Singer Without a Song
By Chris James
Chapter Sixteen
Louie's house was silent as a tomb when they arrived home. Alan and John had come bursting through the door after Frank had dropped them off and had met nothing but silence.
"What's going on here?" John said.
"No one is home. Nothing unusual there," Alan said.
John walked into the kitchen just as Alan went upstairs to put their bags in the Blue Room.
"Oh God, no," John yelled from the kitchen downstairs and Alan went running to see what had happened.
John was sitting at the kitchen table, the morning's Washington Post spread out before him. The caption below Bill's picture read, "William A. Devine, well known novelist and philanthropist, dies at age 62."
"Oh Alan, he's dead."
"Louie will need us," Alan said.
"And you never had the chance to thank him," John said.
"For what?" Alan asked.
"I'm sure it doesn't matter now, I'll tell you later."
They called a taxi for the ride over to Bill's mansion. A line of cars blocked the driveway up to the front entrance so John paid the driver and they walked up the long circular roadway. The gates, which had been left open, were draped in black material.
Small groups of men, drivers mostly, stood about beside the rows of limousines parked on the lawn. There must have been eighty to a hundred cars scattered everywhere. Alan spotted the Mustang sitting off to one side. Louie was here. If Bill had suddenly died then he would be nowhere else.
A group of dark suited men stood beside the doors at the top of the wide staircase. Only then did John realize they should have dressed better before they came. Right now it didn't matter for Louie stood in the entrance hall talking to a somber looking bunch. He immediately broke away when he saw them walk through the door.
"Oh, thank God you're here," He said, giving them both a hug.
"What happened," Alan asked.
"His heart gave out, poor man. The doctors wouldn't tell me anything. We had to wait until Mitch flew in this morning to even get in the house."
"Are you all right, Louie?" John asked.
"No, I'm not. But I've cried all I'm going to until the funeral. There is just too much to do before they bury him. It's on Wednesday by the way."
"Where is Mitch?" Alan asked.
"She's upstairs with the lawyers, a carnivorous bunch of old fools if you ask me. She asked about you this morning so be sure and offer your condolences when you see her."
"Can we help do anything?" John asked.
"Ever the practical one, aren't you," Louie smiled. "Well after the funeral we're doing a parade to the cemetery. Want to join us?"
"Us, as in the GDW?" Alan asked.
"Bill wouldn't have it any other way, now would he?"
"No, I suppose not," Alan said. "But do you think Washington is ready for this?"
"I guarantee we'll open a few eyes when it happens. But most of the politicos will be out of town anyway," Louie said.
"Yeah, in Chicago," John said and he looked at Alan.
"That damn fool convention," Louie said, "Like anyone is going to Chicago for that."
"We are," Alan said with a smile.
"Oh Lord, but you just got back. Did you see the FBI agents out front?"
"Uh, no, are they here?" Alan asked.
"Bill covered your ass completely before he left us, dear man. But you'll have to talk with them sooner or later," Louie said.
"Later sounds better," John said.
There was a commotion at the top of the stairs and about ten men in dark suits walked down followed by Mitch and several of her friends. She got to the bottom of the stairs and looked around until her eyes fell on Alan. She immediately headed their way.
"Welcome back, kiddo," Mitch said.
"I'm really sorry... " Alan began.
"Bill did it to himself, and not that I didn't love him, he just never listened to me about controlling his weight. Ah, but you can't say he didn't live a full life. So what's this about a parade, Louie?"
"The girls would like to follow the hearse to the cemetery," Louie said.
Mitch looked at John who coughed to cover his desire to laugh, but she understood.
"Do you think it will be dignified? A lot of straight people will be there and your friends gave been known to get out of hand."
"I can promise you it will not be a carnival," Louie said. "Dignified will be the theme, Bill would like that."
"John and I will help him out," Alan said.
"Now ain't you the dears," Mitch said. "And just so you know, Bill signed the papers for your trust fund the other day. It was probably the last thing he did. With his death I imagine the book will be a bestseller from the start."
"Trust fund?" Alan said.
"He doesn't know, we haven't had the chance to tell him," John explained.
Mitch gave Alan a hug. "Oh honey, you're a millionaire and you don't even know it. Keep me informed about the parade, will ya? I'll walk with you too if you don't mind?"
"We wouldn't have it any other way," Louie said.
"We're millionaires?" Alan said.
"Not yet, but soon," John said, "I'll explain. See Bill decided to write a story... "
But just at that point two other dark suits walked up and they didn't look like mourners.
"Alan Sommers? Agent Webb, FBI, we need to speak with you."
John started to say something but Alan waved him off. "Sure, can we talk here or do I have to go downtown? I'm afraid my lawyer isn't available."
"Yes, sorry, we know about Mr. Devine. We can talk here if you like. Can we step outside?"
"I'd like John to be present, if that's ok?"
"I suppose Mr. Bateman can witness the questioning, he'll just have to remain silent," Webb said.
"Sure, let's get out of here," Alan said, giving John a wink.
The boys followed the two agents out to the street where their car was parked. Just what these guys hoped to accomplish, John didn't know, but he knew Alan wasn't going to tell them anything useful.
Alan and John got in back while the two agents sat up front.
"Do you mind if we record this for the record?" Webb asked.
"Yes, please do, can I get a copy?"
"I'm sure that will be possible," Webb said. He turned on the small cassette recorder and turned to face Alan.
"State your name for the record, please."
"Alan Sommers."
"What can you tell us about the events...where were you on July fourth of this year?"
"John and I decided to go to the National Mall and see the fireworks but I fell asleep on the couch instead," Alan said and then he smiled. John felt an energy flow directed at the agents.
"And what can you tell us about the events...where were you on July fourth of this year?" Webb repeated.
"When I woke up from my nap it was too late for fireworks. It was around nine o'clock, so we stayed home and watched them on television."
"And what can you tell us about the events...where were you on July fourth of this year?"
"We'd had a cookout that afternoon. I ate too many burgers while John put away a whole bunch of hot dogs."
And then the agents froze in place. Alan turned to John and laughed.
"How long do you think I should keep this up?"
"You know this isn't right. I would be pissed at the abuse of your power if this wasn't so damn funny," John laughed. "Did you really stop time?"
"I believe so, even the recorder isn't working. They won't remember this, but wait until they get back to the office. Wish I could be there for that," Alan said.
"Is this going to hurt them?"
