Anna To The Infinite Power (14 page)

Anna said, “But, Rowan, we’re way above sea level here. There isn’t any beach.”

“Trust me.” They walked for perhaps ten minutes before he said, “Come here,” and motioned her toward the edge of a steep cliff. He pointed down to a small cove with a skimpy stretch of sand that lay far below them. “There it is.”

“But there isn’t any way to get down,” Anna said. “Oh, yes, there is. Follow me.” Rowan, feeling very worldly, led her on, through scrub, into high grass, green from winter rains, around shrubs, and on to the far end of the cliffs where they could again look down to the cove.

“I don’t see any path. It’s all rocks,” Anna said. “There isn’t a path, but you can get down from here and back up, too. I’ve done it. Just take it easy and I’ll help you. Be careful, though.”

Rowan thrust the straps of Anna’s carryall over his shoulder to leave his arms free, then led the way. They scrabbled down, Rowan helping Anna around and over boulders, both sliding some of the way on their seats. The descent was longer, steeper, and more difficult than he’d remembered, but, at last, they reached the cove with nothing worse than scraped palms.

He dropped the carryall onto the beach and sank down to catch his breath. Anna sat beside him and wisely, he thought, took off her shoes and rolled up her slacks. He did the same. The air felt cool, the sun and sand, warm. They were both silent for a time, drinking in the salty ocean smell, listening to the sound of waves washing over the shore.

Rowan felt as if he were generously sharing his kingdom with her as he said, “Isn’t this a tremendous spot?”

“It’s strange,” Anna said. “I mean, there isn’t another soul around, and you can’t see anything but ocean and cliffs.”

“That’s what’s so great about it. We could be the only people in the whole world. Civilization just disappears when you’re down here.”

Anna pointed in the distance. “Not quite. There’s a sailboat.”

“They don’t come near this part of the coast, though, because of the currents.” He smiled smugly. “We have it all to ourselves.”

Anna glanced around her. “Any minute I expect to see smugglers landing here.”

“Heaving to, you mean. In Smuggler’s Cove, you’d better speak the language.” He pointed to the steep stony rise. “Can’t you just imagine a bunch of pirates trying to take their ill-gotten gains up those rocks?”

“No, I can’t. I can’t even see us getting back up.”

“We will, though. No problem. How do you like the name I just gave this place?”

“Smuggler’s Cove? I like that. Let’s always call it that.”

Always? The sharing of memories forever? He had a fleeting vision of himself old, of Anna old. In the vision, they were among other people whom he couldn’t identify. Anna was saying, “Remember that day we went to Smuggler’s Cove?”

“Smuggler’s Cove? Where’s that?” the others would ask. He would look at Anna and Anna would look at him and they would share what they could never, in quite the same way, share with anyone else, this moment together in this place. Now he had the feeling that it was important to keep his senses honed sharp to take in every sound, every smell, every feeling so acutely that he could always bring this moment fully to life in his mind.

Anna felt the same. This was a very special afternoon. They were the only people in the whole world. All civilization had vanished. There was no one out there to say that she must be a physicist, that she must be Anna Zimmerman. With the whole world gone, her heritage no longer mattered. She was someone new. Eve, perhaps.

Rowan sprang to his feet. He placed a palm over one eye, pointed to it with the index finger of his other hand and said, “Eye patch.” Then he pointed to his left leg. “Peg leg.” He began walking stiffly in circles around Anna. “What ‘o, me ‘earty. What say we wash the grit out of our ‘ands and ‘ave a bite o’ grub?”

Anna let out a great burst of laughter. “You’re a terrible pirate.”

He dropped the act. “I may be a terrible pirate, but I’m a great comedian. I can’t remember ever hearing you laugh like that.”

“I guess it’s the sea air.” She got to her feet to join him in washing her hands in salt water. Rowan had thought to bring along a small towel. They dried off and ate lunch, their appetites sharpened by the delay in eating and by the outdoors. Afterward they tested the water, each with a toe, then with a whole foot. Icy. They yelped and hopped back on the beach to stretch out on warm sand.

They talked.

About Japan. Anna saying how wonderful it was that Rowan would have a chance to win a scholarship like that; thinking, I wish you weren’t going so far away. Rowan saying he’d always wanted to see Japan, although it was certainly not a sure thing; thinking, But it’s awfully far away. A chill gale threatening Smuggler’s Cove.

