In Places on the Run Ch. 05

"Just your happiness, Amigo."

"Yes, well, we'll have to see about that then, won't we?"

"You wrote that once, didn't you?"

"Maybe."

"Can I take you to the airport?"

"You damn well better."

"Is she happy, Sam?"

"You know, yes, I think she is. And I think if she is, I will be too. Anyway, she deserves the chance, John."

"So do you, Sam. Maybe we all do, at least once."

+++++

Orhan was in the lobby fifteen minutes early, but Deb and I were already down there, waiting.

"Where's Sam," he asked when he saw us.

"Ireland."

"Oh, well, no matter. Shall we go?"

His car was out front, a fairly new Toyota sedan of some sort, and his wife was in the front passenger seat, waiting. Deb and I took the rear, folding our legs in as best we could. We rode north along the Bosphorus for quite a while, then about a mile north of the bridge we turned inland, and after driving up a hill we were there.

Orhan's place was nice, small, but nice, and again the similarity to California struck me -- yet if anything his neighborhood was nicer than most in the LA area. We turned in his drive and got out of the car, and he took us straight away to his garage where, under a huge nylon parachute, sat a brand new Harley Davidson. Turquoise, with cream colored accents, the bike had more chrome then 20 BMWs and the man stood there looking at the bike like it was his baby.

Now I understood why we were here!

We went inside and the man's two daughters -- and apparently a grandmother-type -- were hard at work in the kitchen. The house smelled of tomatoes, cucumbers and lots of lemon juice, and lamb cooking over a wood fire on the grill out back. Again, the feeling of California hit me, only this was Turkey. Was it like this in more places than I'd considered possible before? Apparently so. Apparently these are the types of things you learn when not flying six miles overhead.

Two of the Ahmets arrived a little later, on their Harleys, of course, and dinner started as soon as we went out and admired all their freshly polished chrome.

"So, you are going to Iran?" one of the Ahmets said. "The northern route across Turkey?"

"Yes, we wanted to visit Sinope, then cross just south of Armenia."

Orhan cleared his throat. "It's very nice to look at, but very dangerous, this route."

"Oh?"

"A lot of drugs, opium, come this way. From Afghanistan. All the time. There are many smugglers. They are dangerous."

"Do you have any suggestions?"

"Well, it is best way. Shortest. If you get visa to Iran, that is. If so, uh, my question is, are to go with you. We have ask our captain after we meet you, he ask Minister, he say we must escort you, make sure no harm comes to tourism. Very important. Minister says they try to get many motorcycle tour company to here come, bring tour here, for many years. Very bad if you get harmed."

"I don't have a problem with that," Deb said. "In fact, we'd enjoy your company."

"Yes, Orhan, I think that would be very good, very fun. Will you ride your Hawgs?"

"Excuse me? Hogs?"

"Ah, your Harley Davidsons."

"Oh, no please, we ride our government Honda. To keep smugglers away, I think."

"I understand," Deb said. "But you seem nervous, Orhan. Why?"

"Well, Minister say we must make sure you are smugglers, uh, no, that you are not smugglers. I tell him I think this is not so, but he insists. He asks permission to search you machines, you luggage."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Deb said.

"Understandable," I said.

"You agree then?" Orhan said, his relief obvious. "This no problem?"

"Sure, no problem. How about after Sam returns from Ireland?"

"Okay. This is okay." The Ahmets nodded and seemed happy. "Why Sam did go to Ireland?" one of them asked.

"His girlfriend came to visit, and he is taking her home. To meet her parents."

"Oh? This is serious girlfriend?"

"I think so, yes."

"Yes, is good to be married, to have wife," one of the Ahmets said. "Very lonely with no wife. You say Sam write movies? Know which movies?"

I ran over the list of his most popular, a couple of Schwarzenegger flicks, several with Stallone -- and this was all they really wanted to hear. They were all smiles after that, and we were sure this minister of theirs would be impressed as hell, too. No doubt we'd have air cover all the way. I just wondered what Orhan would think when he found Sam's stash of condoms.

+++++

I called the foreign ministry Ahmet and asked him what difficulties he was aware of concerning Iranian visas, and his whole attitude was different. He was bending over backwards now, said he and a senior ministerial aide would go with us to the embassy, at my convenience. So, Orhan's minister had made phone calls. This was getting fun. I asked Ahmet to pick me up at 1300 hours on Wednesday, as if by some chance we got that far, I'd need Sam's passport and, I guessed, Sam. That left a whole lot of time free for Deb and I to go sightseeing, but when I called she was feeling a little off-kilter, said she needed some rest.

