O+F Part 10

Jennifer bounced in and sat beside him. "We'll pick up a few more on the way. There's another group coming down the coast. I hope it doesn't rain. Think positive thoughts, Oliver."

"What are they?"

"Oh, Silly," she slapped him on the arm. "Don't worry; you'll have fun.

_I_ am going to have fun!" She pa.s.sed around a box of name labels and a magic marker. "Aliases permitted," she said.

Forty-five minutes later, they stepped from the bus and gathered around tables standing in a gra.s.sy field. Oliver had been there before. The ocean was just out of sight through trees and down a steep bank. Paths wound along a narrow wooded peninsula with views of islands, tiny coves, wetlands, and pine groves. Picnic tables and grills waited in small clearings. It was a popular place in winter for cross-country skiing.

The second bus arrived. People milled about reading each other's name tags. Oliver helped carry folding chairs from the back of the bus. A van drove up. Its horn tooted twice, and a short round man popped out.

He was holding a stick adorned with feathers and bells. He stamped it on the ground and shook it. When he had everyone's attention, he said, "Bogdolf's the name; merriment's the game!"

"Good grief," Oliver said.

"Shhh, he's the Lore Keeper," Jennifer explained. She stepped closer and whispered, "He's expensive, but he brings in extra contributions; he's worth it."

"Good morning, fair folks," Bogdolf said, twinkling. "Good morning, Jennifer. Have we time for a story?"

"Yes," Jennifer said. "Raul will be here at eleven for the drumming.

For those of you who don't know," she raised her voice and addressed the group, "this is Bogdolf, Lore Keeper. I've asked him to speak to us this morning." She sat in one of the chairs. Oliver sat next to her.

The others made themselves comfortable, and Bogdolf took a position in front of them.

"Drumming For Gaia," Bogdolf said. "Fine. Very fine. I don't often have an orchestra. Oh, we're going to have fun this morning. Ba, ba, boom!"

He made a pirouette and stamped his stick playfully. His eye fell on Oliver, and he pointed at him with the stick. "Let me hear it, son." He made striking motions with his stick. "Ba, ba _boom!_ Ba, ba, _boom! _ Let me hear it now." He had twirled his way directly in front of Oliver. His eyes were sharp and blue beneath s.h.a.ggy gray eyebrows. He smiled happily, letting the group feel his joy. Oliver felt Jennifer's foot on his; he stopped staring and struck his drum three times.

"Yes," Bogdolf said, spreading his arms approvingly. "The power!" He looked upward and staggered back several steps. He looked again at Oliver and made a commanding motion with the stick. Oliver struck the drum three times. "_Gaia, _" Bogdolf said. Oliver felt a pat on his arm.

"A long time ago," Bogdolf began, "in the time of the Water People . .

." He paced back and forth as he told the story. His voice rose and fell. He was on the verge of tears. He laughed. He whispered.

Threatened. Trembled. Finally: "And _that_ is how the little drum saved the Water People." He looked at Oliver. Jennifer's foot pressed down.

Oliver struck his drum three times, and there was loud clapping.

"Gaia!" someone called. Bogdolf bowed modestly and made his way to the coffee table where he was soon surrounded.

"Whew!" Oliver said.

"I'm sorry," Jennifer said. "I didn't know you were going to be the orchestra." She giggled.

"First time for everything," Oliver said. They took a walk and watched an osprey bring fish back to a nest of sticks high in a tree on an island just offsh.o.r.e. They got down to serious drumming for an hour before lunch and then for several hours afterwards. They warmed up with straightforward Native American rhythms. Oliver found that he could contribute as long as he played the most basic beat.

In the afternoon, they got into a Latin groove. Raul a.s.signed parts and demonstrated the son clave. Oliver, another drummer, and a boy with a triangle were to play just the clave. Thank G.o.d for the other drummer.

Oliver and the boy followed him through the center of the complications as the group got into synch and began to rock. He felt a duty to do it right, to keep the beat, keep the faith. When they broke up for the day, he felt refreshed. They continued sporadically on the bus, but later, when Oliver was by himself, he couldn't recapture the beat. This irritated him.

"I bought a book," he told Jennifer the following week. "I guess I'm not musical. It just isn't inside me naturally; I need help to hear it.

Anyway," he explained, "if you take 16 even beats, numbers 1,4,7,11, and 13 are the son clave beats. So, it is asymmetrical within the 16 beats, but symmetrical outside; the pattern repeats every 16 beats.

That's what gives it that rocking quality--the train leans one way and then pulls back and leans the other. Ba, ba, ba--baba. Ba, ba, ba--baba."

"There you go," Jennifer said, "who says you aren't musical?"

Oliver changed the subject. "How's Rupert doing?"

"Rupert . . ." She shrugged, frustrated. "Sometimes I think he doesn't even see me when he looks at me."

"Do you think you'll have kids, someday?" It just popped out of his mouth.

"I hope so. We've been trying."

"This could be the weekend," Oliver said hopefully.

"I don't think so," she said. "Rupert's at a stamp collectors'

convention . . . You want to go to a movie Sat.u.r.day afternoon, maybe have a drink?" Her eyes opened wide. Now _she_ was surprised at herself. Oliver blinked.

"Jesus, Jennifer. That sounds a lot like a date."

"Well--yes! Rupert is always telling me I should go out more, get out of the house."

Oliver liked Jennifer. She was easy to be around. She was earnest in a way that he understood. He found it hard to say no to her, which is why, on Sat.u.r.day night, he found himself on top of her while she kissed him and pulled at his belt buckle.

He objected weakly, and she said, "I don't care. I don't _care_, Oliver. I've never done this before. I need you." She clamped her mouth on his and put the matter out of reach. She was as purposeful in bed as she was in the office. She took him inside her and urged him on, as though something might pull him away at any moment. It was fast and satisfying. He barely registered that she was both softer and stronger than he thought before she sighed and rolled him to one side. She had that special full and contented woman's smile.

"That was so good," she said. She put her fingers on his lips. "Shhh.

I've got to go, now." She dressed quickly. "Will you be in on Monday?"

He nodded. She bent over him and put her hand on his chest, as if to measure his strength while at the same time keeping him in place. She lingered for a second. "Good night, Handsome."

"Good night." And she was gone.

The next day, Oliver stayed around the house wondering what he was getting himself into.

On Monday, when he and Jennifer were alone, she blushed and said, "G.o.d!

That was wonderful, Oliver. But--it will just have to be a lost weekend." She lowered and then raised her eyes. "I feel like I took advantage."

"It was terrible," Oliver said. "There ought to be a law against it."

She threw her arms around his neck and just as quickly stepped back.

She bit her lip.

"I can't get used to you," she whispered.

"I'll be done, Wednesday," Oliver said.

That was that. A month later, he saw her with Rupert at the Maine Mall, on the other side of the Food Court. She looked normally married and involved in what they were doing. Oliver went in a different direction, feeling lonely, remembering how tightly she had held him. He stopped at Deweys. "I got back on," he informed Mark.

"Nice going. Quick work!"

"It was the linen jacket," Oliver said.

"No s.h.i.t?" Mark was pleased. "There you go. This one's on me."

A few weeks later, Oliver was waiting for a seat in Becky's, standing by the door, when Francesca came in with her two girls. Oliver looked at her and all doubt left him. It was as if they had arranged to meet.

"Hi," he said.