After the Wilderness

By Gordon Kearns

Chapter 5

As would be expected, at dinner Patty found herself sitting at a table surrounded by "the contingent": Ernest Bergen, the MacCleans, the Schulmans, the Crespys (they didn't know what all the excitement was about, but they wanted to be part of it --besides Bart was no different than all the other guys here: he wouldn't miss an opportunity to be around the magnetic seventeen year old), and Jack and Darren Bollinger (Rachel was tending the desk). It went pretty much this way:

"Well ? ,

"Well what?"

"Was he there?"

"Yes."

"Well?"

"Well, what?" She grinned coyly.

"Is he ...you know ..."

"Is he my father?" Patty was enjoying this very much.

"Right. Is Patrick your father?"

Patty blushed, then said --not without some degree of pride, "Yes, he is. Patrick is my father. It seems I was conceived during Marianne's Week."

"You were with him all afternoon?"

"All afternoon. He told me about ...my heritage ...my people. We date way back to ancient Greece, you know." Of course not the whole story. She told about how they roamed allover Europe and finally settled in Ireland. Only scratching the surface; everybody understood that. So no one objected when the Crespys began telling about their Italian ancestry. That's pretty much the way the rest of the conversation went --everybody talking about their family roots. The old timers figured they'd ask their real questions of Patty in private --especially about the magic. At last Patty excused herself. "I'm really bushed," she said, "It's been a long day." All the men stumbled around their chairs, hurrying to stand up as she left the table. In the lobby Patty stopped at the desk. "How did everything go?" Rachel asked her.

"It was the most exciting day in my life," she said, unable to contain her happiness. "Do you think you could get off tomorrow morning for awhile? I want to tell you all about it. But you've got to keep it a secret," she said conspiratorially.

"I'll make damn sure I'm off tomorrow morning. I wouldn't miss this for anything in the world. Where and when, Patty?"

"How about the mine, where we were this morning. Quarter to seven sound all right? Isn't that about the time you run in the morning?"

"That's perfect," Rachel said with a giggle, catching Patty's eagerness.

Patty looked around to make sure no one else was in the lobby. "I'm going to step outside for a little fresh air," she said. "I'll be back for my key in five minutes or so." She quickly slipped out the patio door and when she thought she was out of sight of the lobby, she became a wave for a last fling before going to bed.

Jack Bollinger watched from the screened porch outside the dining room. "By God, she does have the magic," he said to himself.

At eleven sharp Darren and Rachel Bollinger closed down the desk for the night, put up the sign that read, "IN CASE OF EMERGENCY PUSH THE BUZZER," and went into their apartment, located behind the desk. Later, as they lay side by side in the dark, Darren said, "I'm not going to lose you, am I Rachel?"

Rachel moved her hand over and laid it in Darren's.

"Jack thinks I don't give you room to make up your own mind about things."

Rachel didn't answer.

"God, Rachel, I love you more than anything in the world --you know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I know that, Darren."

"It's just that you were, you know, raised in that tightly controlled religious environment; you never got much of a chance to know about the real world. I'm only trying to help you learn. I guess I can sound ...bossy at times. I hope you understand it's because I love you so much. I'm only trying to help you. It's all for your own good. You know that, don't you, Rachel?"

Rachel didn't respond for a few moments. Then she sighed heavily, maneuvered his hand around her back until he was holding her securely, and said, "I know: it's for my own good. Now let's have some low-down sex." About fifteen minutes later they were again lying side by side holding hands. "By the way, Darren," she said, "There's something I have to do tomorrow morning. How about trading shifts at the desk with me; I'll take your afternoon if you take my morning."

"1 hope you're not ..." he started to say, but apparently changing his mind, he answered instead, "Sure, Rachel; anything you want."

Patty slept outside again --on the lawn by the lake. And she did sleep. At first her mind was swimming in the events of the day: the tender interlude with Rachel that morning, the meeting with her amazing father; and more than once her body shivered, not from the forty degree breezes blowing in from the mountains, but from the thrilling thoughts of her flights in the wave. However, her big day also made for heavy eyelids. So the naked girl slept on the grass, the moon and stars her security nightlight.

With the first hint of dawn she awoke. She stood up and pee'd, and as she looked out over the lake, a fun idea came to her mind. In seconds she was swimming and splashing in the cold water. When she got out, the cold morning air should have chilled the heartbeat out of her. Instead, it gave her an exhilaration that matched the high mood she carried over from the previous evening. She ran like a deer across the berm. When she reached Killer Cliff, she slipped easily into the wave and zipped to the mine to await her friend's arrival.

