Sarah Of The Moon (19 page)

Nathan Barlow looked directly at Alex and continued. “You could unite the tribes. As one, we would have the power to spread the word of peace throughout the United States, throughout the world. A man of forceful persuasion could bring the college campuses into the fold. Once we have the students, we have the world.”

Sarah shook her head. “We tried this before Nathan. The college students can be too radical, too confrontational. They mean well, but the end result has been, and will continue to be, alienation. We cannot give the politicians any more reason to plot against us. Whatever we do must be through peaceful means.”

“Times have changed, Sarah, but obviously you have not.” Barlow sat up straight. A girl walked behind him, pillow in hand. He waved her off. “We need to adapt to the new world mindset before it is too late. We need to target all involved with the war machine, the weapons makers and the ones who use them, and the politicians who equate war with economic prosperity. We need to become more aggressive. If that means rebellion, then so be it. We tried the old way. It did not work. If we want results, we need to show those of influence that we can be forceful”

Sarah stood up and began to pace. “If we would have given peace a chance, we would have won by now. We were on the same side once, you and I, but you let others influence your decisions then, and it seems you still are.”

Alex saw Sarah glare at Barlow in a way that even the room’s dim lighting could not mask. “I can’t let you draw Alex into this madness. Alex needs to be on the outside looking in. He needs to tell our story from his unique point of view. Whether we like what he says, or disagree with it, makes no difference. He will tell people what he sees and hears, and we are obligated to be grateful or humbled by his words.”

“What do you have to say about this, Alex?” Barlow moved forward just enough to see the other man’s eyes.

“I agree with Sarah,” Alex replied. “I am just a visitor here and, while I admire many aspects of your culture, I am not behind protests or confrontations. Too many men my age have given their lives for me to taint their memory by saying they are doing wrong.”

He too stood up, standing next to Sarah.

“My father risked his life in a war so we would have peace. The men of Vietnam are doing the same. They never asked to be there, but they fight nonetheless, not because they want to, but because they
need
to. They have the courage of their convictions.”

“If you want to end the war, if you want peace on earth, then, by all means, shout it out. Spread the word of peace, but do it in a way that honors those who fight for it.”

“You once stood for a world free of violence. Do it again.”

Alex looked around the room. All eyes were on him.

“I will not criticize your beliefs. Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, but you might want to consider a career change. I’d suggest opening a pillow shop.”

Alex took Sarah’s hand. “Have a nice day,” he said, noticing that the couple in the back of the room was again ignoring him.

They walked out of the room of incense and candles and into the brightness of the day. Once on the sidewalk, both stopped and looked out on a busy Haight Street.

“The world somehow feels so new and full of promise.” Sarah said as she deeply breathed in a light wind still fresh from the bay.

She took the crown of flowers out of her hair and tweaked a white bud, near the point of blossom, from it.

She handed it to him. “You’ve earned this.”

“And this,” she said, as she gave Alex the type of kiss he once rarely received during the hours of daylight.

OF THE PAST

“I’m sorry if I spoke
out of turn in there,” Sarah said as they walked back to the house. “I get defensive pretty quickly. It’s a throwback to the past year or so.”

“You never told me what happened back then.” Alex said.

Sarah began walking slower.

“Nothing to tell really. I tried to organize some peace movements, just to get things rolling. It started off well. People were interested in what I had to say. We had some rallies, some parades.” She stopped on the sidewalk and gathered her thoughts.

“I know you’ve heard it before, but those were the glory days of Haight-Ashbury. There were no talks of protests, confrontations, or riots. We had peaceful demonstrations. We didn’t go after the soldiers who fought the war. We went after the politicians who put them there.”

“Things went south when it was determined by a few of the elder statesmen, Nathan Barlow included, that I was too young and inexperienced to shepherd so many into a new world order. I was, for all intents and purposes, given my walking papers.”

Sarah took his hand and they continued down Haight Street.

