My Journal

By Harriman Nelson

29

We’d barely had time to change in the boy’s hotel room, but we made it to the event only an hour and a half late to the historical Hoffburg Imperial Palace. I have to say, we made quite a splash. Well, Lee did, anyway. It didn’t hurt that he was in his tuxedo as was Joe. I had to make do with one of my better business suits that I'd grabbed from my luggage in the flying sub. I really felt the odd man out as there wasn’t another such casual outfit in the crowded ballroom.

“Three cheers for the cowboy captain!” someone yelled and the orchestra stopped their waltz and played ‘Yankee Doodle’. The crowd applauded rapturously.

Lee bent his head slightly with a sheepish grin.

Austria’s president and first lady approached.

“It isn’t every day we are able to greet such a world hero,” the president said. “You have our deepest respect Captain. May I introduce my wife, Gretchen?”

“I’m honored, ma’am,” Lee extended his hand.

“No, it’s we who are honored,” she said, and very gently kissed him on the cheek as both were still noticeably bruised.

“It isn’t every day I get to meet such a charming lady,” Lee said, “with your permission Mr. President, may I have the next dance with the first lady? But I warn you both, I might be a bit clumsy. I think the last time I danced a waltz, I was ten years old being led my mother in our living room while we watched a TV movie about Johann Strauss. And I was sighted back then, too.”

“I’d be delighted, Captain,” the first lady said after an affirmative nod by her husband.

“Lee, please,” he said and handed his cane to Joe.

The music started up again, the two began to twirl around the floor. Indeed, Lee was rather clumsy, and the other dancers who merged onto the dance floor after having given them one round to themselves, gave the couple a wide berth.

They both laughed at something Lee said, and when the music stopped, she led him to the buffet, where Joe and I were stuffing ourselves with Viennese Torts, Strudel, and drinking them down with exceptional wines.

“Well, you’ll never win a dance contest,” Joe told him, handing him his cane, after the first lady had excused herself to tend to other guests.

“At least I didn’t step on her toes.”

Just then an elderly couple approached.

“Captain,” the man said, clicking his heels, “would you do us the honor of dancing with my wife?”

“Delighted,” Lee said, and this time I took custody his cane. He and the old lady took to the floor. A bit slower than the others, but the matron didn’t mind in the least, and it seemed Lee wasn’t quite so clumsy. She was smiling broadly, and was giggling when they returned to her waiting husband.

And so it went for most of the night. One couple after another requesting Lee dance with the wife, though a few women without apparent escort asked him themselves. As for me, I managed to be accepted by a few lone women, mostly widows, who were both fascinated by the rich American admiral, and enamored of Lee. They kept asking about him, what was he like as a little boy, things like that. I doubt if they knew his was an adult adoption. Or perhaps they just weren’t into the evening news.

Most of the music played by the philharmonic orchestra were century’s old European classics with a smattering of more recent numbers, just to keep the younger crowd happy, and a few movie classic songs. While Lee managed a modern dance with one of his partners, it was apparent that his brief experience with his mother in front of the TV had paid off where a waltz was concerned, clumsy or not.

It was when he was dancing with Mrs. Piccadilly that he suddenly stopped in mid step. She quickly led him over to me, Joe still on the dance floor.

“Again, I’m sorry, Mrs. P.,” Lee was saying, “perhaps  later.”

“Yes, of course. You’d better sit down. He’s not feeling well, Admiral.”

“What happened?” I asked as I led him to the antique chair along the wall by the buffet.

“Just a bit dizzy...sudden headache too. Probably all that spinning around without some sort of anchor to look at.”

“Maybe you just need a bite,” Mrs. Piccadilly said.

“Maybe. But you know, as good as all this foreign food has been, I really miss good old fashioned American Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches,” he laughed.

“Oh dear. I don’t think there are any of those on the schedule. Now you just sit and rest a while,” she replied and took her leave, but I couldn’t help noticing that she was very animated, speaking with the president, nervously glancing our way repeatedly.

It wasn’t long before the president approached.

“Mr. President,” I said about to rise, followed by Lee.

“Please,” he said, “don’t get up, either of you. I hear that you’re not feeling well, Captain. I can ask Dr. Schmidt to look at you. He’s around here someplace...”

“Oh, don’t bother, sir,” Lee said. “Just got a little dizzy from all that twirling around... I’m fine now.”

“Well, if you’re sure, but perhaps you’d care to leave early, besides there are only two more selections from the orchestra, and no one would take offense...”

“I’ll stick it out sir, in fact, I even feel well enough to take your lovely wife around the floor again, if you’ll allow and she’ll have me.”

Just then the music began to play the second to last melody and the president led him toward his wife who was engaged in conversation with some women decked to the eyeballs in glittering jewelry. Her lack of the same made her look all the more elegant to my way of thinking. When Lee and her husband approached, she gave them a very wide grin and indeed, was more than pleased to accommodate Lee’s request for a dance.

