Falling Leaf

The branches of trees. Bare tree limbs. That was her first impression, then as her eyes found their way up towards the glass above she saw lightning flashing through the sky. She felt confused, almost disoriented, and then she felt his hand on her arm. He was steadying her, holding on to her arm to keep her from falling as she took in the geometric canopy above her head.

Her eyes dropped to the strong horizontal lines ahead, and as intended she was suddenly grounded to the earth again, and yet he held on to her even so.

"Are you alright now?" she heard him ask.

"Yes. Thank you."

She felt his grip loosen and she turned to him. "Do not let go of me, please. Not yet."

"Alright. Would you like to go sit for a while?"

"Please. Yes."

Keeping her arm, he walked with her into the living room. Redwood wall sconces bathed the brick walls with honey colored light while indirect lighting behind strong redwood bands lent unexpected depth to the room.

"I have never felt anything like this room," she said as they walked into the space. "It feels as if the room grew out of the earth!"

He smiled as he took her to one of the broad sofas – it too seemed a part of the floor, then she turned and saw the fireplace. The logs burning in the fireplace were five, maybe six feet long, and suddenly the overall impression was that she was somehow in an ancient cave.

"Surreal. This is surreal."

"Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps our most ancient ancestors would feel right at home in here."

She nodded. "Yes. I see that. From the forest to the cave, nothing artificial."

"Yes, well, that is the illusion, but in the end everything you see was manufactured in one way or another. That's simply the nature of our time."

"This house. No, I am sorry, but this house is the very antithesis of our time..."

"I know."

"It must cause you great pain."

"No, not really. Once upon a time, perhaps, but not so much these days."

She looked at the ceiling, or ceilings. Falling leaves, leaves falling in their myriad angles. She understood now. Yes, this was pure genius, genius such as she had never imagined could exist, and she turned and looked at this man once again – and for the very first time.

"You are alone?" she asked. "No wife? No family?"

"Alone."

"Surely this was not meant to be?"

"No. Surely not."

"Would you tell me about her?"

"Someday, perhaps."

She nodded her head. "When you look at me, through the window, what are you thinking?"

"I see beauty. Great beauty, and I see strength."

"You are blind. This I did not know."

"I see," he said, smiling. "Your husband. Where is he?"

"Sarajevo."

"And?"

"And...perhaps one day I will tell you his story."

"So. You are alone?"

"I have Suki."

"Ah."

"And I have spoken to her about her childishness. When it comes to men, and love, she has been protected too long from the realities of such things. I make a mistake."

"A mistake?"

"Yes. She made a fool of me, and herself, with such pointless declarations as you hear the other night. I was embarrassed. For all of us in room."

"Really? I was touched. I found the purity of her emotions touching."

"So, you would marry my daughter?"

He laughed. "Of course not."

"No? Tell me why."

"Why? Well, because I'm old enough to be her grandfather, perhaps her great grandfather. And marriage is pointless for men so old."

"Pointless? Why do you think this is so?"

"I can think of only one reason for marriage. Children. To have children."

"Oh? And what of love?"

"What of it?"

"Should two people in love not marry? In the eyes of God? Is that not how it is said?

"Close enough. First I think you need to believe in God."

"Ah. And you do not?"

He looked away. "No. I do not."

"You struggle to say this. You struggle with the idea, do you not?"

"Maybe I did once. Not any more."

"What did He take from you?"

He smiled. "Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, tea would be nice."

"Fine." He walked into the kitchen, began his ritual, looking at the darkened window, thinking of the woman in the window – was now in his house. "Ou sont les neigedens d'antan?" he said at last.

"What did you say?" he heard her ask, and startled, he turned around. She was standing right there, just behind him, and he grinned at her little mouse nose and whiskers.

"You do not strike me as the mouse type," he said through the sense of wonder he felt when he looked into her eyes.

She reached up, felt the little nose. "Oh no! I forget..."

"It's kind of cute."

"And you? This wizard before me, making tea?" She reached out, ran her fingers lightly across neck. "So, what did you say?"

"Hmm? Oh, Ou sont les neigedens d'antan?"

"And this means what?"

"Literally? 'Where are the snows of yesteryear.' In the present context, why do the joys of this life pass so quickly from our grasp."

"Did such joy pass from your grasp?"

