The Lady on the Tower

One thing I simply refused to do was crumple at their childish threatening. They ordered my hands in the air; I kept them at my sides. They became irate and anxious; I remained calm and steadfast. They demanded I drop my weapons and meet their demands. Karen was immobile with fear and almost hiding behind me. I don't mind a minute admitting that the idea of her safety depending on my defense sparked a major discharge of adrenaline into my system and I had not felt myself so keyed up for action since our field operations in the jungle years before.

"Think about it, kid," my tone was distant now, and a little aloof, "to use your blade you've got to come to me." I made as if to beckon him forward with one hand. "You come much closer and I'm gonna break both your arms before you know what hit you. When I show you my weapons, kid, I'm gonna show youboth hurt! I'm gonna show youboth down on the deck!" After a slight pause, but with more strength for emphasis, "I'm gonna show youboth dead!"

This they clearly had not anticipated; and from the changing expressions on their faces they were now neither one all that sure of themselves. I took a small step forward, closing the distance between us. Victims were supposed to be submissive. They had been unready for their intended targets to show any kind of resistance. They tried to overcome their indecision, but were wavering.

"Is this getting through to you? You hearin' my signal, pal?!" My tone was gruff now, louder, even overbearing. "I ain't gonna say it twice!" I took another step forward. The older boy was vacillating now, which meant he was already defeated in a battle of nerves. Part of it was the tone of voice, part of it the direct eye contact, part the difference in age and experience. I could read his position pretty well. He had no idea of where I had been and what dangers I had faced and dealt with before.

"You've got about two breaths left, kid... pack up that toothpick you call a blade and beat it, both o' ya! Get outta here!" I waved them away coarsely with my arm. The younger boy at the door broke and the squeaking of the door told the front man that he had no back up. His courage collapsed and he bolted. Just as suddenly as they had come we were alone again.

My body was bristling with energy and nerves, but as I turned back to Karen to apologize for the intrusion her eyes were filled with thankfulness and even awe at what I had done. Those emotions alone, as richly evident as they were in her expression, were a treasure to me well beyond anything I could have hoped to achieve. Then she started to tremble as the realization of what had happened overcame her. When I extended my arms she hesitated a brief moment, as a lady properly would in such a situation, and then with some reservation stepped lightly into my embrace and for a while at least the fear incited by our visitors was much greater than her dwindling fear of me, and she seemed to welcome my arms around her. I, for one, welcomed the opportunity to comfort her. Glib comments aside, however, she had been genuinely terrified.

Despite the upsetting experience our acquaintance did manage to take a giant step forward. I held my handkerchief to the corner of her eyes and wicked away the moisture there. As she regained her composure it embarrassed her that she had been so afraid.

Then, considering what had transpired, she looked at me strangely. "What have you seen and done in your life that makes you not afraid of such things?"

I thought it a brave thing for her to ask; but not that my actions had been particularly brave. There was no way to answer her. I never have been able to tell anyone about those times. Somehow I managed just a short reply, something to the effect that some of our fellows didn't come back and those of us who did were stronger for the experience, but a little brittle around the edges. She seemed to understand me. She didn't say anything. It was just a feeling; but in her face, in the compassion and respect in her eyes, there was an unspoken message of understanding and appreciation.

It helped me a great deal to feel her acceptance, because as the adrenaline rush passed my knees began to wobble, and just leaning on the rail and talking together helped me get past the exhaustion and relax a little. She picked up our earlier train of thought and asked me again why my friends called me Dace. I told her that the Dace was a species of fish, and the Navy named submarines after fish and... and then I got stuck. She caught on quickly. She could read the distress on my face probably, she was very keen that way, and within just a few seconds of my silence she did a very kind and intimate thing. She touched my lips with her finger and said: "Don't say any more. You don't have to tell me." I felt such relief I almost cried.

I turned to look out once again at the view, trying to get my emotions under control and she stood beside me quietly. Then she put her arm through mine and we just stood there together enjoying the vista for a long time.