"Not physically or mentally, but they will be awfully embarrassed when they play this back. I better let go of this, do you think they've asked enough questions?"
"How about just one more?" John said.
"Ok, now wipe that smirk off your face."
Alan nodded his head and Webb blinked.
"Are you now, or have you ever been a member of the Students for a Democratic Society?"
"I wrote to them when I was in high school, but they never wrote me back. I did read some of their stuff but they're just too radical. I believe in non-violent protests. This war the government is perpetrating kills kids my age. I would be a fool not to object, it's my right as a citizen. I will be voting someday, then I and other young people like me will remember what is happening today. That's all I have to say."
Webb blinked again and turned off the recorder. "I'm sure you know the case against you on breaking into the draft board has been dropped."
"I'm aware of that," Alan said.
"A word of caution, just because I have a boy your age. The FBI has a long memory, they won't stop watching you. Getting involved in the politics of this country is everyone's right, but there is a right way and a wrong way to express your feelings. I've seen a lot of angry young men these past three years and many of them are behind bars now. So don't put yourself in that position, you won't survive it."
"Thanks for your honesty," Alan said.
"Remember," Webb said, "We're watching."
"Point taken," Alan said.
They got out of the car and walked back up the driveway.
"Hey, I did not eat that many hot dogs," John said and they both broke up laughing.
"I had to do that," Alan said. "Do you think it was wrong?"
"As a joke, no. But since you brought me along I imagine you wanted me to see just how strong your powers have become."
"If I had been here I could have stopped Bill's heart attack," Alan said.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously, but it wouldn't have been right. Namkhai reminded me that just because I can do a thing doesn't make it right. The Wheel turns with a purpose and the power we hold is all a part of guiding that purpose. Stopping time in a small place like that car is one thing. If I tried it on a global scale I would not only fail but it would cause severe ramifications."
"Your power is nothing to be played with, I get it," John said.
"And so do I," Alan smiled. "Namkhai took me out into the forest three days ago. He said it was to demonstrate what is possible yet impossible. We watched a bird fly from one limb of a tree and he stopped the bird in mid-flight. Of course it fell to the ground like a stone but Namkhai protected it from harm. When he released it the little guy took off again."
"So use the power, but not against nature?" John asked.
"Gravity, it couldn't overcome the power of gravity. The laws of nature is a correct
answer, you get an A."
"I understand the moral of your story, should I tell you?"
"Yes, please."
"You may have this awesome power but it is my role to advise you. I have also been the catalyst for guiding the flow of your powers. But now you seem to say that I also sit in judgment. Does that mean if I object then you are powerless?"
"You are my kryptonite, John Bateman. You represent nature and I cannot overcome your feelings if you object."
"Is this real or are you just making this up?"
"If only you had the power to do all these things you would understand," Alan said. "Without you there is no focus, no means for the power to be directed. Namkhai warned me of this as well. See, Deeban is his focus, his catalyst. When the old monk leaves this world then Namkhai will take his place."
"And need no catalyst. He will be just pure power."
"Exactly," Alan said. "See you figure this all out so easily, Namkhai had to explain every detail to me. Here comes Louie."
"How did it go with the Feds?" Louie asked.
"Just a waste of time," Alan said.
"Well we've decided that the parade will be all in black to show mourning," Louie said.
"That sounds appropriate," John said. "And classic black won't draw too much attention, will it?"
"Let's hope so, Bill had some pretty important straight friends too. Don't want them to get too uncomfortable. So Wednesday morning it is. The funeral starts at ten and then we'll march down Connecticut Avenue to the cemetery."
"And how far is this march?" Alan asked.
"About three miles, so don't wear heels," Louie said.
"You can count on that," John laughed.
"Be sure and tell your mother, John."
"I will, Louie. I'm planning to go over there tonight anyway and see my father."
"Really? I hope it goes well for you, let me know."
"I'm taking Alan, it could prove interesting."
It had been almost four months since John had set foot in his father's house. They drove down Connecticut and turned off into the quiet neighborhood behind the Safeway shopping center. Connie had said that the Sergeant would be home at six-fifteen if traffic from Virginia didn't hold him up. It was already a few minutes before six.
"I'm not afraid of him anymore," John said.
"You shouldn't be, he can't touch you," Alan said.
"No, I don't mean the physical violence. I grew up respecting his every wish, we all did. I mean we have established ourselves in a partnership, and I draw strength from that relationship. Emotionally I chose the high ground. I didn't fight back when it would have been easy. But more than that, I have been healed and found inner peace, he hasn't."
"So this confrontation is about him not you?" Alan asked.
"Yes. Mom says he hasn't been himself since that night. I've changed, matured, whatever you want to call it and he is still the same, there is no balance between us. If I can establish that I am secure, safe, going on with my life and then ask him to join us in that progress he will have to respond."
"They don't know about the money, do they?"
"No, it would threaten my father, I won't tell him."
"We're here," Alan said as he pulled into the driveway.
"Let's go in the kitchen door as always. He's not home yet anyway," John said.
Connie was her usual outgoing self but they could both tell she was on edge as she greeted them with coffee. She was preparing to ice a cake that stood on the kitchen counter.
"He'll be here any minute," She said.
"Stay calm, Mom," John said. "I just hope he'll talk to me."
"He will, honey, I'm sure," Connie said. "I just think he's been waiting for you to come to him."
"Mom and I will stay here in the kitchen," Alan said. "You let us know if there is anything we can do to help."
John smiled knowing full well that Alan would be tuned into the emotions from the minute his father walked in the door. They didn't have long to wait. Connie heard the car pull up and set her coffee cup down.
"How about a deep breath, everyone?" She said. They all took a breath and slowly let it out.
The front door opened and they heard the Sergeant call out, "Connie?"
"In here, dear," Connie replied, "We have guests."
The Sergeant stepped in the kitchen door and paused. He looked powerful in his dress uniform. Alan stared, he had never seen the Sergeant like this, medals and all. The Sergeant glared at first, and then his eyes softened as he looked at Connie, then Alan, then John.
"Hello, Sir," John said.
The Sergeant nodded at him and then did an about face back to the living room. John opened the refrigerator door and grabbed two bottles of beer. His father never drank domestic canned beer. Too many tours in Germany had given him a taste for the strong dark Germanic imports. John looked back at his mother and rolled his eyes, and then he followed his father.