Lee didn’t appear to be in any way indisposed as they swirled around finally, the music stopped and she led him toward the buffet. She kissed him on the cheek again before she rejoined her husband. Lee was blushing I’m sure, though with his complexion, it didn’t show except to those who knew him well, like Chip and me. And maybe Joe.

“Hey, bro,” Joe neared, having finally ditched the latest lady he’d partnered with, “good to see you feeling better. No partner for the last dance? You’re falling down on the job.”

“Very funny,” Lee said as the orchestra began to play the last selection, “I think I handled my dancing duties pretty well, actually.”

“Just kidding,” Joe replied, sitting down to his right. “Did you have a good time, Admiral? I didn’t see you take to floor very often.”

“Distracted by all the food. I must say, outstanding. I don’t miss Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches at all.”

After the last dance, there was a round of applause and the guests began to say their goodbyes to their friends, and to the president and first lady who had taken their positions near the exit.

Mrs. Piccadilly approached and asked if we were going back to the hotel with the tour bus or on our own.

“You’re always welcome to join us, Admiral,” she added sweetly.

“How can I refuse? Thank you."

And so I found myself in the hired tour bus, (the group had come to Austria from France on a train), fielding all sorts of questions from Lee’s  fellow tourists. How did I enjoy the evening (‘very much, thank you’), what was it like going from employer and superior officer to father of the captain (‘a pleasant evolution though there were a few bumps along the way’), etc., etc. I was surprised that they chose now to address me when they’d had all night at the ball. Oh well.

Finally we were deposited at the hotel entrance. Some flash bulbs, most aimed at Lee, a few toward me, but mostly from the tour group! (They weren’t allowed to snap pictures from inside the bus. The flashes would distract the driver. Apparently this was a rule whenever the group was traveling by bus.)

Lee stopped by the front desk to check for any messages and to ask when  breakfast was to be served, (more a way to give us a little breathing room and insure we would have a less crowded elevator ride, than the actual inquiries, I was sure.)

I think we all sighed in relief when we finally reached the room. I’d just managed to remove my suit’s jacket when there was a knock on the door. I was the nearest, so I opened it to discover Mrs. Piccadilly.

“Sorry to bother you boys, but,” she pulled out a plastic bag containing some sealed Peanut Butter & Cracker Snack Pack’s. “Not exactly Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwiches, but, perhaps the captain would enjoy them.…”

“Excuse me,” a man with a slightly Texan accent appeared at the door behind her, “is this the room of Captain Nelson-Crane?”

“It is, no interviews, please,” Joe said rising, “he’s had a long day.”

“I just thought he might like one of these,” the man said, holding out a paper bag full of sandwiches.

“Who are you?” I had to ask while inspecting them, “and how did you know Lee wanted a Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich?”

“Oh, didn’t I say? Name’s Smith. Obadiah Smith, from the great state of Texas. I’m the U.S. Ambassador to Austria. Just got back from a little visit home.  My folks golden wedding anniversary. Anyhow, when I stopped by the office to get caught up on a few things, there was this here message right on top of all the others, stamped urgent, from the Austrian president asking if I could help an American in culinary distress, in a manner of speaking, he knows I kind of live on the things...got plenty to spare...Captain?” Mr. Smith added, taking Lee's hand, “I'm honored to meet you.”

"Likewise," Lee responded, "but how did the president know about my taste in sandwiches?"

"You looked so ill," Mrs. P. said, " I just had to tell him. I'm sorry if I've embarrassed you."

“Nonsense,” Lee hugged her and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I’m very glad to have the snacks and the sandwiches. It was very kind of both of you to think of me.”

I could have sworn both glowed with pleasure.

“Well, I’ll be leaving you boys now,” Mrs. P. said, “and you make sure he eats at least one of those sandwiches, Admiral.”

“I doubt I'll need to convince him," I laughed.

“Mr. Smith,” she added, “nice meeting you. Tell me, do you eat Fried Rattlesnake too?”

“Like our cowboy captain does? Sure do. I have it whenever one of the ornery critters decides to get a bit too close for comfort at the old homestead. Well, it ain’t a homestead now, real nice ranch house it’s turned out to be over time...a lot of work, but nothing like hard work to pay off some dividends in the future. I remember one day my wife headed to the shower, and what did she find but an old rattler hiding under the sink. Nerves of steel, the little woman, came out, grabbed my six shooter and well, you know the rest. Gutted what was left of it, cooked it up, but she still made me install a sonic rodent and reptile repellant. Only rattlers I get now are road kill or the trail when I’m moving cattle and...well, I could go on and on. I think perhaps we’d better let the captain enjoy his sandwiches and get to bed.”

