One summer in Davis

By Sirikit Syah

Davis is my kind of town. The people of Davis call it an untypical American town. It is as if you are in the middle of nowhere. You are in America but surrounded by people who don't look American and don't behave like most of their fellow countrymen. When I say this, people ask, "How are Americans supposed to look and behave?" Which is a good point. Americans are from all over the place, and Davis is a good example of this blend.

I never imagined nor expected that my life would change so much in this Californian town. This change began one summer day. My friend Arianne from Switzerland was away in L.A. Her Brazilian husband, Cisera, didn't feel well, so I biked alone to the Farmers' Market on Fourth and C Street downtown. It was Wednesday afternoon. Besides shopping for natural farm produce here, people come to dance in the streets, eat, meet people, or just sit and enjoy the shows. I parked my bike and locked it up carefully. Davis had a very low crime rate, but lots of bikes went missing. I always used to wonder why in a town of 35,000 people and 50,000 bicycles, bikes still went missing.

Under the big tree in the center of the market, a group played music. I joined the crowd and there he was. An incredibly handsome face smiling at his spectators. This young man -- perhaps five to six years younger than me -- had a pleasant boyish look. He played the guitar and sang. The music was okay but his voice and the way he sang were like magic to me. I was pinned to the ground right in front of him until the show ended. When people went away, I asked the percussionist, a young black man with long curly hair, "Will you be playing again on Saturday?"

"Why, yes, certainly. Do come." He was friendly. My eyes were not on him but trying to locate the man. He was packing up his guitar. "I will come," I said with conviction to the black man.

On Saturday, I didn't bother to invite Arianne or Cisera to join me. I was already in the park when they started playing. The man with the boyish look was wearing a bandanna. He had the most handsome face I'd ever seen. He looked like he was of mixed Oriental and European origin. The mixture had turned out perfect. Soft straight black hair, clear black eyes, not such a big nose, and very smooth skin. I had never been attracted to any man just because he was handsome. Good looks had never been my number one qualification. I couldn't understand what had happened to me. This time I was attracted to a man just from the way he looked and sang. I didn't know him. I didn't even talk to him. But when he smiled or stole a look at me, it was like I was flying.

The band played country, slow rock, and R&B music very nicely. I thought I would never forget Tears in Heaven being sung and played in such a way. Even Eric Clapton himself would have been happy. After two Wednesdays and another Saturday finding me staring at him the way I was, the man realized I was there with a purpose. He looked at me discreetly when I wasn't looking at him. Sometimes he looked back at me deliberately. His eyes seemed to go through my eyes into my heart. And he smiled at me, which made me feel like fainting. There was something in the way he smiled and looked at me. Something warm and rather naughty and with a little touch of boyish innocence. It was like an unspoken question: "Who are you? Do I have a chance?"

That second Wednesday, a very tall girl with long brown hair approached me in the middle of their performance.

"I noticed you were here last Wednesday," she said.

"Yes." My eyes were still on the group and him.

"So you are a fan."

"Hm ... yes."

"Me too. My name is Isabel, I'm from Spain," the girl held out her hand and I shook it.

"I'm a post-graduate student at UCLA Davis, and I'm his girlfriend," she said, pointing to the percussionist. I was glad I had company now. When the music stopped, Isabel asked whether I'd like to meet the guys. I nodded.

When we talked, he looked right into my eyes, paying full attention. The group went to a cafe nearby and I joined them.

Arianne noticed something was bothering me. I had nobody here to talk to so I talked to her. Even though we had known each other only for a month, I knew she was a wise person. She was everything I dreamed a nice European woman would be. Very beautiful, green eyes, blonde hair, pink lips, very smart and clean. But in terms of her love life, I didn't think she was a typical European woman. She was married to her first love, and they had been together for 16 years before they got married the year before. Neither of them had ever been with any other man or woman. I was rather surprised she was not taken aback when I told her I might have fallen in love again.

I was married myself.

"It might only be an infatuation. Go on, follow your whim. I know you have a very strong relationship with your husband. This guy will disappear in a week," she said.

"Hopefully," I said seriously.

Isabel called me one day. She said they were having a party at her place, and the group had remembered me.

"They are going to Francisco, playing in a club there," said Isabel on the phone.

"If you don't come, you won't have a chance to meet them again."

It took hours for me to me get ready for the party. I tried on a lot of different outfits, and finally decided to wear a casual dress which would look fine, informal. I studied myself in the mirror. I was pretty and typically Asian, with a slim figure and brown skin. I liked my olive-shaped eyes about which people said, "They speak as you speak."

I was rather nervous, thinking of what would happen if I met David.

It was not a party as Indonesians define parties. There were less that 10 people, and a small selection of food. Everybody seemed busy with his or her partner and I was getting bored when finally David came up to me. He led me to the terrace in the backyard. We sat there and talked about many things. He didn't say but I knew for sure he liked me as much as I liked him. The way he looked at me, his eyes were killing me.

"You're married," he said, touching my finger, which had a ring on it.

"Yes."

Silently he took off my wedding ring. After that he took my earrings. And he took off my necklace too. Slowly and passionately. I felt like he was undressing me. The sensation was unbearable. All the time our eyes spoke for themselves. Anyone who saw us that way would say we were madly in love.

"You don't need this jewelry. You are more beautiful than them," he said, putting the jewelry in my hand.

