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THE HERMIT

by Leigh Holman

Illustration by Ro Espe

The old man sat on the jetty pillions watching the activity as the shrimp boats pulled into the small harbor to unload the catch for the day. He was a grizzled old man, a hermit, with a lot of gray in the reddish hair that was long past the time for a trim. His beard was getting unkempt but it did not matter to him, nothing mattered to him except for the sea. He would sit for hours watching the ocean before wandering back to the old white beach house that the older couple had rented to him. He did a little work for them and made extra cash from the items that he would pick up from the beaches after high tides and after the usual winter Nor'easters. Such a storm last night had brought in treasures that he had traded for several dollars that he had stuffed into his pocket. As he walked down to the jetty one of the storeowners had called to him and given him a sandwich and a cup of coffee, which he had accepted.

It was an old fishing village on the North Carolina coast and he could still hear the lilt in the voices of some of the locals that sounded much like voices from his past. He liked the area as the people were friendly and although poor, were very hard working. They fished and tended the yachts of some of the millionaires who would come down late in the summer and then disappear by the advent of fall, leaving the village small and quiet again. Life was here and now and he liked to believe that he could forget about another life on another shore a very long way from where he was.

He had left that life; left it walking and did not turn back until the sea had stopped him. He had walked and caught so many rides in the back roads of the country. He had walked away from the horror that had happened there. The hermit had made his living by standing on moving ground, always defending his actions and theories but this time he was just too tired to fight back. He was tired of butting heads with the establishment: the military one and the political one, sometimes it was hard to tell which was the worse.

He had always fought them and won but this time the attack came from his own group. Those closest to him had actually questioned the accident; they had actually questioned him! That had hurt him the most. Before he could actually examine the site, they had expressed doubt.
 
 

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"But how do you know that there wasn't something structurally wrong with the facility?" the other man had questioned.

"Because I designed it," he remembered answering. He wasn't being arrogant, just telling the truth. He often checked and rechecked all his figures to the point that he had them memorized by the time the plans were completed.

"A mistake could have been made." the other man had suggested.

"I wouldn't have made that mistake...people died." he had replied.

Then it had happened. The hermit remembered this so clearly. He had turned to the other man with anger in his voice. "Do you actually doubt me?" Not giving the other man a chance to reply he had started to storm from the room. "We are not discussing this tonight."

The other man had grabbed his arm, "You are not leaving here mad. We have to discuss it." The anger had risen in his voice. "The report said that there was a structure problem and now ten men are dead."

It was at this point that he had struck out. With all the anger pouring out he had actually slapped the other man and sent him reeling to the table. The other man had risen with a red welt rising from his face. The hermit remembered the look he had received from the other man. But he had turned and walked out the door, despite hearing the other man call out to him.

It was too late now. They would have had to discuss it later but later never came as he kept walking. He walked mostly to overcome the anger and the shame of his actions, but then the freedom became intoxicating. For the first time in a long time, he had actually pushed the consuming drive away and surrendered to the call of absolute freedom. It felt good!
 
 

**********

Maybe it was the smell of the ocean in his nostrils, the feeling of the salty brackish water of the marshes. It could have been the huge flocks of heron that drew him here to this tiny village. Maybe it was the tiny island to the South with the wild ponies, but whatever it was he decided to stay for a while.

He had appeared here late one evening and the curiosity had finally settled down as the locals had accepted him as one of their own. It was like a lost son returning to the shores. He was a gentle man with non-assuming airs and he moved quietly among them making no demands except asking to be accepted in his quiet way. His eyes, a brilliant blue always looked out to the sea and confronted no one and the locals felt comfortable as he moved among them.

The young man lounged against the railing of the pier, watching the man sitting at the jetty pillions. He was concerned about the old fellow who appeared on the beach. It was his job to look after the village; he was the representative of the local law enforcement. Actually, he was the only law enforcement and he liked to keep guard over the village. Most of the time he had to talk to people about the dogs running loose or maybe there would be a fire on the beach. If it were lovers he would overlook it and try to see that they doused the bonfire before they left.