Rachel didn't wear her sawed-off sweatshirt this morning. All she had on was the pink sweatband across her forehead. Even her feet were bare, emulating her young friend. Strangely, she thought, the soles of her feet weren't as bothered by the rocks along the path as she had expected. As she approached the last rise before the mine, she saw Patty dashing down to meet her. Patty clasped Rachel's hands out to the sides and kissed her flush and wet on the mouth. "Come on, slowpoke," Patty said. "We've got places to go and things to see." She literally pulled Rachel the rest of the way to the mine.

"Okay, what's it all about?" Rachel asked as they reached the mound of tailings. "That must have been some wild yesterday."

"You know how everybody was saying Patrick had some kind of magic," Patty said, and then went on without giving Rachel a chance to respond. "Well, it's true ...true beyond anything I could ever have imagined. I want to tell you everything that happened yesterday. I've got to tell somebody or I'll explode ...and you're the only one I'm ...you know, close enough to tell. It's a real secret. You'll see why in just a minute."

Rachel: "Well, go on --you've got me all covered with goose bumps."

Patty: "First, you're clear for the rest of the morning?"

Rachel: "Just as you said. It cost me a bedroom romp with Darren." She giggled at the thought. "Not such a high price after all. I think I enjoyed it more than he did. So talk on, girl, I'm listening real tight."

Patty: "I'll start like Patrick started with me: with a demonstration. Are you ready for a magical miracle?"

Rachel: "Ready."

With that, Patty disappeared into her wave. The stunned Rachel could only stare at the empty space that once was Patty. Then she felt a chill go through her body --and a sense of Patty inside her brain, laughing. And then Patty reappeared before her ...almost as before. Patty was sitting on the ground dusting herself off. "I haven't perfected the landings yet," she said.

Rachel: "I... I don't believe it. Did you just ...dissolve in front of my eyes, and then come back again?"

Patty, brushing the tips of her fingers on her chest and holding them out in mock assessment, coyly indifferent to the marvel she'd just produced: "Sure did."

Rachel: "Was it my imagination or were you inside my head?"

Patty: "I sure was."

Rachel: "That's the same feeling I had yesterday afternoon down on the beach. Was that you, too."

Patty: "It sure was. Me and Patrick. It's funny, when we went through you yesterday there was a ...kind of bright flash, which wasn't there when we waved through other people at the lodge. I saw it again just now when I waved through you. Did you feel it?"

Rachel: "No flash. But I felt a chill both times."

Patty: "I guess it's not important. Anyway, are you ready for a really impressive demonstration?"

Rachel: "If it's like the last one ...bring it on."

Patty, looking Rachel over from head to foot: "To begin with, you've got too many clothes on."

Rachel: "Too many ..."

Patty: "Right. Take off that sweat band and any pins or anything in your hair ...and your rings ...off they go. Hide them under this rock by the path; we'll pick them up later."

Rachel hesitated, but only for a moment. The prospect of more miracles was a powerful magnet for her magician's heart. When she was satisfactorily denuded, Patty took her hands again. "This time I'm going to take you with me," she said. And before Rachel could react in any way, they were in the wave moving rapidly through the forest.

Rachel experienced the same excitement zipping across the landscape with Patty as Patty had with Patrick the day before. For a while they held to about three feet above the contour our of the ground, holding mostly to the path back toward the berm. Then, as they emerged from the forest, Patty took them straight up into the sky ten, maybe fifteen thousand feet. On a whim they chased after the contrail of a passenger jetliner. They easily overtook the relatively slow moving plane and zipped through the tail assembly and down the aisle, in and out the harried stewardess's belly, into the cockpit, and on past the front windshield. Rapidly down through the clouds they flew and straight out toward the ocean, turning sharply at Vandenberg Air Force Base and following Highway One north. On finding a small patch of uninhabited beach, Patty settled in for a bouncing reformation that found both girls sitting lap-deep in the tide.

As they sloshed out of the water, Rachel said, "My God, Patty ...what were we? What happened?" Then looking around, "Where are we?"

Patty, laughing: "By the Pacific Ocean, I think. If my geography's right, we're maybe two hundred, two hundred fifty miles from the lodge. Did you like it?"

Rachel: "Did I like it? Wow! I've never experienced anything like it. It was the biggest thrill of my life, bar none. Tell me, tell me everything."

Patty did, the whole story: from the Athrydians to Patty herself, and all about the wave and the drama of the Irish Wilderness (Patty would have taken them there, but she forgot the directions. She'd have to ask Patrick about that when she saw him. And she would have to really study maps if she wanted to travel too far abroad). She did tell Rachel about Patrick's hint to head straight up if she got lost, because the higher you go, the better you can find your way; the whole world becomes a map laid out before you. They remained at the beach for some time, soaking in the sun and the water. Then Patty took her friend's hand and they again dissolved into the wave. This time Rachel was cognizant of Patty's precise thoughts as she moved the wave along. At the next stop --impulsively, the seventeenth green at Pebble Beach --they blatantly reformed. The four golfers who had just finished their tee-stroke on this short hole were members of the senior executive team at Actron Diversified out for a morning's R and R. As they headed out, they suddenly stopped, rubbing their stunned eyes in disbelief at the sight of two beautiful naked women standing on the green.