He turned away from the images of surf-ravaged rocks that came for him, turned to finish making their tea, and it was then he felt her step closer. Her breasts were pressed against his back now, and yet she came closer still. He felt her arms encircling his chest, her fingers almost massaging his chest, and he felt the depth of her breathing through his skin.

"What was, we can never regain," he heard her say, and he felt sure she was crying.

"I know."

"Why do you punish yourself so?"

"Perhaps for the same reason you do."

He heard her reaction, felt her slide to the floor, her encircling arms yielding to the fall, soon resting around his ankles. He turned, looked at her sprawled on the floor, felt almost powerless to move.

"Please. Look at me," he finally said, and she turned her tear-stained face to his. "Give me your hands." She reached up, her hands trembling, and he took them, helped her stand. He held her close, and without thinking he kissed her forehead.

"I am so sorry," she began, whispering through her tears. "I do not know why I ask you such things. Why I feel these things."

He knew. He knew her loneliness very well. He had recognized it through the pain in her eyes, for almost fifteen years now. Her's was a kindred spirit, and he placed his hand under her chin and brought her lips to his, and then – he kissed her.

"I've never kissed a mouse before," he whispered.

The she pulled his face to hers, kissed him with such ferocity it startled them both.

"You know," he said, "I am far too old for this kind of nonsense."

"Are you?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

"Mr Carpenter, no one is ever too old for this kind of nonsense." She took his hand in hers, brought it to her mouth and kissed his fingers.

"I love your eyes," he said softly.

"Do you?"

"I do."

"Show me."

"Amila, I'm 75 years old. The last time I had sex was in a dream, and that was probably ten years ago."

"Mr Carpenter, I am physician. You think I don't know this? There is a saying I hear often in this country. There is more than one way to skin a cat. You have heard this before, I know. Would you like me to show you how this is done?"

"Not if you keep calling me Mr Carpenter."

"What should I call you then. Surely not Terrence."

"My father used to call me...Spud. Would you?"

"Spud? I can do this, but what does this mean?"

"Potato."

"You are serious? Why did he do this?"

"Because I hated potatoes."

"Ah. I see. Well, let us go see if I remember how to peel a potato."

+++++

It was still pouring down rain when he woke up at four that next morning, but the first thing he noticed was the pain in his nether regions. The skin on his penis was raw and he hurt everywhere, but he'd finally let slip an orgasm that felt like it had been pent up for decades – and one that had made up for years of benign neglect like a fury. Amila, she liked to be called Mimi, and told him so more than once, knew all the right places to hit, but after she'd polished him off she'd stood and made ready to leave, and he'd stopped her.

"It's raining hard," he'd said. "I'd rather you didn't leave just now."

"Oh? It's only rain. Certainly there's no harm in water."

"Okay. I'd simply rather you didn't leave now. Is that clear enough?"

She still had on her fishnets and heels, and she smiled when she caught him sneaking little furtive glances at her legs, so she'd told him to sit back, then she'd mounted his face. It hadn't taken nearly as long as she'd expected, and when she was sated she curled up beside him and licked his lips, then fell asleep.

Now he sat beside her watching her sleep, wondering what had just happened to his solitary little life. He stumbled out of bed, took a long shower, then went to the kitchen and cleaned up after his earlier aborted effort to make tea, and he made himself a fresh cup. He went to the living room, looked out at the sea, until he saw her reflection in the glass. She came into the room and sat down in a chair near the window where he stood, and he looked at her in the glass for the longest time.

"Spud," she said after a few minutes, "I think I am falling in love. Is this alright for you?"

He turned, looked at her, at those eyes and her legs, and he felt powerless before her beauty.

"What? What did you say?"

"You heard me. Can we...can I be a part of your life? Even a little part?"

"Mimi, you could never be a little part of anyone's life. No one could ever love you 'just a little' – especially not me."

"Could you love me then, my Spud, more than just a little bit?"

"I don't know how I can say this without sounding more than just a little bit daft, but I think I already do. I may have, for years, you know."

"The window?"

He nodded his head.

"Then I will pray to Allah, and thank him for this window." She heard her words – but too late, and she thought frantically as she looked at his face for signs of a reaction.

"I'm afraind I have a hard time with the very idea of prayer, to anyone's God."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I did not mean to..." She stopped when she saw him now, because he was smiling, walking towards her. It took him a minute, but he got down on the floor and placed his head on her stockinged legs. She felt his kisses on her thighs, and the fire returned.