About Anna’s suddenly not talking to Rowan. Anna saying it wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was because of -- well, if he must know, it was because of her -- well, wanting to take things and having to punish herself with the exercises and the books on the Holocaust; thinking, Now he’ll hate me. Rowan calling her an idiot, saying that if she’d only told him, he might have helped and that she must promise never to keep something like that to herself again; thinking, You silly kid. A warm wind filling, overflowing Smuggler’s Cove.

They talked more. About Mom and Dad. About music. About Michaela and how Anna had really come to like her. About things they had never discussed before. And then, too soon, a cool breeze moved in like a sigh. The sun was lower now, the air colder, the tide sweeping in. It was time to put on shoes and head for home.

They started making their way up the long, steep slope, much of the time on all fours, grabbing shrubs, rocks, anything sturdy, to pull themselves gradually higher. The distance up seemed so much farther than the distance down. They were only about halfway to the top when they heard a plaintive mewing. Rowan stopped short and glanced all around.

It was Anna who spotted the kitten. “Look -- up there.” She pointed above and beyond them, to a part of the embankment they had avoided because it was so heavily covered with sharp rocks and with outcroppings of cactus.

“How could a cat ever get up there?” Rowan said. “Maybe it lives around here.”

“I doubt it. This spot is too far from beach apartments. It’s more likely that someone tossed it out here to get rid of it.” He began calling, “Here kitty, here kitty, kitty.”

The kitten never budged from its perch on a high, mean-looking rock. As if the animal guessed it now had a sympathetic ear, it wailed louder.

“Well, I’ll just have to go after it,” Rowan said. Anna’s stomach tightened. “Oh, Rowan, don’t try it. You could get killed on those rocks. You could slip and fall.”

The note of terror in her voice stopped him for a moment, until he realized what caused it. He had almost forgotten how, long ago, he’d had to give away his puppy because of Anna. He’d thought he would never forgive her for that. Perhaps he hadn’t really understood. “You’re afraid of it, aren’t you?” She opened her mouth to object, then decided to be honest. She bit her lip and nodded.

“Anna, I can’t leave the poor thing here to die of starvation.”

“I can’t help it, Rowan. They scare me. And there isn’t anything I can do about it.”

His eyes moved from her to the crying cat, trying to devise some plan of action that would get them all to safety. There was no way he could do it alone. And if Anna responded hysterically, they could easily wind up at the bottom of the cliff. Finally he had an idea. “You’ve said that you don’t want to be Anna Zimmerman, that you want to be yourself.”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“I mean, if you’re phobic about animals, Anna Zimmerman probably was, too, for some reason or another -- because of something that happened to her in her life. And without any reason in yours, you’re paying the price for what took place in hers.” He wasn’t at all sure he was right, but if there was anything that could change her attitude, his common sense told him it was her unwillingness to identify with Anna Zimmerman. When she didn’t answer, he said, “Let’s make our way up farther.”

Anna followed him, hoping that meant he had changed his mind. They continued on until they were on a level with the kitten. Then Rowan spotted a good-sized flat boulder on which he knew he could get his footing. He heaved himself on to it, then pulled Anna up beside him. He took in the problems that lay between them and the yowling kitten. Giant rocks and spiny cactus. The kitten couldn’t have chosen a more difficult spot for a rescue. “I’m going to need your help, Anna. Think you can manage?”

“You mean you’re going to -- ”

“I have to, Anna. Can you help me?”

“Will I have to --” her voice quavered, “to touch it?”

“Anna, please try. That’s the only way I can do it. I’ll have to hang on with one hand and pass the kitten to you with the other.”

“I don’t know, Rowan.”

“Anna, try!”

Tears stung her eyes. She wanted so much to please Rowan, wanted his approval so badly, yet wasn’t at all sure she was up to winning it. “I’ll try.”

“Good.”

They picked their way around cactus, over and around rocks until they were directly below the jagged boulder where the kitten had worked itself up to a small ledge near the top. It looked down at them, mewing pitifully.

“I’m going to hand the cat to you, Anna, and you’ve got to hang on. Remember, if you panic or do anything foolish, we could both lose our footing and get hurt or killed.”