As the men rushed to meet what had to be a mirage, Rachel was asking Patty to describe exactly what she did to get into the wave. Patty answered in the same terms her father had explained it to her: you "think" yourself flying along, as you would in a dream. Their abrupt disappearance a second later left the disappointed golfers with their mouths agape. It made for a great story at the nineteenth hole.

Moments later Patty was sitting on the infield grass at Hialeah Park, leaning against the back of the tote board. Rachel was lying on the ground with her head resting in Patty's lap, looking up at the typical tall storm clouds that were gathering over south Florida for an afternoon downpour. Patty was casually fingering Rachel's right nipple. "If I had your power -- your magic ..." Rachel was saying.

Patty: "What would you do?"

Rachel: "Well, for one: I think I'd have the most wondrous magic act in the world. Can't you picture it? 'Rachel, the naked magician, can read your minds --whether you want her to or not. And she can juggle on the side.'"

Patty: "Where could you play? I bet you'd be run out of most towns for indecent exposure."

Rachel: "I suppose there's always Vegas."

Patty: "And those other Nevada places: Reno, Lake Tahoe, and all."

Rachel, sadly: "But I guess you're right --I'd never play Radio City. Seriously, what are you going to do about it, Patty?"

Patty: "I... I don't know ...yet. I've got the rest of the week; Patrick's going to teach me what being what I am means ...at least to him. Then ...I don't know." She laughed. "Maybe I could get together with you for that magic act. Between my wave and your juggling, we'd for sure make the big-time." Serious again. "But I'm not even going to think about it until my 'holiday' is over. For the next bunch of days I'm going to be a free-wheeling naked child in the forest, like my father. After that, I'll have to see what I'm thinking."

The flamingos paid them little heed as they lingered by the tote board for some time longer. Patty's hand gently toured Rachel's torso. At 2:45 p.m. eastern time, as trainers were bringing their horses onto the track for a workout, the two girls took off. At 11:45 a.m. pacific time they made a six-point landing at the mine, where Rachel picked up her stashed articles.

As they did the day before, Rachel and Patty ran hand-in-hand down the path and across the berm, laughing at their marvelous and audacious adventures of the morning.

Patty met her father promptly at one o'clock that Wednesday afternoon, and her education began in earnest. Of course, her wave skills were honed, and in time she became adept enough at her landings that skinned knees were the exception rather than the rule. Patrick also re-taught the basic concepts of geography and showed her how to apply them to her wave flights. She learned to visualize the equator where it crossed oceans and continents. He brought her knowledge of emerged and emerging African nations up-to-date. He reviewed with her the locations of the desert arab countries of north Africa and the middle east. She became familiar with explosive southeast Asia, and before she was finished she knew how to locate the major island groups of the Pacific Ocean from Pitcairn to Hawaii and Polynesia to Easter. They went on an extensive tour of the solar system on Friday --in Patrick's wave; he was afraid it was too tricky for a beginner. To prove their immunity in the wave he had her take them on a frightening pass right through the center of the sun. Patrick showed her how to calculate the shortest route to intercept a planet from any point in the solar system. He taught her to refine her control of the wave's velocity so that she could float along at just beyond the critical speed for reformation and incredibly to zip along at the speed of light. By the time Patrick had finished working with her on the wave, she was competent enough to be able to go anyplace in the world at the speed of light or slower without fear of accidental reformation or of getting lost. She found that she could navigate just as well at night as by daylight. Her awareness of her surroundings did not require or utilize light. Light was only significant to one who depends on his eyes for observing the world around him. In the wave one senses the details of his environment as a whole rather than through the physical systems of eyes, ears, nose, tongue, and touch.

And she learned forest lore, jungle lore, desert lore, tropical island lore, tundra lore. She learned the plants from each environment that could provide her with balanced sustenance. She learned the botanical sources and their proper preparation for use as contraceptives, abortifacients, tampons, fever relief, antibiotics, and fungicides. She learned the dangers of wilderness living and how to avoid dangerous animals, snakes, and land-traps (quicksand, watercourse drop-offs, forest fires, sand and dust storms, etc.). She learned how to set up a camp, start a fire, stop a fire, and break camp and leave it as if she had never been there.

