Эд Макбейн - Love, Dad

She had longed in these past several months to be able to spill out to him her innumerable fears about Lissie traveling alone through God knew which foreign countries, the dark and forbidding prospect that her daughter might never again return home, the confusion she’d felt about Lissie’s inconsiderateness, the unthinkable possibility that she might be injured or even killed while she was thousands of miles away. But no. “She’ll call, don’t worry,” and then dismissal of his granddaughter, as though the offspring of offspring were of absolutely no earthly concern to a man who ran his life with all the stopwatch precision of a time-analyst.

Oh, how she longed to open her heart to him, reveal to him everything that was troubling her about her daughter — and her husband. Who else was there to tell? Her mother was more a child than Lissie was, and her sister in Los Angeles had never truly been a confidante. It seemed ironic to her that the one person she had always trusted completely, the one person with whom she had always felt safe in confiding anything at all, was now the one person she could not ask for advice. Had Jamie gone alone to Louisville last week, or had he taken a woman with him? Oh, God, she thought. Help me, she thought. Help me, Daddy. What should I do?

Sometimes she found herself trembling with impotent rage, feeling in those moments utterly female, helpless in the grip of a centuries-old conspiracy of bondage and servitude, realizing in a flash as terrifying as an ozone-stinking bolt of lightning just how dependent she was on this man to whom she was married. Perhaps her father was correct in never deigning to honor her own silly occupation, her fiddling with the handicapped, the exalted $16,000-a-year job that would, should Jamie ever leave her, pay for almost none of the things she now shared with him.

Shamed by a glimpse of this selfish person who was herself, revolted by her own lack of courage, disgusted by this quaking fragile view of herself as the end product of a civilization that asked its females to drink sperm and enjoy it besides, knowing she should say something, storm at Jamie, insist on knowing, demand apologies, exact penance, force him to kiss her ass and lick her shoes, reduce this... this... rotten son of a bitch — and the rage would rise again, overwhelming her with its force.

Holding back her tears, refusing to cry, afraid to challenge him, hating him and loving him at the same time, bewildered and helpless in her confusion, she thought I have to do something, I have to save it, and wished with all her heart that her daughter was here by her side, to help remind Jamie that there was something important here they had all shared together and lived together — instead of on Mykonos where the green hills were flecked with flowers and the air blew in fresh over the Aegean.

May 20, 1970

Dear Mom and Dad,

Hello! Hello!

Deep breathing and yoga in the first rays of the deep orange sun. A quick cool dip in crystal waters and a walk to town. An argument with some officials who thought I came illegally from Turkey, a brisk retaliation, and the day has begun. Morning tea sings to me a soft song, the second day of fasting.

Paul and I have found a house on Samos which suits our needs and now it’s time to live. A small ancient villa overlooking a beautiful beach, mountains, air, food and insects. Paul is a very dear person, and we are trying to live honestly.

We came here via Santorini which is supposed to be the Lost City of Atlantis. Vampire bats, strange superstitious people, and a volcano. Black sand and religious festivals and incredible stars. But here I am in my new home with Paul and many thoughts realized. I’m reading Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, and I would deeply appreciate it if at some point you could send me any more of his books you may find in the shops there. It is very warm here, now, and I do feel great. My Greek is improving “oreo” and I can handle any situation. Please write to me % Poste Restante, Kokkári, Samos, Greece. All my love to everyone.

Your loving daughter,

May 29, 1970

Dear Lissie:

I can’t pretend I’m thrilled. It is not enough to lie and to deceive and then apologize for it afterward. The moment we got an address for you, I wanted to fly over there and drag you home by the hair. Your mother advised me that this was not the right thing to do. You are, after all, eighteen years old, you will be nineteen in December. That is supposed to be an adult. But I’m still not sure I wasn’t right. I do not like your lying, I do not like your getting money from us under false pretenses, I do not like your dropping out of school, and I definitely do not like your living with someone we do not know. Don’t any of the kids today have last names? What is Paul’s last name? Who is he?

Are you deliberately trying to cause anxiety, Liss? Would it have been so difficult for you to drop at least a card between this letter and the one before it? To let us know whether or not you were still on Mykonos, still in good health, still alive, for God’s sake! Never mind, let it go. Mom says I shouldn’t express any anger in my letter to you. All right, I won’t express any anger.

We called your grandparents the moment we heard from you, and I expect you’ll be getting some mail from them shortly, if you haven’t already moved on from the address you gave us. A small ancient villa overlooking the beach sounds very nice. Please fill us in. How many rooms are there, what’s the layout, how much is it costing you a month, and so on? What time do you get up, what time do you eat, what do you eat, when do you swim (is it really warm enough there for swimming now), when do you go to sleep, and have you any plans for finding some sort of job while you’re there? Please tell us all, as we’d very much like to know.

Mom says she will be writing you separately. I hope she is better able to conceal her anger and frustration than I am. Please keep writing, and stay well and happy.

Love,

June 10, 1970

Dear Mom and Dad,

I am writing again the very minute after reading your letter because I don’t want to be accused again of being thoughtless or selfish, as your last letter seemed to indicate. I am fine, happier than ever, stronger than ever, and continually creatively growing. You’ll be very happy to know that I’ve been reading like a fiend, a habit I picked up from Paul, who reads tons of books every week, anything he can get his hands on. As my knowledge of the medium increases, the more stimulated and curious I am. I want to write more and more, and plans are beginning to appear in the direction of my own books which would be based around my travels and new sensitivity to nature and the world.

I am still living on Samos, mainly because it is one of the most beautiful places I’ve had the opportunity to know. Also, because of my increased sensitivity through daily discipline and yoga. I’m experimenting with pressing flowers, and the infinite array of natural prints and composition which I am learning to control. I have been offered a job working in a tavern here, which I have passed up. I’m sorry I can’t tell you anything more about Paul, but that would be betraying a confidence. We’ll still be staying here in Kokkári for another little while before leaving for India.

All my love,

June 20, 1970

Dear Lissie:

India!

It takes an impossibly long time for your letters to reach us, ten days for the last one, and then only to learn the depressing news that you’re planning to move on farther east. Lissie, I hope this decision isn’t a firm one. Mom and I truly feel that the best possible thing for you to do is to finish your stay in Greece, stay there for the summer if you like, and then come back in the fall to continue your studies at Brenner. Lissie, I don’t understand this. I didn’t understand your sudden decision to leave the country in the first place, and now I am totally baffled by what you wrote in your last letter. Why India? For God’s sake, Lissie, India is the opposite end of the earth!