Way of the Peaceful Warrior (25 page)

“I'm so happy to see you again,” I said, hugging her.
 

Her smile was radiant. “Ooh,” she squeaked. “You are getting strong. Are you training for the Olympic Games?”
 

“As a matter of fact,” I answered seriously, “I've decided to retire. Gymnastics has taken me as far as it can; it's time to move on.” She nodded without comment.
 

“Well, let's be off,” said Socrates, carrying the watermelon he'd brought. I had the sandwiches in my backpack.
 

Up we rode, into the hills, on a day that couldn't have been more beautiful. After lunch, Soc decided to leave us alone and “go climb a tree.”
 

Later, he climbed down to hear us brainstorming.
 

“I'm going to write a book someday about my life with Socrates, Joy.”
 

“Maybe they'll make a movie out of it,” she said, as Soc listened, standing by the tree.
 

I was getting enthusiastic now, “And they'll have warrior T shirts ....”
 

“And warrior soap,” Joy cried. “And warrior decals.” “And bubble gum!”
 

Socrates had heard enough. Shaking his head, he climbed back up the tree.
 

We both laughed, rolling in the gross, and I said with practiced casualness, “Hey, why don't we have a little race to the Merry-Go Round and back?”
 

“Dan, you must be a glutton for punishment,” Joy boasted. “My father was an antelope, my mother a cheetah. My sister is the wind, and…”
 

“Yeah, and your brothers are a Porsche and a Ferrari.” She laughed as she slipped into her sneakers.
 

“The loser cleans up the garbage,” I said.
 

Doing a perfect imitation of W. C. Fields, Joy said, “There's a sucker born every minute.” Then, without warning, she took off. I yelled after her, putting on my shoes, “And I suppose your uncle was Peter Rabbit!” I called up to Socrates, “Be back in a few minutes,” and sprinted after Joy, now far ahead, running for the Merry-Go-Round about a mile away.
 

She was fast, all right--but I was faster, and I knew it. My training had honed me to an edge sharper than I'd ever imagined.
 

Joy looked back as her arms and legs pumped smoothly, and was surprised--might I say shocked?--to see me running right behind her, breathing easy.
 

She pushed even harder and looked back again. I was close enough to see beads of perspiration dripping down her soft neck. As I pulled up alongside her, she puffed, “What did you do, hitch a ride on the back of an eagle?”
 

“Yes,” I smiled at her. “One of my cousins.” Then I blew her a kiss and took off.
 

I was already around the Merry-Go-Round and halfway back to the picnic spot when I saw that Joy had fallen a hundred yards behind. It looked like she was pushing hard and getting tired. I felt sorry for her, so I stopped, sat down, and picked a wild mustard flower growing by the path. When she approached me, she slowed down to see me sniffing the flower. I said, “Lovely day, isn't it?”
 

“You know,” she said, “this reminds me of the story of the torotoise and the hare.” With that, she accelerated in a burst of incredible speed.
 

Surprised, I jumped up and took off after her. Slowly but surely I gained on her, but now we were nearing the edge of the meadow, and she had a good lead. I edged closer and closer until I could hear her sweet panting. Neck and neck, shoulder to shoulder, we raced the last twenty yards. Then she reached out and took my hand; we slowed down, laughing, and fell right on top of the watermelon slices which Soc had prepared, sending seeds flying in every direction.
 

Socrates, back down from his tree, applauded as I slid, face first, into a slice of melon which smeared all over my cheeks.
 

Joy looked at me, and simpered, “Why honey, y'all don't need to blush like that. After all, y'all almos' did beat lil' o' me.”
 

My face was dripping wet; I wiped if off and licked the melon juice from my fingers. I answered, “Why honey chile, even a lil’ o' fool could plainly see that I won.”
 

“There's only one fool around here,” Soc grumbled, “and he just demolished the melon.”
 

