Danny-boy courted Jax cautiously, like a man trying to catch a butterfly without injuring it. Or possibly more like a man trying to catch a wasp without being stung. Either way, he was careful; he went slowly.
He watched her surreptitiously, haunted by the wariness that he saw in her eyes. Sometimes, while she slept, he crept into the bedroom and sat by her bed. In sleep, her face relaxed. Her raggedly cut hair curled on her cheeks; her expression was grave and earnest. Her hands, clutching the blanket that covered her, were so small. At odd moments during the day—while fishing for surfperch, setting a rabbit snare, searching a hardware store for blue paint—he found himself thinking about her hands: so small, yet callused by hard work and rough living.
Each evening, he made dinner, and they sat together on the roof and watched the sunset. She did not talk much. She answered questions if he asked them, but her answers were short and matter-of-fact, tossed off quickly.
“What did you do today?” he asked. “Walked,” she said.
“Where did you go?”
She jerked her head to the west but said nothing more.
He offered to show her around the city, and she declined, shaking her head quickly. He let a day go by, then suggested again that he might show her around. Her eyes grew cautious and she seemed to draw into herself, like a cat crouching to spring or flee. He did not make the suggestion a third time.
She did not make small talk, and she seemed quite comfortable with silence. He would begin talking to fill the silence and would find himself rambling on, telling her of his life, his plans, his dreams. Her silence drew him in, an emptiness waiting to be filled. He told her about Emerald; he told her what he remembered of his parents; he told her about growing up in the city.
He brought her gifts: a bouquet of exotic blossoms picked in the ruins of the greenhouse in Golden Gate Park, a paper Chinese parasol painted with herons in flight, a wind-up plastic gorilla that spat out sparks as it walked. She accepted each present politely, but she seemed puzzled, as if she did not know what to make of him.
During the day he left her alone, retreating to his work on the Golden Gate Bridge. On a foggy afternoon a few weeks after Jax had arrived in San Francisco, he was at the bridge, waiting for Mercedes and Snake.
The fog was coming in. To the west, he could see a bank of white mist, rolling slowly toward the city. The first tendrils drifted lazily past the cables of the bridge. Looking eastward, he could see Alcatraz Island and the buildings of downtown, but he knew that the fog would hide them in just a few hours. Somewhere beneath the bridge, a sea lion bayed.
He strolled along the bridge, admiring the work that had been done so far. Danny-boy had made no effort to dictate the style of each artist’s section. He provided the materials and assigned a space. After that, it was up to the artist.
Some of the artists preferred the broad surfaces offered by the enormous support cables and the bases of the towers. Others welcomed the creative challenge offered by the guard rail with its minimal surface area.
One of Danny-boy’s favorite pieces was a reclining nude, painted on the thin bars that supported the guard rail. Her toes were at the toll plaza; her head about 100 feet down the bridge. From most positions, the dark blue marks on the pale blue background looked like random lines that did not connect. But if you stood in just the right spot, the connections suddenly became clear; your eye filled in the gaps between the support bars, and the blue nude appeared.
Danny-boy smiled as he passed a section of railing marked with footprints. A dancer had painted the railing turquoise blue, dipped his feet in navy paint, then strolled along the top, leaving his bare footprints along a fifty-foot stretch.
Danny-boy stared across the bridge toward the hills of Marin, aware of the impossible grandeur of the task he had set himself. After a year of work, only the railing was nearly done. The base of each tower was blue, but the rest of both towers and most of the cables were still their original orange. Before Jax’s arrival, the interminable nature of the project hadn’t bothered him. But recently, he had started worrying. Suppose Fourstar and his army arrived before he finished the bridge? He had not anticipated such an interruption, and he saw no way to finish up quickly.
Danny-boy heard the distant roar of Snake’s motorcycle and strolled back toward the toll plaza. As always, Snake made a dramatic entrance, speeding through the toll gate and skidding through a 360-degree turn before he screeched to a halt. He shut off his engine and swung off the bike. “Yo, Danny-boy,” he called. “How goes it?” His leathers creaked faintly as he walked toward Danny-boy.
