The pain flaming through him was too much. Fists clenched against his sides, Kinsman brushed past his father and strode out of the room, out of the house, out into the bright hot sunshine and clear blue sky that he neither felt nor saw.
By the time he realized the sun had set, he found himself in Berkeley, walking aimlessly along a wide boulevard, car- ried along by the flow of students and other pedestrians streaming past shops and restaurants. Music blared from car radios passing by. Garish lights flickered from shop-front windows.
He stepped into a bar. The sign on its window said it was a coffee shop, but the only coffee they served had Irish whiskey in it. Kinsman ordered a beer and hunched over the frosted glass, staring blankly into its foamy head. He heard a sweet woman's voice singing, looked up into the mirror behind the bar, and saw a girl sitting on a stool in front of a microphone, strumming a guitar as she sang.
"Jack of diamonds, queen of spades, Fingers tremble and the memory fades, And it's a foolish man who tries to cheat the dealer ..."
The people sitting around the bar wore shabby denims or faded khaki fatigues. A couple of suits and casual sports coats. Kinsman felt out of place in his crisp sky-blue uniform.
As he watched the night deepen over the clapboard buildings and the lights on the Bay Bridge stretch a twinkling arch across the water, he realized he had spent most of his life alone. He had no home. The Academy was cold and friend- less. There was no place on Earth that he could call his own. And deep inside he knew that his soul was as austere and rigid as his father's. I'll look like him one day, Kinsman thought. If I live long enough.
"You can't win,
And you can't break even, You can't get out of the game . . .
She has a really sweet voice, he thought. Like a silver bell. Like water in the desert.
It was a haunting voice. And her face, framed by long midnight-black hair, had a fine-boned, dark-eyed ascetic look to it. She perched on a high stool, under a lone spotlight, bluejeaned legs crossed and guitar resting on one thigh.
He sat at the bar silently urging himself to go over and introduce himself, offer her a drink, tell her how much he enjoyed her singing. But as he worked up his nerve a dozen kids his own age burst into the place. The singer, just finished her set, smiled and called to them. They clustered around her.
Kinsman turned his attention to his warming beer. By the time he finished it the students had pushed a few tables 10 together and were noisily ordering everything from Sacred Cows to Seven-Up. The singer had disappeared. It was full night outside now.
"You alone?"
He looked up, startled. It was her.
"Uh . . . yeah." Clumsily he pushed the barstoo! back and got to his feet.
"Why don't you come over and join us?" She gestured toward the crowd of students.
"Sure. Great. Love to."
She was tall enough to be almost eye level with Kinsman, and as slim and supple as a young willow. She wore a black long-sleeved pullover atop her faded denims.
"Hey, everybody, this is . . ." She turned to him with an expectant little smile. All the others stopped their chatter and looked up at him.
"Kinsman," he said. "Chet Kinsman."