The breeze shifted at one point and some of her hair blew across my face. The sensation was just delightful and that did a lot to calm me down. Then she realized her hair was in my face and reached over lightly and with one sweep of her hand gathered it all back around her neck and held it for a moment. She looked at me with the softest blue eyes and a little smile on her lips that just sent my heart into virtual orbit!

"Besides being very beautiful, Karen, I think I see as well a very genuine and caring and sensitive young lady inside you. I want to know more about you. Please tell me a little something special."

There was a demur hesitation, and a bit of disorientation, I thought. "Well, for one I am not so young any more."

"Not so young is a bit nebulous, and young is, after all, a relative measure. I'll guess you are not a day over, I'll say twenty-six." My guess was intentionally a little under, I thought, the more to emphasize that I was trying to be light hearted.

She looked at me oddly, unsure of what to say. Clearly she thought herself much older than that and wasn't sure how to respond to me.

"Karen, you could be well into your thirties and I, from the exalted and glorious age of forty, would still call you a young lady, and properly so." I nudged her shoulder lightly to keep things easy going and she smiled at me and said she was had turned twenty-eight on her last birthday.

Now, Friend, my experience with women – mothers, wives, daughters, friends – is that any time you can get a girl over twenty-one to tell you her age you have established a close relationship of trust.

"I am a teacher...."

It was a statement more of hope and intent, it seemed to me, than of fact. There was some concern in her voice that cast a doubt as to whether she was really teaching.

"Geography and world history..." she began. The strength and tone in her voice were dropping almost as if she were slumping against a wall with a couple of slugs in her and she was going down for the last time. Anxiety drove me to look at her again as she faded.

Then she continued, "... is what I teach... but I don't feel like I know very much. The world is so huge and full of things to learn about."

Did I hear a little tinge of being overwhelmed? I did feel a surge of relief that she had not expired on me and still drew a breath.

"Do you know what I mean?" She looked at me more with her body than her eyes. Her eyes were in any case hidden behind her dark glasses again, a good thing because the sun was bright, but a bad thing too, since I thought her eyes were one of her best features, very expressive and alive. But what I mean is that, even while she continued to look outward to the vastness around us, she turned toward me slightly. It felt like a gesture of, if not friendship, at least a willingness to associate.

Yes, I did know what she meant, I thought, and I needed to formulate a reasonably intelligent response if this conversation was going to go anywhere at all. I found it difficult, however, to stay with the conversation when her physical beauty was so very captivating. She stood tall and erect, excellent posture, one bare foot now again waving her toes absentmindedly in the fresh air behind her, and the sunshine and the breeze playing in her hair was just magical.

But, yes, I did know, and before she turned I knew I had to say something rather than be caught looking at her again like a love struck kid.

"World history?" I scrambled for a chance to catch up. "You certainly have a broad field to draw on there. High school? University?" It would add considerably to my fund of knowledge about her if she answered that one in any great detail. Either she didn't hear me or she was considering her answer very carefully. The pause lengthened and I could not discern her mood at all. She held herself very reserved.

For perhaps no other reason than simple desperation I struck off on a different tack, reaching back for her earlier comment. "Questioning oneself, Karen, and recognizing that there is still much to learn seem like requisites of the teachable and inquiring mind, the person who has come to treasure learning." I paused and looked out over the vista with her for a moment. "One of the greatest things a teacher can do for her students is be an example of the idea that to learn is life's most engaging... most engaging and rewarding adventure. I'll bet your students pick up on that and love to be in your classes." As I think back now, she could easily have interpreted my comment as simple flattery, and that would certainly have turned her off.

"It sounds like perhaps you do some teaching and learning yourself, Dace." Hearing her use my name was a rush and almost derailed my thinking.

"Well, yes, I have." How much does one blurt out and how much does one hold back in telling about oneself? Never a definitive answer there. I felt she was waiting for me to go on, so I did. "Naval and maritime history, some economics, some related subjects. It's fun, actually, isn't it; teaching and working with ideas and concepts?" I wanted to get a response from her; almost anything would tell me more about how her mind was working.