The young man, everyone called him Mark, would walk down to the beach and talk to the old man as he watched the boats come in. At first, he thought the old man was a drunk but the eyes told a story of infinite sadness. Like the children on the beach and the storekeepers along the beachfront, Mark adopted the old man as one of his charges. He did not even complain when a small mutt, that had run loose in the village for months, took up with the hermit.

The old man found the old house by accident while walking down the old beach road and been attracted by the collection of junk in the yard. It was a tale of the sea that spanned many years and it was all lying about in the yard. He looked all the seagoing equipment and felt comfortable in it's presence. The dog, that had no name, sat at his feet looking into the yard with him.

"The house is for rent." A voice sounded behind him.

The hermit turned to see an old woman, perhaps the oldest woman that he had ever seen standing behind him, "How much?"

"Can you work?" the woman asked. "You have to leave the yard be."

 The old man smiled slowly, "I would leave the yard be."

"You give me two dollars a week and there's water but no electricity. You keep people away from the yard and the house," the woman continued as she pointed to two houses across the street. "Those are mine too. You keep the yard up and people away unless they are rented."

The old man looked over at the pitiful yards surrounding the houses. The yards were nothing but sand, sand dunes and sea oats. Keeping up those yards would certainly be no problem. He nodded to the woman. He took two dollars from his pocket and handed it to the old woman. She dug around in the tattered jacket she was wearing and gave him an old brass key tied with a string.

"That's the key." She shuffled off over the roughly paved street to the house on the right. That is how the old house became his and he started to rebuild a life that he thought he had left behind him.

The hermit opened the gate to the house and walked down the path of shells and gravel to the steps leading up to the house. It was built up from the ground in the way that the old beach houses are and slatted with wood to keep animals out from under the house. He could see old boats and metal parts of machinery under the house. He climbed the steps to the door and placed the key in the lock, turning it slowly. The door swung open, revealing a dim interior filled with bits and pieces of the past, the sea, a bit of everything. It was coated in dust and the salt from the air. His demands were simple; this would do for him.

Over the next couple of days he cleaned the beach house and rearranged the treasures that were left inside to give him some living space. To his delight he found an old ship's wheel. He held it up to the wall and stood back at arm's length to admire it. That was something that he would like to have in his office...

His face clouded and the memories came rushing back and he dropped the wheel to the floor as he sank to his knees beside it. Muffling his sobs he let loose a torrent of the memories: The doubt! Why did it have to happen? One more test! It should have with stood the pressure! Ten men had died! My fault,...no, not my fault! He repeated the words to himself as he kneeled on the floor. The small dog moved to his side and kept watch as the old man poured out his grief.

His sobbing joined in with the rolling thunder as another Nor'easter moved in from the sea. The waves threw themselves on the beach and the water and foam blew to the dunes that separated the house from the sea.
 
 

**********

He awoke some time later, sleeping on the floor...it was silent and the storm had passed. The sound of the waves was reassuring and he rose from the floor and stepped outside to the narrow porch at the front of the house; maybe it was more a wider top step that led into the house. He wasn't sure and it really did not care to him. It was a place that would shelter him from the elements. He was older and his body ached with pains he had not surrendered to in the past but came to haunt him on a daily basis now.

It was dark and the village slept, the only sound was the ocean. The old man looked up into the night sky to see the stars stretching out over him...the Milky Way. He had not been able to see it back there; or did he take the time to look up? He wasn't sure. The stars were so bright against the dark contrast of the sea with no lighting...just the dark sea and the waves.

He moved slowly and sat down on the step, looking into the darkness where he knew that the ocean must be. Off in the distance, he could see a lighthouse beacon searching the sky. The dog moved to his side and laid down waiting for him to move again. The hermit wondered if anything would really matter to him anymore. Once he had friends but they were all gone, they were back in the other place. He would not let himself think of them for fear that the aching in his heart for that other life would draw him back.