“Not bad.” Danny-boy waved a hand at the tower nearest them. “So take a look. You still willing to tackle it?”
Snake looked up at the tower, its top now hidden by the drifting fog. “Sure, man. I’ve got a dozen guys lined up to help me. One of ’em used to be a rock climber. We got ropes and we’ve been practicing. I’m a smooth man on a wall these days. Been thinking about changing my name from Snake to Spider, I’m that good.”
Danny-boy grinned at Snake’s bravado. “All right then, what else will you need?”
Together they strolled toward the tower where Danny-boy stored his equipment. Snake worked exclusively in spray paint, which limited his selection of colors. But after some haggling, they chose three shades of blue that Danny-boy had in abundance. They were heading back to the toll plaza when Snake asked the question that Danny-boy had known was inevitable. “So, who did you con into doing the other tower?”
Danny-boy took a deep breath. “Who else has the balls?”
Snake kept walking, shaking his head. “Don’t know anyone, offhand. I …” Then he stopped and stared at Danny-boy. “You don’t mean you’re going to have Mercedes and her cholos doing it.”
Danny-boy nodded. “Sure do.”
“Oh, man, you’re crazy. They’ll ruin it. You can’t be serious.” There had been, over the years, a number of territorial disputes between the Neo-Mayanists that Mercedes headed and the other graffiti artists in the city. Mercedes had once, for religious reasons, painted over one of Snake’s murals. When called to task at Town Council, she had apologized for painting over Snake’s work, but claimed that it was necessary. The wall on which she had painted was located at the exact geographic center of the city, a spot of considerable religious significance. The new painting was of prime importance to her group. She had been admonished by the Council, but no disciplinary action had been taken. And Snake held a grudge.
“I’m serious,” Danny-boy said. He had known the Snake would react badly, but he saw no way around it. “I’m sure they’ll do a fine job.”
“Forget it,” Snake said. “No way we can cooperate with them.” They had reached the toll plaza and Snake’s motorcycle. “That’s too bad,” Danny-boy said. “I figured that tower would be a prime location for your work. Every trader coming into town will see it.”
“Don’t try to flatter me, man. I know you can’t do the bridge without us.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” Danny-boy said softly. “I could have Mercedes do both towers.”
Snake turned away and walked to the railing. Danny-boy followed, saying nothing.
“You’d do that,” Snake said at last.
Danny-boy looked down at the waves crashing against Fort Point. “I wouldn’t want to. But I guess I would.” Snake shook his head in disgust.
“You could think of this as a trial run. If Fourstar invades the city, you may want to work with Mercedes to keep him out.”
“You’re just full of comfort, aren’t you?” Snake spat over the railing and then turned to face Danny-boy. “Maybe I can work it out. I’ll talk to the others.”
“Fine.” Danny-boy knew that the others would follow Snake’s lead.
“You’re making a mistake, but I guess you’ll find that out when it’s done.”
“Maybe so.”
Snake roared away just as Mercedes arrived on horseback. He accelerated past her, making her hors
e shy, and sped off without looking back.
“Still an asshole,” she said to Danny-boy as she dismounted.
“Yeah, but he’ll do a good job on the tower.”
She shook her head and tied her horse to the toll gate. Together they strolled toward the nearest tower. Mercedes glanced around her.
“It’ll be great when it’s done,” she said. “But I wonder, will you have time to finish it before Fourstar arrives?”
Danny-boy stared at her in surprise. “What makes you so sure he’s coming. At the meeting the other night, you didn’t seem convinced.”
“Changed my mind,” Mercedes said. “Decided that maybe we can trust this stranger after all.”
“Of course we can.” Danny-boy defended Jax immediately.
“Ah,” Mercedes said, grinning at him. “Is that how it is?” “What do you mean?” He felt his face growing hot, and he looked away.
