The Twelve (3 page)

Thus, when he heard the diagnosis of depression, Howard Gray wisely recommended that Jane rent a cottage for a month and enjoy her love affair with the ocean.

Jane agreed on the condition that no one would see her in what she felt was her “defective” state, afflicted by her nerve-damaged smile and her depression. She didn't want any visitors—not her children, not Herbert, not even a cleaning woman. She wanted to be completely alone, with no one checking on her.

But Dr. Gray did check on her from time to time. He indicated that as much as Jane needed rest and the sea, the isolation she had insisted upon was not healthy for her. Since he was also providing her with painkillers and sleeping pills, he made the trip to see her every weekend.

At first he stayed in a nearby beach motel, but soon he took to staying Saturday nights at the cottage, taking Jane out for meals and walking with her on the beach. He slowly influenced her to interact once again with people, enabling her to realize that she was still beautiful and still worthy of the love that had always filled her life.

The inevitable occurred, and Howard fell in love with Jane. Love blossomed into a spontaneous state of arousal that neither he nor she could resist—nor did they desire to do so. Howard was unhappily married, but with two children and family responsibilities, he wasn't the kind of man to have affairs or abuse the sanctity of the doctor-patient relationship.

He justified what they were doing as an act of healing, a way to reaffirm to Jane in the most intimate way that the accident had not diminished her beauty. She was still a vibrant, sexy woman who needed reassurance—even love—from a man other than Herbert, who, until that summer, had been the only man with whom she'd made love. Howard would have left his wife and children had Jane desired him to. Yet she did not. Her love for Herbert was not diminished. Her love of her children was not diminished.

But Jane's love for herself was diminished. Her affair with Howard was over at summer's end—a hot and sultry Indian summer that lasted from September until mid-October. A healing of sorts had taken place in her, and she returned to normal life, although life was never really the same for her again. She was never again as much a part of her own family, and with Max in particular there was a distance that hadn't been there before.

The cigarette smoking, the heavy drinking, and the loss of wonder and of living in a state of grace changed Jane in ways that were observable to all—especially to Max. The strong bond he and his mother had shared was gone, leaving a lonely void.

***

When their mother returned, Max and Louis knew only that something had changed.

Their mother took up knitting, and she produced all shapes and sizes of hats and mittens, even sweaters, which more often than not were somewhat imperfect, but always warm and full of love.

Dr. Gray continued to attend to the Doffs, and to the boys he was smart and always making witty comments. He was the kind of family doctor who was well-acquainted with the medical history of every family member. He made house calls at a time when few doctors still did.

Then on February 19, 1965, Max suffered from a severe case of the flu, with bronchial symptoms that made his every breath painful. He had been held out of school for three days, but his symptoms were getting worse, not better. The juices, soups, and pills were not helping.

“You'd better bring him in,” Dr. Gray said, when Jane called on that fateful afternoon. It was exactly 2:44 p.m. when she and Max entered the waiting room to the doctor's office.

Sick as he was, Max's senses seemed heightened, and as he sat there he noticed every detail—the reproduction on the wall of George Washington crossing the Potomac River with his men, the National Geographic magazines, with their yellow covers, the brown table on which they lay, the green chairs on which he and his mother sat for what seemed like hours, but were only minutes, and the fresh white uniform of nurse Ethel who greeted Max warmly as she led him into the doctor's office.

It took only a few minutes for Dr. Gray to examine him. He held a stethoscope to Max's chest and asked him to breathe. Max wheezed and then coughed in pain.

Nurse Ethel took his temperature and noted that the fever was only moderate.

Dr. Gray decided to give Max a penicillin-based shot that he had been using on patients with similar symptoms. It had been able to knock out the flu in at most two days, he explained. Then he asked Max to roll up the sleeve of his shirt.

Max hated shots but was tired of the pain in his throat, and so he resigned himself to the needle in his arm.

There was a prick, pain, and then it was done.

“Sit here,” Dr. Gray told Max. “I'll be back in just a minute.”

