Chapter 19 - Out to Sea

8/2/2019 Chapter 19 - Out to Sea

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Chapter 19

OUT TO SEA

It is high noon Tuesday, and the sun-shinyIrish Wind, with four full sails, cuts a triangular

spraying swath through the blue white-capped sea of the Florida Straights. She is several

hours into her third day out of Casey Key. Doc glances again at the wind indicator atop the

mainmast after trimming the sails. The wind had been warming and building for 24 hours,

and it now seems to have peaked, gusting to 22 knots. It continues to create swells that

relentlessly slap hard at the green yacht's bow. The early morning forecast predicted little

weather until Sunday, five days from now, and then only a passing, ten-hour line of

showers. He hopes by then to have passed the Great Inaugua Island in the Bahamas,

leaving but two day's sailing to South Caicos Island. He stares at nothing for the moment,

wondering if Malcolm Zebe, his old bachelor buddy from the Korean War and Yale

Medical School, will be at his seaside home several miles beyond Cockburn Harbor. His

friend's annual Christmas letter was postmarked Providenciales, Gateway Island to the

Turks and Caicos. Po Chan and Damien appear in the hatchway and erase his pondering.

"Say 'so long' to the good old U.S.A., you two love-birds."

Po Chan wears her white sailing cap and a hibiscus-flowered, pink terry cloth frock

covering a skimpy, yellow string-bikini. Her pregnancy shows as she turns, waves, and

singsongs, "Bye, bye, Miss American pie" at the barely visible landmass sinking from sight

back across the Florida Straights. Happily, she kisses Doc's burnt cheek. "My watch,

Captain. What is our heading?"


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Po ChanA Story of Love"East by southeast--128 degrees. Winds are warming out of the west, should slow

to a steady 12 knots throughout tonight. If we can average four knots an hour, we ought to

pass Cay Lobos by 5 p.m. Friday, then go to a heading of 109 degrees and be off the

southern tip of Great Inaugua Island near mid-morning Monday, with just another 32 hours

of sailing to Cockburn Harbour on South Caicos Island. I want to anchor there for a day or

two to provision and find some newsprint and then be off to my old friend Zebe's seaside

cottage a half days sailing away." He taps the small, yellow GPS clipped to the helm

panel. "This is a real handy gadget, almost tempts me to throw my sextant overboard.

Another of those forget-me-not keep-sakes from Madam Torrellini." He grins out to sea,

back at a dream. "She kissed me on that hot Fourth of July and said the gift was to make

sure I could find my way back to the woman who needed him most!"

"You truly love her, do you not, Doctor O'Casey?"

Doc puts his face close into Po Chan's and whispers, "To be sure! She's the last love

of me life! Almost sorry we didn't sign her aboard. She's the Madonna of my mind, the

mocking bird whistling in my ear, the drum beat of my heart, the fuel for my loins!"

Embarrassed, he shies from Po Chan and taps Damien's shoulder, "You're the cook tonight,

my mate. Wake me when the beans are boiling." He double-steps down the ladder and out

of sight, intent on his cabin and a few hours of oblivion.

Damien stands behind Po Chan at the five-foot wheel and gently knuckle-rubs her

back. "Wife, if you yawn once, holler, and I'll relieve you early. Guess you know the

Caicos Islands are a few miles this side of the Turks, and some 525 nautical miles from

here." Po Chan pauses, does the mental math and replies, "If this west wind holds, we

should average four-to-five knots and be there in a just over six days."

"That's what Doc's estimating, seven days, afternoon Tuesday off Cockburn

Harbour. Seems there's a small airstrip there. Hope none of the hounds sniffing at our heels

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Po ChanA Story of Loveget wind of our destination and meet us there." He kisses her neck, then tongue-tickles her

earlobe.

"Stop that, Damien Hobbs! Get below to the galley and work on our dinner. And I

want my Spanish mackerel filleted, breaded, and fried golden and crisp in olive oil to go

with Doc's butter-boiled beans."

"Your Spanish mackerel! I baited the hook and netted that ferocious sea monster,

and Doc dressed it. All you had to do was reel it in." Damien pecks a kiss on her cheek and

slaps her backside. Po Chan does not feel Damien's hand. She is suddenly too thrilled

gliding and waltzing with the Irish Wind over the rolling, dancing white caps to the

whistling of the breeze through the sails.

It is eleven a.m. the following Tuesday, seven days of cool, favorable winds and

lazy, sunny days, and star-brightened nights over an easy sea, when Doc spots a haven for

his Irish Wind, their tireless steed. So as to not flag-wave their arrival before curious,

lurking, gossiping eyes, as well as to verify their whereabouts, he borrows a lone, empty

wharf in a deserted, tree-hidden inlet that he estimates to be several miles east of Cockburn

Harbour. He is uncertain exactly where his friend's cottage is located. Malcom often said

to sail into the Cockburn Harbor and ask around for Zebe's place.

A half-hour later, as Damien tosses the bow line over a dock pole, a gangly bronze

teenager with short curly black hair appears from a shaky cedar shanty that leans in the

shade of a monstrous black-ear tree 100 yards inland, just clear of the street-wide, white-

sand beach. Barefoot, shirtless, belt-less, in short, ragged Levis, with an oversized straw

sombrero bouncing on his brown back, and a silver-dollar-sized medallion swinging from a

gold neck chain, the native lad sprints down the dilapidated dock, swinging his arms and

shouting, "You not park there! You not welcome here, Signor Capitan!" He runs on past

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Po ChanA Story of LoveDamien, jumps aboard theIrish Wind, and bravely points a stiff finger a foot from Doctor

O'Casey's nose. "You all sail away now or there be big and plenty trouble!"

"And just who are you, young man?" Doc asks, while squinting his eyes and tilting

his head at the young bare-chested alarmist.

"I am Julius Jefferson. You please leave now, or I run and get my boss, my Uncle

Carlos! And he point Tommy gun at you if he find you hiding here! Then you be plenty

sorry, plenty scared!"

"Calm down, Julius! We're a bit lost, hungry, and thirsty, and could use a few bags

of groceries and a case of coke and some beer." Doc flashes a new ten-dollar bill by the

boy's clear brown eyes. "Is there a store nearby, son?"

The lad's eyes follow the bill back and forth as he swings his finger from Doc's face

and points west across the white beach. "Uncle Carlos, he got all kinds of drinks and candy

and bread and jelly." He glances at Damien now holding the stern dock line, then over at

Po Chan watching from the hatchway. "How many guys and girls you got with you,

Signor Capitan?"

"We are only two men and a lady, and all in need of a little time, a day or two

ashore to stretch our land legs a bit." Doc pauses for the lad to be tempted and finish his

thinking, then hands him the ten-dollar bill.

"I fetch Uncle Carlos. He has Ford pickup. He help you for dollars." With that the

skinny Bahaman native waves and flirts a smile at Po Chan as he jumps running onto the

dock. "We be back very soon," he shouts, racing away on the tide-smoothed beach.