We all laughed, and I turned to Joy with love shining in my eyes. But when I saw how she was stating at me, I stopped laughing. But she took my hand and led me to the edge of the meadow, overlooking the rolling green hills of Tilden Park.
 

“Danny, I have to tell you something. You're very special to me. But from what Socrates says”--she looked back at Socrates, who was shaking his head slowly from side to side,---“your path doesn't seem to be wide enough for me, too---at least that's how it looks. And I'm still very young, Danny--I also have many things I must attend to.”
 

I was trembling. “But Joy, you know I want you to be with me always. I want to have children with you and keep you warm at night. Our life could be so fine together.” “Danny,” she said, “there's something else I should have told you before. I know I look and act--well, the age you might expect me to be. But I'm only fifteen years old.”
 

I stared at her, my jaw slack. “That means that for months I've had an awful lot of illegal fantasies.”
 

All three of us laughed, but my laughter was hollow. A piece of my life had fallen and broken. “Joy, I'll wait. There's still a chance.”
 

Joy's eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Danny, there is always a chance--for anything. But Socrates has told me that it's best if you forget.”
 

Silently, Socrates approached me from behind as I looked into Joy's luminous eyes. I was reaching out for her when he touched me lightly at the base of my skull. The lights went out, and I immediately forgot I ever knew a woman named Joy.
 

UNREASONABLE
 

HAPPINESS
 

When my eyes opened, I was lying on my back looking up at the sky.
 

I must have dozed off. Stretching, I said, “The two of us should get out of the station and picnic more often, don't you think?” “Yes,” he nodded slowly. “Just the two of us.”
 

We collected our gear and walked a mile or so through the wooded hills before catching the bus. All the way down the hill, I had a vague feeling that I'd forgotten to say or do something----or maybe I'd left something behind. By the time the bus reached the lowlands, the feeling had faded.
 

Before he stepped off the bus, I asked, “Hey, Soc, how about going for a run with me sometime tomorrow?”
 

“Why wait?” he answered. “Meet me tonight on the bridge over the creek at 11:30. We can go for a nice long midnight run up the trails.”
 

That night the full moon gave a silver sheen to the tops of the weeds and bushes as we started up the trails. But I knew every foot of the five-mile climb and could have run the trails in complete darkness.
 

After a steep climb on the lower trails, my body was toasty warm. Soon we had reached the connector and started up. What had seemed like a mountain many months ago was now hardly any strain for me. Breathing deeply, I sprinted up and hooted at Socrates trailing behind, wheezing, clowning around. “Come on, old geezer--catch me if you can!”
 

On a long straight stretch I looked back, expecting to see Soc bouncing along. He was nowhere in sight. I stopped, chuckling, suspecting an ambush. Well, I'd let him wait up ahead and wonder where I was. I sat on the edge of a hill and looked out over the bay to the city of San Francisco glittering in the distance.
 

Then the wind began to whisper, and suddenly I knew that something was wrong--very wrong. I leaped up and raced back down the trails.
 

I found Socrates just around the bend, lying face down on the cold earth. I knelt down quickly, tenderly turning him over and holding him, and put my ear to his chest. His heart was silent. “My God, oh my God,” I said as a shrill gust of wind howled up the canyon.
 

Laying Soc's body down, I put my mouth over his and blew into his lungs; I pumped his chest madly in a growing panic.
 

Finally, I could only murmur softly to him, cradling his head in my hands. “Socrates, don't die---please, Socrates.” It had been my idea to run. I remembered how he had fought his way up the connector, wheezing. If only… Too late. I was overcome with anger at the injustice of the world; I felt a rage greater than any I had ever known.
 

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” I screamed, and my anguish echoed down the canyon, sending birds soaring from their nests into the safety of the air.
 

He would not die---I would not let him! I felt energy surging through my arms, legs, and chest. I would give it all to him. If it meant my life, it was a price I would gladly pay. “Socrates, live, live!” I grabbed his chest in my hands, digging my fingers into his ribs. I felt electrified, saw my hands glowing, as I shook him, willing his heart to beat. “Socrates!” I commanded. “Live!”
 