Max had no idea how long Dr. Gray was gone, or if he ever left the examining room at all. What Max remembered was that he was suddenly in a state of bliss.

He experienced a sense that he was a creature of pure light, floating with other light beings in the brightest glow he'd ever known. His body pulsated with feelings of love, and every pulse brought even more light around and within him.

He entered a state of complete euphoria.

Suddenly, through the bright light came an array of beautiful colors, vibrating and floating around him, like individual objects. As the color vibrations became stronger, Max saw a person's name embedded within each one of them. He counted twelve colors and twelve names—none of which were known to him.

Then, just as quickly as the names and colors had appeared, they receded, and the pure white light returned. With the change Max had a sense of beings he had known long ago, who surrounded him with love and greeted him as if he were a dear friend or a relative now returned home.

It was a state of quiet calm, euphoric yet still, gentle yet pulsating with joy—active and effortless movement without constriction of any kind—a sense of self, but without a physical body.

And thus Max died.

Max Lives

1965

M
AX DOFF MOVED ENTHUSIASTICALLY TOWARD THE TUNNEL
of light.

As he did, his floating consciousness was distracted by a series of loud noises, and his attention was drawn to a man flushed with emotion and fear. The man was speaking loudly.

He was on his knees with his hands pressed against a body that lay on the floor of a small room. Max wondered why the man was so upset, then realized that the man was a doctor, and he was distressed because the body wasn't responding to his words or attempts to resuscitate.

Then Max saw that it was his own body that lay there. Disturbed by the doctor's anxious state, he made a conscious decision to return.

So, in a courageous act of selflessness, he turned away from the tunnel of light that offered what seemed a familiar and comfortable world and returned to the human drama of being Max.

As he reentered his corporeal form, he opened his eyes, and the fear and panic subsided in Dr. Gray's face.

“I thought we had lost you,” Dr. Gray said, and he had no idea of the sacrifice Max had made out of compassion for the doctor.

Yet the doctor's pain wasn't the only thing that had motivated Max. More than ever, he was propelled by something even bigger—by a mission of greater importance . . . and one that required him to live.

Max still felt sick and was somewhat dazed from the experience of dying. He remained in the medical center another two hours under observation, and Jane stayed with him.

“Mom, you have no idea how beautiful it was to be out of my body,” he told her. “There were these light-beings, and they were full of love.”

“I can only imagine what you experienced,” Jane replied, and she hugged him close. “It sounds a little like what I feel when I gaze at ocean waves, where I imagine each wave as a force of love and life.

“But tell me more about these twelve names you saw,” she asked.

“Well, they were names I had never seen before, and some seemed to be in foreign languages. The only name I remember is the last one, which was a strange one—Running Bear.

“Each name had its own specific color and vibration,” he continued. “And when they combined there was a full rainbow of colors and a symphony of vibrations. It was all so magical and wonderful.

“Do you think I was supposed to remember the names
?
” Max asked, suddenly concerned that he may have missed a grand opportunity for knowledge.

Jane reassured him.

“They may have no importance whatsoever, and even if they do, there's no sense in allowing it to cause you pain. Just live your life, and see what unfolds.” She paused and looked into his eyes. “The world is wide and vast and strange, and you will never understand all that occurs.”

With that she gave Max a kiss on the forehead, then a hug, and waited until Dr. Gray felt it safe for him to return home.

***

Once the doctor was convinced that there wouldn't be a repeat of his untimely demise, Max was released from the clinic.

He took his mother's advice to heart and got on with his life, continuing to shine in sports at school, gaining outstanding leadership skills in all activities and excelling academically, particularly in mathematics.

However, his achievements came so effortlessly that he began to look for additional challenges, and with this in mind he applied for the School Year Abroad program to study in Spain. That country had long fascinated him, in part due to the influence of his Spanish teacher, Fernando Iglesias.