He took my breath away when he touched my neck with his finger tips. I was trying very hard to stop myself from giving in. Nobody -- not even my husband -- had ever made me feel this way. I was trembling and boiling inside. I was desperately longing for his kiss. Just then, somebody interrupted.

"David ..."

There was Rick at the door with a middle-aged man.

"David, I am sorry to interrupt you but you must meet Mike."

David looked at me for what I thought like a long time.

"Mike is our new agent. He's taking us up to San Francisco. He's my future life. I will meet you again later tonight," David said. He touched my cheek before he left me alone outside the house under a bright sky of summer. It was 10 o'clock but the sky was like twilight in Jakarta. I didn't see him when I said goodbye to Isabel. She said they were busy talking contracts.

"I will let you know their whereabouts," Isabel promised.

I became obsessed with David. I liked his songs, his mixed blood, his perfect figure and his lovely touch. I missed him so much that when my program ended, instead of going home, I accepted an offer at the Extension Center. I helped Bryan, a lecturer in communication, to teach dozens of young Japanese students. They came to America to improve their English and spend their money. My husband was mad. He called almost every other night. Meanwhile, I kept searching for David. On weekends I went to San Francisco and visited as many bars as I could. But I never met them again.

Two months passed and I accepted another contract, for an autumn class. This time I would have Indonesian and Thai students. My husbands was furious.

"Why don't you come back?" He sounded worried and angry.

"I accepted another interesting job." Without intending to do so, I answered coldly.

"When will it finish?"

"Two weeks from now."

"If you don't come back by the end of this month, I'll come and fetch you."

"You don't have to do that for me."

"I think I have to. I feel like I am losing you and I cannot afford to lose you. You're not having an affair, are you?"

"No. I am not." Damn it! I was angry because of his accusation and because I hadn't had the affair I wanted to have.

During my eight years of marriage, I left my husband quite often. Weeks, months, outside Jakarta or even abroad. And I had proved to him that he could trust me. I always came back with a happy heart. I loved him. Or at least I believed so. I had never been attracted to other men since we got married. I didn't know what kind of magic David had put on me.

I had two weeks left and I traveled to San Francisco again and to Sacramento, with no result. I hated myself for being this crazy. But I couldn't help it. On my last Saturday and Wednesday I sat under the big tree in the center park, until the place was deserted. I was alone waiting for a miracle to happen: the appearance of David. I watched leaves change their colors. Autumn in Davis was not as colorful as in the northern part of America, but anyway, summer had gone and autumn had arrived. Then reluctantly, I had to start packing. At last. Farewell Davis and David.

The phone rang, it was a lady.

"Hello, I'm David's mother. He asked me to invite you to come."

"Where is he?" I couldn't restrain my eagerness. "He's at home. On 2105 Regis Drive, behind the cemetery. I guess it's not far from your place. You can bike it."

David's mother -- as I had assumed -- was Japanese. His father -- an Irishman -- had died years ago, and they lived alone. The lady seemed troubled and she directed me to the backyard. I saw David sit on the sofa under the lazy autumn sun. He was sick. He was thin and pale. His eyes had become darker and deeper. He smiled and waved to me.

"Sit near me, won't you please? How're you doing?" His spirit was as cheerful as I always remembered, but his looks didn't lie. I could hardly open my mouth. I felt a sudden pang of sadness in my heart.

"I am fine. I am going home," I answered, softly.

"Are you happy?" he looked into my eyes.

"Happy and sad. I won't be able to see you sing again. I love watching you singing."

"I know."

We were silent for a moment.

"You know, I think you are the most loving lady I've ever met. After my mother, of course. If I could, I would like to make love to you, even though I know you are married."

"David ..."

"But I couldn't. I am sorry for my false behavior some time ago. You must think I was playing a game with you."

"No."

"I wasn't. I was just not sure of what I felt about you. Only after meeting you I realized I might be bisexual. I could be attracted to a woman too. And even want to make love to her."

My eyes became wet.

"I am gay. And now I am infected with HIV. Usually it doesn't work so quickly, but in my case, I'm getting weaker so fast. I am sorry I don't have a chance to get to know you better, to get together for some time."

I looked at his face. My lovely David. I didn't know what I felt. Was I sad? Was I relieved because I hadn't had an affair with him? What kind of woman was I?

"I am dying. I just want to tell you before you go, that you have been on my mind since the first time I met you. Until the time I die."

My tears spilled down my cheeks. I reached out for his hand. I kissed it. Oh, how much I had wanted to kiss him. How difficult it was now. I still wanted to kiss him but I was afraid of being infected. I kissed two fingers and put them on his lips. He kissed them passionately and closed his eyes. He wouldn't open his eyes anymore. I stayed there for some time, watching him falling asleep.

"I love you, too, David," I whispered into his ear, and got up.

I kissed his mother on the way out. Such a lovely lady with a lovely son. Now she was going to lose him forever. Arianne had been wrong. I would never forget David. Whenever my husband got curious and asked me what happened with David that summer, I reassured him. "I had no affair. You've got to believe me."

But I always remember my summer in Davis and keep the memory of David deep in my heart.

Sirikit Syah is a senior reporter with the private television station SCTV, and a president of the Surabaya Arts Council. Before joining SCTV, she worked as a reporter at the Surabaya Post daily. She also writes short stories and poetry for local newspapers.