A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [81]
“I’ve done my little bit, made my small contribution,” he would say as his eyes misted to the students of mixed gender. “As Pearl, Pearl Buck, God rest her, said just before she passed on upstairs, ‘Christopher,’ she said, ‘keep the flame.’”
As he stared at the new students, some of whom had long since ripened, he wondered which of them, male or female, would become his bed mate for the summer.
“It is time to pass the torch,” Christopher whispered.
Rita Maldonado realized in less than two weeks that she had bought an ultimate con. Or she faced an ultimate reality about her writing. No one can teach writing sitting in a happy circle barbecuing each other’s writings. The criticism sessions could have killed a budding Shakespeare. Christopher drooled and dozed as his students had at it.
Rita was packing to leave when Quinn held up the brass knocker on the Jack London cabin. He was suddenly stricken with a notion that Rita might be in the middle of…well, a scene.
He used the knocker and took a step backward.
Rita opened the door and squinted through the screen.
“I’ve come to see you,” he said.
The screen door squealed open, and he inched into the cabin. She was so beautiful he had to lower his eyes for fear of blushing. Rita took his hand to her lips and kissed the joint of one finger at least a dozen times. Then she reached behind him and slid the bolt.
Their foreheads came together gently. She began to tremble.
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” Quinn said, “but I feel like…this here, now is the great beyond…and we’re floating…Rita, I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
She brought Quinn’s hand to her blouse and unbuttoned the top button with him, never taking her eyes from his, button by button.
“I love you, Rita.”
“Yes! Yes!”
She wore no bra.
“God, you’re beautiful. I’ve been a real fool.”
“Yes,” she said.
“I’m worried that—”
She pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t worry. Quinn, you’re never going to want to leave me.”
“I think you’re right,” Quinn said.
“Shall we be lovers?”
“I want you so bad.”
“Bad or badly?”
“Both,” he said.
She turned from him and went to a big armchair. “Just enjoy,” she said, “I want to undress for you.” There wasn’t all that much to disrobe, jeans and panties. She did it deliberately, as she must have practiced the moment a hundred times in her fantasies.
Rita sat on the big arm of the chair and struck a pose, handed him her panties. Quinn rubbed it against his cheek, then tried to eat it, drink it, bite it.
The dinner gong sounded for those for whom the gong rang.
Chapter 20
TROUBLESOME MESA—EARLY 1980s
Events, both sorrowful and joyous, befell Troublesome Mesa. Father Sean Logan, the gentle priest, passed away. He had never forgiven himself for his counseling an abortion for Quinn’s sweetheart; nor had he fully accepted the vows that imposed secrecy in the matter of Quinn’s biological parents.
Siobhan O’Connell, a church functionary with high mid-level contacts, began a quiet probe at Sean’s funeral about locating the mysterious Monsignor Gallico. It was fruitless. He had disappeared, leaving no footprints.
A few months later, Daniel O’Connell had another more devastating stroke that almost totally debilitated him.
A moment of unabashed bliss happened for the wedding of Quinn and Rita. Over three hundred people from all over the state gathered to celebrate. The wedding vows were performed at Dan’s bedside. Dan died shortly after with his wife holding one hand and his son holding the other.
So let it be. A bombastic wedding celebration and wake took place together with a party that Troublesome Mesa would never forget.
* * *
Quinn grieved for Dan in his long walk through the darkness. For all their being at odds, for all the mistakes, he and his father had ended up on the same road. Quinn realized that he and his father had been cemented by the same sense of honor and love developed in the Marine Corps. No matter Dan’s flaws, these were overwhelmed by loyalty and honesty and courage.
After