Patrick showed his daughter how to dodge in and out and make use of the world of humans. He instructed her in the skills of waving laboratories and libraries and classes taught by worthwhile professors --and, in fact, how to short-cut the process by waving the brains of such professors or scientists or whatever (not as easy as it would seem: you have to time it so as to catch them while they are thinking valuable thoughts --to wave such a person as they watch a porno movie may be fun, but it's not very productive ...that is, if your goal at the time is to be productive). He showed her the most challenging security systems and how to circumvent them, and together they invaded the most secret files and computers of both Russia and the United States. He showed her the best libraries to wave, the place in a theatre to hide for the best view of the stage, and some of the most interesting examples of human effort --a Buddha monastery, the depths of the Great Pyramid, the Taj Mahal, the Great Wall of China, Mount Rushmore, the Kremlin, the cathedrals of Spain, the Space Needle, the "Arch, Trafalgar Square, Blarney Castle, Loch Ness, and the palace of Prester John. He showed her where to be in the open company of people when the loneliness of existence becomes too hard to take --nude beaches, nudist camps, and health spas where one's naked way of life isn't noticed at all.

But most important, Patrick showed his daughter the sheer ecstasy of living outside of man-made structures and away from man-made rules and morality. They slept under trees or palm fronds or rock outcroppings; in desert oases or grassy meadows or south sea beaches; and with the background lullabies of tree frogs and crickets or tropic breezes. They ate meals prepared by mother nature herself. Sometimes Patty slept curled up in the security of her father's arms. And ...all right ...occasionally their relationship was tinged --but only tinged --with an incestuous brush; such as where their hands would rest when they slept together under a pampas moon or sat side by side in the mists raised by noisy breakers on a deserted Australian strand, or where their thoughts would rest as they watched each other swimming in a pine-rimmed tarn or through the dancing shadows of a woodland campfire. So be it. But in truth, the bond that was developing between the father and his daughter became stronger and stronger as their hours together piled one on the other.

Meanwhile, back at Bollinger's. Wednesday, Rachel's afternoon at the desk was one of almost uninterrupted business. There was a steady run of guests registering for a long weekend --still not to compare with the heavy summer or holiday seasons, but enough to keep Rachel's mind fully occupied with fulfilling special reservation requests and giving out the best possible room assignments. In addition, there was a steady flow of telephone reservations for the Thanksgiving holidays coming up shortly. Rachel was a most efficient manager. She knew what her responsibilities were and handled them efficiently. Thankfully, the pressure was relieved some when Jack Bollinger took pity on his daughter-in-law and assumed the task of answering the phone. Darren had only taken a part of his traded afternoon off for his personal interests. Mostly he was kept busy trouble-shooting small problems that typically arise when new guests arrive --supplying missing towels, kick-starting stubborn air-conditioning units in the rustic cabins, and

calling for emergency food supplies to meet the increased kitchen demands. By dinner time the big rush was over, and the Bollinger family relaxed while the guests were enjoying their prime-rib plates and filet of sole specials. The Bollingers planned to have a snack sent down from the kitchen when the guests had all been served. The evening would be no problem. Nor would the coming days leading up to the busy season be as hectic as this afternoon. Anticipating the increased registrations, Darren had arranged for help to share the heavier desk demands. The dependable Phil Wagonner would take the night shift beginning at 7:30.

Phil, who had recently celebrated his twenty-first birthday, was a local youngster. He had been working off and on for the resort for two years. He was putting himself through school a semester here and a semester there as he was able to accumulate enough money for the tuition from his work with the Bollingers and other businesses around Bernard Station. He preferred working at the resort, and never turned down a call. In school, he was aiming for a degree in hotel management --and he was a confirmed nudist.

Before turning in for the evening, Rachel stepped outside to the patio for a relaxing breath of air after her exciting morning and demanding afternoon. Darren let her go off by herself, waiting for bedtime to let her in on the big surprise he'd prepared for her. Phil and Doris MacClean were sitting on the lawn chairs enjoying the pleasant evening.

Rachel: "Hi! Nice night."

Doris: "Sure is. How about joining us? It's a good, clear sky for watching stars."

Rachel pulled up a lawn chair. Slouching down, she rested her head on the chair's low back for a comfortable view of the sky. She sighed wistfully, "Except for going naked, I think the stars would be what I'd miss the most if I ever had to go back to the city to live. The bright lights of the big time even wash out the big dipper."

Phil: "You're pensive tonight, Red."

Rachel: "It was a big day."

Phil: "We saw you at the desk today; they really had you hopping."

Rachel: "The foothills of the holiday season, I guess."

Phil: "How about that! A magician who pulls coins from penises, and now a poet to boot."

Rachel: "I used to think about it --poetry writing, I mean. Not enough patience for it. But I like to read it."

Doris: "You don't have to write poetry to be a poet. Poets, I think, are just people who look, at life ...at the world and can tell the real from the artificial. Most of us are so busy running after a prize that we miss the exhilaration of the race itself."

Phil: "Boy, the metaphors are flying tonight."

Doris: "Ah, the voice of the practical man."

Phil: "It's hard to think of the beauty in life when you're attending a patient in the hospice."

Rachel, almost sadly: "Maybe that's the most fertile ground for ... poetry."