He knew that he would have to go back some day, if only to make peace with the other man. The hermit knew he had been angry that the other man had doubted him, but time had washed away the anger. Time had led him to believe that the other man had just questioned him. The hermit knew that he had the training and the designs so why had he been so angry at the other man, who did not have the training or knowledge? The hermit now knew that his own self-doubts had caused the anger and the attack.

He remembered the other man. The shock and the hurt that turned to him after the attack. The hermit was finally able to shut the memory out of his mind. He permitted the face to get hazy but he could never forget the eyes. They haunted him!

Some place, some where he had picked up a paper and the face had been there...it used to smile but not in this picture...so solemn. The photo spoke to him and continued to ask questions...the dark hair and hazel eyes spoke to him over the distance and the time that he had placed between them. He carried it for a while but the voice got angrier with him and he could not reason with it. God, how he tried! It would not listen and he put it in a trashcan and allowed it to fade from his mind too.

How long ago had that been? Months? Was it a year? He did not remember...he did not want to remember anything about it. His life was on the beach now and he walked it nearly every day joined by children who would walk it with him. He would tell them about the sea and about the animals that he picked up and shown to them. He and the dog always had company to join them on the beach as he could tell them so many stories. One little boy had asked his name and he replied that he was Harry...they all knew him as Hermit Harry. Hermit Harry became the grandfather of the children of the village. Often he would go to the schools and tell them about the sea and the things that he would find along the ocean.

Occasionally, he would find something too wonderful to sell and he would place it lovingly in the yard or in the house. Another day he had found a coconut washed up on the beach after a storm and explained it to the children. They had been delighted with the find and although Harry knew it wasn't any good he had opened it for the children and told them about the coconut and the milk and nutmeat that it contained. Another time he found a starfish on the sand; it was still alive and he walked down to the water and placed it gently into the sea. The movement was as gentle as a father lowering a child into the sea.
 
 

**********

Mark stood on the fishing pier watching this action and wondering about the old man's past. He had discovered that the old man was well educated and knew more about the sea than anyone he had ever known. He was determined to know more but the old man would never tell him anything except one time when they were talking the old man called him "son". The hermit had paused in his talk and looked at him unlike he had ever done. The old man had quickly risen and walked away with the dog following him. Mark had thought that he had seen tears come to his eyes.

Mark had decided that there must have been a family somewhere. He had decided that the hermit had a son and he was determined to find Harry's son. In his free time he sent messages to all the law enforcement agencies nearby as the old man could not have come far to the small village. He had asked his girlfriend to take a picture of Harry so he could send it with the description. She had and time had passed and no one had answered back about Harry. Mark wasn't going to give up, someone had to be out there that knew Harry.

Hermit Harry and his dog continued their walks along the beach and would go to the schools and visit. The dog was the only dog able to visit the schools, as everyone knew it was Harry's dog. Mark's girlfriend, Janie, had taken Harry and the dog across the sound to the vet so the dog would have it's shots. He did not want someone getting upset with Harry over that. He got the dog a collar and leash. The dog wore the collar but Harry would not use the leash no matter how much Mark pleaded with him.

No matter what Mark would do, he could find no son or family for Harry. Mark, his girlfriend and the older couple looked out for Harry and Harry looked out for the dog and for the children of the village. Janie later admitted to Mark that she had given the original photograph of Harry and the dog to a friend who was entering them in a traveling photograph show.
 