The Sergeant was sitting in his favorite chair, tense and uncertain, at least that's the way John read it. He handed over a beer which was accepted and then took a seat on the end of the couch nearby.
"You brought that boy in my house," The Sergeant said.
"We're attached, he goes where I go. But I came here to talk about us, meaning you and me."
The Sergeant took a long pull on the bottle and set it down on a coaster. "So talk."
"A few things have changed since last we met," John began. "I'm no longer a high school radical, I'm a college radical. By that I mean I go to the temple and with my fellow Buddhists I pray for an end to this war.
"I live in a wonderful house with wonderful people that are just like me. They love me, respect me and give me purpose, but the one thing they ask me is what has happened with my father? I can't answer that question and that hurts me. Should I go on?"
The Sergeant nodded his head but never took his eyes off the hands in his lap.
"I grew up respecting my father and all he stood for. Then along came this dirty little war and my life changed. See, I'm not in the Army, but you are. They could order you to Vietnam, but not me. I won't join the military because I don't believe in them at this moment in my life. I'm going to college and while I'm there I hope to learn enough to put you and all your Army buddies out of work forever."
"You think that's possible?" The Sergeant said.
"I sure hope so, don't you? You once told us that a smart soldier learns to fight but hates war. Do you still believe that?"
"More than ever, John."
"But you're in a position where you have to follow orders. It must be difficult for you. Have you thought about retirement?"
"To do what? Work in a burger joint?"
"Mom's working, you could relax."
"Why are you here tonight?" The Sergeant asked.
"Because my father has been missing in action the past four months. He didn't come to my graduation and he doesn't even call me," John said.
"I'm sorry about the graduation, I couldn't face it."
"You couldn't face me in a cap and gown? Or is it that you can't face what you don't understand?" John asked.
"I've been trying to understand this gay thing, John, I have."
"So Mom tells me, thank you. It's not who I am, it's what I am. It doesn't involve you any more than say, me sitting in on a meeting at the Pentagon. I go to school, I go to the temple, I work a few hours at a veterinary hospital and I make a few dollars. The American dream, what else is there? Nothing has changed."
"You have a father that beats you up."
"After what I did to that boy at school and you still think you can beat me up?"
"That was a lucky punch," The Sergeant said, but he smiled.
"No, you know better than that. Frank taught me a whole lot more than your basic training taught you, how many decades ago was that?"
"Point taken. I overreacted, I apologize," The Sergeant said. "I hope it didn't do any permanent damage."
"I healed rather quickly thanks to Alan. And you must understand that he is now as much a part of my life as you and Mom. I don't ever want to be in the position of having to choose between you. I am grown, legally an adult and although I am not living here anymore I will always be my father's son. Can you accept me for what I am?"
"You are my son, John, my youngest knuckleheaded son."
"Thank you, Sir," John replied.
"You haven't touched your beer."
"I don't drink very often. It's not one of my habits."
The Sergeant looked towards the kitchen door. "Do you think they're listening?"
"I expect so," John said. "Can we join them at the table?"
The Sergeant and John stood up and faced one another. John stuck out his hand and the Sergeant shook it. It felt good to have peace between them.
Alan stood up when they came through the kitchen door. Connie was laying the table for dinner. John smiled and so did the Sergeant.
"So you two back on track?" Connie asked.
"Let's just say we're headed in the same direction now," The Sergeant said. "Hello, Alan, sorry this took so long." With that the Sergeant stuck out his hand and Alan shook it.
"Thank you, Sir," Alan replied.
The Sergeant, Connie and John laughed leaving Alan to wonder what had just happened.
"You never call a sergeant "Sir," but you may call him Sergeant," John said.
"But you call him Sir, don't you?"
"I'm allowed, he's my father," John said.
"They're staying for dinner," Connie said.
"Good," The Sergeant said, "What are we having?"
"Meatloaf," Connie said.
"Oh great, my favorite," The Sergeant said.
"It better be, mister," Connie said.
The Sergeant turned to Alan. "You see who really wears the stripes in this outfit?"
"Yes, Sergeant, I do," Alan laughed.
Alan could tell that John's life was back in balance on the ride home to Louie's place. Father and son had both shown great maturity in settling their differences, at least it seemed that way on the surface. He was sure the Sergeant would draw another line in the sand if John presented him with any more sucker punches. But what else was there to hide?
Chicago. The name came to Alan very quickly. He knew there was going to be a large presence of SDS there, also the Youth International Party, aka. The Yippies was planning protests around the convention center. In all there would be thousands of young people to energize and who knew what would happen when they all got stoned? Whose agenda would be served? Not the Democrats he was sure.
Hubert Humphrey was the favorite, a radical war hawk, and President Johnson's favorite whipping boy. John had been watching the speeches of Eugene McCarthy and George McGovern, the only anti-war candidates in the race. McCarthy was a favorite of the peace movement and that seemed to assure his failure. But the streets would be full of people protesting against the war, hoping to influence what was happening inside the convention and ready to explode if they didn't get what they wanted.
It was just such a report in the Post newspaper that made John hesitate about going.
"It says the mayor in Chicago won't issue any permits for the protest," John said as they sat down for breakfast the following morning. "You're planning to go up on Sunday?"
"Yeah, we have the funeral tomorrow and then a few days to plan for the rally. I'm not sure where we'll stay. I imagine most of the hotels are taken up by the convention."
"Maybe find us a place in a park, we could take sleeping bags," John said. "How are we supposed to hook up with the Buddhists?"
"I just figured we'd see them at some rally point and join in. It's kind of a loose thing, we didn't really plan it out," Alan said.
"Anyone else we know going?"
"You mean Terry, probably so. He joined the SDS you know, just went and signed himself up."
"The paper says the city is preparing to clamp down if there are problems. This Mayor Daley has over ten thousand uniforms in the city, he's even asked for National Guard troops. Alan, this may turn out all wrong."
"You want to back out already?"
"I didn't say that," John replied. "But if you put that many cops and thousands of protesters together it just seems like a recipe for disaster. It says here your old pal Rennie Davis is going to be there too, along with some guys named Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman. Has this become a Jewish revolt?"
"Probably New Yorkers, and who cares if they're Jewish?"
"Not I," John said, "It was meant to be a joke."
"So do you want to go or not?"
"I'll take a wait and see attitude right now. Let's see what happens up there this weekend. Besides, we have a funeral to worry about now, and that could turn into a riot right here in town."
"I wonder how many of the Grand Dames will show?" Alan said.