Doris: "It was more than your busy afternoon, wasn't it? You were with Patty Flanery all morning. We saw you two coming back across the berm."

Phil: "Patty Flanery, the 'magic girl."'

Rachel: "Could be she is. But then you're the one who doesn't believe in magic."

Phil, laughing: "Your coin trick is an exception."

Doris: "That's right. That's the only trick Phil ever recognized as magic. He looks on mysteries as a challenge to his intellect."

Phil: "In my business, people die if you approach them otherwise."

Rachel: "Careful, you're making poetry sounds."

Phil, with good humor: "I'll have to watch that."

Rachel, changing the subject: "Speaking of magic and poetry, you knew Patrick, didn't you?"

Phil: "We knew Patrick. Our bunch --us, Ernie, the Schulmans --we were regulars here back then ...had a club of sorts going ...along with Jack, of course. We took Patrick in. I think we were playing God-parent to him. He was just a kid when he started coming here. Nice, clean, modest kid; good sense of humor. And always alone."

Doris: "And cute. He brought out the mother in Marnie and me."

Rachel: "But you won't go along with 'magic.'"

Phil: "I never saw it. Patrick would be here. Patrick would not be here. You wouldn't see him come or go. I suppose there was a little mystery in that. Jack swears Patrick 'flew in' and 'flew out' in some eerie way. Claims he saw him once. But Jack's an imaginative guy. A poet, if you will. Poets sometimes get their imagination mixed up with reality. Me, I've got to see it to believe it --like that coin trick of yours. But don't get me wrong. I love the poets --and the magic spinners. They show me another side of the human psyche that I don't get to see much in my profession. It's a nice side --self deluding, perhaps, but nice. But most important, they're harmless. The worst part of this society of ours is how much hurt people deal each other. People are so reluctant to show ...vulnerability. Vanity, pride, arrogance, self-righteousness --these they're willing to show, but vulnerability ...people are afraid to admit they're mortal. But I know they're mortal. I can name and number their bones and muscles and veins. There's just not that much to people to justify vanity. That's why I like to be around the poets and magic spinners. They at least know they're mortal. They pretend nothing about themselves. They can be pretty dreamy about their world, but most of them have a pretty good handle on themselves."

Rachel: "You sound more poetic every minute."

Phil: "Maybe so, but I don't think so. However, I think we compliment each other. I like to be around you poets because you're so honest about yourselves. I would hope that's the same quality you like in me."

Rachel: "You trust us dreamers then."

Phil: "I don't trust many people in this world, but I do trust the dreamers." He tapped Doris's elbow: "There's a good dirty movie on t.v. tonight --going to start in a few minutes. We better be getting in. It's our last chance to see one on our little vacation here this time." They rose and started toward the lobby, but then Phil stopped and reached down to touch the damp spot glistening on Rachel's cheek. "What's most important for you to know, Red, is that you dreamers can trust me. If you're ever looking for ... someone to trust, don't go roaming aimlessly around with a lantern: just come to my door ...to our door."

Rachel touched the hand at her cheek. "I'll remember, Phil, Doris."

The good doctor and his wife disappeared through the door. "I wonder what he'd say if he knew what I was doing this morning," she said to herself. Then, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand, "And I wonder what there was in what he said to cause my eyes to water." A beat. "I hope Patty's back tomorrow ...God, I'd love to fly again." Another beat. "I wonder what the movie is. Maybe it'll get Darren turned on. Two nights in a row: that would be a record."

The movie opened with a dozen ripe young nude things romping around on a beach.

Darren: "Turn the t.v. down a minute, Rachel. I've got something to tell you."

Rachel, under her breath: "So much for a record."

Darren tossed a pamphlet on the bed by Rachel. "I've been all bothered by that stuff that went on between us yesterday --you know, what dad got started."

Rachel said nothing.

Darren: "Anyway, it got me thinking. I sure don't want you to think that I don't have faith in your abilities. I don't know if you realize it yourself, but you're one sharp redhead. You've had some great ideas to streamline our operation here. Getting that computer was just one example. We save time, and there are fewer mistakes."

Rachel said nothing.

Darren: "There's no way I enjoy nagging at you to tend more to the business. I realize a lot of it is the way you're always thinking about stuff. And some of that stuff is for making the business better ...like the computer thing. So getting on your case is sometimes counterproductive."

Rachel said nothing, but her cheeks were turning crimson.

Darren: "The way I see things, in the long run we're going to need you to take a bigger part in the organization. You know me; I'm a doer kind of guy. When I know what has to be done, I'm great at getting it done --the best and fastest way possible. But we need imagination on top as much or more than the nuts and bolts stuff. You're the one who can provide that imagination.

"But you need to know how organizations like this really work. I'm not smart enough to handle that kind of learning. I learned what I learned through trial and error experience in a comparatively small organization. But we're getting bigger, more complex; I know I won't be able to keep up with it. But you can. You've got the smarts to learn.