 

**********

Lee Crane left the meeting, tired and bored with two days of listening to people argue about things that were well over his head. He had taken Melina Gounaris, the Marine Biologist at the Nelson Institute for Marine Research, with him to try to understand what was going on. She obviously understood what was going on and was able to discuss all the projects that were upcoming. He was afraid that the Institute would fold after Nelson disappeared but the money kept coming in and Nelson's supporters were loyal to the man they had known for so long. The initial report of the explosion had showed design error. It was Nelson who had designed the new Sea Lab and Lee had questioned him about the responsibility for the accident that claimed the lives of ten men. Nelson had started to walk out of the office. Lee had tried to stop him but the Admiral had struck out at him, stopping only briefly to see the welt appear on the man's face. It was apparent to Nelson then, wrongly so, that he was capable of violence and that horror haunted him. Lee Crane had not seen him again since that day; no one had seen Admiral Harriman Nelson. He had ceased to exist.

Some months later there was a skeleton found. The Institute had held it's breath while tests were done and dental records studied. The skeleton turned out to be one of the men who had died at the Sea Lab site and then another investigation was started. It was discovered that one of the men who had died was as impostor and that the Sea Lab had actually exploded from some type of bomb placed in the structure itself. Nelson's name was cleared of any wrongdoing. It was written up in the papers and carried a photo of Lee Crane, the current head of the Institute. He was expressing his relief that the Admiral's name had been cleared and that he was not a murderer as several people in the scientific community had suggested. This was the same picture that had screamed the questions at him again and the hermit had argued with the photo. Fate might have changed that day if the man had actually read the article, but that was not to be.

Lee had looked but how far could the man go? He was tired and growing older. Lee had to acknowledge, with regret, that his mentor was getting older. The police had looked for several days and then they had concluded that Admiral Harriman Nelson was dead. Neither Lee Crane, nor the men of the Seaview would accept that but they knew that the dream must continue and they chose to make it continue. Lee Crane stepped down from Command of the Seaview and turned it over to Chip Morton as he prepared to take over the role of running the Institute. It was harder to give up the Seaview, he loved his silver lady and he did not love the wood and bricks of the Institute. He hated the confinement of the office and was determined to keep Nelson's dream alive but he would always go down to see his lady come home.
 
 

**********

Lee Crane was in Las Vegas, not to gamble but to attend a convention of scientists that were there to try to win grants from government, industry and private concerns for the latest project that the institute was working on. He hated the meeting and walked from the room with Melina at his side. "Do we have two more days of this?" he grumbled.

"Yes, and you are doing fine." she told him. She knew that he wasn't comfortable at the meetings, hated being there.

"I hate this." he answered. Lee was smart enough not to try to pass himself off as the scientific expert that Nelson was. He would defer the questions to his panel of experts; in this meeting the responsibility fell to Melina. "How are we doing?"

"Wonderful!" she replied, "Relax, Lee, we have this grant."

"How do you know?"

"They told me on the way out." she answered smiling.

 "Did I miss that?" he asked.

She laughed and took his arm, "Let's go to the lobby and get some lunch. They were setting up some sort of display this morning." she commented, pulling him away to the lobby. "You need to relax." She was worried about him. He was becoming increasingly annoyed over the smallest matters and often angry with the staff at the Institute.

The scuttlebutt circulating around the Institute was that Lee Crane and Admiral Nelson had argued quite loudly before the Admiral had stalked out of his office. Lee had staggered to the door, calling for him to stop but he had continued, without stopping.

Melina did not understand all that happened that day except when Lee explained it to her later he blamed himself. He stated that he had questioned the Admiral, then he corrected himself; not actually questioned him but had questioned if the Admiral had made a mistake.

Her attention was drawn back to the present when Lee gently touched her shoulder, "I know that I'm going to regret saying this but I would rather return to the Institute..." Lee started to suggest.

"...And when you are there, you want to be somewhere else." she reminded him.

"Maybe I should have asked Chip to do all this. He's better at the administrative end of things." He sighed, looking around the lobby. "I'm jealous of Chip being on the Seaview and I'm stuck here." He continued to complain.

Melina playfully punched him in the arm, "Lee! You are here with me!"

