My Journal
By Harriman Nelson
30
“Well,” I said,
giving Lee a goodbye hug at the train station, “you have a good time, and keep
in touch this time. Along with any news about when you finally won’t need those
sunglasses.”
“Harry? Are you sure you
don’t want to come along? There’s still time to get a ticket.”
“No, even though she didn’t
say it, the addition of another person would interfere with all the plans Mrs. P.'s
already made. Accommodations, meals, trains, busses...you get the idea. We’ll
do something together when we’re back home in Santa Barbara.”
Just then the train whistle
blew and a sea of passengers began to move toward the ramp.
“Joe...” I began.
“I’ll take good care of
him
for you Admiral,” he said, grabbing Lee’s arm and beginning to drag him toward
the platform.
“Cheech, you both treat me
like a kid sometimes,” Lee complained then looked back, “Harry? Take care of
yourself...have a good flight...tell Doc not to worry...ow!” he added as he
tripped over his own feet.
“You are the clumsiest
person alive on the planet!” Joe said, taking one of Lee’s bags.
“You okay?” I hollered
above the growing noise of the crowd.
“I’m fine!” he shouted,
waved, and turned. “Cheech, Joe, I don’t need you as a crutch!” he said, “my ankle's just a little
sore. Let
go of me!”
“Pick, pick, pick,” Joe
replied as they disappeared within the crowd to board the train.
Another whistle, then two,
as the platform cleared and the train doors closed. A triple burst of whistle
and the train began make tracks...sorry about the pun.
I waited until it was out
of sight, then made my way back to my waiting taxi. Another short drive and I’d
be boarding the flying sub to take me home to Seaview.
I knew I’d have to field a
battery of questions from Sharkey, not to mention Chip, when we arrived. About
Lee, well, that would be easy. According to all the tests, his optic nerves
looked completely normal, no residual swelling at all. The sunglasses, well,
just for awhile.
As for his next
destination, I wasn’t too sure about how to tell the crew that the first
stop in Italy would be Venice.
I could hear theie grumbles
in my mind already. The worry. The fear. That the skipper was headed back to
the very place where he’d nearly lost his life in a cloak and dagger
assignment, shot, framed for murder, the wound badly infected for weeks after,
festering from the filthy stagnant canals.
They’d made major
improvements since. If Lee decided to go for a swim, or found himself falling
into a canal and scraping a part of his anatomy, at least the scratch (or
worse) wouldn’t get infected, well, at least not much.
Of course it was foolish to
consider the scenarios my imagination was thinking up. I could only pray that
at least now, he’d be able to just relax and enjoy the place like any ordinary
tourist.
Ordinary tourist? Tourist,
yes. Ordinary? Not on your life.