"You need some company?" I asked.

"Sure. Whenever. Just drop by. Where are you off to?"

I was thinking about the bazaar, and I also wanted to drop in on an old friend, another ex-TWA jockey now flying air freight for FedEx who also happened to off tomorrow, but as it was the weekend I called Rhea.

Lucy was home, but Rhea was at the library, so I talked with her. One hour passed and still we talked. Another hour, then three had come and gone, and what you ask, did we talk about? Yes, flying. When, she wanted to know, could she start? I said I thought the coming summer would be perfect, that Arizona was hot then, but maybe she'd enjoy the change. What about Rhea's baby, she asked.

"That's going to be a hard one, Luce. I'm thinking I'll commute for a while, two on, two off. Except when the baby comes. I'll stay there for a while, a month or two at least, so she can keep up with classes when she's ready."

"She did really well on her exam last Friday. First in her class."

"In physics?"

"Yeah, Dad. She's really smart. I mean weird smart. Almost like Mom."

"I sure can pick 'em, eh?"

She laughed. "I'm not smart like either of them, though."

"Oh? How're your grades?"

"Oh, pretty good. Ask Mom."

"I asked you. I don't need to ask her. As long as we work together on a basis of trust, I'll never snoop around like that."

"Okay, Dad."

"You'll need good math and physics scores, though, if you really want to go forward with flying."

"I just want to do some with you. If I love it, I'll apply with BA, see how that goes."

"Understood. They're as good as we were, back in the 60s and 70s."

"You trained Air Force One pilots, didn't you?"

"Our academy did, not me personally."

"Did you ever teach flying?"

"Yes, we have to as part of our own training. Almost all airline pilots do at one time or another, some longer than others, though. It's a good way to build hours."

"Lufthansa trains their pilots in Arizona. Did you know that?"

"Yup, Luce, their program is tops, too. Their heavy pilots are as good as they come."

It went on like this until, after a while, I could almost see where the conversation was going, where she was leading me, and where I might lead her to her own answers. She was becoming my daughter, slowly but surely, and when we were set to end the call it came out of the blue:

"I love you, Dad."

"I love you too, Luce."

After I hung up the phone I stared at it for a long time, then it hit me hard. I missed her. Bad. I missed Rhea. Real bad. And then, all of a sudden I missed Deb. I dialed her room.

"You still up?"

"Yes. What's up?"

"I'm coming over..."

And we talked, Deb and I, we talked for hours and about nothing other than Lucy. We talked about Christmases and birthdays, boyfriends and the classes she liked in school. We talked about the skinned knees, the barked shins every kid gets, then we talked about flying...

"Are you against her learning? Maybe wanting to make a career out of flying?"

"I wanted her to go to medical school, of course, but she's never once, and I mean never shown the slightest interest. She's taken classes to become a teacher, and in your terminology she studied, no, she majored in psychobiology. If she teaches, it'll be biology, and at what you'd call the high school level."

"And if she wants to fly?"

"I'm sure she'll be very good at it. The thing with Lucy is, well, if she's interested in the subject she excels. If not..."

"She a field dependent learner, you mean?"

"Not exactly. She has the intelligence to do well in any subject, and I mean any subject, when she's interested. If not, she just won't apply herself."

"I've known a few. Tough nut to crack."

"Or very easy. I assume you'd teach her?"

"The basics, maybe, but it's frowned on to teach relatives beyond that. It happens, but it's not optimal. Too much emotional baggage, it interferes with the learning process."

"You'd be happy if she flew?"

"I'd be happy if she was happy."

"You just might be a good dad, John."

"Doubtful, but thanks."

"Why do you say that?"

"After our little talk the other night. About narcissism, Sam and me."

"Sam's a narcissist, John, maybe a little bit of a psychopath, but I doubt it. Not after what I saw this morning. I think you two may finally be coming into your own. Maybe growing up, a little, anyway."

"Gee, thanks. I think."

"John, you didn't mention the one thing I'd hoped you'd remember."

"Oh?"

"I love you."

"You know, I started to love you in St James Cathedral, in..."

"Yes, I remember. I felt that too. I could see it in your eyes. I could hear it in your voice. Just like in Berlin. Oh, you were so tired that night. It was a miracle you could even perform."