She put her arm around his shoulder affectionately. “Are you in love with this little wild woman?”
He said nothing, but his face burned.
“Ah, Danny-boy, your ears give you away. They’re red as the sunset. You might as well talk.”
He kept his face turned away. “I don’t know.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being in love, chico. But if you’re in love, why aren’t you happy? Come on—tell me about it.” She led him to the base of the tower. They sat cross-legged on the cement sidewalk with their backs to the metal tower. “Now talk,” she said.
He told her his problems. He could not tell how Jax felt about him. He brought her presents, but he didn’t know if she liked them. He woke in the middle of the night and tiptoed into the bedroom to check on her, afraid she had left without warning. Mercedes listened patiently.
“You’re afraid she’ll leave, so you’re trying to keep her,” Mercedes said at last. “You’d like to lock her up, so you could be sure she wouldn’t go.”
Danny-boy protested weakly. “That’s silly,” he said. “I don’t want to lock her up. I just don’t want her to get hurt, wandering around by herself. It’s easy to get lost.” But his words carried no conviction. Just the night before, he had caught himself wishing she had broken a leg rather than her collarbone. Then she would have to stay put.
Mercedes nodded in satisfaction. “Exactly,” she said. “She might not come back.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But it’s what you meant.” Mercedes patted his leg gently. “Face it. The only way to deal with her is to let her go.”
Danny-boy shook his head. “How can I let her go? I don’t even have her.”
“Help her go where she wants to go, then. Give her what she needs.”
The next day, Danny-boy gave her a bicycle: a sturdy blue tenspeed from a bike shop on Haight Street. Jax was out when he wheeled it home. He spent the better part of the afternoon giving it an overhaul: repacking the wheel bearings, checking the brakes, adjusting the gear-shifting mechanism, replacing the tires. Jax came home as he was finishing. As usual, one of the monkeys was following her. When Jezebel barked at the monkey, it sprang to the roof of a nearby car and then ignored the dog.
“This is for you,” Danny-boy said. “With this you can get around town faster. You can go wherever you want.” He felt sick at heart.
She looked uneasy. “I can walk all over town,” she said.
Her reluctance confused him. Having started this project, he was determined to carry it through. “Riding a bike is faster than walking. You can get from one end of town to the other in just a couple of hours.”
She looked at the bicycle and wet her lips, but did not say anything.
“I’ll adjust the seat to your height, and it’ll be ready to ride.”
She hesitated, looking fierce.
“What’s wrong?” he said sharply. He was torn and confused about this, and she wasn’t helping.
“I don’t know how to ride it,” she said at last.
He could tell that she hated admitting that she couldn’t ride. Her back was stiff and her hand rested lightly on her knife. “I’ll teach you,” he said softly. “It’s not hard. Come on. Sit on the seat and let me adjust the height.”
Danny-boy held the bicycle upright while she straddled it reluctantly. Her feet did not quite touch the pedals. He had her get off, then he lowered the seat. “Come on. You can try it out.”
He showed her how to hold the handlebars and wheel the bicycle as she walked. Wheeling his own bicycle alongside her, he led her to a stretch of street that was relatively free of potholes and debris. A faded brown Toyota sedan had been abandoned in the middle of the block, but otherwise there were no obstacles. The monkey followed, found a new perch on a low wall that had once surrounded a planter box, and began searching for edible shoots in the tall grasses that had taken root in the planter.
Danny-boy demonstrated first, straddling his bicycle and gliding effortlessly down the slight slope. He made a wide turn and pedaled back. “It’s easy,” he said, and held her bicycle upright as she mounted. “I’ve got it set in fourth gear to start with. Just leave the gear shift alone for now. Sit on the seat and put your feet on the pedals. I’ll hold you up.”
She reluctantly took her feet from the ground and placed them on the pedals.
“All you have to do is balance,” he said. “If you want to pedal, you could try that, but go easy.”