“Thank you again, Mr. Ambassador,” Lee said.

“What’s next on the itinerary, Mrs. Piccadilly?” I asked.

“It’s Italy tomorrow. The train leaves at nine o'clock."

Joe rubbed his hands, “Pasta here I come!" he said, and helped Lee retrieve one of the sandwiches.

“Mmmm. Heaven, Mr. Smith,” Lee said, after taking a bite, “sheer heaven.”

“Glad to hear it. Mrs. Piccadilly, may I escort you to your room?” Smith asked her.

“That would very nice, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Obadiah. Or Tex, if you prefer. Everyone at the embassy calls me that,” he laughed.

“Harry?” Lee asked suddenly, setting the sandwich down in his lap. It was impossible not to hear a touch of what I thought was alarm.

“What is it, son?” I asked as I hurried over and sat down next to him.

“I...something...something’s happening to my eyes....”

“I’ll get a doctor,” Smith said and rushed to the phone.

“It's weird...like a kaleidoscope...colors! I see colors...swirling around...” he said, blinking repeatedly, “shapes too. Like this sandwich! At least it looks like a square....my hands, I can see my rings...ohmygod, Harry, I... I think I’m getting my sight back!”

“Easy, bro,” Joe sat down on the other side of Lee, “let it happen...just let it happen....”

It was easy to forget our guests were still with us, watching in fascination.

“Mrs. P.?” Lee turned toward her, “you...you have blue eyes...your hair’s in a bun, and...I can’t focus too well...”

“Yet,” Joe said.

“Oh my dear boy!” Mrs. Piccadilly exclaimed and knelt on the carpet before him, taking his head in her hands, “this is miracle!”

“Everyone’s still blurry...Harry...even if I have to see things like this...at least I’m not blind anymore! Unless...unless I’m just dreaming this and I’ll be in the dark again tomorrow....what if...what if the blindness comes back?”

“I’ll arrange for a complete exam tomorrow,” Smith said.

“But we’ll miss the train,” Lee muttered.

“Who cares about the damn train!” Mrs. P. said. “You can rejoin the tour anytime. Go ahead Mr. Amba...Tex, make that appointment.”

And so it was that we waited and watched through most of the night (well, not really, and Mr. Smith had returned to the embassy and Mrs. P. to the hotel shortly after 0100) as Lee’s vision continued to improve. When I contacted Sharkey aboard Seaview at about 0200 to inform him of events, and that my return had been delayed, I swear he wept with joy. 

 What did it matter to me that I didn’t even have a razor or my toothbrush with me. I was staying with Lee tonight.

“You know, son,” I said as I pulled the covers over him after he’d changed into his PJ’s and climbed into his bed, “you don’t really have to continue the tour you know. There’s no need now...”

“I don’t understand...”

“I wanted the tour to help you get over your depression about your blindness...now there’s no need for it.”

There, I’d done it. Put my foot in it. Would he be angry with me for my subterfuge as to why Joe had talked  him into it?

“Kind of figured that when I first set out on this venture,” Lee said, “no, Harry, I want to finish the tour. Besides, it would break Mrs. P.’s heart if I just...quit. Why don’t you come with us?” he added, “you liked everything at the buffet.”

“Yes I did, and it’s tempting to go, Lee, not only for the food, but for your companionship. You know I’d like nothing better, but I’m sure I’d gain twenty pounds if I did!”

“So what? It’s not that the Reserves won’t still call you up in an emergency over a few pounds.”

That wasn’t quite true, but one excuse is as good as another when you’re trying to talk someone into something.

“Why not let the admiral sleep on it, Lee?” Joe said. “C’mon, sir, you can have my bed. I’ll take the chair.”

“No,” Lee said. “He’s 'my' father. He can share with me...”

It was a little embarrassing sharing Lee’s bed, double sized as it was, not to mention that my shorts were all I had for night attire. I had a difficult time falling asleep, afraid that any tossing or turning or snoring would disturb him. But he had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

And so, here I am in the hospital’s waiting room at 1030 hours the next day. The ambassador easily arranged for Lee to have a complete ophthalmic exam, and an MRI to check on the optic nerves. He was in the waiting room with me, nervous as a cat as he paced around. Joe was leafing through a rather worn magazine, not understanding one word of the foreign language.

Will had insisted on a conference call (there was no videophone connection to the hospital) to the doctors as they examined Lee, as soon as Sharkey had informed Seaview of the great happening. I had told Sharkey about Lee’s negative ‘what ifs’, and no doubt everyone aboard had them too.

I hate this waiting. I’m also running out of pages on my little temporary notebook.

The nurse is motioning to us. Keeping my fingers crossed. Surely the Good Lord wouldn’t return Lee’s sight only to snatch it away again. That’s what I keep saying to myself.

God willing, that’s what He’s saying too.