"A miracle. Yes, I can see that now. Life is a miracle."

"Oh," she said, "I doubt that. Life is mundane, very ordinary. Love, on the other hand? That is the miracle, John. Of all the life in the universe, I wonder how many species can love. Like we do?"

"I hope there are some who love better than we do. Purity, I think I mean."

"Yes. And the intensity I see when you and Rhea are together. That is the real miracle."

"Did we have that, even for one night?"

"No, we never had the chance, until July anyway. By then it was too late."

"I can't tell you how much I enjoy being with you, Deb."

"That will have to be enough for you and I."

"I know, and it is. And Lucy. She'll always hold us together, that part of us."

"It's good you see that. Understand that now, anyway. What do think of Brigit?"

"I don't know. I saw something in her, back in LA. Now I don't."

"Maybe you don't know her well enough yet."

"True. But I could never trust her, and I don't know how Sam can."

"Perhaps because he -- loves her."

+++++

When we picked Sam up at the airport, we briefed him about Orhan's proposal, and the vehicle search he'd requested.

"Yeah, I can see that," Sam said. "Wouldn't do them any good to protect us if we're smuggling shit. I take it you agreed?"

"Yup. And we have an appointment with some foreign ministry types tomorrow. They're going with us to the Iranian embassy."

"Well, we'll be flagged from then on, for good or ill. We'll probably be the first American's they've had there in a long time, too."

"You know, the old Silk Road used to head far to the north," Deb said, "and that went all the way to coastal China. We could take that, couldn't we?"

"Sure. But we'd never see India, or the Himalayas. And if we don't get moving soon, we could run into very cold weather in Russian. I mean snow. We could be trapped up north under those circumstances."

"So you're saying that heading into Iran would eliminate that chance?"

"Nothing's one hundred percent, Deb. There's snow in Iran, too. If we're not almost out of Iran by mid-November, I don't know. Tibet's cold too. If snow comes early, if the Nepal option sours, we'll need to get well east of Nepal before we head north. The Himalayas could easily snow over by late October."

"Maybe," Deb said, "we should store the bikes. Come back in the Spring."

"Nope. John will be working, and besides, he'll have someone new to think about by then. And I have plans of my own. We do it now, we start late this week -- or we head back to the UK."

"I didn't come this far to turn back," I said.

"And discretion is the better part of valor," Deb replied, adding, "as long as we're speaking in cliches."

"Well, I don't want to turn back," Sam said, "but we're not proceeding unless the people going are unanimous. Period. Not when our lives are on the line. Deb?"

"Oh, I'm just along for the ride. Count me in. Please."

"Not good enough, Deb. You think about it. If you want to go home, do so. If you're coming, it's with open eyes, because you really want to make the attempt. And you understand the risks."

"Sam, nobody here understands all the risks," she began. "There are too many variables. You talk about roads and weather, but have never mentioned things like smugglers and the Taliban, let alone kidnappers or things as random as floods." And syphilis, she didn't have to add.

"We've thought about 'em, Deb. We've read books and magazine articles, and understand this isn't a stroll through Hyde Park, okay?"

"Well, if you two idiots are going, so am I."

"Excuse me, Deb, but doesn't that kind of make you an idiot, too?"

"Shut up, John." I know Deb said that, but I think I heard Sam's voice in the mix too.

+++++

Orhan's search of the bikes was uneventful, the trip to the Iranian embassy was anticlimactic. We presented our Passports and our request and the clerk at the embassy stamped our documents without fanfare or rancor. That was it, we were now go for the southern route through Iran, and as we'd already secured visas for Pakistan and India in Athens, that was that. We asked Orhan and the group that was accompanying us to be ready to go on Friday morning, and for them to join us for dinner that night at the hotel. We made reservations, then went out for a swim, after we got back to the Hyatt.

"Are you sure you really want to do this," Deb asked me as we waded near the deep end. "I had the impression back in July you were doing this for Sam."

"That's not a bad reason, is it, Deb. He is my best friend."

"A friend wouldn't make someone do a trip like this unless both really wanted to make it, you know what I mean?"

"You know, we've talked about doing this since we were twenty. What makes you so sure I'm not right where I want to be, right this very minute."