"All of them, I'm sure," John smiled.
The funeral at the DCC church was swamped with people and cars. The old building was filled to overflow and many just stood outside in silence during the service. But it couldn't have been a better mix of Washington society if Bill had planned it himself.
Foreign dignitaries, a few congressmen and senators, political appointees and civil servants all rubbed elbows with gay society. Alan lost count of the number of men that appeared in drag, dressed in mourning black, and on their best behavior. It was a riot to see some of the reactions from the straight folk when they realized what was in their midst. There were those that knew what to expect of Bill's world and those that only knew him as a lawyer and author. Some were even oblivious, though that number decreased as the service ended.
The coffin moved in dignity out to a waiting hearse, followed by Mitch and a few close friends, including Louie, Alan and John. But as many in the crowd watched, the Grand Dames formed up in ranks behind the hearse. Only then was it possible to pick out just who and what they were, and there were hundreds.
Bill had been well known and respected all over the country and many had come from far and wide to pay their respects. Somehow the word had gone round and they each came in respectable funeral attire, but drag all the way.
The hearse took off slowly preceded by several police cars and followed by Mitch and the hundreds of mourners on foot. The police had granted them a permit to walk since funerals were generally peaceful occasions, besides Bill had clout there as well.
The procession took almost 90 minutes and covered some of the most populated streets in Washington to the shock of many office workers just going out to lunch. Under normal circumstances a bunch of men in drag would have been hooted and ridiculed, but not today. The silent march seemed to stun the watchers, as if this was a ghostly apparition floating by at three miles an hour.
In fact, it took almost two hours for the last car following the walkers to reach the cemetery on northern Connecticut Avenue. The grave site ceremony was brief and sad. Many of the GDW cried in their black silk handkerchiefs and threw red roses on the casket before it was lowered into the ground.
Louie stood with the boys and cried until the ceremony was over.
"Will they put up a monument?" John asked, trying to divert Louie from his grief.
"Yes, he already had it picked out, dear man."
"You've seen it, John," Alan said.
"I have?"
"It's that beautiful boy in the upstairs hall, the marble piece. They're going to put it on a pedestal. It was Bill's favorite," Louie said, although he then smiled. "I remember the model was such a bitchy little queen, I always wondered why Bill kept the piece, but now I know."
"And that would be?" Alan asked.
"Imagine the revenge," Louie said. "The statue will stare at graves for the rest of its existence, only Bill could get the last laugh on that boy."
"What a thoughtful man," Alan said, and they all smiled at his memory.
The affair Mitch threw after the funeral was legendary, over two thousand attended. By then the drag queens and the high society mavens were sharing makeup and clothing secrets. The foreign dignitaries were pinching the bottoms of more than a few of the Dames, either knowingly or unknowingly. And it was later rumored that a few of the straight men had sexual encounters of the strange kind in hidden corners of the mansion. Alan and John were sure to ask and see the surveillance tapes when this was all over.
By Friday they had met with lawyers, heard the will read and signed papers drawn up by Bill about the trust fund. Mitch was the main beneficiary, but Louie got a bit and so did the GDW organization. In fact Bill gave Mitch the house with the stipulation that it remain open for GDW events to which she had no objections.
Alan and John were shocked to find that the trust had already received an infusion of cash from Bill's advance on the book. He had set aside every penny of that transaction for their benefit. Now they could afford a better college, a nicer car, or six or seven, and even a great hotel room in Chicago if they wanted.
But by Saturday night the television news was full of the riots that had occurred during the day in Chicago. The protesters threw rocks and were chased by police with clubs and tear gas. March organizers were arrested but then released. Mayor Daley promised to maintain law and order on the streets of his city. His little speech reminded John of several famous dictators he had seen on film in history class.
As he sat there on the couch, John knew they shouldn't go to Chicago, if only Alan would listen to reason. But as expected the argument fell on deaf ears.
"No, John, we have to go, don't you see? This is the turning point. The country is watching these clowns violating the civil rights of citizens. We're being beaten on the streets. It's like a complete totalitarian clamp down on freedom of speech."
"And you want to take us into that?"
"No, I just want to be there on the fringe. I want to feel what is being pushed against the protest, the thoughts behind crushing what they see as a revolt," Alan said. He was passionately waving his arms around and pacing the floor as he spoke.
"You want to use the power against them, don't you?" John asked. "You want to turn back the gas and the clubs. Oh, I can see it on your face."
"Would that be a bad thing? Don't we have a need to protect people from the forces used against their freedom? What good is this power if it can't be used for the good of others?"
"And others means the SDS?"
"Don't start that shit again, I am not with them, ok?"
"If you're so adamant about stopping the violence, why just stop at Chicago? You could go to Vietnam and shut down the war, stop time or whatever else it is you have in mind," John said. "But I will not go to Chicago and risk life and limb. Daley looks like an SS commander turning his storm troopers loose, people are going to die if this keeps up."
"And you won't go and help me stop it?" Alan said. "Fine, stay here then."
"You're still going?"
"Yes. Without you I may not be able to stop things but I can put in my two cents, I still have some powers outside your domain."
"Alan, I am not rejecting you, just the cause. This is no longer non-violent protest, this is a violent riot. I cannot condone such activity and neither should you."
Alan stopped pacing and got down on his knees before John. "I am not trying to hurt you but I have to go, can't you see that? This is going to be part of history and I need to see and feel it for myself. I won't be throwing rocks, I'll stay away from the cops, but I need to talk with people and feel their emotions."
John ran his fingers through Alan's silky hair. There was no stopping it. This would be what it would be.
"I love you, Alan. And when you love something this much you sometimes have to let it go. I'll worry the whole time you're gone, it's what lovers do best. But where will you be, can you do this alone?"
"I'll look for the orange robes. Grant Park is where they say everyone is gathering, I'll be there," Alan said.
"I'll help you pack," John said.
He could not bring himself to be angry. Alan was going into danger and nothing could stop him. The power of his mind might protect him from fools and con artists but without a catalyst for his thoughts Alan was only a fool himself.
They made love that night as if it were the last time it might ever happen. Alan knew the pain in John's mind and the fear in his heart. But John was wrong, this needed to happen, he needed to be there.
They parted the next morning on good terms with a hug and a kiss. Alan took the interstate north towards Pennsylvania. John packed a few clothes and went home to his mother. Louie was oblivious to the crisis in his own home, it was just his way.