Doc motions Damien and Po Chan to the cockpit. "Let's have a quick powwow,

folks." Moments later all three are resting on the cushioned deck seats of the becalmed

Irish Wind. "If the boys uncle stocks much of a store, and has a telephone and a recent

newspaper, then I'd say we made a lucky landfall."

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Po ChanA Story of Love"What about your friend Malcolm Zebe? His cottage? It should be no more than a

few miles from here," a yawning Po Chan asks and answers herself.

"We'll be there before sunset if Julius' Uncle Carlos becomes our Santa Claus in

February. But let's pretend we'd like to stay the night right here. Okay?"

Thirty-five minutes later, at five past noon the lad's Uncle Carlos drives up alone

and stops alongside the dock in a green, brush-painted, bald-tired, rust-pocked, fender-

dented, old Ford pickup truck.

"You the folks that bribed my little nephew into tying up here?" Uncle Carlos calls

out as he climbs out the passenger-side door. The six foot six inch Grecian-profiled black

man looks to be in his early forties. He wears only bleached denim bib coveralls and

untied, sand coated, once-white tennis shoes. He carries a Browning automatic shotgun

pointed skyward over his shoulder with his finger in the trigger housing. He steps aboard

theIrish Wind, does an eye searching 360 and confronts a weary Damien while Doc and Po

Chan anxiously watch from the helm. "Here is your bribe back." He boldly stuffs the ten-

dollar bill in Damien's shirt pocket. "And now you folks untie them lines and sail away

just like you came in. I wants no trouble. This dock belongs to Mister Zebe, and he tells

me no one, but no one, but him ties up here. Now please raise your foresail or crank up

your engine and ease this beautiful boat around and out of my boss's bay!" He shifts the

shotgun to his other shoulder and lowers the barrel a foot to punctuate his command.

Damien salutes and says, "I'm just a deckhand. You best aim your remarks and that

shotgun at Doctor O'Casey there at the wheel. But I ought to warn you he's an old war

buddy of your boss-man, Mister Zebe."

With that statement, the sober caretaker's expression suddenly smiles at the ship's

captain. Mister Zebe don' tell me zilch about anybody sailin' in here. Suddenly Carlos'

smile turns into a quizzical frown at Doc. "Sir, whats your name?"

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Po ChanA Story of Love"Daniel O'Casey. Doctor Daniel O'Casey."

Carlos backs off several steps, studies the three interlopers a second time, digs a

finger into his wiry, black hair, and asks, "What college Mr. Zebe go to, Doctor? I figure

an old war buddy ought to know that."

"We both ended up at Yale, my friend."

The wharf custodian smiles and chuckles. "Why don' me and you walk back to my

truck there, and Ill call Mr. Zebe on my cell-phone for you. He should shoot right by here

any time now in that powerboat of his. Maybe we can detour him in here and see if he

remembers you." Doc steps out of the cockpit and over the lifeline onto the dock. Carlos,

somewhat embarrassed, points the gun barrel at the deck, ejects the shell, picks it up and

drops it in his pocket. At the truck Carlos taps his cell phone. "Mr. Zebe, Carlos here at

The Old Dock. He hesitates a second then continues. "You know a Doc Daniel O'Casey?

He claims you and him went to Yale together and...." He stops to listen, then hands the cell

phone to Doc.

"Malcolm?" Doc pauses to listen, then smiles and winks at Carlos. "Yeah, it's really

me, Zebe, the grunt that heard your foxhole confessions and hugged you to keep from

freezing and saved your skinny ass a couple dozen times. Remember?" Doc listens and

nods and chuckles into the phone for a half-minute, then answers a question, "No, I didn't

fly here in a seaplane. I got religion, and me and Jesus walked on the water all the way

from Florida." Again he listens and smiles. "Seriously, you ask? Have I ever lied to you,

Zebe? I've been nine days pacing the deck of the greenest, meanest sailing machine you'll

ever lay eyes on, just worrying if you ever got over your bladder problem. Remember--you

always pissin' in your pants whenever the gooks got to lobbing the big stuff at us?" Again

he listens and laughs at Malcolm's memory. "See you in fifteen then, old friend--have a

whiskey and water waiting at theIrish Windsbar." He presses theEndbutton and hands

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Po ChanA Story of Lovethe phone to Carlos. "Hope you can stick around and have a drink with your boss and me,

Carlos."

Five minutes later, Damien, Doc, Po Chan and Carlos are at rest, hidden from the

searing sun in the shade of the cockpit. Po Chan sips at an ice tea, Damien, a Coke; while

Doc and Carlos gulp on bottles of Corona beer. TheIrish Wind, now beginning to roll on

the incoming tide, like a mother footing a baby's rocker, is lulling the men toward sleep.

Po Chan finishes her tea and, with eyes closed, begins tai chi chuan a few yards aft of them

on a small square of deck before the mizzenmast. She is dressed only in a loose, sleeveless

pink blouse and a pair of Damien's white shorts. Soon she stretches and sways as she

performs White Crane Spreads Its Wings. Her bronzed, cherry-cheeked Asian face reflects

the sun's rays as a brisk Bahaman breeze plays with her short ebony hair. She sings happily

in capricious Cantonese, oblivious of the smiling eyes of three men enjoying her psyche

absorbing the chi, the intrinsic energy of the universe. Po Chan has been performing tai

chi chuan daily since sailing from Casey Key, and so much wants to condition her body for

birthing. She recalls Doctor Chang Fuz-hou's prescription, and Doctor Kessler's approving

encouragement, and her amahs insistence on daily tai chi chuan during pregnancy, and

Doctor O'Caseys constant urging that she work hard at it for an hour every day.

Suddenly Carlos cocks his head, stands tall and listen intently like a Plains Indian

with his ear cupped to the wind for the heralding of a thundering herd of buffalo. He looks

at Po Chan and puts a stiff finger to his lips for quiet. "You folks hear them twin 500's?

Seconds later an accelerating high-pitched roaring announces Malcolm Zebe's approach.

All eyes stare at the narrow bay entrance and watch a splashing red dot grow in a few

seconds into a scarlet, wave-smacking sleek 43-foot half-million dollar Wellcraft

powerboat, airborne most of the time, water-skipping and slapping the inbound sea toward

their hideaway in the bay. Short seconds later, three hundred yards from the dock,

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Po ChanA Story of LoveMalcolm Zebe, cuts the super speedboat's throttle, stands at the steering wheel, and goggle-

eyed, with a white scarf blowing from his neck, looking like a cross between Snoopie and

the Red Baron, clasps his hands above his head in a welcoming gesture. Doc steps ashore

from the Irish Wind, and is followed by Carlos who sprints to meet the idling, pulsating

powerboat. Malcolm cuts the engines of his Sea Streak, clips his goggled leather helmet to

the leather-wrapped steering wheel, throws a line to Carlos to tie to a pole 20 feet from the

glistening Shannon 43 yacht and accepts Doc's waiting hand for a pull-up onto the dock.

