Unforeseen Events – Part VII

The telephone rang on the kitchen wall. Vera Wells answered.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Wells it’s Kate.”

“Hello Kate, how’ve you been?”

“Good, good… I just got another post card from Ethan.”     

“I did too.”     

“Want to meet for coffee? Compare notes?”     

“Sure Kate, I’d love to.”

“The Pancake House?”

“In the Palisades?”

“I can be there in twenty minutes.” 

“Can we make it a half hour?

“I’ll see you then.”

It had been over a month since anyone heard from Ethan. The postcards he sent to family and friends were the only source of information about his well being and whereabouts. As the story went Ethan tried to join the Army in New Orleans, but was rejected and excused from military service because of a heart murmur. Apparently he then sold his Woody and his drums and got a US passport. Then he got work as a deckhand on an ocean going freighter bound for South America. The first postcards came from Rio de Janiero. The next mailing was from Buenos Aires.

Mrs. Wells and Kate sat in a booth at the Pancake House.

“The card I got came from Capetown,” said Kate.

“Same here,” said Mrs. Wells.

“Do you know if he’s writing to anyone else?”

“Johnny Spence calls whenever he gets a card. I don’t know if Ethan’s writing to others.”

“Ronnie Redmond said he just got his first card from Ethan,” said Kate.

“Oh? What did Ronnie have to say?”

“Nothing we don’t already know. He’s now in South Africa and seems to be enjoying himself. I still don’t understand what he’s doing… or why?”

“There was always something mysterious about Ethan. As a very small boy he would often take off on his tricycle and explore the neighborhood.”

“You let him do that?”

“Oh I’d follow him, but at a distance. Didn’t want to impose myself on his discoveries.”

“Discoveries? Like what?”

“He would ride on the sidewalks, surveying all that he saw. He would stop to study flower beds or trees or fences. Sometimes he’d encounter cats or dogs and try to play with them.”

“I don’t know Mrs. Wells, that sounds perilous.”

“We lived in a peaceful neighborhood. There were very few people out and about on the sidewalks. Kids were in school, adults at work. If he did encounter someone he would stop and talk to them. Everyone seemed charmed by him.”

“Didn’t he look back and see you watching him?’

“He never looked behind him. He always looked forward.”

“I don’t know. The thought of it frightens me.”

“It was different in the Forties. Not like things are today.”

“Did you ever talk to him about this. I mean about his outings?”

“No, I didn’t want to take from his sense of independence. His father and I agreed to raise our boys in ways that would allow them their own lives. I mean, these days too many kids are treated like chattel. We weren’t going to do that to Mark and Ethan.” 

“I’ve known Ethan now for what, three years? And yet I feel like I don’t know him at all.”

“You’re not alone Kate. I’m his mother and he’s still a mystery to me.”

Three weeks later at Revere Junior High, Miss Mary Marlowe was in her office going through her mail when she noticed an envelope postmarked Salisbury, Rhodesia. The letter had no return address. When she opened it she saw it was from Ethan, which brought a smile to her face.

Dear Miss Marlowe,

Long time, huh? I hope you are well and that this letter reaches you. The last time I wrote to you I was traveling with the Blue Palmetto Orchestra. That was sometime last year. It was a wonderful experience but after 14 months of playing in cities all over America I left the band in New Orleans. By then I knew that this was not the way I wanted to live my life. I don’t know why but I didn’t want to play the drums anymore. It’s like the music wasn’t enough. Somehow I wanted “to see” the music. It’s hard to explain but I had to stop playing the drums to find out if I could figure out what it was I wanted “to see”. 

When I was at Revere, Mr. Fawcette was my homeroom teacher. I don’t know if he’s still there. He always told stories about his world travels and often said, “One year of travel is worth four years of college.” I saved some money playing with Blue Palmetto and now I’m investing it in a journey around the world. I’m also taking work when I can find it. I worked my passage on ships to South America and then to Africa.

Right now I’m in Rhodesia. I’ve been slowly traveling north from Capetown, taking local buses, hitchhiking, walking at times and sometimes staying in native villages. The people of Africa are very kind and accepting towards me. Last week I stayed in a mud hut in a Shona village. When I showed them my skills with their drums they let me join in with their drumming ritual. By the light of campfires they would play and dance all night. One of the elders taught me some words in Swahili, which is a kind of universal language among many native Africans. 

My plan is to travel by whatever means I can find as I head north. There’s a train that runs from Khartoum in the Sudan all the way to Cairo, Egypt. That’s my goal for now. After that I don’t know which way I’ll go. Eventually I’ll get back to America but probably not anytime soon. But Miss Marlowe, I’m having the time of my life. As time goes by I’ll send you updates and stories about the adventures I’m having. You were always my favorite teacher.

Sincerely, Ethan Wells

Later that week, Mr. and Mrs. Wells were having dinner with Mark and his new wife, Priscilla. The two met when Mark was in the Army in Europe. She was British and a civilian worker at the base where Mark was stationed. They had been back stateside for three weeks.

“How are you two settling in?” said Mrs. Wells.

“We found a lovely apartment,” said Priscilla, “near the high school that Mark attended.”

“That’s good,” said Mr. Wells. “Do you hear anything from Ethan?”

“No Dad. So far we only know what you know.”

“It sounds like he’s having quite the adventure,” said Priscilla.

“I think he’s found something he loves more dearly than the drums,” said Mrs. Wells.

“What’s that?” said Mr. Wells.

“Wandering.”

______________

End of Book 1