Señor Iglesias, as he asked his students to address him, was the most unlikely man to become a teacher, let alone inspire students the way he did. He was the youngest son of the fifth wealthiest family in Cuba. Along with the other four clans, the Iglesias family controlled the politics, owned the sugar mills, the railroads, the casinos, and everything else worth owning. Fernando had hot and cold running servants who attended to his every need. He excelled at partying in a way he said only a real Cuban would understand—a variation on the Brazilian Carnival with outrageous enthusiasm and intensity, a love of beauty, and an appreciation for great art.

Though he did not need to do so, Fernando went to law school because it was considered a dignified career for him to pursue while waiting to inherit his fortune. However, he was an idealist and wanted to see reform—in particular the removal of Fulgencio Batista, Cuba's dictatorial and repressive ruler. As a student, he provided significant funding for a young idealist named Fidel Castro. It was only after Castro came to power that Fernando realized he had backed an equally totalitarian dictator.

By the time Fernando was ready to flee Cuba, he was only permitted to take $5.00 and the clothing on his back.

He landed in Miami and got a job as a soda jerk in a Howard Johnson's restaurant. He spoke eloquent English, and with his cultural background, he applied for the position of Spanish teacher at various private schools on the East Coast. His upper-class upbringing suited the requirements of the Hackley School in Tarrytown, New York, so in 1964 he found himself teaching ninth-grade Spanish at this private, boys-only, day and boarding school.

***

Señor Iglesias had no experience as a teacher, but he possessed a rich knowledge of life in his Latin culture. Consequently, Max found his teaching methods were rather unorthodox but always dramatic, exciting, and magical. His philosophy was that nothing was impossible. He took his students to New York City to attend parties with other Cuban exiles where the wide-eyed young men were exposed to exotic foods, exciting music, and beautiful women.

When the Spanish Pavilion at the 1964 World's Fair opened in Queens, New York, Señor Iglesias organized a trip for the entire class, including backstage passes to meet the gypsy flamenco dancers. Max was amazed that this simple teacher, who had virtually no money, could find such joy and excitement in everyday life.

Fernando's love of his native culture was thoroughly contagious, and Max soon adopted a deep affection for all things Hispanic, including stories about the Incan and Mayan civilizations and how the Spanish conquistadores had vanquished those highly evolved civilizations so quickly and seemingly effortlessly. And thus, on September 9, 1966, at the age of 16 and full of enthusiasm and wonder, Max set sail with a student group on the USS Aurelia for Southhampton, England, en route to Barcelona, determined to learn more about the culture that had spawned Cortes and Pizarro.

Upon his arrival he was assigned to the Segovia family, which consisted of the matriarch, the widow of Segovia, her three children, and their maid and cook, Julieta, who had been with the family since the birth of the eldest son, Alejandro.

Alejandro was an extraordinarily handsome twenty-eight-year-old party boy who hobnobbed with models and artists, including Salvador Dali. He was an architect but not very successful and constantly fought with his mother about money and his less-than-stellar career accomplishments.

Roberto, the second son, was twenty-four and also studying architecture. He did not have Alejandro's fabulous good looks but had a pleasant face, although he was somewhat on the chubby side. He became engaged to his high-school sweetheart while Max lived with the family. Her name was Cristina, and she was much taller and thinner than Roberto. They made an amusing couple, but both were sweet, intelligent, and kind.

Max spent a good deal of time with Roberto, playing cards and discussing food, music, and architecture. Since Roberto loved to eat, he introduced Max to a great variety of Spanish, Catalan, and Basque delicacies.

However, Max spent most of his time with the youngest child, Emilia, who was twenty years old and thus closer to his age. She was studying literature at the University of Barcelona, so they talked for hours about the great authors and poets of the world and ventured deeply into philosophical subjects. Emilia was a true sister to Max, and the idea of a romantic relationship never entered the picture. Indeed, she had a very wealthy boyfriend, Quitano, who lived in Madrid but visited every weekend and treated Emilia and Max to the theater, ballet, fine restaurants, and concerts.

But la señora, the widow of Segovia, was the real showstopper.

