trace of my body.

At least I’ll be drowned and dead before the razor-sharp teeth rip into me.

Kati

B
REATHE
. D
IVE
. S
URFACE
. R
EPEAT
. God, I am yours. Save me.

Breathe. Dive. Surface. Repeat. Now would be good, God. Like right now.

Breathe. Dive. Surface. Repeat.

I have enough strength for one more wave.
Now, Lord. NOW.
My throat burns with emotion again, but this time it is pure will to live. To see my kids at church. And Zara. And Saahir.

Yes, Lord. One last breath. Time to dive…

Josh

T
HE THUNDERING WAVE BREAKS
over the top of the board and tears and rips at my grip. I am in the spin cycle with no safety net. I am clinging to the fiberglass board for dear life. Turbulent salt water is forced into my ears and mouth against my will.

But my grip holds. I surface and cough as hard as I can to try to clear the salty fluid out of my lungs. I flip the board wax-side up and clamber back up and paddle like mad for the left side of the next peak. She should be coming up for air somewhere.
Focus. Focus.
Where is she?

Now, Jesus! Now!
If she doesn’t surface right now, it’s over for her and doubtful for me.

Her hand bursts through the surface. Right next to me.

In slow motion I see a dramatic tattoo on her right hand. Is this a vision? a dream? No time to think.

Kati

A
HAND CLAMPS LIKE A VISE
onto my right wrist. At first I think it’s a shark, but then the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen is inches from mine.

He speaks. “Hey, I’m Josh. Let’s get you back to the beach.”

Even in the dark, the blue-white focus of his eyes is simply piercing.

Josh

I
GRAB HER WRIST
and throw her, belly down, across the top of the longboard. She is so skinny and light that it’s easy to do.

I plop down on top of her and paddle for my life. And hers.

Kati

H
E QUICKLY PIVOTS THE BOARD
toward shore, lines me up on the waxy, sticky deck on my stomach, slaps his body right down on top of my skinny frame (which almost knocks the wind out of me), and paddles like a madman. His head is right behind mine.

I put my face down into the wax on the nose of the board, not bearing to watch. The wave comes behind us and lifts the tail of the board high. With three heavy strokes, Josh starts to catch the wave. We shoot forward like a rocket as the massive wave picks us up and rifles us at an angle along its face toward the beach.

We are skimming across the water so fast that I can hardly open my eyes because of the spray.

Josh screams a primal victory shout: “Maaaaaais oooouuuuiiiii!” right in my ears.

I’m laughing, breathing, crying, sobbing. He carves long, swooping left and right turns with the board, seemingly just for fun.

Elation…life.
I’m going to see the kids on Sunday. Zara. Saahir. His mother in the kitchen. I’m going to live.

More tears. Where do they keep coming from?

We hit the sand in what feels like only a few seconds. We roll off the board into the shallow surf.

His friends are running toward us, bringing beach towels. Fist-bumps all around. I black out as they wrap me up....

I come to sitting in a folding chair, wrapped still in towels, in front of a beach fire. The guys, including Josh, are playing touch football on the sand in the dark near a parking lot streetlamp. They’re close by, but a little too far away to yell for them with all the wind. We apparently are at Bolsa Chica Beach, north of the Cliffs.

My head is throbbing; my arm is scraped. The priceless Ziffer watch is ruined, so I have no idea what time it is. I take it off and place it on the concrete fire ring. I grab a piece of charcoal and write
Thanks, Josh
on the concrete next to the watch. He’ll never know just how thankful I really am, but it’s the only thing I can do. There’s no way I could explain to him that, in the last hour, for the first time in my life, my world has shifted into balance…as if I’ve been walking tilted, and now I’m standing straight.

All I have on is a swimsuit, so I keep one of the huge beach towels (is that stealing?) wrapped around me. I turn and slip through a break in the wild blackberry bush along the path, stepping into the dark through what appears to be a broken concrete wall.

I have a long way to go tonight to find Zara, and I don’t have time for drama with these guys.

I have a life to live.

Angelo

2031
Melrose District
Los Angeles, California

P
arents have been bringing children in for the last half hour to a room filled with large, colorful, plastic toys.

Kati enters the door, almost as lean as when we saw her last, carrying a largish pile of work stuff while checking her hand screen. Her thick, barely tamed, incredibly long braid now has a touch of gray weaving through it. Since her hair is pulled back into the braid, her gold nose stud adds even more emphasis to her most prominent facial feature. Her summer dress sports the latest of colors—just on the borderline of being too trendy for someone over forty.

She still loves to bike along the shops on Melrose and “shake the bushes” going through the racks. She wears one of the fabulously expensive sea chest Swiss men’s watches on her left wrist; today it’s the IWC
.
We catch a glimpse of the ThornHeart tattoo on her other wrist as she shifts the pile in her arms.

“Mama Kati!” the children shout, and giggles break out.

Kati is in charge here.

She has been married to Zara’s cousin, Saahir, for a long time. They have five children of their own. The oldest ones attend Bancroft School and will go through confirmation at Hope Lutheran during the next two years.

She is in and out all during the week, having secured a team of major donors (and, of course, her share of the Krugerrands from the sea chest) to fund her little school, which is free to all students. Her work as a special-needs Sunday school volunteer at the church led in a straight line to this vocation, over time. This is a school for children diagnosed with Down syndrome.

Laying the stack of work on the counter-ledge by the office, Kati says hello to the receptionist and then walks through the room, greeting the children one by one with her high-beam smile and a light touch on the cheek. Young ones and older ones. A handful are larger than she is. But all clearly adore Mama Kati.