"So there you are. We need imagination; you've got it. We need somebody with the sense to run the business; and you've got it. And we need somebody who's smart enough to learn business techniques; and you are."

Rachel, confused: "You're turning Bollinger's over to me? I thought you said I still had a lot to learn."

Darren: "That's the point. That's what I'm getting at. No, you're not ready now. But with my idea, we'll get you ready. See that pamphlet?" He pointed to the booklet on the bed. Rachel picked it up, but kept her attention on her husband. "That's the catalog for Three Springs University; you know, where Ernie Bergen works. I think it would be a great investment for us to get you enrolled in the business administration school over there. With summer school, you could probably get a two year certificate in a year and a half, if you wanted. If you were still interested after that, you could go on for a degree. But either way, you'd come back here ready to take us into the twenty-first century."

Rachel was flabbergasted: "You want me to go to college ...be a coed ...at my age?"

Darren: "You're all of twenty-eight ...and you don't look a day over twenty-one. You could handle it easy."

Rachel: "But ...Three Springs; that's up by Stockton ...I mean, I'd have to live there, wouldn't I?"

Darren: "Only during the week. Weekends you would be back here ... getting 'hands on' experience. And I guess you wouldn't HAVE to take classes through the summers ...though it would make the total time shorter."

Rachel: "But ...clothes ...I'd have to wear clothes."

Darren: "I know, Rachel. You love your 'bare ass" life. But two years isn't long ...and you'd have the weekends."

Rachel: "You said maybe I'd go on for a degree."

Darren: "Only if you wanted."

Rachel paged through the catalog without really seeing the pages. "Does little old Bollinger's really need all that business administration ... stuff?"

Darren: "We've got to keep up with the big boys. And ..."

Rachel: "And?"

Darren: "You never know. We might someday want to move on to something bigger ...you never know."

Rachel: "You mean, like Harper Resorts?"

Darren: "Or something like that ...you never know. But we'd have to have somebody on staff who knows how to handle that kind of big business operation."

Rachel: "Then you are thinking about selling out."

Darren: "You mean what dad was talking about yesterday? That's just a feeler, like I said ...probably won't amount to anything. But you never know about the future. Somebody might offer us a gold-plated deal. We'd be in a position to move up."

Rachel: "You do intend to get out of the nudist business, don't you?"

Darren: "Not as such, Rachel. But in today's world you gotta keep moving up. You can't let yourself stagnate."

Rachel: "But Darren ...I like it here."

Darren: "I know. That's what I said a minute ago. But you know the old saying: 'Once a nudist; always a nudist.' There are plenty of places over in the desert we could go to in our spare time."

Rachel: "I... I just don't know."

Darren: "Of course you don't. I've sprung this on you so suddenly. But when you think it over, you'll agree with me; I know you will. We're a team, Rachel. And this proves how highly I think of you. I want you on top of our whole organization. There's no way you can lose. You look over that catalog and get a feel for the courses. Maybe next week you could go up to Three Springs to visit. Ernie Bergen said he'd be happy to show you around. You could make it all in one swing, and move on down to Anaheim to set up our booth in the exposition afterwards. You need a good vacation. We've had you working pretty hard the last month or so."

Rachel, looking at a page in the catalog: "They have courses in dramatics ... "

Darren: "Always the dreamer. But that's what makes you so good. That kind of stuff could come later. First things first, you know."

Rachel, sadly: "Right ...first things first."

Darren: "Sleep on it, hon. By morning you'll be as excited as I am. In fact, take the day off tomorrow to think it all over ...Hell, tomorrow's Thursday; take the whole long weekend off: visit your parents, take in the theme parks, loll around on the beaches. And then Monday you'll be bright and rested for your trip to Three Springs to meet Ernie Bergen. I'll draft dad to help out here --he'll do anything for you, Rachel... and we have Phil Wagonner now; he'll appreciate the extra hours. Look, when you're going to school, we have to be used to doubling up on the load. But it'll be worth it. He sat down on the bed an squeezed Rachel to himself. "God, I'm thrilled for you, Rachel. I just wish I had the brains to go along with you. But as long as one of us can reach for the stars, that's all that matters."

Rachel said nothing. But Darren did set a record that night, with more enthusiasm than he'd shown for years. "I love you, Rachel," he said before he went to sleep for the night.

Rachel said nothing.

These were fabulous mornings at Bollinger's. There's no season that can quite match a mild fall in this part of California. Pine controlled the air --and enough damp chill to remind you of your living body. Of the five organs there's none whose perceptions can overwhelm your consciousness as does your skin. Rachel picked up a cup of coffee in the kitchen and stood on the patio sipping it slowly while she allowed autumn to massage her appreciative senses. It was still very early, and the fog cloud rested low on the lake. It was barely light --Rachel's favorite time. When she finished the last warm drops from the cup, she set it gently on the glass table at her side. Then she filled her lungs with the cool air, let it out with a contented smile, and started off on her morning jog.