By Sunday night, things had quieted down in Chicago but then the convention was about to become the focus of the nation and that fact was not lost on those that had violence in their hearts.
Alan arrived in Chicago on late Monday morning after spending the night in a motel outside of Indianapolis. At a rest stop he managed to get a map of the city and locate Grant Park, which seemed to be right on Lake Michigan south of the downtown area. From looking at the map he figured the best way to get in town was on the train. That would be better than trying to find a place to park the car on downtown streets.
He caught a sign on the highway into the southern portion of the city with a train symbol, he followed it. Parking in the long term lot, Alan checked the map and caught the train uptown towards Michigan Avenue. He wasn't alone in the train car, there were many that looked like they were going downtown to the rally and a few of them smiled at him.
When he talked to a few guys Alan discovered that Grant Park wasn't where things were happening. In fact the major portion of the Yippie faction was up in Lincoln Park on the north side of downtown. He stayed with these guys on the train and got off when they exited.
He immediately knew it was the right place because he could see a large police presence on the platform and more patrol cars parked on the street below. To get to the rally he just followed the crowd. He looked at the massive number of cops in riot gear and wondered if John had been the smart one to stay home. So far it seemed the cops were just standing around checking their equipment and looking tired.
A buzz went through the crowd when it was learned Tom Hayden had been arrested a few hours before. Alan got to the fringe of the park through tight police lines and saw that a rough barricade had been erected by the protesters. There was no way for him to get through so he began to move away as the police began to line up in front of the wall.
Alan backed off to the shelter of the buildings on the southern end of the park. There were a few others huddled in the doorway to a business that had remained closed.
"They're going to attack," A girl said to her friend. "It will be just like yesterday, gas and fire trucks. We better get out of here."
Alan took the hint and followed them for several blocks before he started hearing the pop of tear gas guns and the blast of sirens. Looking back he saw a mass of protesters running their way with a wall of white gas following close behind.
"Shit," The girl said, but smiling at him, "You better come with us and fast."
"I don't know where I am," Alan said.
"Just in town for the fun? Ok, we'll show you the ropes. My name is Susan and this is Hope."
"I'm Alan. Where is the SDS camped out?"
"Oh, you with them?" Susan asked.
"Not exactly, but a close friend of mine is and I need to find him."
"Well he might be back there," She said, pointing at the wall of tear gas, "Or up at Grant Park with the Mobilization guys, there are some SDS there I hear."
"I don't like their methods," Alan said.
"Then come stay with the Yippies over by the theatre, we're having a cook out tonight."
"I might catch up with you later then."
"Just ask around for Rainbow Susie, lots of folks know me."
The smile she gave him could only mean one thing. How could she think about sex at a time like this, Alan wondered. The cops had blocked off Michigan Avenue so Alan went over a few blocks to State. He knew Grant Park was south so he started walking. He could see the police presence at every corner and they look suspiciously at him. Finally a couple of cops stopped him in the street.
"Let me see some ID," One of the cops said. At least he wasn't in riot gear. Alan fished out his wallet while the second cop dumped the contents of his backpack on the sidewalk.
"Long way from home, Mr. Sommers," The cop said after looking at his driver's license.
"My brother is here somewhere and my father sent me to bring him home," Alan lied. He made eye contact with the cop and smiled.
"Only a damn fool would be out here on the streets," The cop said.
"My father's words exactly," Alan said and smiled.
"You'll stay out of Grant Park if you're smart. The convention is down there and a whole lot of my friends. Get my drift?"
"Yes, sir, I do," Alan said.
"You'll never find your brother in this crowd," The cop said. "But good luck."
Alan bent to pick up his stuff while the cops walked away. The man hadn't believed a word of his story Alan knew. He walked faster towards Grant Park.
The police were the ones with barricades down here, all of them protecting access to the convention buildings and the television cameras. Alan managed to skirt the police lines and quickly found himself in under the trees. He saw a crowd gathered but this one didn't look like a mob so he approached.
It was with relief that he recognized Rennie Davis talking with a group of guys and right there beside him was Terry.
"Terry," Alan yelled.
"Alan? Where did you come from?"
"Home, I just got here a few hours ago."
"We just got back from the central police station, they arrested Tom Hayden," Terry said.
"So I heard. I almost got myself gassed up at Lincoln Park, the cops attacked the walls."
"Yeah, we heard that too. You got lucky. Hoffman is running the show up there, not us."
"Where are you staying?" Alan asked.
"Close to Rennie, I'm one of his messengers," Terry said.
"No, I mean at night?"
"Here, there, anywhere, you got a place?"
"Not yet, I got cash but I don't imagine any of the hotels will let me in," Alan said.
"You got that right. The cops will probably chase us out of here in a few hours, will you stick with me?"
"Probably safer if I do," Alan said. "But I'm not into throwing rocks or anything like that."
"Me neither, I don't have time for that crap, we're just trying to survive here," Terry said. "It's good to see you Alan. No John?"
"He wouldn't come and now I know why. The violence is just crazy. I just met these girls a while ago that want me to stay with them at some theatre tonight, they're cooking out," Alan said.
"Probably hashish, my man. Some of these Yippie types are stoned out of their gourds. It makes them too stupid to get out of the way. Did you bring food?"
"No, I thought I could get it here," Alan said.
"There are a few corner stores open north of here. I'll show you later and we can get some dinner. The convention opens tonight so the cops are on edge. Rennie will probably move out of here later, come with us."
"When do you sleep?" Alan asked.
"I haven't slept in two days. Kinda puts an edge on things that way. Come on, let's go see what the boss is doing."
Terry stood beside Rennie as the man finished talking to a couple of guys. He turned to Terry and started talking about getting food when he noticed Alan. Rennie stopped and stared.
"Do I know you?"
"I met you in DC a year ago. I was just a kid in the crowd but you pointed me out and gave quite a speech about closing down the universities."
Rennie smiled. "I believe I remember that, those were simpler days. You with us here?"
"I came to find my friend Terry."
"Then the two of you go get yourselves something to eat before it gets dark, this could be a long night."
Terry led him through the trees and south into a side street where he pulled out the keys to his car. The little gray Chevy started right up and they drove west, crossing Michigan Avenue and continuing to move west and north.
After eating at a sub shop and stocking up on drinks they started back. Terry was afraid that Rennie would be arrested and they would lose touch.