He flushed slightly, laughing. "That's not what I meant...the meeting."

Melina smiled at her companion. It was good to hear him laugh. He rarely smiled since the Admiral had disappeared from the Institute over a year ago.

They entered the area to see that it had been set up for a display of photographs concerning the ocean. Since the hotel was hosting the international gathering on all aspects of ocean survey and research, it was appropriate that the photographs would reflect the same subject.

Melina took his hand and led him over to the framed color glossies of marine life. The first group of photographs was from the waters of Australia's Great Reef, showing the abundance of the sea life. Melina walked along, commenting about the photographs and Lee would occasionally pause beside her to look. He wasn't really interested but decided to humor her since she had worked so hard and scored several large grants for the Nelson Institute.

Lee had been concerned about the future of the Institute, knowing that he did not have Harriman Nelson's knowledge of science or administration. He followed Nelson's advice, once given in jest; but now he thought that the man had been preparing him for such a reality as this.

Lee, if you don't know what you're doing, surround yourself with people who do and then shut up.

He followed that advice to the letter and it had actually worked, and he was learning a bit from those around him also. He smiled to himself, thinking of the day that the Admiral had delivered that line to him.

"I don't think sea slugs are that humorous." Melina remarked beside him.

He looked down at her, "I guess it would depend on the situation."

Another series of photographs caught his eye and he wandered over to look at black and white shots of children playing on the beach with an enormous sandcastle. These were all photos of people interaction with the sea, so he wandered by them looking at the images.

There were the usual collection of the swimmers and surfers; children and sandcastles; and the photographers of couples wandering the beach. There was also a photograph of an old man looking out to sea. In the background was a lighthouse, which attracted his attention. He hadn't seen this particular lighthouse before and as he looked at it something about the old man drew his attention back to the man. For a minute, Lee just stood there staring into light colored eyes. The photograph was black and white but he knew that the eyes were blue and he knew the name of the man. He turned to see Melina standing at another photograph some feet away from him.

"Melina!" he called to her.

She turned from the photograph and walked over to where he was standing, pleased that something had caught his attention with the displays. He pointed to the man and watched her as she looked over the photograph.

"It's nice." she commented. She liked the photograph but the photos of the sea life were more interesting to her.

"Look at the eyes, Melina." Lee whispered to her.

She noticed a certain urgency in the voice and stared at the old man's face and his eyes. The man was definitely a hermit and quite comfortable in the pose, looking out to the ocean. The lighthouse and the sea were framed in the background and a small, fuzzy dog sat at his side. The man's eyes were staring out at the sea; they were light colored, showing a bit of age and intelligence. Suddenly, it dawned on her what Lee had found so disquieting about the photograph. Her reaction was a low breathed, "Mi Dios."

"It's got to be." Lee continued. "I would know those eyes anywhere." He looked at the face again, mentally removing the beard and making the hair shorter. He smiled again knowing that he was right. Looking at the caption, he was disappointed to read only the words, The Hermit.

Something about their actions caused one of the program representatives to walk over to them. She walked up and eyed the couple appreciatively before announcing that the photographs were for sale.

"How much for this one?" Lee asked pointing to the photo.

"The black and white photographs are fifty dollars. " she replied.

Lee drew his wallet out of his pocket and peeled off the bills and handed them to the lady, "I want that one."

"I'll wrap it." she commented.

"No, I want it just the way it is." He answered. He pointed to the caption, "Where was the photograph taken?"

"I don't know." She commented. "The photographer lives on the east coast...some small town." she continued. She took the photograph down from the wall and gave it to Lee. "Do you need a bill of sale?"

He smiled, "Yes, I might have a need for that too."

She walked off to make out the bill of sale as Melina turned to Lee. "What are you going to do? We don't know where it was taken."

