Peter walked into his father's loft apartment, touching the plants,
feeling their soft texture, smelling the aroma of the herbirium. The
soft melody of the flute sounded peaceful to the young man's ears. He
had been hearing sirens and arguments all day at work. Lunch had
finally come and he escaped from the 101st Precinct to find solitude but
wound up here.
He had been trying to find an answer to his questions, questions he had
started asking himself Saturday after watching Western Saturday on TV
with his youngest foster sister Kelly. She had just gotten out of the
hospital from appendicitis and was home alone. Their mother, Annie
Blaisdell, was in Europe with her husband. Peter had finally found them
in Scotland, they were on their way home.
The flute stopped, Peter looked up and saw his father standing in the
doorway leading to the hallway. "My Son, it is good to see you." Caine
smiled briefly, then his unreadable mask reappeared on his face.
"Yeah, good to see you, too." Peter turned around, thinking that this
was a stupid thing to ask. But the question had been nagging him for
the past three days.
"You have a question?" Caine asked, feeling the turmoil in his son.
Sensing the stress that the young detective had built up.
Peter turned around to face his father. "Pop," he stopped. "No, this is
stupid, forget it. I gotta go back to work." Peter turned to head for
the door.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him, "Please, let me be the judge of
that. Tell me what is troubling you."
Caine guided Peter to the meditation room, letting Peter form the
question in his mind. Offering tea, the two sat on the mat, the smell
of incense filled the air.
"Pop, Saturday I sat with Kelly and we watched TV. One of the shows was
Bonanza." Peter looked at his father, trying to see if the older man
recognized the name of the show. Caine made no gesture that he knew of
the show. "Well, anyway. It's about this man who has three sons, one
by a different woman. Seems that after each birth, the woman died and
he'd find another wife."
Caine nodded, understanding slowly building in his mind.
"Well, me and Kelly decided that, that the family was cursed. At least
the Cartwright men were cursed. It got me to wondering about the line
of Caine. Pop, my great grandmother died when Mathew was less than 10.
Then, Mathew gets married and they have you and she dies when you are
less than 5. Then, you get married...and...you..." he was unable to
finish the thought.
"I married your mother and she died when you were a small child." Caine
finished, seeing the pain in his sons dark hazel eyes.
"Yeah," Peter answered, wiping the moisture from his eyes. "Well, if I
marry, will my wife die if we have children? Because, if there is a
curse Pop, I don't think I can handle it."
Caine took Peter's hand in one of his and with the other, brushed unruly
bangs from Peter's forehead, "There is no curse in our line. It
is...circumstances...beyond our control...that cause our loved ones to
leave us." His hand moved to Peter's cheek, cupping his son's face in
his hand. "Is there a...prospect... in your life?"
Peter pressed into the warm hand then pulled away, grinning. "No, not
really. I don't know where me and Jordan are heading. But, that struck
me so hard Saturday." Looking at his watch, Peter jumped up, "I've got
to go."
Kwai Chang Caine watched his son's retreating back, his memories going
back to his own mother and wife. A silent tear fell, he had asked
himself the same question when Laura had died. He hoped there was no
curse in the line of Caine.