"Are you ready for this, the Yippies are throwing a concert at the Coliseum tomorrow night," Terry laughed. "Fucking amazing. We're getting beaten by the cops and they throw a party."
"They do seem to have a different approach to this whole thing," Alan said.
"It's unreal and they're too stoned to care."
"I remember you used to party a lot," Alan laughed.
"Still do, but I'm too scared to do it here. Getting thrown in jail for smoking dope? No way, I imagine I'd get my ass kicked by the cops. Hell, I've been searched three times."
"Only once for me," Alan said.
They got back to the park in time to hear the order to move out. They were to go in groups back to Lincoln Park and wait. With the television cameras across from the park the cops would soon push them out before the convention started. Rennie talked with Terry who nodded a few times and then started off towards the street. Alan followed.
"Come on, we're leaving here for a while," Terry said.
"Where to?" Alan asked.
"We get to hole up somewhere until tomorrow. Still want to go to the theatre?"
"You want to meet the girls?" Alan asked.
"Sure, why not. I can't have what I want so I'll settle for that," Terry said.
"Same old Terry," Alan laughed, but he saw Terry wasn't laughing at all.
The scene in the courtyard of the theatre was festive, at least on the surface. There were quite a few injured people, bandages wrapped around their heads, the blood still fresh. It seemed that the Chicago police had a thing about clubbing the demonstrators until something broke.
Alan found Rainbow Susie cooking hot dogs over an open fire and introduced Terry. The two girls made room for them to sit and that's where they stayed until late into the night. Terry and Hope seemed to enjoy themselves under a blanket, but to forestall Susie's advances Alan rolled on his side and went to sleep.
Around ten o'clock the next morning there was a commotion as a squad of cops began to wake people in the courtyard. As Alan started to get up and warn Terry there was a commotion at the entrance and several men appeared. They started arguing with the cops who seemed to falter and then finally left.
"That's Hoffman," Terry said. "He really knows how to talk to the cops."
Abbie Hoffman was a bushy-haired, lean individual whose eyes burned with zeal, at least that was Alan's first introduction to the man. After the cops left he began talking about the new American Revolution, comparing the demonstrators to the soldiers in George Washington's army. His oration lasted all of fifteen minutes but every person there listened intently. Hoffman smiled and yelled, "Fuck LBJ," and then left to return to Lincoln Park.
The concert that night sucked the demonstrators right out of the parks and into the Coliseum. The event was full of chanting, speeches and very little else, Alan was disappointed. But it had given the cops a chance to clear out Lincoln Park and as the concert let out, both groups headed for Grant Park in front of the Hilton Hotel and all the television cameras. Later that night the National Guard moved in place around them.
Wednesday dawned with a huge crowd of protestors assembled in Grant Park. This was the day that the peace plank was to be presented at the convention and McCarthy insisted that it be attached to the Democratic platform for the election. By the time the vote came the peace liberals were beaten down and the motion thrown out. When word of this hit the street all hell broke loose.
Alan and Terry were close by Rennie and several of the other march leaders when the police charged the park. They seemed to know where they were heading as the club wielding ranks closed in on them. Rennie tried to spread his leadership out to deflect the formation from reaching the protestors. Terry was knocked off his feet and Alan fell on top of him. Neither of them saw the blow that felled Rennie from behind.
The cops kept moving and the protestors ran, leaving bodies in their wake. Alan was the first to see Rennie lying on the ground with a gash in his head. Between them, Alan and Terry managed to carry him to the edge of the park where a few ambulances had gathered. The driver took one look at Rennie's wound and hurried him off to the emergency room.
The protestors had broken through the police lines and were moving north towards Michigan Avenue. Alan and Terry followed along, wary of the line of armed National Guard encircling the park. There seemed to be no way out until the crowd came to Jackson Street. Here there was a block long gap in the picket line and the protestors burst through the gap and down Jackson towards the convention.
As they ran, Terry and Alan could look back and see the cops forming up to close the gap. But they were too late; a substantial number had escaped and now headed off into Grant Park. The television cameras followed their progress. The chanting began almost immediately. This was the night of Hubert Humphrey's nomination, the protestors were enraged.
"Hell no, we won't go" They chanted. "Off the Pigs," Many screamed at the lines of cops on the street outside the park. Protestors closed ranks with the police and the cops were ordered to clear the street. Just what started the police attack was anyone's guess, but the television cameras caught it all for broadcast on the evening news.
Rather than move forward in a line, the police suddenly broke ranks and started ganging up on individuals. Four cops beat a man senseless and then kicked him on national television. The blood and the screams were all dutifully captured for the American people to watch in their homes.
Alan and Terry backed off, moving with the crowd towards the other side of the street but they were pursued by gangs of police. Terry grabbed Alan's arm and pulled him towards the entrance to a store but the cops got there first. The blows rained down on them as they were pushed up against the plate glass window. An errant blow from a baton and the glass shattered, raining sharp bits down on everyone.
Terry was grabbed by two cops while a third clubbed his legs, arms and crotch. He went down in a ball of pain while they continued to beat him. But just before he passed out, Terry got a glimpse of Alan down on his knees. A cop stepped in behind and with all his might brought his baton down on the crown of Alan's head. Terry screamed as Alan crumbled to the sidewalk and lay still in the shattered glass while the other cops kicked him in the ribs and crotch.
It was hours later, Terry didn't know what time it was, when he regained consciousness. His body ached in every joint, his head felt like a lead balloon if he tried to move it.
"You remain still, young man," A male voice said. "You have some pretty serious injuries, but nothing that won't heal in a few weeks time."
"Alan," Terry croaked.
"Who'd you say?" The voice asked.
"Alan. Long blonde hair... he was next to me."
"Don't know about any blonde boy, I've been in here with you for the past two hours. He get injured too?"
"I... I think they killed him."
"I don't know anything about that, you sleep now. I gave you a sedative."
It was three days before Terry could even sit up in the hospital bed. It was another few hours before he managed to reach the phone beside the bed. He dialed the number and the phone rang three times.
"Brown residence, Brad speaking."
"This is the long distance operator, I have a collect call from Terry Brown, will you accept the charges?"
"Yeah, sure... hey, Terry is that you?"
"Brad, write this number down and have Louie call me back," Terry said.
"What's up, Bro?"
"Brad, don't ask questions. Just get a hold of Louie and have him call me, it's very important, ok?"
"All right, what's the number?"
Terry gave the kid the hospital number and his room number before he hung up. Then there was the wait, it wasn't long before the phone rang.