Darren was still sleeping when she left the room, and didn't notice her hesitation at the door and her return to the vanity to tuck her rings in her sparsely populated jewelry box for safekeeping. Her sweatband she tossed in a chair on her way out. There was the outside chance that Patty would be waiting for her again at the mine. It was only a slim hope, Rachel realized; Patty had not been seen around the lodge since lunch the day before. More than likely she was still getting her education in the idyllic life from her Patrick.

Crossing the berm, she found that, as usual, the pulse of her own heavy breathing kept the normal morning sounds in the background. The robins' trills were never beyond her consciousness, nor the first echoing calls of the cardinals and mockingbirds. But beyond those she knew only the rhythmic melodies she constructed from her own respiration. Up Killer Cliff, calling for some increase in her lungs' work load. She again wondered at how her bare feet tolerated the rocky terrain of the path. On past the south facing slope and on to the last grade up to the mine. But today there was nowhere the excited seventeen year old to greet her and accompany her the last few yards.

Rachel rested on the mound of tailings, waiting, but all the time knowing that Patty would not be coming this day. It was a sad thought. She needed to feel the exuberance of her new friend, and the touch of her hands, and the sharing of her soul in the wave. But it was not to be this day, so as the minutes passed, her mood flattened. Why flat? She should be gloriously happy this day. Only hours ago her husband had demonstrated his confidence in her by indicating that he wanted her groomed to take charge of the operation. Someday she would reach that recognized status she was never permitted to achieve. But to put aside her love of her body free, that was a high price indeed. No, not put aside: just surrender a little. Maybe not a way of life anymore, but an avocation to prize dearly whenever she had the opportunity. She wished he had asked her about it before making up his mind ...but that was Darren's way. In the end she'd be on top of her destiny ...that sounded good. But the destiny would already have been determined. Still, she would be on top. Oh, Darren! Why do you corrupt my skills? Not corrupt; take advantage of. Like juggling at the Outdoor Show in Anaheim to gain attention for the exhibit ...it would be selfish not to use my talents for the good of the lodge. I should be on top of the world.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Who am I?" she cried out loud; and then, "Why was I never ...right? Isn't there someplace where I... where I... I belong?"

She sat there --shoulders sagging, arms limp at her sides --allowing the last of her reservoir of tears to drain from her burning eyes. But depression for people of inborn spirit has its limits, and as she wiped the salty stiffness from her face, her thoughts migrated to the morning before, and Patty, and Patty's magic. "God, that I could wave," she pleaded to the surrounding oaks and pines.

That I could wave. How did Patty do that. I was right with her all the time. We shared the same thoughts. "Like in a dream, you think flying along." And that's what she was doing: thinking flying. Like in a dream, you make yourself fly. Holding her breath to concentrate the better, Rachel imagined herself in a dream; imagined herself moving easily above the ground; without any sense of her feet on the ground ...moving easily. It almost seemed real ...My god, it is real. With those words Rachel found herself skidding on her side along the rocky path to an inglorious halt against an old tree trunk. It can't be. I was running ...subconsciously thinking ...no, it can't be. She stood up and brushed herself off. We'll see. Again she pictured herself gliding restfully four feet above the path. And again it seemed she really was. And she really was. And she knew it. And when she knew she knew it, she again found herself sitting undignifiedly on the path. By now she was by the south facing slope. I can wave. I can wave. Just like Patty, I can wave. I don't know how it's come to be, but I can wave. She paused for a moment without moving. I'll worry about it all later. She put her mind back on the process. What did Patty say? When you stop, you reform; you have to keep moving. Again Rachel imagined herself floating along. And again she was. This time she kept moving. And this time she stayed in the wave --all the way down to the berm, where she reformed with surprising smoothness. Into the wave again, a little faster this time, but still staying only four feet or so above the ground --just in case she should accidently reform and fall. But as long as she impelled herself forward, she didn't fall; she didn't reform. She zipped easily through the lobby of the lodge ...through the open doors, that is; she'd try going through objects in less public places. Then out again and up the path to the Chapel in the Woods. I can do it, she thought, and she zipped right through the altar, then deliberately through one, two, three trees. Gaining confidence she moved higher, above the canopy, and circled the lodge and lake several times. I need to get someplace to think this crazy thing out, she thought. Holding about a hundred and fifty feet above ground level, she started following the road out of Bollinger's, without realizing it, cruising along somewhere around two hundred miles an hour. She was getting bolder every minute. When she found what she was sure was State 99, she glided southward, picking up 58 out of Bakersfield, which her better judgement told her to by-pass. Now comfortably moving along at more than four hundred miles an hour, she found herself in the Mojave Desert. A lonesome crag carrying a sparse collection of scrub pines attracted her attention. It seemed ideal for the solitude she needed to sort out this incredible, unexpected new development in her life. With a natural grace she settled down on top of the crag, and looked out on an almost lifeless surrounding countryside, a humble vista that demanded nothing of the viewer ...a great place to think.

