Joe Burkes Last Stand | Page 6

were anima projections.
When he was 24, he'd had a disastrous affair and afterwards discovered
the explanation in a book by Jung. A man loses touch with his female
side and then sees an unlucky woman who resembles the inner image
of his lost self. POW, he is on her, has to have her. Irrational trembling,
dry throat, pounding heart, out of control-it's an anima projection.
Women do it too, of course, the other way around.
"Yes?" the woman asked. She had brown eyes.
"Oh, God," Joe said. "Excuse me. I was thinking about anima
projection."
"Psychology's in there." She pointed to another room. "This is
cooking."
"Ah, yes, well . . . " Joe turned away. The floor was slick with banana
peels. He made it around the corner and took a breath. Too old for this,
he said to himself.
He drifted through several rooms and found Economics in One Lesson
by Hazlitt, a book he'd heard about for years. He was interested in the
economy because his small savings were mostly in the stock market.
He picked up a copy of _Trader Vic -- Methods of a Wall Street
Master_ by Victor Sperandeo. By the time he chose a tape of slack key
guitar by Cyril Pahinui, Gabby's son, it was dark. On his way out, he
averted his eyes from the cooking section, but he needn't have; the
woman was gone.
The Edgewater Hotel bar has floor to ceiling windows on the water. Joe
ate a sandwich and watched huge ferries slide through the night,
brilliant against the black water. They made the Portland, Maine ferries
look like life boats. Joe went to bed early, slept fitfully, and spent the
next day walking, reading, and exercising. His back wasn't what it
was--too many years in front of a computer monitor. If he kept at the
yoga exercises, it didn't bother him, but a real day's work would be the
end. For a long time he could do whatever the kids could, and then he

couldn't. It made a divide between them and even, sometimes, between
the past and present. Memory was suspect; did he really do that?
"You did, Dad, you really did." Fortunately, Kate was there, confirming
the past, regaling Jackson with stories from the old days. They were
eating seafood linguini in her apartment. Jackson listened as he twirled
pasta with his fork and spoon. He was tall and thin, pleasant. His hair
was dark, pulled back into a short pony tail. He drank a lot of wine
without seeming to be much affected. His eyes got brighter.
They considered Kate's new painting which was propped up on a side
table. A young woman stood in a barn door looking out at a rainy
morning and an apple tree in full white bloom. Her hair was long and
brown; her bare feet interacted with paint splattered floor boards. She
seemed to dance without moving.
"Lot going on," Jackson said.
"Lot of life in there for an old guy," Joe said. "What do you think for a
frame?"
Jackson considered. "Simple, but with relief--to give it a little more
depth, be more inside the barn."
"Definitely simple," Kate said.
"I see what you mean," Joe said. "That will be my part, Kate--getting it
framed."
"I could do that," Jackson said.
"Hey, great. Let me know what it costs . . . "
Jackson lifted a hand. "No problem. I've got a friend with a frame
shop."
"That's quite a chess set," Joe said, pointing to a low table by a
bookcase. The pieces were hand carved and had a warm waxed shine.
They were slightly larger than usual and looked as though they were

meant to be handled.
"Jackson made those last winter," Kate said. "He just makes this
stuff--like knitting or something." Jackson looked embarrassed. "Dad,
how long are you going to be in Seattle?"
The question had been floating in the back of Joe's mind. The answer
crystallized, "Not long." They waited for him to continue. "I don't know
what I'm going to do, really, but I'm feeling jumpy. I'll let you know.
You've got my e-mail address; I'll check in every so often." He wanted
to keep his uncertainty away from Kate. It wasn't so much that he
wanted to shield her, but more that he needed to confront the future
unhindered by old patterns of relating and response.
"Stick around," Kate said. "The longer the better."
Jackson smiled neutrally. A good time to leave, Joe thought.
"Very nice to meet you, Jackson," he said. He hugged Kate and left,
feeling that they were a good match.
On the way off the hill, he noticed the Caffe Ladro and remembered the
woman in the bookstore. The next morning, he thought about checking
out of