"Hello, Terry?"
"Louie, Thank God."
"What's the matter, where are you?"
"I'm in the hospital, Louie, in Chicago. Alan and I were attacked by the cops, they beat me up. But Louie, I can't find out about Alan, I don't know where he is... he might even be dead."
Terry heard a gasp and then silence. "Dead did you say?"
"I don't know Louie. I can't get out of this bed just yet. No one will tell me anything."
"Hang in there kid, I'll be there tomorrow."
"Uh, Louie?"
"Yes, Terry?"
"Tell John I tried my best to protect him, I just couldn't... " And Terry started to sob.
"Just don't worry. I'll be there first thing tomorrow. We'll figure this out together."
Louie called John at the Bateman house and told him to pack a bag for several nights as they were going out of town.
"Where are we going, Louie?" John asked.
"Just pack and get over here right away. We fly in the morning."
"Louie... Louie?" John asked but the line was disconnected.
Within twenty-five minutes John pulled in the drive and ran into the house.
"It's Alan, isn't it?"
"Yes, Terry called, he's in the hospital. They were beaten by the cops and badly hurt." Louie was afraid to say the rest.
"I knew it. I saw that stuff in the news, it was horrible. When do we leave?"
"Seven-thirty commuter flight out of National to O'Hare. John, come here, I haven't been entirely truthful." Louie put his arms around John's shoulders and hugged him. "Terry doesn't know what happened to Alan, he hasn't seen him. He is badly beaten and can't move around yet. He says no one will tell him anything. He said... he said Alan might be dead."
John stared at Louie and then smiled. "Not possible, I would know."
"You... but how?"
"We're connected, his mind is functioning, I can tell. But let me make a call."
The phone at the monastery office was answered by a novice who immediately went to fetch Namkhai from the temple.
"Hello, Master John?"
"Namkhai, Alan is missing. Can you tell where he is?"
Silence. "Master Alan is in... is asleep and in pain."
"He went to Chicago and was attacked by the police," John said.
"Yes, his body is damaged. Will you go to him?" Namkhai asked.
"Tomorrow morning," John replied. "Is he hurt badly?"
"I cannot say. Your eyes will need to see for me. Call me when you find him."
"I'll let you know right away."
"Master John, have no fear, there is much we need to discuss."
"Yes, Master."
Namkhai hung up and John stared at the phone. Had Alan done something wrong? They had to find him and notify his parents. Oh, Alan, what did I tell you?
The flight took a little over two hours; the cab ride to Northwestern Memorial took less then thirty. Terry was in room two twenty-seven and they arrived at the nurse's station to see Terry in a wheelchair sitting in the hallway.
"Hey, John," Terry called.
John leaned down and gave Terry a kiss on the cheek. "Louie told me what you said. Thanks for trying to protect him but Alan is a stubborn... what's the matter?"
"He's in a coma," Terry said and then he started to cry.
"Oh my God," Louie said. "Where is that nurse?"
"A coma," John said and he knelt on the floor beside the wheelchair. Terry's face was bruised and there was a bandage around his head.
"They beat him with their sticks and kicked him too," Terry sobbed. "I saw them slam the top of his head with a stick before I passed out."
John was in shock but he knew Terry was feeling just as bad. "You aren't to blame. Alan knew what he was facing."
"We were both scared and we started running but they caught us... "
"I'm glad to see that you're ok, Terry. It looks like they hurt you pretty badly."
"Three busted ribs and my balls were swollen to the size of a grapefruit the doctor said."
"Louie has gone to find the nurse. Why don't I wheel you back to your room," John said. He needed something to take his mind off the possibilities. Alan in a coma.
"Yes, please," Terry said. "I need to use the toilet."
"Do you need help?"
"You'll have to help me sit on it. I can't stand up very well."
John rolled Terry back to the room while Louie walked down the hall to a woman in a white uniform.
"Nurse, I am looking for a patient, Alan Sommers?"
"And you are?" she asked.
"I'm Doctor Silverman, Alan's family doctor."
"Yes, Doctor, he's in room two forty-two just down the hall. Are you aware of his prognosis?"
"I understand there was a severe concussion caused by a blow to the head," Louie said.
"Yes, and much more. He's been in a coma since he arrived four days ago. Doctor Wells has been attending and from the tests his brain activity is outside normal parameters. In fact Dr. Wells seems to feel that he is looking at massive failure due to the blow he received. We operated to relieve the pressure but the patient doesn't seem to be responding, his neural activity seems to be shutting down."
"Then I better see him now. Let me go get his brother."
"He doesn't respond to stimulation, he won't be able to hear you."
"Thank you, Nurse. You seem to have done all you can for him."
"We tried...poor boy."
Louie went to find John and found him assisting Terry back into bed.
"Come on, Alan is just down the hall."
"Can I go?" Terry asked.
"Maybe later, we need to see him right away," Louie said.
"I'll come back for you," John said.
"Thanks," Terry replied.
"How is he?" John asked as they hurried down the hall.
"Not good, not good at all," Louie said. "We might lose him."
Alan was in a room with three other beds and one other patient, an elderly man that seemed asleep. John gasped and brought his hand to his mouth when he saw Alan.
The boy lay naked on the bed covered in a light cotton sheet. His torso was wrapped in bandages and a huge ball of gauze was wrapped around his head. Medication and feeding tubes snaked up beside the bed to bags hanging on the wall. The little they could see of his face was black and blue and his nose was splinted.
"The bastards," Louie said. "Look what they did to him."
"Is he going to be all right?"
"Doctor Wells is his physician. The nurse says the doctor is not at all pleased with his condition. His brain function seems to be slowing down."
"He is not brain dead, I know that much. I need to call Namkhai right now. He needs to be here."
"If he can perform magic then he needs to do it soon before things get worse," Louie said.
"Doctor Silverman?" A voice said from the doorway. They turned to see a young man in a doctor's coat standing beside the half open door.
"Yes, are you Dr. Wells?" Louie asked.
"I am. Is this his brother?"
"John," John said by way of introduction.
"I suppose you know about his condition?"
"Yes, the nurse told us," Louie said.
"He ought to be deceased, the trauma was massive. His skull was shattered in several places."
John gasped and Louie took the doctor's arm. "Can we discuss this outside?"