He gave her a push and ran alongside, steadying her by holding on to the back of the seat. Behind them, the monkey shrieked and chattered. Jezebel barked furiously, running alongside them. Jax pumped a few times and the bicycle outpaced Danny-boy, forcing him to let go of the seat.
For a moment, Jax maintained a straight course—a beautiful smooth glide that was as straight as an arrow and as elegant as an aria. Her hands were on the handlebars; the wind whipped her hair back. As he ran alongside, Danny-boy could see that she was grinning wildly, an elated expression that he had never seen on her face before.
Then her front wheel hit a pothole, the bicycle swerved, and she crashed, at full tilt, into the back of the Toyota.
Danny-boy ran to her. “Are you all right? Maybe you’d better not try this yet. Maybe …”
Her left elbow was bleeding where she had scraped it on the pavement, but she grinned at him and untangled herself from the bicycle. “It’s like flying,” she said. “Why didn’t you say it was like flying?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “It’s like the hawk—the way he catches the wind and soars.” She waved a hand in the air, demonstrating. “You didn’t tell me.”
For a moment, he couldn’t say anything. She had never said so many words in a row before. She had never smiled at him the way she was smiling now.
“I want to try again,” she said.
Again and again he launched her. Each time she went farther before crashing. He shouted advice that always came a little too late to help: “Straighten up now!” “Don’t pump so hard!” “Lean the other way—no, the OTHER way!”
Sometimes she managed to veer around the Toyota. But then she would be unable to recover from the turn and she would lean farther and farther until she finally fell. Each time she fell, she received another scrape or bruise, but she would not give up. “Maybe we should rest,” Danny-boy suggested. She shook her head stubbornly and they continued.
At last, late in the day, she successfully avoided the Toyota and kept on riding. The bicycle wobbled when she pumped the pedals, but she recovered, straightening out before she overbalanced, then picking up speed.
Jezebel, who had grown bored with watching, ran after her, and Danny-boy leapt on his own bicycle to follow. He met her five blocks farther on, walking her bicycle up a hill and limping just a little.
“I hit a hole in the road,” she said. She was still grinning.
“Your shoulder OK?”
“Fine.” She looked up the hill and glanced at his face. “Let’s keep going, OK?”
“OK. As long as you’re not tired.”
; Her grin faded a little. “I’m not tired.”
He walked beside her in silence for a time. “Pretty soon you’ll be riding all over the city,” he said at last. “I can show you the best routes. If you’re clever, you can avoid the worst hills.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked. “Why are you teaching me how to ride?”
He shrugged, feeling uncomfortable and avoiding her eyes. He could not answer; he had no answer. “Why not?” There was a long silence. He felt her slipping away from him, and he tried to draw her back. “Mercedes suggested I do it.”
“Teach me to ride a bicycle?”
“Let you go,” he said. “With this, you can leave whenever you want. I won’t try to keep you here.”
She watched him for a moment. And then looked away. “Let’s ride. Come on.” She pushed off awkwardly, but managed to keep her balance. Danny-boy stayed behind her for the first block, then pulled alongside. They had reached the top of a hill, and she was looking down the long straight street that lay before them.
“Oh, let’s go,” she said breathlessly and started down the hill.
An exhilarated whoop of joy drifted back to Danny-boy, and he followed. Jezebel brought up the rear, racing after him.
Jax led the way through the Richmond District. From there, the street sloped downward slightly. She kept pedaling, calling back every now and then to urge him to follow. He shouted back, pointing out landmarks as they passed them: Golden Gate Park, the University of San Francisco, Saint Monica’s church.
As she crossed 48th Avenue she slowed down, then stopped abruptly, standing astride her bicycle. He pulled up even with her and stopped. Ahead, he could see the waves crashing on Ocean Beach.
“What’s wrong? he said. “Why’d you stop?”
“What is that?” When she looked at him, her eyes were enormous. “That water. I can’t see the other shore.”
“It’s the ocean,” he said. “The other side is hundreds of miles away.
She stared at him. “Hundreds of miles?” She shook her head in disbelief.