"You said you "were" a physician. Were. And you work in a lab, at UCLA. Are you working as a physician there?"

"No, no physician. Not yet, anyway." Without even knowing she was doing so, she ran her fingers through his long hair as she talked, just the way she had when Viktor sat beside her like this. "I had hopes, but I could not afford to not work after we arrived, and my English was not good."

"Why did you leave?"

"Sarajevo? Viktor, my husband, was killed as we left the hospital. Just after our Suki was born. I think it best to say no more about this, please."

"Of course."

"We flee...no, fled, first to Austria, then to Germany. München. I meet physician in aid center, physician from here, Los Angeles, and she help me arrange our coming, visa, getting citizenship, the job. All of it."

"Lucky."

"Yes, lucky. We are happy here, and I love this life, but I am afraid of the things I see today. It is not that we are religious. But we are sometimes very afraid of what we see."

"That's how it all started in Sarajevo, wasn't it? What led to ethnic cleansing?"

"Yes, of course. Hate is such a simple thing, yet so powerful."

"So, you decided not to pursue getting your license to practice here – because of money?"

"Yes. Just so."

"Do you study for the exams?"

"Yes, all the time, but I still do not feel ready."

"I see. Listen, I have a few things I have to do this morning, a job I have on Sunday mornings. Would you like to come with me?"

"What? You go to job?"

"Yes. In fact, I think it's one of the most important things I've ever done. I'd enjoy your company, though you might have to work a little."

She regarded him quizzically. "I must shower, and perhaps different clothing would be nice?"

"Definitely!" He smiled at her willingness and looked up at her. "I want to leave in an hour. Is that okay?"

"Will this be hard work? Outdoors?"

"Hard, perhaps. Not outside, though."

She helped him stand, held him close with an ear to his chest, listening. When his pulse settled she took his face in her hands and kissed him again. "You are showered already, yes?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I will hurry."

+++++

"Well, that's about it," he said as he loaded one last box in the bed of his pickup truck. "Time to roll." He helped Amila climb into the cab and soon they were on the 405 headed north for I-10.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he turned east on -10.

"Downtown," was about all he said, and Amila was so unused to traveling around the city in a private car she sat passively in air conditioned bliss and watched the city roll by outside her window. He knew where he was going, and took her along surface streets when they approached downtown and it's compact mash of skyscrapers. Quite purposefully he chose a route that took them past legions of homeless people...literally thousands sleeping in wet cardboard boxes and under blankets of discarded trash bags.

"My God," Amila said, "there are so many. I had no idea."

"Unless you live around here, very few people see them on a day to day basis. I think there are around thirty thousand in this area alone."

He pulled up in front of a homeless mission, this one of many supported by the local Catholic community. "Well, we're here."

"Here? Where is here?"

"This place. The mission. There are several hundred homeless families here. I buy and prepare breakfast, every Sunday morning."

"You are kidding."

"No, not kidding. I have for the past seven years, as a matter of fact."

"How many people are in here?"

"Oh, on average, around four hundred, but lots of 'em are kids."

"And that is why you bring all the candy?"

"Yup. Every Halloween. If I did that more often the dentists who volunteer at the free clinic would hang me. Oh, by the way, there'll be a handful of nurses and paramedics on hand this morning. There are usually a few new folks around, and more often than not this will be the only medical care these folks have had in a long time." He turned and looked at her, and a sly smile crossed his face. "Feel free to give me a hand, or go help the other 'docs' if you'd rather."

Some of the 'forgotten men' and a few of the other early rising volunteers helped unload Carpenter's Ford, then they got to work in the kitchen. Pounds and pounds of bacon, hundreds of eggs, huge sacks of potatoes...he and the small but dedicated group of men and women set about preparing breakfast for almost five hundred starving souls that Sunday morning, while around the city millions set off to church.

+++++

"That was almost exhilarating," Amila said as she climbed into the Ford just after noon, "but it was depressing too. You understand?"

"I think so. By the time many get to the care they need, it's already too late. Is that about it?"

"Yes. Just so. A little girl this morning. Not even five years. I'm pretty sure she has leukemia. I drew blood, one of the nurses said labs can be done, but who will coordinate care for this child?"