Dr. Wells looked at John and moved towards the door. "Call," Louie said as he turned for the door. John picked up the phone to call New York and sat in the chair beside Alan's bed. He reached over and grasped Alan's hand. The flesh was warm but he felt no spark of life. The phone was answered.
"Hello, Namkhai... we need you here," John said.
The nurses allowed John to stay at the bedside all day and that night. If Alan's case was so hopeless the rules would just have to be broken to accomidate the family. As Alan's doctor, Louie was allowed to come and go as he pleased. The first thing he did was to call Mr. and Mrs. Sommers.
Alan's parents were incredulous. They had known nothing of Alan's politics, much less his trip to Chicago. Mr. Sommers said they would be up in the morning and asked Louie about the expense. The question sounded like the father Alan had described. It was unfortunate that the man was worried about money when he might just be losing his only son.
The Sommers were in shock when they saw Alan's injuries. To them the scenes on the news had been frightening but distant. Now they were involved and it felt uncomfortable that their son had been a part of this violence.
"Alan should have known better... " Mr. Sommers began.
"Excuse me," John said, "But he knew the risks. He was here to express his rights and to try and stop the violence. It was the police that rioted here."
"And what gives you the right to speak for what he did? Were you here?"
"No, but maybe I should have been," John replied. "Alan and I are partners."
"Partners? What the hell does that mean?"
"Now Frank, you know what that means," Mrs. Sommers said. "I know about you, John. I guess Alan just never got around to telling us. But I'm his mother and I've always known he was special."
"Yes, yes he is," John said.
"So what is happening?" Frank asked. "Is he going to recover?"
"I'm sure he is," John said, "But it will take some time."
"And that will be expensive. I can't just take off from work and sit with him, what if... "
Louie had heard just about enough. "Look, Sommers. You need to stop worrying about your wallet and start praying that your son will survive. The fact is this boy has more money in the bank than is in this hospital's budget for the entire year. It's not going to cost you a dime, so get over it.
"And while I'm at it, you need to have some consideration for John's feelings. If you were about to lose your wife I think you might understand what he's going through. These boys have been together long enough for all of us to butt out of their lives and leave them alone."
Mrs. Sommers put her arms around John. "You stay with him, dear. I know it will be you he wants to see when he wakes up." She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him tight. Her eyes turned to the figure on the bed. She approached and stroked Alan's hand before bending to lightly kiss his bruised cheek. "Come back to us Alan," She said. "I love you."
"Now she's a class act," Louie said after the Sommers left, the missus all but dragging her husband from the room by the ear, "But he is something else."
"He doesn't know how to act unless she tells him, I'm sure," John said.
Louie went down to the hospital cafeteria to get them each a sandwich. John sat by the bed and held Alan's hand. The warmth under the pale skin seemed to have increased, was the boy running a fever? John was wondering at the cause when he felt a presence in the room. He turned in the chair and then smiled.
"I have come," Namkhai said.
"Oh, but I just called you last night." And then he thought better of asking. "He looks bad, doesn't he?" John said.
"We must speak of things," Namkhai said. He walked over and shut the door. The old man in the bed across the room continued to sleep.
"Master Alan does not seem to have the ability to listen to wise council, and this is the result. His mind reached out to mine when you refused to join him in this foolishness. He wanted my blessing and my help. Without you he could not make great changes in these events and that was his intent. He was wrong while you counseled wisely, but he did not listen.
"We will heal his body but when it is done his mind will not be the same. We, the Nine, have decided his powers should be withdrawn to protect the ancient secrets and to allow his life to continue. The wisdom of many is in this decision but I would like to ask what you think?"
"What will happen when his powers are taken?"
"Without the power his mind will be normal, he will remember nothing of the Inner Eye and the abilities he once had."
"But what of me? I will still know, won't I?
"It would be unseemly to remove the memory from him and leave it only in your care. But you have chosen so wisely to control the power. I will allow you to remember if you wish, but it will have to be decided now."
"I could never tell him of the loss, it would break his heart," John replied. "But I would lose a piece of him if I didn't remember his moments of greatness and the folly that brought us to this. I choose to remember what has happened, and I bow to the wisdom of the many."
"I was hoping you would," Namkhai said. "For the Buddha knew all and yet kept his own council. You are a good pupil of the Way, Master John. It is fortunate that this boy has such great strength of purpose beside him. He will need you to guide him should he choose to return to The Path."
"I would be honored to walk with you and learn, Master," John said. "I will not falter, Alan needs me."
Namkhai looked around the room. "Then let us repair what is damaged," He said. And with a smile he asked, "Will you assist me?"
"Me? But what can I do?"
"You have not learned? You have always been the strong one, Master John. Your mind is the focus of the power, your will gives it strength. Cleanse your thoughts and become an empty vessel. Reach out to him with your heart and hold steady with our purpose here."
John closed his eyes and felt the words come into his mind. "Om Apadamapa Hataram Dataram Sarva Sampadam Loka Bhi Ramam... , and on went the most powerful of mantras. A chant to heal the Earth and mind. For what is a body but earth and all its elements combined?
John's lips began to move and the sound filled the room. Namkhai placed his hands on Alan's chest and the soft glow of light surrounded them. John's mind was fully taken with repeating the healing mantra. His face felt the heat of Namkhai's healing touch and tears of joy streamed down his face.
Then suddenly the heat was gone and John's voice faltered. What had happened? He opened his eyes and Namkhai had vanished. The monk was nowhere to be seen.
The elderly man across the room was sitting up in bed, his eye wide and a peaceful smile upon his face.
"I have seen Heaven and all its Glory," The man said. "The angel came to me in a great ball of fire. He touched me and said, 'Rise up, there is nothing to fear.' I have been cured, I can feel it. The cancer is gone, it's a miracle."
John smiled, "And where did the angel go?"
"He vanished in thin air. I opened my eyes and he disappeared in a swirl of orange light. Poof, like a ball of flame and he was gone."
"There is more to heaven and earth than we mortals shall ever understand," John said. "You are indeed the lucky man. I am sure the angel has cured you."
The elderly man got up from his bed. Steadying himself on the chair he looked at John. "Hallelujah, it's a miracle," He said and walked out into the hall. "It's a miracle." The man repeated over and over again.
John looked down at Alan and saw that the bruises on his face were gone, the nose straight and true. Yes, miracles do happen. John grasped Alan's hand and sat down to wait. May the blessings of the Buddha be upon you Namkhai, he thought. The road ahead is clear and now I shall not have to walk it alone.
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