Po Chan and Damien, arm in arm, watch from the stern pulpit as two old combat comrades,

college classmates, bosom buddies, embrace and kiss, then, their eyes welled with tears,

embrace and kiss again, still not speaking. They back away a few feet from each other and,

with hands on their hips and grinning, squeeze a long handshake, then walk with an arm

over the other's shoulder to theIrish Windwhere Po Chan and Damien spontaneously clap

and applaud the silent, emotional reunion. Malcolm follows Doc over the lifelines and

shakes Damien's hand and then side-hugs Po Chan. He introduces himself as Doc just

stands nearby and continues to smile at his friend's honesty in accepting these total

strangers into his island realm.

Malcolm steps back and eyeballs Po Chan from head to toe. "You are one very

beautiful Asian lady, my dear!" His aesthetic stare from under his bushy black brows and

full head of wild, gray hair, smiles as hazel and ebony eyes make their acquaintance with a

silent, mutual, "Hello, there."

Po Chan bows and kisses his cheek. "I am very pleased to meet such a very close

friend of my Doctor O'Casey!" The doctor still remains silent as Po Chan introduces

Damien. "And this wonderful man, here, is my husband and best friend." She pauses, and,

almost as an afterthought, adds, "And I am one very pregnant Chinese woman, as you can

plainly see, Mister Zebe." Embarrassed at speaking first, she steps aside and apologetically

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Po ChanA Story of Lovestares at Doc. She shyly turns her eyes, then her face from Malcolm and takes hold of

Damien's hand.

"Pregnancy is the miracle of miracles by the Almighty Mystery, and it only

enhances your beauty, Po Chan, and may your Goddess Kam Fa carry you to term and help

you to deliver a healthy child.

At the mention of the Buddhist patron saint of pregnant women, Po Chan turns,

bows slightly, and smiles, "You have prayed in my country--at Fook Tak Temple in Hong

Kong, Mister Zebe?"

"In my search for the truth since the Korean War, I have visited many temples,

many mosques, and many cathedrals. But that is a long, long-ago story, my dear." He

looks hard at Damien. "And you, young man, must certainly be beholden to the Lucky

God, Ng Tung. How fortunate you are to have met and married this princess of China!"

"That's what I tell myself each time she smiles, Mister Zebe."

"Guess you two know most everything about me by now: that I'm too rich from

being stock-market lucky, too handsome, too lazy, and getting too old to repeat this life

again. That that's why I mostly hide away in my abode by the sea, another mile down

yonder 'round the next bend." He points a finger to the southeast.

Malcom slowly does a 360, critically studying his friend's ship. "A Shannon

43, right? Theres a few years and oceans behind her, but shes still one of the most reliable

sailing cruisers around." He stares at Doc and singsongs, "If I'd a known you was a

comin, I'd a baked a cake, a chocolate cake, Captain O'Casey. And just where is that

bourbon you promised?"

"Damien, Po Chan, I need a word alone with my aging sidekick, here. Why don't

you two rest a spell and finish your drinks here with Carlos. Okay?" He motions at Carlos

to have a seat in the cockpit with them and then nods for Malcolm to follow him down the

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Po ChanA Story of Lovecompanionway. "Now let's find you a whiff of whiskey, you friendly old foxhole fart-

smeller!"

Carlos screws up his face and questioningly looks at his boss. "Carlos, you stay put

here a while. Give our visitors a welcome rundown on South Caicos, our enchanted Island

of the Lost." He looks at Po Chan and Damien. "And you two could give Carlos a few

pointers on sailing this upgraded, downsized windjammer. He is a qualified Bahamian

pilot and loves to sail anything from catamarans to racing cruisers."

Damien raises a hand and interrupts. "How'd you and Carlos happen by each other,

Malcolm?"

"A few years back he saved my life, kept me from being shark bait. Ever since, he's

been a trusted friend, a Brother Friday, my eyes and ears hereabouts. Owns the local

country emporium where charity, more than profits, prevail. Never can tell when" He

stops the conversation with, "to be continued," and follows Doc to the cabin for a drink and

an updating tte--tte.

It is a quarter to one, and the sun is still heating up, when Malcolm and Doc again

appear on deck. Carlos is slouched in early siesta; his ball cap hides his face. Doc quietly

tells Po Chan and Damien to follow Malcolm and him to his powerboat.

In the roomy, live-aboard, air conditioned cabin of the 43-foot Scarlet Scarab sea

racer, Damien gives Po Chan a hand down the companionway, then pauses and whistles.

"Mister Zebe, how'd power-boating ever get in your blood, especially a plushy variety like

this honey-of-a-Wellcraft?" Malcolm does not answer Damien; he only motions for all to

be seated around the small polished teak table. "A Coke okay, Po Chan?" he asks.

"That would be nice. Thank you, Mister Zebe."

He opens a small refrigerator and finds a Coke, a cold glass, and three bottles of

Corona beer. When everyone is seated, he reaches over and taps Damien's hand. "Now to

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Po ChanA Story of Loveanswer you, Doctor Hobbs: speed boats got into my blood probably the same way rocket

ships entered your space--via childhood dreams I expect." Damien sits open-mouthed at

theDoctor Hobbs he hears.

Doc reading their thoughts says, I took the liberty of explaining your dilemma to

Malcolm, bout you're being up a honey tree caught between a swarm of mad bees and a

grizzly and her cubs. Even so, friend Malcolm, here, welcomes the two of you aboard his

island to stay as long as you wish--room and board gratis.

Po Chan raises her hand and speaks. "Since I am the source of so much danger and

inconvenience to you, Mister Zebe, it is I who am the most thankful. I shall never forget

your kindness."

"You can bet your Saharra canteen that as long as you are my guests, and in my

keep, nobody--but nobody--shall disturb your respite here." He shoves a fist to Doc's nose.

"And further more, bein's Danny O'Casey, here, swears by you, so shall I!" Malcolm raises

his drink. "A toast: To new, true friendships, may they never become stagnant or self-

serving, nor estranged by the intolerance of greed, politics, or impatience, nor doubted in

times of hardship and danger."

Damien touches his bottle to the other three drinks and adds, "Here-here! Mister

Zebe, your DNA must resemble Robert Frost's or Saint Augustine's or Shakespeare's, with a

sprinkling of it from Christ's own heart!"

"You forgot Confucius and his wisdom, Damien," Po Chan softly says through a

grateful smile. Doc circles his arm around his friend's neck and wipes tears on his cheek.

All take a drink.

Malcolm stands back from the table, doffs his hat and bows at the waist to his

guests, and says, "God willing, you good people, may I always live up to your

expectations, may I never let you down!" He claps his hands to break the happy spell.

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Po ChanA Story of LovePicking up a week-oldNew York Times, headlined: BILLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER, NASA

SCIENTIST FOUND, he tosses it on the table. The press suspects you're somewhere out

at sea, but they're not for certain if or where. They have associated you with Doc, which,

remotely, by guesstimating, or crystal-gazing, might just calculate you're trying to touch

base with me, his old friend.