He looked at the photograph, "The lighthouse will tell us and I know someone back home that knows lighthouses. He can tell me where it was taken." He kissed Melina gently on the lips and drew back, "Please take care of things here. I have to get back to the Institute. I'll call you tonight and tell you what I have found out. Tell them that something came up and I had to leave but don't say anything yet." He turned from her and left the display area.
 
 

**********

Lee Crane thought that he was racing the clock now. He had rushed back to the Institute and demanded that Angie contact Chip and get him back to the Institute as soon as possible. She was used to his demands from time to time but this one seemed to have a difference to it. He was demanding but he also had a smile on his face.

"Angie, if he gets here before I get back tell him to sit down and wait. He cannot leave." Lee instructed her as he started for the door.

"Lee, what shall I tell him? Where will you be?"

Lee looked back smiling, "I'm going to be on the beach. Just tell him to wait and have the flying sub ready."

Lee Crane drove along the coastal highway looking over the beaches for a figure that had to be out there. If anyone could tell him the name of the lighthouse, it was John.

Now all he had to do was to find John. John had retired from the Navy many years ago and spent his days on the beach painting; mostly he painted lighthouses because people would buy them. Sometimes he painted just seascapes. Lee had several of his paintings hanging in his own house. John had humored Lee and actually painted an oil of the Seaview under sail, but it had been sitting in the harbor at that time.

His search brought him success as he spotted a solitary figure standing on the beach with an easel before him. Lee pulled to the curb of the highway, parking on the shoulder of the road. He would chance a ticket from the highway patrol for illegal parking, as he could see no other place to park. He walked down the slopping dunes to the figure on the beach.

John was an older man. The sun was hot and sweat glistened on his chestnut colored skin as he worked on the sunrise that he imaged before him. He was painting a seascape when he heard the crunch of sand behind him. He turned and saw a friend walking across the sand to him. Smiling he called out to the figure, "You're parked illegally, Boy, and you're not to walk on the dunes."

"I know, John." The figure answered back.

"Been awhile, Boy." He commented placing the palette on the chair beside him. "Now, you look like a man on a mission."

Lee smiled at him, "I am." He handed John the photograph of the hermit beside the lighthouse. "Where was this photo taken?"

John took the photo and looked at it carefully, then handed it back to Lee. "Is this suppose to be a test?" He asked smiling.

"No, John, I need to find that lighthouse."

"You're on the wrong side of the States." John answered. "You need to be on the East Coast, Boy"

Lee smiled, "Where 'bouts on the East Coast?"

John took the photo back and pointed to the horizontal rings around the lighthouse, "It's black and white." He commented.

"That's the only photo available." Lee answered back.

"No, Lee, the lighthouse...it's the color of the light house." the man answered back. "This one is on Bodie Island."

"Where's that?"

"The North Carolina coast, the coastal islands." Johns answered back. He gave the photo back to Lee. "I painted it a couple years ago. The mosquitoes are really bad there." He commented.

"Thanks, John. I can deal with the mosquitoes." He looked at the photo, then back into John's face. "This means a lot."

John turned and picked up the palette again and resumed painting, "Good, buy me dinner some night and tell me the story. Now go move your car."

Lee smiled again and called out his good-byes as he walked back to the car. By the time that he returned to the Institute, Angie should have found Chip and then he and Chip could locate this Bodie Island.
 
 

**********

Chip flew the Flying sub while Lee studied the map that lay in his lap. "There's really nothing that is really that big nearby. There is a Coast Guard station about an hour away that we could land at and then borrow a car." He commented while looking at the map.

Chip peered over at the map, "Lee, what in the devil are we doing?" He tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. There were times that he really had to question his friendship with Lee and lately Lee's attitude had a lot to do with it.

Lee looked up from the map, "Sorry, Chip, I couldn't say anything until we were well away from the Institute." He reached down to the bag beside his chair and handed Chip the photograph.

Chip took the photograph and balanced it in his lap while he continued to fly the FS-1. He saw the man beside the lighthouse and the little dog sitting beside the man. The old man was obviously just.... Chip's mouth fell open as he continued to look at the photograph, then he looked over to Lee.