“Many still wanted me to stay. Some begged me to persevere, but I lost interest, not in the cause but in the process. I became an outsider looking in. I saw the movement slip from a unified cause to one of many factions, each with their own ideas of leadership. I saw my dream of peace collapse under the weight of arrogance.”

Sarah was leading him by the hand away from Haight Street, toward the Golden Gate Park. There was a feeling of revelations in the air. He suspected a secret or two might soon be revealed. He followed her into the park.

“I never suspected I would become a pawn in a power struggle.”

They were close to the park. From somewhere in the distance, Alex heard a radio playing ‘Light My Fire’ by The Doors.

“For the longest time I gave myself to selfish pleasures, helping the Diggers and the Free Clinic,” Sarah said, as they drew close to the hill.

“I started dancing to relieve the tension I was feeling at the time. I thought it would be a good outlet for my frustrations.”

She paused long enough for Alex to put his arm around her shoulder. She reached up, took his hand and kissed it.

“I always played the same song when I danced for my parents. It was the song I learned to dance to, and I was afraid to try another. God, they must have hated that song. They never showed it though. Do you want me to hum some of it for you?”

“No need,” he answered. “I’m familiar with the song.”

He expected her to ask how, but she continued talking.

“When I dance for my parents on the hill, I play that song in my head. It gives me a sense of inner peace.”

She kissed his hand again and rubbed it across her cheek.

Sarah turned to face him. “Have I ever told you I love you?”

From the corner of his eye, Alex saw people approaching. They had been discovered.

“No, you never have,” he said, as his heart pounded in his chest.

“I do love you, Alex, more than you’ll ever know. No matter what happens in the days and weeks to come, you must remember that.”

They gathered around her, first a few and then more with each passing minute, until their place on the hill was swarming with men, women, and children.

She looked at Alex in her happy sad way, and then mouthed, “I love you” once again before turning toward her audience.

All of those in attendance seemed mesmerized by Sarah’s words. Some held hands, others closed their eyes, and a few watched her intently, absorbing her every word.

These were her disciples and one day they would go to places near and far to spread the message they heard here today. One day they would tell their children of a girl in a white dress, with flowers in her hair, who told stories of hope in a time of war. Her name was Sarah and this is what she said.

AUGUST

Chick walked cautiously around the chicken,
giving it a wide berth. It was not known where it came from, or who brought it into the house. One morning it was just there, prancing about in the foyer.

Cowboy called it Oswald because the chicken had the hesitant walk of his uncle of the same name after a few beers. When brought to his attention that chickens are not male, Cowboy pleaded his case to the house in such an effective manner, including a reenactment of Uncle Oswald under the influence, that all agreed Oswald was an appropriate moniker.

Oswald enjoyed having the run of the house and developed a taste for Jezebel’s cat food. It was a common sight to see both the cat and the chicken eating from the same bowl at the same time. It eventually became the norm at their dinnertime to call the names of both animals and see who came first, the chicken or the cat.

The houseguests realized Oswald was accident-prone during her first week of residence, when she fell victim on a regular basis to Cowboy’s stairway hole.

At least once a day, a houseguest would extract her from the hole where she laid half in and half out. Thankfully, she did not put up much of a fuss while in the opening. Oswald simply sat there awaiting rescue. The chicken’s tendency to chance upon, and get stuck in, the only hole in the house on a daily basis only served to confirm Cowboy’s name choice.

“My Uncle Oswald would sometimes do the same thing in his farm’s outhouse,” Cowboy proudly said.

Chick, however, did not trust the animal.

“It could be a plant by the feds,” he whispered to anyone who would listen. “Did anyone bother to check under its feathers for listening devices?”

A wiretapped chicken was the least of Chick’s problems during the first two weeks in August.

The month had barely begun when Belladonna broke the news to him that she was pregnant. Chick was certain she was mistaken and maybe just severely constipated, until Belladonna reminded him that they had indulged in unprotected sex on a regular basis for well over four months.