"Oh, Great Swami," Doc teases, "just what action, what course, would you suggest

we take to elude capture?"

"Succinctly put, if the sharks are biting, get out of the water. So let's just leave your

boat hidden where it is. From this article, Doc," he pats the newspaper on the table, "I

gather not much is known about the Irish Wind, not her size, her color, or her range." He

swallows another gulp of beer. "I suggest you all be away with me for some R and R, and

TV-watchn, and thinkn bout out-foxing the hounds at your heels. Why don't we

provision her for an extended voyage and have Carlos top-off her water and fuel tanks.

And he can keep an eye on her while the three of you forget your worries at my villa by the

sea? Okay?"

"The R-and-R for Po Chan and me sure would be appreciated. Damien looks at

Doc. But hiding theIrish Windhere is for Doc to decide.

Without hesitation Doc speaks up. So be it, Malcolm. MyIrish Windstays here

under the care of Carlos.

Still carrying his bottle of beer, Zebe finds a sleepy Carlos and his nervous nephew,

Julius, up on deck and states, "Carlos, the Doctor and I have just voted you the captain of

his yacht." He takes Carlos by the shoulders and faces him toward the Irish Wind. That

green galleon there is your responsibility until further notice. And I want either you or

Julius, with a cell-phone in his pocket, onboard her every minute she's tied up here." He

waits for Carlos to digest his command and to nod affirmatively, and asks, "Now, may Doc

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Po ChanA Story of Loveand I borrow Julius, your truck, and a few supplies from your store to provision this

beautiful old ketch?"

Carlos exaggerates his island brogue, "Bozz, everything I owns is ha'v your'n,

includ'n da store. Y'all can have my ha'v back any time, an you knows it." He blinks at his

employer and shows his off-white, gapped teeth in a grateful grin.

"Well then, folks, its settled. Now let's get with it." He takes several steps down

the wharf behind Doc and Julius, then stops, turns, and suggests: "Carlos, while were off

shopping, why don't you, Damien, and Po Chan practice your seamanship on that green

ketch. Doc tells me they are gifted sailors. Have them show you what that Shannon 43 can

do in my bay out there." He points his finger at Carlos like a Marine Corps drill instructor.

"And you pay attention to what they say and do! Theres no tellin' when you might just

have to captain her out to a rendezvous with us,"-- he moves his finger toward the eastern

sea-- "somewhere way out there, maybe even in the middle of the night."

It is after 6 p.m. and a huge, cloud-veiled ball of fire is beginning to fall into the

dimming horizon behind a thick mix of palms, and pines dangling with Spanish moss.

Soon the small cove will disappear from the open sea.

The narrow stretch of white sand touching the dock has already turned a darkness

gray when Malcolm and Doc return with the pickup truck piled high with cases and bags of

provisions, enough for an extended stay at sea--bottled water to baby formula, paper towels

to disposable diapers, olive oil to flour, netted bags of spuds, carrots, onions, even cotton

sheets, and shirts and shorts. They park in the shade 50 yards from the dock, and then sit

on the truck's tailgate still swapping memories as they admire Carlos at the helm of the

Irish Wind bringing her under sail to her latest berth. Po Chan leans against the stern

railing behind the mizzen. Damien is forward in the pulpit awed by Carlos, a gifted

Bahamian yachtsman. Ten minutes later the two observers are at dockside accepting the

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Po ChanA Story of Lovelines to secure the green Shannon ketch. Malcolm goes to the wheel and slaps his friend

hard on the back. "When are you going to teach me how to sail like that, Carlos?"

"Right now, boss! Not much to learn, she sails herself. I just nudge her now and

then like you would a good pony." Carlos stretches a wide, giving grin across his gapped

teeth in and declares, "Mister Doctor, you and the Lord Jesus must have held hands while

you hammered and sawed and painted and rigged this here ketch boat. Sure do thank you

for turning her loose with me." He removes his frazzled straw hat and backhands the sweat

from his forehead. "Most fun and happiness I had since my first dingy sailin off Cuba

when my Daddy switched me good for swiping the boat and making him swim between

sharks to git me back to shore." He catches his reminiscing and points toward his blue

Ford truck bulging with provisions. "Why don't me and Julius start git'n them things

stowed aboard?" Not waiting for a reply, he jumps to the wharf, his straw hat bobbing on

his back, and sprints to the task.

"Damien, let's you and Doc and me give them a hand," Malcolm suggests as he

hands Po Chan a rolled up USA Today from his back pocket. "This talks about you and

your NASA friend, here--front page photos, too: seems you've become the focus of every

paparazzi, gossip columnist, and bounty hunter in the Western Hemisphere." He nods

toward the companionway. Now, young lady, get below and point to where you want to

stash that truck full of stuff I borrowed from Carlos.

"We borrowed from Carlos--Po Chan and I," Damien states. "We still have a few

thousand in cash to cover this hide-n-seek vacation, Mister Zebe."

"No way, young man! This is my treat. Not often do I get to enjoy the company of

a Chinese billionaire's beautiful daughter along with the worlds most renowned, maverick

astrophysicist."

Doc raises his hands and interrupts them. "My bet's that the Hobbs' whereabouts

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Po ChanA Story of Loveare as unknown as ever. And that the eyes and ears of your father, plus your old boy-

friends, have already hunkered down near Sarasota waiting to run down a thousand-and-

one leads until the reward money finds you." Doc frowns, then chuckles and pats Po

Chan's head. "Nearly forgot--I phoned Father Kennedy from a pay phone near Carlos'

store. The Padre said he had just come from my place in Casey Key, and that he had

convinced Tonia to lock up my home and reenter the land of the living, to join her work-a-

day world again. Seems they both had a good laugh as they waved good-byes at the crowd

of camera-waving reporters and paparazzi camped around my place

Damien, now holding Po Chan's hand, asks Malcolm, "How long you figure we'll

be safe here in Cockburn Harbour, or, for the matter, at your place?"

"Wouldn't want to say--depends on whether Lee Wing On's in a hurry to protect his

only child and reclaim his most precious pearl. Hes quite renowned for retrieving his

losses, for evening the score. He studies Damien for a second. "Boy, you gotta lot of out-

smartin' to do. And don't write off that ex-beau of Po Chan's either. I understand his clan

has a bundle bet on him finding the two of you before Papa-Bear-Lee does." He stops and

claps his hands twice. His sober face brightens with a smile. "Here's Carlos now. Let's ask

him if you will be safe on my island."

Carlos overhears the question. He sets a third case of bottled water on deck at

Damien's feet. I'll bring 'em up here to you all, okay?" He brushes his hat from his head to

his back. "I heered your question, Mister Zebe." He looks up at Po Chan. "I knows all

about you on TV--bein' on the run and hiding from those bad people and that million

dollars for a phone-call, but don' you worry 'bout me none! We--my boss, Mister Zebe--we

look after you here!" He puts on a brave face and glances at Malcolm who winks and

smiles back at his trusted friend. "You be real safe with us. Yes, sir, real safe!"