It was a test. Terrible things would happen if she failed. “I’ll do my best.”

He took her by the arm and stared directly into her eyes. “Now, remember, you’re not Anna Zimmerman. You’re not afraid of animals.”

When he released her, she watched him as he felt for a toehold in the rock. She watched, thinking, I am not Anna Zimmerman. I am not afraid, of animals. Not afraid. Who could be afraid of a little kitten? Anna Zimmerman perhaps. But I am not Anna Zimmerman. I am someone new. I’m Eve. And I am not afraid.

With his foot firmly lodged in a groove in the rock, Rowan was tall enough to stretch up and with one hand, grasp a rough protrusion on the stone and with the other, the kitten. The animal squealed as Rowan lowered it to Anna. “Quick,” he said.

They both knew he could not hang on long. Anna, heart pounding, reached up and snatched the animal from him, holding it away from her body, cupping it tightly in her hands. She heard Rowan exhale in relief as he steadied himself against the rock. She felt the furry ball wriggle, held tight. Fear, bilious and icy, shot to her stomach and crept out to her limbs, her fingers, demanding that she scream, let go. I am not Anna Zimmerman. I am not afraid. I am Eve. I am not afraid.

Through trembling fingers, she could feel her heart racing. In another moment she realized it was not her heart, but the kitten’s. The animal was frightened, too. Shaking. As frightened as she was. Poor thing. Like the little girl in the concentration camp. Abandoned. A waif. Poor thing. Now all she could think of was the child. Again, she was experiencing the child’s fear. A great wave of tenderness washed over her. She pulled the kitten close, held it against her chest, and soothed it. “Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid.” Poor little girl, poor little waif. Poor thing.

Rowan dropped down beside Anna.

“Easy. She’s scared enough as it is,” Anna chided.

“You’re not scared?” Rowan said.

I’m Eve. I am not afraid. “No.” She patted the kitten. “Isn’t that strange? It’s not so bad, touching an animal. I don’t seem to mind.”

“That’s great.”

“She looks so pathetic, she’s kind of cute.”

“She?”

“Well, whatever.” The kitten was a white and silver tabby with round, blue-green eyes and a pink nose. “Let’s take her home.”

“What about your allergy?”

“Maybe I’m over it.” Anna felt wonderful. She had done it, had faced and conquered a fear. Perhaps she really was someone new. To her delight, as she stroked the kitten, a pink tongue shot out to lick her hand. “She licked me,” Anna said excitedly. “Did you see that, Rowan? She likes me. Oh, I’ll bet she’s hungry.”

Rowan dug into the carryall for a leftover piece of chicken sandwich, which the kitten gobbled up in short order. “He or she is starved, but that’s all there is until we get home. You’re not going to care for this, kitty,” Rowan said, “but you’re going to have to ride in the carryall.”

The kitten protested when Rowan put it inside, but as they made their way up the embankment, the animal soon quieted.

“She knows she’s going home,” Anna said. She felt very happy now. She was Eve. And she was not afraid.

The kitten did turn out to be a female, and Anna and Rowan named it Smuggler. Sarah Hart insisted they take it only on a trial basis. The moment Anna started wheezing, it would have to go, she said. Graham Hart agreed with her. Anna had not had an asthma attack in years, he maintained. He wasn’t looking forward to rushing her for emergency treatment now. She and Rowan should both know better than to invite that kind of trouble.

In spite of all their worries, Anna bore up beautifully. The kitten was naughty and arrogant and adorable. Best of all, she made everyone in the family laugh. And there had been far too little laughter in the house recently, Rowan thought.

He was proud of Anna. It must have taken guts to hang onto an animal, feeling the way she did. She was really maturing, he decided. He was proud of himself, too, for helping her overcome her fear. Obviously he had come up with the right way to cure her phobia, which made him feel very wise. Interestingly enough, once the phobia disappeared, so did the allergy. Anna got on well with Smuggler and, lately, she had never looked healthier. Rowan kept forgetting she was a clone. But what difference did that make anyhow? She was still a person with the same needs as anyone else.

They’d had the kitten for about two weeks when Rowan, after another play-off recital, came into the apartment one afternoon to find his mother already there. Usually she worked late and was the last one home. Today she met him at the door and said, “I thought you’d never get here.”