A knock on the door wakes him up.  Mac climbs out of bed, unlocks the door and opens it.  It’s Myrna.

 

“Myrna, I told you …”

 

“I know,” says Myrna.  “That’s not why I’m here.  Can I come in?  I’m not here about us.  I’m here about you.”

 

Mac let’s her in and shuts the door.  There are no chairs.  They sit on the bed side by side.

 

“I found something,” says Myrna.  “Something that might help you remember who you are.”

 

Sitting on the bed Mac realizes how much he’s attracted to Myrna.  But, he knows he can’t take on any responsibilities until he gets his own life straightened out.

 

“What do you mean you found something?” he says.

 

“I went back to the spot where we found you and looked around very carefully.  I found this.”  Myrna holds up a silver chain with what looks like a pendant.  She hands it to Mac.

 

He sees something like a Chinese coin, the kind with a square hole in the center, attached to a chain with a copper bezel.  The bezel is engraved.  It’s difficult to make out what it says.  He squints his eyes.  It seems that Mariano Rosales is etched onto the copper ring.

 

“I don’t think this has anything to do with me,” says Mac.  He holds the chain away from his face and looks it over.  “No, I don’t remember ever seeing it before.”  There is something about that name, Mariano Rosales, something that feels uncomfortable.

 

“Do this for me,” says Myrna.  “Take off your shirt and put the chain around your neck.”

 

“Why?” says Mac.

 

“Just do it, please,” says Myrna.

 

“Okay,” says Mac.

 

“Look,” says Myrna, “where the pendant touches your chest.  There’s a mark there.  I think you were wearing this the day you fell.  The chain was broken when I found it.  I had it repaired.  I’m pretty sure it’s yours.”

 

“I don’t know,” says Mac.  “I just don’t know.”  He buries his face in his hands.

 

Myrna puts her arms around him, holds him close.

 

“You’ve been through something terrible, Mac.  I feel it.  Give yourself time.  Time is the great healer.”

 

Myrna pushes Mac down on the bed.  They make love, slowly and sweetly, this time without interruption.  Mac sleeps.  When he wakes Myrna is gone.  The chain with the coin pendant is around his neck.  He rests on his back and stares at the ceiling.  Suddenly the fire siren goes off and he flies out of bed onto the floor.

 

The upstairs room where Mac stays is directly opposite the roof of the firehouse just a few yards away from the siren that blares loudly to summon the firemen whenever there’s a crisis.  Not always a fire.  Sometimes it’s the rescue of someone who falls into the ocean or a medical emergency like a heart attack.

 

The firemen are all volunteers, local guys who drop whatever they’re doing to answer the call when it comes.  Mac knows these men from the coffee shop or the Cellar Bar where they hang out sometimes.  The Frolic Cafe and the firehouse sit side by side in the middle of town.

 

Mac is the dishwasher on the night shift—dishwasher, busser, gopher, problem solver—whatever nasty chores need to be done always seem to fall into his job description.  He works days if needed.  His arrangement with the boss is loose and subject to change.  He knows his place and doesn’t want to rock the boat even if he thinks he’s being taken advantage of.  This attitude plus his ability to deal with whatever job he’s given has created a special bond between Mac and the boss.  The boss confides in Mac and tells him personal things he tells none of the other employees.

 

After Mac recovers from the blast of the siren, he takes off for the headlands where the cliffs fall into the ocean.  He walks along the edge.  He hears the ocean pound the rocks below.  Mist sprays up to greet his nostrils with the smells of salt and seaweed.  The sounds of an osprey carry his eyes across the grassy fields up to the hills and low mountains that are clothed in evergreen forests and hundreds of miles of redwood trees, the oldest trees we know.  Here he is isolated in a wild and magical land.  This is where the Frolic Cafe was born.  This is where Mac now feels at home.

 

Mac has only been in the Cellar Bar a few times.  It has been compared to an opium den with its oriental carpets, round brass tables, stuffed animal heads and other Bohemian artifacts.  As Mac looks out to sea he pictures a sailing brig, the Frolic.  It crashed onto the rocks and sank just a few miles north of where he now stands.  After exchanging opium in China for a mishmash of exotica bound for San Francisco, the unlucky boat sank less than a day out from its destination.  Here on the headlands Mac sees the remnants of an old railway that hauled lumber to a chute to load the schooners bound for San Francisco just like the Frolic.  The timber industry was the Frolic’s legacy.

 

Mac heads back to the cafe, the Chinese coin bouncing on his chest.  He can’t get Myrna out of his head.  Then he stops in his tracks.  He realizes the significance of what she brought him.  Mariano Rosales.  He remembers the name.  Mariano was his great great grandfather.