Several hours later, after a bright crescent moon rises to replace the sunken sun,

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Po ChanA Story of Loveuntold stars sparkle in the infinity of the heavens above the bay before Zebe's Island.

Suddenly, with four halogen headlights showing the way, 900 horses quickly gallop out to

sea with the Scarab Sea Streak. Seated four abreast behind the windshield in the open

cockpit are four friends headed for the quiet and peace of Malcolm's estate. Soon the

powerboat is skipping and sliding across the rippling water at sixty knots. Several minutes

away from the Irish Wind Malcolm throttles back to thirty knots, stands up, and taps

Damien seated next to him. "Change places with me, youngster. I want your opinion of

this upgraded torpedo boat."

"Never had much to do with motorboats, only boats with sails ever challenged me,

Skipper," Damien sits down and takes the wheel. "Nudge me now and then if this Sea

Streakbalks at my handling; wouldn't want to upset her, Mister Zebe."

"Name's Malcolm, son--and treat my boat, here, like Doc's ketch with her throttle

wide open, only times ten."

Quick minutes skip by before the powerboat slides around a jutting finger-shaped

key. Malcolm places his open hand on Damien's blond head, and turns it toward a fifty-

foot wide water road, a half-mile long jetty of twin parallel banks of huge rocks. "That's my

driveway," he points out as he reduces the throttle for Damien until the Sea Streakslows to

a chugging idle of five knots. Then he presses several remotes on the dash, and a

panoramic balance of a pristine tropical island and a cluster of several contemporary

houses of glass, cedar, and tile emerge out of the black of night dead ahead.

Po Chan, silently enjoying her Damien at the helm, gasps and exclaims, "Avalon!

How astoundingly exciting! Doctor O'Casey said a seaside cottage--that is a chateau from

Planet Paradise! Is it all yours?"

"Yes, all mine--has been for ten years now." He leans in front of Po Chan and

makes a fist in front of Docs startled face. "Not bad, Doc, old buddy, for this Yale

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Po ChanA Story of Lovedropout, your Korean foxhole friend. Surprised?" He elbows Damien and takes the wheel.

"That bulky box first out is my boat barn."

Doc rubs his head with his cap and points at a narrow, planked wharf on barnacled

concrete piers running the western edge of the structure. "Is that where I was to park my

little yacht?"

"I'm glad you didn't. That glossy Irish-green Shannon would have stopped His

Majesty's first patrol boat for a look-see. Been lots of drugs bobbing in these waters the

past couple of months, creating too much cat-'n-mousin' hereabouts. Saturday last the Brits

even set off my night security siren, nosin in too close to shore." Malcolm presses another

remote button and a hundred meters ahead a 15-by-20-foot-high door rolls up.

Po Chan stands and looks over at Damien. "Perhaps another Peng-you Castle

retreat for us, Damien." Oblivious of Malcolm and Doc she presses a kiss to her palm and

puffs it at her sweetheart. Damien smiles a wink in reply.

The Sea Streakglides inside to a stop alongside the long dock. Seventy-five feet

ahead a smaller motorboat mounting twin outboards--also painted scarlet and trimmed in

bright yellow--rolls about, disturbed by the arriving waves. Almost immediately the

overhead door closes and locks them in. Outside, the floodlights to the sea disappear.

From the far end of the voluminous boat barn an elderly, tall, bald and sinewy

Asian man appears. He is shirtless and wears saffron bib overalls. Trotting to the boat, he

accepts a line from Doc and secures it to a dock cleat. A stoic statue, he then stands with

arms folded, like a dockside butler waiting for orders. Malcolm's guests stand mesmerized

by his embracing stare.

"Ylam-wa, please introduce yourself to our guests, here. Malcolm touches Doctor

O'Casey, Po Chan, and Damien as he states their names.

"I am from Shigatse Tsang Province in Tibet. If you are Malcolm Zebe's friends

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Po ChanA Story of Loveand guests, then I am your humble, faithful servant, Ylam-wa."

Thank you, Ylam-wa." Malcolm steps to the dock and puts his arm across the

Tibetan's shoulders. "Ylam-wa is a Tibetan monk from Phensung Gompa Monastery. We

met there after Korea and Divinity School at Yale, during my three-year sojourn in search

of the fist of the Great Absolute, the chi, the intrinsic energy of existence. He taught me

aboutZen, the Mahayana movement of Buddhism, mostly by his example of the need for

meditation, the enlightenment of why, and the need for intuitive truth. I have mixed Zen

with Christianity, and have resolved that, like Albert Schweitzer, the African missionary,

happiness is realized only by serving others. In brief: you give; therefore, you receive!"

Embarrassed, he makes a priestly Sign of the Cross for them. "Didn't mean to preach,

folks." He pats Ylam-wa's back. "Anyway, Ylam-wa and I helped each other to escape the

Chinese horde." The Asian monk smiles slightly. "Ylam-wa, please show Doctor Hobbs

and his wife, Po Chan, to our guest house, and see to their comfort." The monk-

manservant hesitates his smiling, and then raises his hand to speak.

"What do you wish to say, my friend?"

"Sahib, you have found Lee Wing On's daughter. Yes?" The monk does not await a

reply but continues speaking in Cantonese directly to Po Chan. "Your good father is my

very dear friend. We were playmates in the 1930's during the Japanese occupation of

Manchuria. Someday, perhaps, we may talk of him?"

Po Chan quizzically studies the balding, aged monk, and then soberly replies in her

native tongue. "Priest of Buddha, you remember well. Father's stories to me mentioned

you, but not by name. He called you, Boy Buddha, and how as children, at great risk, you

would flatten Japanese truck tires." Po Chan next speaks to Damien. "What now, my

husband. Our cat again has escaped from the bag! Father and this good monk were child-

hood companions in Japanese Manchukuo many years ago, and he still honors his

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Po ChanA Story of Lovememory."

Malcolm, understanding the Cantonese, asks his Buddhist friend. "What path do

you suggest Po Chan follows from here, Ylam-wa? You may be unaware that Lee Wing On

has placed a price on her head--a finder's reward of one million U.S. dollars."

"I am mindful of her plight, Sahib." The robe-less Zen sage steps close to Po Chan,

folds his hands before her, and deeply bows, and speaks to her again in her native

Cantonese. "The money does not interest me, my child, but the well-being of Lee Wing

On's only child does." His dark eyes shift to Damien, "And you, Doctor Damien Hobbs,

are equally hunted--by your government's FBI and NASA people. I do not envy your

perplexing situation, and know not what path you should follow." He picks up their

overnight bags, and offers, "If I may be of any assistance whatsoever to either of you,

please do not hesitate to ask."

Malcolm clears his throat. "Ylam-wa, after you have Po Chan and Damien settled

in their quarters, please come to the main house to assist me in preparing dinner for our

guests.

Doctor O'Casey ignored to now, tugs on his friend's shirt. "May I camp here on the

Sea Streaktonight, Malcolm?"