Lee was smiling back at him. "Now you see what's so important."

"We're going there?" Chip asked.

"You're the pilot." Lee replied.

**********

The flight had taken ages, or so it seemed to Lee. They landed at the small harbor beside the Coast Guard station and had no problems borrowing a car for a few hours. The trip up the islands was longer than they expected and they had to wait for passage across one small inlet by ferry. The breeze was wonderful and Lee actually began to relax as he stood on the deck of the ferry as it moved across the inlet. By now Chip had taken possession of the map and was studying it and commenting to Lee about the trip. "We have a big bridge ahead of us and then we are on Bodie Island. We also have another lighthouse ahead of us after the ferry."

Lee looked at the map, "Let's go on to Bodie Island and to the lighthouse, first."

Less than an hour later they pulled the car into the parking area of the Bodie Island Lighthouse. Lee was disappointed to see that there was no one at the lighthouse except for a member of the Ranger Service locking the door to the lighthouse. She looked up, surprised to see two men in Naval uniforms walking to her.

Lee pulled out the photo that was beginning to get well worn from the constant handling.

"I'm looking for this man. Could you tell me where he is."

The women took the photo and smiled at it, "That's Harry." she answered.

Harry? Lee's mind grasped the word. He saw Chip smile slightly.

"No, I haven't seen Harry today." She answered. "Drive on into town and stop at the Sheriff's office and Mark can probably tell you where Harry is now. Why is the Navy looking for Harry?"

"He's a friend." Lee answered.

She smiled, handing the photo back to Lee. "You'll have to get in line. Harry's got a lot of friends, especially the children. He tells them about the sea."

"He should know." Chip commented.

They said their good-byes to the woman and walked back to the car. Lee noticed the large black swarm of mosquitoes that moved about them. So far John was right about everything. Now if they could find the Admiral.
 
 

**********

Mark watched the Coast Guard vehicle pull up in front of the office. He leaned back in the chair wondering if it was his friend, Frank, dropping in for a visit or was something wrong and they were going to hold him accountable for some tourist. He was a bit perplexed to see that the two men who got out of the car were not dressed in Coast Guard uniforms but Naval uniforms. What's happened now?

Both of the men stepped into the office as Mark rose from the chair to greet them. They were a bit older than he was and seemed quite serious.

The dark-haired man stepped forward and introduced himself. "I'm looking for the Sheriff here. The Ranger at the Bodie Island Lighthouse suggested that I come here to speak with someone named Mark."

"I'm Mark." he answered. "How can I help you, gentlemen?" Mark was guardedly polite to them. It wasn't very often that he had the Navy coming into the office and he was wary of them being here.

"I'm looking for this man." the dark-haired man stated, handing him a photograph.

"This is Janie's photo." he commented. "Where did you get it?"

Mark watched the blond-haired man walk about the office looking at the books and things on the shelves. The blond man noticed the younger man watching him and flashed him a smile as he returned to the other officer's side.

"And who are you?" Mark asked, looking back to the dark-haired man.

"My name is Lee Crane. I'm from San Barbara, California. This," he indicated Chip, "is Chip Morton."

"What's you business with Harry?" Mark asked returning to his side of the desk. He wasn't sure that he was comfortable with these men in uniforms looking for Harry.

"It's personal." Lee answered. "I would really like to see him."

"I can take you to him, but I want to be there." Mark answered. He still did not know why two men in uniforms would be making a personal visit. He thought it would be better for Harry if he should go along too.

"You can be present, but I want to talk to him privately." the dark-haired man answered. Lee knew that it was his fault that the Admiral had left the Institute. He wanted to speak to him alone first. He needed to explain his actions and to apologize to the Admiral for what he had said. He was the one that had been out of line.

"Okay." Mark agreed. He stepped from behind the desk.