Despite all the evidence, Chick was still determined to place blame elsewhere. Cowboy, Skip, Benny, and Sandman were made to swear, under the threat of marijuana restrictions; they had no part in the shaping of Belladonna’s current predicament.

Belladonna, for her part, could not have been happier. After she was certain of her condition, she made the announcement at the dinner table. Everyone, with the possible exception of Chick, seemed delighted by the news. The girls hugged Belladonna and the guys slapped Chick’s back and shook his hand.

After dinner, the women of the house escorted her into the box filled tranquility room where the conversation revolved around children and families.

The men, on the other hand, did not broach Chick on the subject as they lounged on the front porch. He was throwing off bad vibes about the whole soon-to-be-father experience and, despite their vows; he still did not trust his friends as far as sex was concerned.

Chick took a long pull from his hand rolled reefer. “Cowboy, I swear if that baby comes out either wearing a hat or limping, I’m going to track you down. Same goes for you Sandman, if it sleeps a lot.”

Sandman immediately spoke up. “Not fair, Chick,” he protested. “Babies sleep all the time.”

“He’s got a point, Chick,” Benny broke in, while puffing on his own smoke. “Babies do sleep all the time. It would be unfair to say it’s Sandman’s baby just because it sleeps frequently.”

“Here’s an idea,” Chick said, while rubbing his temples. “Why don’t you all just shut up and leave me be.”

Around the same time in the month, Matt and Celeste began sharing a bed. Celeste, with Matt’s help, hung a sheet from the ceiling, of the couples’ bedroom, to the floor, sectioning off part of the room. Upon assuring their privacy, they made it official by picking up a used twin mattress from the Digger’s free store.

They would admit later that carrying it from the store to the house was a major embarrassment. The young people of the community, for the most part, doled out words of encouragement as they passed. The mattress, however, had the opposite effect on the older residents of the area. After several verbal admonishments on the protocols of public decorum, they both felt the early signs of guilt.

“I don’t know about you,” Matt said to Celeste as they neared their house, “but I feel a bit ashamed.”

“So do I,” Celeste replied, and then giggled in a way that always turned Matt on.

“Maybe we should try it now, in case it’s defective and needs to be returned,” he said.

“What if we did that, here on the sidewalk, in front of your friends and neighbors, and it turned out you were the one who was defective and needed to be returned,” she responded.

“Good point,” Matt said, as he hoisted the cumbersome thing across his back, in preparation of the trek up the front steps.

As the month progressed, Skip and Benny thought the time was right to demonstrate to Alex the fine art of thumbing a ride.

“It’s not as easy as it looks,” Skip told Alex, as the three walked toward Haight Street in the late morning of the third week of August.

“Yeah,” Benny added. “There’s a trick to it.”

“Does it have to do with the positioning of the thumb?” Alex wondered.

“I’m not saying yes, and I’m not saying no,” Benny replied. “You’ll have to wait until we get there.”

“Can I ask where we’re thumbing to?” Alex said as they turned the corner on to Haight Street.

“We haven’t decided yet,” Skip said without the slightest hesitation.

They reached Haight Street during the lunch hour. The vehicle traffic was heavy and moving slowly.

“Wherever we go,” Alex said, “I need to be back by dinner time.”

“We are always back by dinner time,” the two said in one voice.

“The first thing you want to do is borrow a girl for a couple of minutes.” Benny said while looking at Skip.

“That’s my job,” Skip said proudly. “Be right back.”

It did not take long for Skip to return with a young, dazed looking, girl in tow.

“Now comes the tricky part,” Benny acknowledged as he walked up to the girl.

“I need you to sit on the curb with your head in your hands and pretend like you’re crying.”

“Okay,” the girl said and moved to the curb.

“I gave her some change,” Benny said to Alex when he saw his inquisitive look.

“Here’s our story,” Skip said as he gathered Alex and Benny around him.

“We went to the zoo earlier and my girlfriend left her purse somewhere between the monkey cage and the reptile house. She is much too upset to look for it herself, so the three of us are going to retrieve it. What do you think?”