Stern faced, Malcolm answers, "You certainly may not, Doctor! You are to sleep in

the master suite in the Big House! Remember? I owe you! Recall when we parted

company in Korea, when the shooting stopped--lucky you to the States, and unlucky me

sentenced to occupation duty for another 60 days." He screws up his face and snarls his

teeth. "I told you then we were blood brothers until death did us in. Well, this R and R

here for you and your friends is the partial payment for becoming my mentor-protector, for

foxhole-sitting with me way back when. You said then--your words verbatim--A steak

dinner would suffice. Remember, Sarg?" He slaps Doc's backside, takes his arm, and

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Po ChanA Story of Lovetogether, like long lost brothers, they walk and talk from the boat barn up a lighted pathway

between a plethora of terraced flowers through a second Garden of Eden, toward a

contemporary split-level creation of stained glass, sea stone, and heavy, rough cedar. It

would capture the eye of Frank Lloyd Wright if his spirit happened by.

The shirtless monk, in saffron yellow overalls, opens the door to the tile-roofed,

white-stucco, veranda-bordered guest cottage, and nods for Po Chan and Damien to enter

ahead of him. They stop in the foyer eyeing the pastel, rainbow painted entry room: the

kitchen-dining area of the diamond-shaped bungalow. Two small bedrooms, one to the

right and one to the left off a short, narrow passageway that opens into a sunken great-room

looking out at a flowering, pristine jungle, at an open starry sky, and a surfing bay. Po

Chan takes Damiens hand and leads him past the bedrooms to the room's wide windowed

wall. Forgetting Ylam-wa's presence, they stand close and dream beyond the overcast of

low broken clouds and the yellow crescent moon attempting to light up the darkness of

night for them. The bay view is a sight sought, but seldom found by lovers the world

around. The monk clears his throat and breaks their trance.

"Allow me to show you the bedrooms and where you may freshen up for dinner

within the hour. He points them into one of the bedrooms, stands in the doorway and

explains the contents of the room to them. "The other bedroom is near identical, should

you care to sleep apart." The monk bows and leaves them to fetch their garment bags and a

single overnighter. Alone at last, the two lovers embrace and memorize a dream come

true. Po Chan begins to cry.

"Sweetheart, why the tears? Is there something wrong?"

"Nothing is a mistake. Everything is so near to perfect! I always cry when I am

very happy. And tonight I have you, my Damien, my happiness!" They stand, embracing,

memorizing the moment, and gaze past the half-mirrored, tall pine poster bed with its

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Po ChanA Story of Loveinviting clean white sheets and plump blue pillows. They stare through the drawn pink and

white vertical blinds at moon beams conjuring fairy phantoms frolicking among the

shadows of wide-spreading oaks alive with swinging moss and climbing tropical flowers.

Two hanging baskets of sweet-scented blooming bougainvillea, a wide pine dresser with a

matching vanity and bench, a soft, black leather Roman couch and lounge chair, several

teak corner tables topped with brass chimney lamps, complete the room. Po Chan pulls

Damien to the bed and collapses across it, exclaiming, "Oh, Damien, this is so wonderful,

so inviting to rest and romance."

Damien stretches out next to his mate, kisses her lips and sighs, "This cannot be for

real! It's like waking up on Kowloon Peak, only here we have Malcolm's cottage instead of

Lee's Castle; an ocean instead of a swimming pool; a cool breeze from off the sea instead

the mountain air." Po Chan gets up, embarrassed by Ylam-wa's stoical stare, from the open

doorway. She pulls Damien to his feet.

"Disciple of Buddha, you are most gracious to look after us. Please put my things

over there. She points to a wide window seat. I shall remember you to Father when we

soon return to Florida." Damien squeezes her hand and wonders why the lie. He knows

that Bermuda, or the Azores, or even Ireland most probably lie ahead of them.

Have you decided, Doctor Hobbs? Do you wish to occupy a separate room? The

other"--he turns and points--"is similar only with a morning exposure and indigenous

furnishings."

Po Chan answers for them. "We sleep together. The sunset view from here is our

preference."

The monk places their two overnight bags on the wide window bench and smiles.

"You may find more enjoyment in exploring this bungalow than in my distracting you with

the obvious about it. It was built by Sahib Zebe many years ago, his first home on the

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Po ChanA Story of Loveisland." The Tibetan monk bows slightly. "Please be at the main house within the hour.

Sahib Zebe grills delicious, thick steaks, but does not like them to cool before the last

bite." His cheeks rise; his mouth opens, showing an incomplete set of gold and white teeth.

He bows and leaves them.

Po Chan, like an infatuated teenager, presses Damien's arm against her breasts and

dreams her hopes into his blue eyes. She leads him into the kitchen-pantry area where

several cupboard louver doors stand half open displaying linens, foodstuffs, bottled water,

and toilette articles. Damien opens a refrigerator and smiles at Po Chan. "He must have

expected a picky, pregnant princess: dill pickles, chocolate and yogurt, pears and apples,

tins of sardines and caviar, bottles of zinfandel and Amaretto di Amore, and a choice of

beer or ale. Ylam-wa is either a psychic or has a crystal ball for an eye."

"Ylam-wa doesn't realize that you are my complete happiness. These amenities

only serve to garnish my appetite for you, my Damien!" She goes to the small wet bar and

sits on a soft-seated stool before an aquarium window and eyes a dozen tiny rainbow

painted tropical fish. They line up facing her, tails waving, mouths puckering against the

glass begging for crumbs. She taps a container over them and watches them grab and gulp

at the flaky, floating food."

Damien looks at the tropical fish for a moment and kisses her hair. "We had better

listen to Ylam-wa's advice and clean up for dinner." In the bedroom he unzips their

luggage, takes an electric razor and goes to the bathroom. Moments later he reappears in

the doorway and whistles at Po Chan. "Come here and gander at this emperors comfort

station, my princess!" Po Chan bows her head, folds her hands, and, like an obedient

concubine, shuffles past her lover into the romantic powder room.

"A teak tub and twin sinks for the two of us!" She opens a clear glass door. "A

shower with room for you and me and a lot more!" She takes his hand and pulls him

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Po ChanA Story of Lovethrough the open door and points a finger at an armless chaise lounge, upholstered and

pillowed in white leather. "Is that for what I am thinking?" She turns, licks her lips, and

kisses Damien, then pushed him away with, "Not now, my Caucasian stud! Perhaps later

I am hoping!"

"You are halfway to term, Sweetheart She puts her finger to his lips.

"Doctor O'Casey also says I may enjoy sex until it becomes too uncomfortable."

She pats his crouch. There are many ways we Chinese women make over our men. And

does not the thought of a cool shower with me, followed by a princess' massage on that

lover's lounge there excite your imagination?"

"More than ever before, but later, much later, maybe a few months from now, a few

months after you deliver our twins, when the sweet-hurtin syndrome begins to torment you

again."