Chip walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup of coffee. Lee stopped to watch him, wondering what he was doing. How can you think of coffee now?

Chip saw Lee watching him and deliberately spooned sugar into the cup as he turned around to Lee. "I came this far. The rest of the trip is yours, Lee." He walked over to the sofa and sat down on it and picked up a magazine.

"I want you to come." Lee answered.

"Nope." Chip answered. "I'll wait here until you come back."

Mark watched the men and the interaction between them. The dark-haired man named Lee Crane sighed and turned to Mark. "Let's go."

As they stepped from the office, Mark turned to Lee, "Are there going to be problems?"

"No, they happened long ago...there won't be any problems." Lee answered. At least he hoped that there would not be problems. It had been over a year and he had to say a lot to the Admiral, if the Admiral would give him the chance.

Lee started to the car but Mark stopped him. "He's over at the jetty." They walked along the boardwalk to the pier. Make stopped at the steps that went down to the beach and pointed off to a figure a few hundred yards away down by the water. "There's Harry."

Lee stopped and stared off at the figure in the distance. Suddenly it was too far away and he wondered if he would be able to cross those last few hundred yards to the man that he had considered a father for the longest years. Somehow that void loomed before him.

Mark had thought that the men were here for business with the Navy but he noticed the hesitation in the man's manner as he stared off at Harry. Suddenly Mark remembered the time that Harry had referred to him as "son" and he wondered just whom he was now talking to.

"Are you Harry's son?" he asked.

Lee looked back to him, "He told you that?"

"Not in such words, but yeah, he did. I figured that he had a son somewhere...something he said." Mark answered.

That seemed to turn the tide for Lee. He went down the stairs and walked toward the figure sitting out by the jetty. The Admiral was turned partly away from him so he could not see the figure but could sense a presence coming closer and figured that it was Mark. The little dog moved from under the plank and stood watching the stranger approach.

"So what did you come to get on me about today, Mark?" he asked without looking up at the figure.

The man sat down on the bench beside him and looked out into the sea. That was something that Mark rarely did, as he would pace around the sand trying to determine if Harry had had something to eat or if either the sun was to hot or the winds too cold.

"Maybe it's about an apology that is long overdue," a soft voice answered him.

Harry had tried so long to forget the face that he knew the voice belonged to. He closed his eyes as tears begin to well up inside them. Softly he answered, "You had every right to question me, Lee. What took you so long to come find me?"

"I never thought you would have left...there's a lot of distance." Lee started to answer.

The Admiral smiled slowly, "Yes, I know. I walked a lot of the miles."

Lee put his arm around the older man's shoulders, urging him upwards. "Let's go home.

You have a lot of work waiting for you, Admiral. I hate that job."
 
 

**********

Mark sat at the desk as the door opened and another Naval officer stepped into the office.

What is this? He questioned as he rose from the desk and met the face of Harry standing before him. Harry was clean-shaven, with a haircut and dressed in an Admiral's uniform.

Mark could only stare at the figure before him.

"Mark, I'm going home." Harry told him softly.

"Where's home at?" Mark asked. He would miss Harry, but he knew that this would happen some day.

"California." Harry answered. "It's been a long vacation and I have to go back."

Mark stepped from behind the desk, "I'm glad your son cane for you."

"So am I." Harry answered. "Tell Janie and all the children goodbye for me. Don't worry about the dog, I'm taking her back home with me." he added smiling. He pulled a small card from his pocket, "Mark, thank you for so much. If you ever need anything, please call me here." To his surprise, Harry walked up to him and hugged him. "You marry that girl Janie. I want to come to the wedding."

Mark looked at the card, it contained four lines, reading: N.I.M.R. Nelson Institute for Marine Research. Harriman H. Nelson. The telephone number was written in.

"Who's Harriman H. Nelson?" Mark asked.

"Oh, his friends know him as Harry." was the reply as the man stepped out into the bright sunshine.

THE END