She slipped under the water, and when she surfaced she slicked her hair back with pool water. She waded there as little trickles of water ran down her face, her bare shoulders mere inches out of the water, staring at me. She was treading water now, our feet dangled in the blue, and she told me to 'come here'. When I drew near her hand slipped inside my swim suit, she began massaging me, and when I was hard she straddled me and I slipped inside her. We kept afloat with our arms and she gently thrust into me; I steered us to a far corner of the pool then steadied us against the tile. She was grasping me, riding me gently, and a few minutes later we came together, very gently, then she was off me and swimming away.

I was too shocked to breathe, and Sam was looking at me like I was completely out of my mind which, at that point, I was. I watched Deb walk out of the pool and grab a towel, then as she walked inside. Sam swam over to me, treading water himself now.

"Did you just do what I think you did?"

"Hmm? What's that?"

"You son of a bitch. Why? Why did you do that? Now?"

"If I knew, Sam, I'd tell you."

"Fuck!" he said as he waded away.

+++++

I don't know how many people showed up for dinner that night. More then fifty, maybe a hundred. There were foreign ministry types, dozens of major league law enforcement officials, certainly not just a couple of motor-jocks, and even a few members of the press roamed the room. Someone in the government had coordinated the affair, and while we were 'the cause celeb' we were peripheral to the action. We were part of an orchestrated action designed to promote tourism, probably to bolster Turkey's reputation as the EU and NATO considered their role in the post-Soviet landscape of Asia. Or who knows, maybe it was just an excuse for a party.

Deb was acting as if nothing of consequence had happened in the pool. Sam was still fuming. I was half out of my mind, anxious and guilt-ridden, yet I remembered Deb's speech about this happening, about me not saying no, that we had Rhea's blessing. It was, she'd implied, a celebration of our past, not cause for indecision and guilt, and her behavior that evening certainly seemed to echo her words.

And I had to admit that, beyond the initial confusion of our coupling my feelings for her were the same. I neither loved her less nor more than before. I still felt more for Rhea than anyone else in my life, but if I was completely honest with myself I had to admit Lucy was much on my mind, and almost all the time now. And when I thought about Lucy I thought about Deb. Yes, I had to admit, I loved her too. Not as much as I loved Rhea now, but...

"How do you quantify love," I asked her at one point during that evening, and she turned and looked at me, studied me for a long time, then...

"You can't, John. Love has no degree. You feel love, real love for someone, or you don't. Anything else is a delusion, part of a warped social fabric borne of deceit, of perceived social necessities. Superficialities, I suppose, but that's not love."

"I love Rhea. And Lucy. Surely..."

"And do you love me, John?"

"Yes. Very much."

She turned, looked me in the eyes, smiled demurely. "Then accept the gift, John. That's what it is, you know? In the end, it's all that matters." And she walked away, into the crowd.

Sam came up to me just then, still angry but still curious. "What was that about?" he asked.

"Do you love Brigit, Sam?"

He seemed taken aback, unsure of my question.

"Yes, I do, John. All I needed to do, to see, was her eyes. I can't imagine waking up in the morning and not seeing her there. That would be worse than death, John."

"I know."

"So, what about Deb? Are you going to dump Rhea..."

"God, no."

"Then what was that all about?"

"A few days ago she told me she wanted to once more. Not to come between Rhea and..."

"And you believed that?"

"Yes, I did...I do."

Then Orhan was there beside us, and he wanted to talk logistics, things like the range we could make between fuel stops, tire pressures, that kind of thing. He told us there would be six of them along for the ride, and we had no set time to make the crossing to Iran. He was looking forward to the trip, he said, and was glad he'd stopped to help us that day.

"I am too, Orhan. I've loved meeting your family, your friends. And all the hospitality you've shown us. I certainly have enjoyed our time here in Istanbul, too."

I saw a reporter, notepad in hand, writing down my every word.

"And I think I speak for all of us, motorcyclists everywhere, when I say how much we appreciate your efforts to help us with this part of our trip. It speaks well for your country..."

The reporter moved in close. "May I ask you some questions, Mister Anders?" she asked, and Sam slipped away into the crowd, groaning as he walked.

+++++

The bikes loaded, Orhan's team assembled, we left the Hyatt and wound our way to the highway, then crossed the Bosphorus again and made our way northeast on the D020 -- then the E80 -- bound for Sinope on the Black Sea. We were on the road early enough to tackle the 450 or so miles in one day if we had to, but Orhan suggested we get off the highway and work our way to the coast and take the slow road.