Po Chan squints her eyes, "Doctor O' Casey told you, did he notabout the two

beating hearts? I did not wish for you to worry. I asked him not to tell you."

"Under these unpredictable, dangerous circumstances, Doc thought I should know

about the twins." He kisses her, slaps her backside, and pats her stomach. "Who knows,

my pregnant princess, you just may have only me around when these two papooses scream

their first war cries." Damien glances at his watch and taps the crystal. "We best stop

lollygagging, wash up, and change--would not want our host to delay dinner just for us,

especially a juicy steak dinner."

It is 35 minutes later when they walk from the dream cottage toward Malcom's

Big House. The Ming princess has slipped into a sheath dress: a slinky, armless, ankle-

length creation. It is smooth fuchsia cotton, except for five pink and white dragonflies

rising upwards. Damien had chosen it for her at the Mac Arthur Mall in Norfolk after that

dreadful fire destroyed their home and most of their possessions. Fortunately, it is loose

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Po ChanA Story of Lovefitted and resembles a mid-term, maternity cocktail dress. The strand of yellow-orange

Vietnamese pearls, with their golden floating sunspots, glows alive around her tanned neck.

Damien, hatless, his blond hair tied in a ponytail, wears light blue slacks and a white, extra

large, short sleeve, collarless cotton shirt with two wide pockets. Halfway to the main

house he stops them and opens his left hand, palm down, under the moonlight. The silver

serpent ring from Po Chan seems alive, still swallowing its tail, around his little finger. The

square-cut ruby, diamond, and sapphire stones on his wide, white and yellow wedding

band, sparkle like tiny rainbow stars. Po Chan presses her open hand atop Damien's to

show her matching ring to the jealous galaxies aglitter above them. At Malcolm's mansion

Damien hits the door clapper. Po Chan squeezes his hand and worries aloud, I do so hope

we are presentable guests.

Ylam-wa and Malcolm greet Po Chan and Damien at the shark-engraved teak door.

"Another five minutes and I'd have ground those fillet mignons into hamburger meat and

burnt them on the grill," Malcolm sternly asserts.

Po Chan, startled by the terse statement, apologizes. "It is my sluggishness that

made us tardy, Mister Zebe. Kindly excuse my bad manners."

Damien catches the wink from Malcolm and adds, "Likewise for me, Malcolm. I'm

a novice nanny, not too experienced at prodding a princess into being punctual. May I

suggest that her highness scour the pots and scrub the grill as a lesson for her? Po Chan

glances daggers at Damien.

Doc appears from the stairway to the bedroom wing, and, like a protective imperial

khan declares, "Now hear this you three Simon Legrees, I'll not have you harassing my

pregnant patient at dinnertime." He hugs Po Chan and kisses her hand, "My beautiful

bonny lassie, should you ever tire of this here doctor of 'aero-spacerie,' send me an e-mail,

and I'll happily sweep you away to me Ireland and stroll with ye through green meadows

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Po ChanA Story of Loveby the bubbling brooks leading to Heaven!" At Doc's flash of wit, all, including a relieved

Po Chan, burst into laughter. Even a chuckle finds its way through a crack in Ylam-wa's

stony expression.

"Would our young guests please follow me. Sahib suggests I take you on a tour of

our home." He motions for them to follow and leads them up the thickly, red carpeted,

glass-sided staircase, then patiently, throughout the four, two-bedroom suites. Each palatial

apartment is nostalgically furnished and textured to make even the Empress Catharine, or

Shakespeare, or Bathsheeba, or Attila, feel at home. Scenic lanais, with windowed ceilings

of the heavens, grace each bedroom, and make Po Chan hold Damien close to her heart and

whisper in his ear, "Would not it be Paradise gained, my darling, to enjoy a wedding night

in one of these exotic suites of love?"

"Let's wish for an exciting interlude in each of them, and end up four times closer to

Heaven?" Damien whispers back.

Ylam-wa overhears them and quietly offers, "My princess, if that is your wish, it

can be arranged." He bows and departs, leaving them alone in the Atilla Suite, still

embracing under a moonlit Asian sky like a lovesick Mongolian princess and her lover.

Minutes later Damien and Po Chan enter the spacious great-room. Her eyes

widen. She releases Damien's hand, and playfully pirouettes once around the atrium-

centered dance floor like a happy forest fawn bounding about the first sunlit clearing in its

new life. Damien whistles! He takes several steps into Malcolm's living room, looks

skyward and does a 360, and exclaims, "The atmosphere in here is so bright and open, and

clean--makes me want to yodel for an echo!" Their eyes widen the more they absorb the

lifetime of amenities and artifacts on display: a lion's head stares at them from the center

of a wall mirror; fish of all shapes and colors swim about on an abstract wall-wide coral

reef mural; a library of books and globes and maps makes up another wall. In front of a

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Po ChanA Story of Lovelong, semi-circled couch of soft, natural, pink calf leather, a glossy white TV-CD-Radio

combination is built into a rough-cut mahogany-planked wall. They find their way to a pink

marble fountain overflowing water into a light blue tiled, four-lane indoor-outdoor pool and

follow its mosaic perimeter through a glass door into a large, moonlit, screened enclosure.

Its high-walled, flowering, fern-fanned jungle hides the pool from the world outside.

Damien puts his arm around Po Chan's waist and hugs her close. "'Wanna' skinny-dip

before dinner, my merry Ming mermaid?"

"Later, perhaps." She teases him with a kiss, darting her tongue between his lips,

then breaks the embrace and leisurely begins to walk ahead of him.

"We must tell your father about this place. He'd probably kidnap the mosaic artist

to redecorate Peng-you Castle's pool." Po Chan takes Damien's hand, and together they

stroll and marvel over the wide, woven mosaic's shades of black and gray and white history

of ships that plied the seas of time: a caterpillar-oared single-sail Viking dragon ship,

Greek and Roman triple decked slave galleys, a lateen on the Nile, the Mayfloweroff Cape

Cod, Nelson's three-decked, 100-gun Victory booming away at Trafalgar; a lumbering

Spanish Black Ship amidst square, batten-sailed junks; Old Ironsides dismasting the

Guerriere, the clipper ship Flying Cloudwith ballooning sails, the paddle-wheel steam-

sailer Savannah, a sinking Lusitania with a U-Boat watching nearby, and the exploding

carrier Yorktown eyed through a periscope. Damien stops their meandering when he sees

Malcolm motioning to them.

"Dinner must be ready. We can finish our sightseeing little later, Sweetheart."

"Oh, how I yearn to again swim with you at Peng-you Castle, my Damien!"

Unaware of Malcolm's presence at the kitchen doorway, she kisses him lightly on the cheek

and sings, "Let us forget what is past, and pretend a honeymoon at last!" They turn at the

sound of Malcolm clearing his throat. He carries two glasses of red wine; one is only a

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Po ChanA Story of Lovequarter full.