"That's where the ships come in, isn't it?" She turned to me now, and I had the fleeting impression she was uncomfortable somehow. It seemed she had suddenly had enough of the bright sun on her face, and turned her back to the railing. Shielding her face with one hand, taking off her glasses and looking at me, and waiting for my answer.

I followed her around, and with a hand gesture suggested we cross to the opposite side where we would again have a view but without the sun. We moved across in no great hurry, and I tried to appear casual as I leaned on the railing. "Yup, that's where the ships come in. The Port of Seattle / Tacoma is in a major, long term competition with Los Angeles / Long Beach for Pacific Rim traffic in international ocean shipping. And I have had some involvement there for a while." She seemed to take that in but did not respond.

After a moment I pointed out Mount Adams in the distance, snow-capped, and impressive, and mentioned that that was the next volcano scheduled to erupt, and that inside information from the seismology lab at the University of Washington calculated that sometime in the coming summer, probably in June – early June – that mountain would blow like Mount Saint Helen's had a few years before. She mulled that over for a moment, and then turned to me sharply, looking a little doubtful.

I could not help but smile broadly at the whimsical inanity of my statement, and she saw through me immediately, and we both chuckled together.

As it turned out, that was a very apropos selection of topics upon which to attempt an ice breaker with her. She had said that geography was one of her subjects, and so volcanoes touched a responsive chord. She had been to Mount Etna and Stromboli in the Mediterranean and wanted to know if I had been down to St Helen's to see the area, and I asked her if she knew anything about Crater Lake in Oregon. On this simple matter of mountains then our conversation opened suddenly onto a much more pleasant and easy going meadow of casual and even animated exchange. The topic excited her very much, mountains which had blown their tops off or promised to do so. I mentioned that I had passed both Etna and Stromboli while aboard ship in the Mediterranean, and asked what it was like to actually be ashore. She seemed pleased that I would ask and, feeling something of my interest, I think, tried to tell me in detail.

In doing so, relating her experience with these two volcanoes, she told me a great deal about herself; probably much more than she realized. Her English was very good, yet it showed that she had learned the language as an adult because the many little nuances that we all bring with us from childhood and which continue to make themselves evident in the native language find themselves blocked and unavailable when a person works in a language learned first as an adult. Yet, her expression was very colorful and friendly and flowing. She struggled a little with vocabulary and syntax when describing her experiences, wanting to say it properly in English and in the main doing so. She was not afraid to ask me, either outright or as one does when working in a foreign language, simply pausing a second or motioning to one's companion for assistance in finding the right word or phrase.

She seemed relieved to have managed the explanation as well as she had, and apologized for her inability to do better. I accepted with a casual gesture and complimented her on doing so well. "It sounds to me that English is at least your third language and possibly more than that. My compliments; you do extremely well."

What was very intriguing was the particular twist she put on the pronunciation of some words. Accents are in the main unique to the person, and while they can be disconcerting and confusing; hers was neither, but was very feminine, very engaging, and added something very special to her personality, and to her beauty. Though I thought I saw some excitement dancing in her eyes as she spoke of the volcanoes, she remained quite reserved in her actions and expression. There was no lounging about and superfluous movement and such that seems to occupy many young women. This girl retained her composure and posture like a princess. These were not mindless exercises and restrictions imposed by her elders, but the easy, natural expressions of the real her.

"So naval and maritime things are your subject area. Very professional." She sought to turn the conversation back to me, probably to ease her own anxieties. It sounded like she was impressed, maybe just a little.

"More or less, yes, I've spent some time there." I wanted that to sound casual and sort of non-specific, and she picked up on non-specific part.

"What is your primary focus, then?" She was very inquisitive for a young lady that minutes before would not have given me the time of day.

"Cultural linguistics and ethnology; Germanic and Slavic Languages." That is a mouthful, but she had asked and that is the fact of the matter.