"I know one of the Fathers, he teaches History over at LMU when he's not here. He helps take on the tough cases. I can talk to him."

"You are not a bad man, Mr Carpenter. No, not at all."

"Oh well, you know the old saying? From comrades Lennon and McCartney: the love you take is equal to the love you make."

"Yes. I know this song. We should make love more, you and I. Is this not a good idea, Spud?"

"You better give me a couple of days to get over my first peeling, kiddo."

"Yes. We start slow. Soon we will make French fries, yes?"

"If you say so, darlin'. Speaking of, you wouldn't be hungry, would you?"

"Maybe a little, but I should call Suki and see what she is doing."

"Besides studying?"

"Yes, just so." She took out an ancient little flip-phone and punched in the number. "She asks what have we been doing?"

"Is she hungry?"

"She says yes. She says is tired of eating Snickers and thing called gummi bear."

"That's the Day After Halloween Diet. Happening all over the country, as we speak."

"Hah!"

"Ask her to be out front in twenty minutes. I feel like a little In and Out today."

"What?!"

"You've never been?"

"Where?"

"In and Out, by the airport."

"No, what is this? A brothel?"

"Next best thing, darlin', next best thing."

After picking up Suki they made their way over to Sepulveda and W 92nd Street, to his favorite In and Out Burger shack. He ordered a sack full of burgers and fries and when they had their drinks they walked over to the little park just under the final approach to LAX's runway 2-4 Right, and he sat down on the grass and watched as a huge jet flared just over head and landed.

"Good God! The noise!" Amila said.

"Yeah, ain't it grand!"

Suki was wide-eyed as another jet roared over... "They're so close!" she squealed while trying to reach up and touch the beast.

"Not as close as you think," he said. "Try a burger while they're still hot. They're not bad, for gringo grub."

Amila took a bite. "No, not bad. You have tried FatBurger. By the marina?"

"Yup. But no airplanes there. I like my burgers soaked in jet fuel. Nice after taste."

Amila shook her head, smiled at Suki, then at Carpenter. "Men..." she began, but she paused as a really loud one roared over. "Men and their machines."

Carpenter's iPhone chirped, and he answered it. "Oh, hi Bill. What did you find out? Oh? When? Right, I'll tell her. Thanks, Bill. Appreciate it. You too." He rang off, put his phone back in his pocket, then he looked at Amila. "That was a friend of mine, prof over at SC, works in the med school. He's going to work with you a little bit, get you ready for the next set of exams."

Amila looked at him, not sure what to think. Did this man simply go around doing things for everyone without ever asking them? "Oh? Why would he do that?"

Carpenter shrugged. "Name's Portman. He's a good person to know, assuming you want to practice medicine in LA."

"What makes you think I can afford this – Portman's – time?"

"What makes you think you can't?"

Suki looked at her mother, then at Carpenter. "What's going on, Mom?"

"Don't ask me. Ask your architect, here. You know, this man who builds dreams."

She looked at her mother, winced when another jet rumbled over, then turned to look at Carpenter. "So? Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He grinned, looked at the next jet lining up for the runway, then motioned Suki to come close and he whispered something in her ear. She turned beet red, nodded her head, then smiled at her mother. She leaned close to this strange man, kissed him on the cheek, then wiped away a tear and walked over to his truck.

"What was that all about?"

"I asked her if she would like to move into Lupita's old room downstairs. When she's not too busy with her schoolwork, maybe she can help me from time to time. I might learn a thing or two from her, you know?"

"I am not sure I understand you. No, I am sure I don't. You are impossible."

"I know. Ain't it awful?"

"You will steal my daughter? Take her from my home?"

"Yes. Yes I will."

"And me? What becomes of me?"

"There are two more bedrooms upstairs."

"You don't want me..."

"I didn't say that."

"So, you want me to...you want us, to move in with you? Just like that?"

"Just like that. You're going to be very busy for several months, and you'll have plenty to worry about besides paying rent and buying food. Besides, I think you like me. Just a little bit, anyway."

"If I did not love you so much, I would call you 'asshole'. But it's hopeless now. You are hopeless."

A gust of wind passed through the little park, and a passing leaf fell on his head. Amila leaned forward and plucked it from his hair; she regarded the amber in her hand for a moment, then she looked up, saw a tear welling in his eye.