"Them fillet mignons grilled by this here connoisseur of beef, shall be medium rare

under your knife and fork in twenty minutes. In the meantime, you two lovebirds set

yourselves down here and enjoy this appetizing wine and that panorama of Malcolm's

Moonlight Bay out there." He raises the quarter-full glass. "This was prescribed by your

Doctor O'Casey, you beautiful lady." Po Chan lowers her blushing face. He tastes the wine

in each glass as he hands it to them. An old habit I remember from my days as Kublai

Khan's taster. Backing off a step from them he pauses, then soberly orders, "Swim only in

this pool here! Sharks surf off the bay's beach." He lifts his face, now grinning widely and

winks. "And, oh, yes, Mrs. Hobbs, you may fantasize and honey-moon at your pleasure,

and in any or all of the upstairs apartments. But Ylam-wa must chaperon you, of course."

He chuckles and heads back to the kitchen.

Just as Ylam-wa has everyone seated, the tall mahogany grandfather clock gongs

nine times. Malcolm stands and spoon-taps his glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. "You all,

please remain seated whilst I beseech the First Cause, the Last Cause, the Cause of All

Causes of all that was, or that is, or that shall be, to breathe His tolerance upon us, His

divine children, His pinpoint images in this cosmos of eternity, of timeless being." He

closes his eyes, lowers his head, and slowly prays, "We thank you, Jesus, Allah, Buddha,

and the many and other Gods of our forefathers, for this meal from the best of your fruits of

which we are about to partake!" He raises his glass. "And now, in my home where only

my friends come to dine, everyone proposes a toast." He lifts his wine higher. "Here's to

my best friends, Ylam-wa and Doctor O'Casey, and to two new friends, Doctor and

Princess Hobbs, that you all keep faith in your Creator, live honest and rewarding lives, and

die the happy death!" After a moment of silence he adds, "And that you, Po Chan, soon be

reconciled with Lee Wing On and again become one family in trust and in love!" The Wall

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Po ChanA Story of LoveStreet wizard clinks glasses around. All follow his lead and taste their wine. "Doctor

Hobbs, your toast?"

Damien rises and raises his glass. "To all of your good fortunes, but especially to

Doc's, that he soon marries his sweetest of hearts, his Tonia, and honeymoons here with her

until the they run out of stars to count and dreams to dream!" They all raise and sip their

wine with Damien.

Malcolm points a finger at his Asian friend. "It is your turn to honor us with your

words of wisdom, my Zen spinner of prayer wheels, and my Tibetan compatriot."

Ylam-wa rises and holds his glass chest high. "I seldom taste wine, but since

friendships cannot be enhanced by spirits, I am denying myself nothing by drinking it with

you at my benefactor's request." The saffron-robed monk, wearing a cook's heavy, white

apron, lifts his glass to eye level. "That each of us passes from this existence into Nirvana,

never having to again travel through this Earthly gauntlet of intolerance and man-made

madness and suffering." He quickly, barely tastes his wine and sits down, stoically sober

and straight. Malcolm nudges Doc.

Doc raises his glass again and studies the clear and believing hazel eyes beneath

Malcolms bushy, black brows. "To wealthy, practicing altruists who often die penniless,

theirs are the souls of the saints." He looks around at the others and adds, "But mostly to

old friendships, and to new friendships; may we keep them beyond eternity!"

Malcolm lifts his glass higher and calls out, Here! Here!

Po Chan rises without prompting. She holds her wine glass waist high with both

hands, and with eyes closed proposes, "Wing yuen yau yee maan sui!" Only Ylam-wa nods

at the Cantonese cheer. She opens her eyes, lifts her glass higher, and repeats her toast in

English, "To eternal friendships that last beyond ten thousand years!" She sits, empties her

glass, and closes her eyes again. Damien reaches over and proudly pats her arm. She opens

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Po ChanA Story of Loveher eyes, smiles, and asks Malcolm, "May I help to serve dinner?"

"You may certainly not! " Malcolm empties his glass and motions for Ylam-wa to

follow him to the kitchen. "You three are guests in our home. Please keep your seats and

swap tales of happier days, of course, after you call upon your Christ Jesus to bless the

steaks I borrowed from His storehouse for the nourishment of your bodies. This repast is

on Ylam-wa and yours truly. Enjoy!" He presses a remote on the table, and Beethoven's

Moonlight Sonata softly permeates the dining area.

It is now eleven thirty, and The Merry Widdow Waltzrefreshes the sleepy mood in

the great-room. Doc has just finished his apple pie topped with frozen vanilla yogurt. He

stands, muffles a slight belch with his fist and claps his hands for silence, then walks

behind Malcolm and places his hands on his friend's shoulders. "This man is my only

blood brother; in fact, my only brother, for I have no other! He, and Jesus Christ, my Lord,

have never let me go hungry--in truth; neither would know how to be uncharitable to

anyone." He returns and stands by his own chair and waves his hand across the table.

These empty plates and platters and goblets and rumpled napkins are testament enough to

gourmet chefs and delicious feasting. Malcolm and Ylam-wa's care and warm-heartedness

shown to us, three unannounced guests, is much more than magnanimous altruism. They

have made their home our safe harbor in a following sea of violent misfortunes." He goes

to Po Chan and takes her hand and tugs at it, then releases it and winks at her startled face.

"I've relished this scrumptious banquet, but you, my dearl, are on the last page of my book

of dreams, for you see, I ne'r danced with a lassie Princess as lovely as thee." Doc

hesitates. His smile evaporates. Embarrassed by his brashness, he looks at Damien who

smiles and nods his approval. He takes her hand again and bows. "Please grant me, an old

man, this one last boon. Waltz with me once around that ball-room, there!" He jesters

toward the great-room, where shadows and cloudy moonbeams already lie in waiting to

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Po ChanA Story of Loveembrace and sway to the music.

Smiling, Po Chan reaches down and unzips her sheath from ankle to mid-thigh,

exposing a slender, smooth, ivory-tanned leg, then rises and curtsies and offers her hand to

the tipsy doctor. She flutters her glossy, ebony eyes at him. "Why, Doctor O'Casey, I

thought you would never ask. It would delight me to be yourMerry Widow and circle with

you through the finale of your fantasy." She follows him down onto the sea of green, tiling

the floor of the mini ballroom. Accepting his strong, reassuring hand about her waist, she

closes her eyes and leans out from him. The Ming princess swings in circles with her

doctor, around and around the ballroom, like a graceful ballerina, until, an eternal moment

later, the music, the waltzing, and the dreaming stops.

Po Chan opens her eyes and kisses Doc's cheek. "You have been so wonderful to

us, Doctor O"Casey! Damien and I do love you like a father, you know!" The three men

still seated at the dinner table clap their hands at the entertainers.

Ylam-wa excuses himself and goes to the kitchen. Moments later he carries a teak

tray with a goblet of cold cranberry juice, three ponies of di Amore Amaretto, and, for

himself, a cup of black tea. "Nightcaps for the five of us," he offers as he sets the drinks

before them The cranberry juice, Doctor OCaseys tonic, is for our princess.

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Chapter 19 - Out to Sea

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