But there was nothing . . . nothing. Uncertainty entered my mind and I collapsed. It was over. I sat still, with tears running down my cheeks. “Please,” I looked upward, into the silver clouds drifting across the moon. “Please,” I said to the GOD I'd never seen. “Let him live” Finally I stopped struggling, stopped hoping. He was beyond my powers. I had failed him.
 

Two small rabbits hopped out of the bush to see me, gazing down at the lifeless body of an old man which I held tenderly in my arms.
 

That's when I felt it--the same Presence I had known many months before. It filled my body. I breathed It; It breathed me. “Please,” I said one last time, “take me instead.” I meant it. And in that moment, I felt a pulse begin to throb in Soc's neck. Quickly, I put my head against his chest. The strong, rhythmic beat of that old warrior's heart pounded against my ear. I breathed life into him, then, until his chest rose and fell of its own accord.
 

When Socrates opened his eyes, he saw my face above his, laughing, crying softly with gratitude. And the moonlight bathed us in quicksilver. The rabbits, their fur shining, gazed at us. Then, at the sound of my voice, they retreated into the bush.
 

“Socrates, you're alive.”
 

“I see that your powers of observation are at their usual razor sharp keenness,” he said weakly.
 

He tried to stand, but he was very shaky, and his chest hurt, so I lifted him on my shoulders, firefighter style, and began carrying him up toward the end of the trails, two miles away. From the Lawrence Science Lab, the night watchman could call an ambulance.
 

He rested quietly on my shoulders most of the way as I fought fatigue, sweating under his weight. Now and then he would say, “The only way to travel--let's do this more often”---or “Giddyup.”
 

I returned home only after he was settled into the intensive care unit at Herrick Hospital. That night the dream returned. Death reached out for Socrates; with a cry, I awoke.
 

I sat with him during the next day. He was asleep most of the time, but late in the afternoon he wanted to talk.
 

“Okay--what happened?”
 

“I found you lying there. Your heart had stopped and you weren't breathing. I--I willed you to live.”
 

“Remind me to put you in my will, too. What did you feel?” “That was the strange part, Soc, At first I felt energy course through me. I tried to give it to you. I had nearly given up, when . . .”
 

“Never say die,” he proclaimed.
 

“Socrates, this is serious!”
 

“Continue---I'm rooting for you. I can't wait to find out how it all came out.”
 

I grinned, “You know damn well how it came out. Your heart started beating again--but only after I stopped trying. That Presence I once felt--It started your heartbeat.”
 

He nodded. “You were feeling it.” It wasn't a question, but a statement.
 

“Yes.”
 

“That was a good lesson,” he said, stretching gently.
 

“A lesson! You had a heart attack and it was a nice little lesson for me? That's how you see it?”
 

“Yes,” he said. “And I hope you make good use of it. It may be our ultimate undoing. House Rules: For every strength there is a weakness--and vice versa. Of course, even as a child, my weakness has always been my heart. You, my young friend, have another kind of 'heart trouble'.”
 

“I do?”
 

“Yes. You haven't yet opened your heart in a natural way, to bring your emotions to life in the way that you did last night. You've learned body control and even some mind control, but your heart has not yet opened. Your goal is not invulnerability, but vulnerability-to the world, to life, and therefore, to the Presence you felt.
 

“Socrates, tell me about love. I want to understand it.”
 

He laughed softly. “It is not something to be understood; it can only be felt.”
 

“Well then, what about feeling?”
 

“You see?” he said. “You want to turn it into a mental concept. Just forget yourself and feel!”
 

I looked down at him, realizing the extent of his sacrifice---how he had trained with me, never holding back, even though he knew he had a heart condition, all just to keep my interest. My eyes filled with tears. “I do feel, Soc . . .”