Her husband had created a highly successful medical insurance business but had died prematurely, leaving her with three small children ranging in age from four to eight. In 1956 Spain did not grant equal rights to women, and few—if any—owned businesses. Since Spanish law prohibited single women from owning businesses at all, la señora kept her formal name as the widow of Segovia.

She was a natural entrepreneur, and in addition to running the insurance company, she had purchased a laundromat, several small general stores, and a weekend beach home on the Costa Brava—the Spanish coast north of Barcelona. She believed in hard work and had inculcated this work ethic in Roberto and Emilia, but not in Alejandro, who was more attracted to glamour and the world of art.

In every way that Max's own mother, Jane, had been weak, the widow of Segovia was strong. She was not beautiful but had endless energy and excellent aesthetic taste.

Julieta, who served as the family's maid and cook, was almost a second mother to the children. From a poor family in a small village in rural Aragon, she had started working for the family when she was only 16 and was in her late forties when Max came to live with them. She frequently took Max shopping at the open-air market, teaching him how to choose fresh vegetables and pointing out which of the live chickens would make the best meal.

“Este chico es mas listo que el diablo,” she would say to all who would listen. “This boy living with the señora is more clever than the devil!” She said it with such pride, clearly enjoying having this young American boy as her charge, and it made Max smile.

***

In his nine months in Barcelona, Max learned to speak Spanish with an accent as pure as that of any Castilian. He felt a heart-
to-heart connection with the Spanish people in a way he never could when speaking English—which for him always remained
a language of logic and mental gymnastics, but not of deep
emotions.

He traveled throughout Spain to every major city, became an expert on the Barcelona architect Antoni Gaudi, visited the birthplace of El Greco, marveled at the creation of La Alhambra in Granada, ate goose barnacles in Galicia, walked the ancient streets of Unamuno's Salamanca, and became even more enamored with the Spanish culture and its love of life, its intensity, and its passion. It all seemed very familiar to him. He felt at home.

He believed this was where he belonged. In Spain, Max learned to live without fear. He could walk anywhere in the city at any hour of the day or night in complete safety. Franco ruled with an iron hand, and even the red light district had no crime other than prostitution, which was semi-regulated, with condom shops on every corner and cheap hotel rooms above every bar.

Although Max turned seventeen that winter, he still looked fourteen, and even the prostitutes thought he was too young to touch. One night he and three of his friends decided it was time to lose their virginity. His friends were all successful, and, despite their condoms, they took away infections to prove it. Because of his appearance, Max was turned down by the prostitutes, and he was happy that he'd been rejected.

Max slept well in the house of the widow of Segovia and had pleasant dreams, except for one night when he drank far too much cognac following a baseball game. After two years of a losing streak and aided by Max's prowess, his Spanish team won a game against their archrivals. Every member of the ten-man team insisted on buying a round of cognac for the entire team, leading to ten cognacs each in the space of two hours.

That night Max dreamed he was fighting a stream of fire-breathing, green dragons. He had a sword, and he was able to kill each dragon as it approached him, but there was an inexhaustible stream of the creatures.

After killing what seemed like hundreds—if not thousands—of dragons, Max looked to the sky and saw a godlike presence, which bellowed at him.

“Do you want to stop fighting the dragons
?
” it asked.

“Yes. It's tiring, and I'm somewhat exhausted already,” Max admitted.

“Well, you can just stop whenever you want.”

“But if I stop, the dragons will just keep coming and destroy the world.”

“Your thinking is correct,” the godlike presence acknowledged, speaking in Spanish. “But you will never be able to defeat all the dragons. They are infinite in number.

“Are you sure you want to continue
?
” it asked.

Max just shrugged and returned to killing dragons.

Then he woke up.

Max had been told that he would know that he was proficient in Spanish when his dreams would be in Spanish, too. Since Max never remembered his dreams, this was an unusual and pleasant experience.

It also signaled that he had achieved his primary goal of learning Spanish before heading back to conquer whatever dragons might await him as he prepared to complete his education and ready himself for college and adult life.