Rachel sat with her legs hanging over the edge of a steep drop-off, facing north and west --away from the nagging sun. Question time, she thought. And the first question, at the top of the list: is this real? She reached down to her side and picked up a handful of hard dirt, sand, and gravel rubbed it along her bare right thigh, tracing uneven white paths on her tanned skin --even drawing thin, tiny line of blood, which appeared to clot immediately. There was no doubt, the sting remaining on her leg as a

result of this masochistic demonstration was real. Then she arched her back to allow the hot, dry rays of the desert sun the broadest coverage possible, and her body welcomed in the eager warmth. Finally she screamed and screamed and screamed and tracked with her sharp hearing the lingering trail of high-pitched sound that seemed momentarily to bring the Mojave to life. Okay, so it's real. No dream could have excited the senses so thoroughly.

So she was awake. Flying in the wave happened. But why? Why me? Can anybody do it? Not probable: millions would have discovered it, and the skies would be jammed with week-end wavers. No, it was just me. But why me? I'm an ordinary gal... ordinary nudist gal... raised by a minister. How do I figure in to this Athrydian heritage of Patty's. With her, it's logical. There's a father on the spot ...a history. But me ...where's the mystery? Where's the mystery. All right, so I was an orphan; so I was found as a true-to-life babe in the woods ...so I could have been born to parents of Patrick's ilk ...something could have happened. Patty did say that a lot of them got killed by hunters ...and there were hunters shooting in the woods back then ...SO ...I could be one of ...them.

Why now? Why after twenty-eight years? That's easy: Patty. Patty's magic. Without knowing it, she taught me how to wave. When she took me with her, I learned how it was done.

So now what? What does being a magic person mean ...to me? And where do I go with it? Now I'm into the hard stuff. It couldn't have come at a worse time ...I don't think. I'm on the edge of a new relationship with Darren ... and a new place in the world ...where I'm somebody important. But it happened ...whether I wanted it to or not. Okay, what does it mean? I have to remember what Patty told me yesterday: Athryd, Arcadia, Ireland, the Irish Wilderness ...the naked children in the forest ...the wave, and what was it? Oh yes, the universe organism ...and what was it ...Cheez! they die at forty ...and dissolve. It didn't seem to bother Patty. Hell, at seventeen who thinks of forty? I'm twenty-eight ...I think of forty ...Cheez! twelve years ...two years in school leaves ten ...and maybe out of the nudism business. Okay, one thing at a time. One good thing. Darren gave me the weekend off; I have time to think it all out. First, what is it I have? I can wave ...but I have to remember everything Patty said. I think I have the landings down pretty good. (She laughed) Better than Patty ...the wisdom of age, I guess. I have to keep checking, though ...to see when Patty comes back. Then I'll have somebody I can talk to about it ...Darren would never understand ...I don't think. Maybe Patty can get Patrick to talk to me. Maybe he knows something about my ...real parents. I really was a naked child in the forest.

Rachel's mind, tired of confusion, drifted to the world surrounding her. Plenty of time, and all the space I need. I better get a handle on this wave thing before I kill myself through ineptitude. Abruptly she took off in her wave, diving down toward the desert floor and then parallel to it and about twelve inches above it. Back and forth and round and round she flew, through cacti and rocks and crags and falling, rotting wood walls of a long dead gold-rush metropolis. Steeling her nerves (or what passed for nerves in the wave) she dove straight into the ground, and then straight up again. Careful, she thought; up and down lose meaning in solid earth. What about up? and up she went --up, up, and up, looking (looking?) down at the desert, the mountains, the Grand Canyon, Lake Mead, and the Pacific Ocean in the distance --and back to a more reasonable altitude, this time a hundred feet above ground level. Head north fast, faster, faster. Cheez! What's that ...all that white ...ice ...an unending field of ice ...the arctic already? Don't

stop ...don't panic. Turn around 180 degrees and head back south again just as fast ...follow the ridge of the Sierra Nevada ...Say, I do remember that grade school geography. There's Tahoe ...Death Valley ...the Mojave ... almost where I started. All the crags look alike. Try that one. Reform; smoooooth. Rest. Better stick to circles when I practice speed. I don't want to get lost. What did Patrick tell Patty? If you think you're lost, go high up. Okay, try to remember that.

So Rachel practiced and practiced, staying as much as possible within the confines of the familiar southwest. She practiced speed and slow drifting, and sustained flight and short dashes. God, that I could be with Patty and Patrick right now; there's so much I want to learn. The big question of the moment: now what?

On to Chapter 6

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