She looked surprised, and turned to me, and after a pause, "Sie können deutsch?" It flowed from her lips like honey, and I could sense immediately that she was at home in German.

"Ja, sicher! Ich kann deutsch. Mir klingt es als ob Sie selbst in der Sprache wie zu hause sind." This could get to be delightful.

„Nein, nicht so sehr. Auf der Uni ging das zwar gut, aber nachher nicht mehr so." OK, she had at least studied German at the university and worked up a better than fair skill, but it sounded very much like her first language was elsewhere.

"Ihnen viel lieber sind wohl Dänisch und Tschechisch, oder? Sie können die beiden eben so gut, nicht wahr?" Laying a couple of my cards on the table I guessed that she was more at home in Danish and Czech, and hoped she would confirm that.

I had drawn to an inside strait! She came back with two or three sentences in very fluid Czech. Well, it had to be Czech because I could tell it wasn't Danish, and from my Russian and little bit of Polish and Czech I could pick out most of the words and the general meaning. She loved Czech and the Czech people and felt like that was her first language, Danish her second, which their family had spoken at home. She had learned Czech in school and spoken it daily until she was about sixteen and her family returned to Danmark. Then she asked me if I could understand her, half afraid she had been rude.

I assured her, in Russian, that I had understood her, and that I was delighted she loved Czech so, and I was sorry my Czech was weak, that my Russian was much better, and did she understand me по Русски?

"Да! да! Конечна понимаю." Yes, she did, as I suspected, since the Slavic languages are sufficiently close that a very high degree of cross-over is possible for one even passingly familiar with the other. Then too, I knew that having gone to school in Czechoslovakia before the break up she must have studied some Russian in school as well, since in those years it was required.

But then we agreed that English would serve us both just as well for the present.

"You are an exceptionally interesting young lady. My own plans for this afternoon were for an early dinner at a nice seafood restaurant along the waterfront to celebrate the conclusion of my big project. I would like to invite you to join me... and would find it very pleasant if you were to consent, and accept my invitation, and... were you to decline it would be for me... a very great disappointment."

Now were the lines drawn in the sand. I had forced the matter by attempting to move our encounter beyond the present circumstances. Should she accept she was opening herself to further encroachments into her life. Now much more so than any time later it would be simple enough to beg off graciously that, for example, other obligations, appointments, etc., precluded her accepting and so and so. It had been nice to meet me, and... and good bye.

Having once extended the invitation it would not do to ramble on mindlessly. I had to leave her the opportunity to respond; so I stopped. My halting was somewhat artless, I feared, and waiting for her... even hoping desperately for her positive response... was, at least it seemed to me, so patently obvious she could hardly have missed my boyish enthusiasm. I was once again... had brought myself to the very edge of the cliff and looking over the edge was terrifying.

Her pause was probably not long at all; my own anxiety stretched each second to the limit and it seemed only a lifetime or two before she responded.

"Thank you very much for the invitation, Dace. I accept. Dinner together would be very pleasant." How did she manage that? Her words, in her fourth or fifth language, poured forth from her like warm honey from a stone krug, golden and sweet and smooth. I was deeply impressed and openly appreciative of her acceptance and how she had responded. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful!

From the Space Needle we strolled back to her hotel together. I left her at the door and we agreed I would call for her at 5:30 for dinner. Our conversation that evening was just delightful and free-flowing and, together with her quite exceptional beauty, the evening was just magnificent. The following day we spent together seeing some of the sights and continuing our far ranging chat.

I learned some things about her that were very impressive, and in the process probably revealed some things about myself that at least did not discourage her. She had worked for a trading company in Copenhagen and when a brief liaison with a man seemed not to be working out she took a transfer to a small branch office in the USA. She glossed over the matter of the man at first, but then came back to him as we became better acquainted. He had turned out to be a very crude and demanding man, and when she resisted his... she referred to them simply as 'demands' but the implication seemed much deeper and intimate... he became ugly, and accused her of some ugly things. Karen wanted to leave it at that.