THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART EIGHTEEN:

Back at the inn, they'd each gone to their separate rooms for a while, both having phone calls to make to Pittsburgh. Marshall's cell phone had been swallowed up by the mud and he was making do with the inn's phone extension in his room. He called Alice, his secretary, and asked her to procure him a new phone with the special features his old one had had. She said she'd get it in the mail to him tomorrow.

He sat in an armchair for a while, chin resting on his right hand, and just thought about things. If it hadn't been for the need to keep his left arm and shoulder stationary and for Wadsworth's interruption, he might very well have....

"You wanted to," he murmured to himself. He was still somewhat surprised at that. He was usually quite cautious, possibly overly-so, in developing any relationships with women. Especially since Beatrice. She'd taught him not every woman wanted or could handle the concept of a blind lover. Beatrice had found him interesting, different, even exciting at first

but in the long haul she really wanted a sighted partner. It took someone special, he guessed,

to commit to a blind man. Eden was a totally different sort of woman from Beatrice, but he just didn't know, not yet, not for sure, how she'd feel over time. He did know that he hoped she wanted to find out. It was the first time in a long while he'd hoped that. In the short time he'd known her, he felt connected in some strange way,  and that she had capacities for understanding, a deeper level of patience.

"What do you think, Wadsworth?"  He dropped his hand to the dog's neck and Wadsworth thumped his thick tail two or three times. "She tosses a good pinecone, don't you agree?"

He was 36 and getting used now to living alone, possibly too used to it. Though he'd dated a number of women, Beatrice was the only one he'd actually lived with and that was steadily getting further and further in the past. It was easy just doing what he needed or wanted to do every day, just him and Wadsworth. But he lifted his fingers, touching his lips, remembering

the feel of Eden.  He smiled to himself.

Raindrops began a slow patter against the window and he listened quietly for a while then suddenly wanted to share it with her, share the meaning of rain with her. "Come on, boy," he said, striding toward the door, not bothering with harness or leash.

He walked briskly down the hall, his fingertips trailing lightly along the wall, then stopped outside her door. She was playing music so he stopped, his hand on her door and just listened.

It was the soundtrack of  "The King and I"  and the song that had just begun was "I Have Dreamed."   He knocked softly and she opened the door.

He stood there, his hand on the door frame, Wadsworth at his side. He hesitated a moment then sang rather softly, "I have dreamed that your arms are lovely;  I have dreamed what a joy you'll be.  I have dreamed every word you've whispered,  When you're close, close to me."  He chuckled and swept into a grand bow.

Eden had just been thinking of going down the hall to ask Marshall if he'd like to go to the parlor with her when the light knock came on her door.  Opening it, she saw him standing there, looking slightly awkward for the briefest moment. Then he sang the first four lines of  the song she was playing and bowed.  She was utterly silent, totally blown away, and completely at a loss for words.  She saw the smile on his face begin to fade and realized he was taking her silence for disapproval.  Quickly she reached out and took his hand. "Thank you, I loved it."

"I guess it was pretty silly of me. I was just about to knock when I heard the music from your room and I...I...."

"I'm so glad you did.  I'm a sucker for show tunes. I think I know all the words by heart. I just can't sing them well like you do."

She could tell he still felt a little embarrassed and decided the only way to deal with him was total, upfront honesty.  "Marshall, I didn't say anything for a minute because, well, because you took me by surprise. I'm not used to opening my door and finding a handsome man singing to me.  But I liked it, I liked it so much, in fact, I had no words that were quite good enough to say how much."

"It's the first time I've ever done something like that," he admitted. "I thought of you listening

to the song and when you opened the door it just...."

"I'm glad it just," she smiled. "It was a lovely gift on what's turning out to be a rainy afternoon, I'm afraid."

"Ah, that's why I came," he said. "I wanted to share the rain with you."

"Share the rain...?"  She had no idea what he meant.

"Yes, the rain is wonderful. I wanted to share with you just how wonderful."  He stepped back. "Will you come with me to the porch?"

When they had their coats on and the afghan Martha had insisted they take out with them all tucked around their laps and legs, Marshall said, "Just close your eyes a moment and listen, Eden, listen with everything that's in you."

He was holding her hand in his as they sat, his chin tipped slightly in that way he had when listening intently, an expression of serene pleasure on his face. She closed her eyes as he'd asked, at first mostly aware of him breathing next to her. It was, for her, his presence and not the rain that was important, but she knew he wanted her to understand something that mattered to him, and since that was important, she turned her focus outward toward the steady rain falling.  She heard it gurgling through the downspout and spattering on the concrete walk, but wasn't sure just what it was he wanted her to notice about it so she opened her eyes, watching him.

Moving his hand, he reached it straight out in front of him, then to the side where he ran his fingers down the chain from which the porch swing hung, then further out, touching briefly

the railing and the top of a yew just beyond.  "This," he said, "is how I am aware of the world and if the rain should stop, my world shrinks down to what I can touch.  But the rain," he took her hand again, "drapes an acoustic blanket over everything, and things that were invisible or only in my awareness from time to time and rather fragmented, and it brings me a fullness of where I am all at once. I know the bush is just beyond the railing because I've touched it and

it's in my memory, but it gives me no indication that it's there and it's existence for me is tied completely to my anticipation of touching it."

He began rubbing his thumb pad over her knuckles as he spoke, his voice low, intense with his yearning that she understand his meaning. "But the rain makes the world speak to me," he continued, "and I understand the relationship of the house to the lawn and the lawn to the lake as though some veil has been lifted and the world is suddenly disclosed to me.  For me, the rain

is a gracious thing, an experience of great beauty. Jeffrey used to try to describe to me what it was like for him to open the curtains and look out at the view beyond with the morning light falling on the trees and the rooftops. Rain for me is like that, like opening a curtain and
looking out at the world. I no longer have to wait until I touch it nor am I isolated from it, but the whole of it is presented to me."

He turned his face to her just as though he were looking earnestly at her. "Listen, Eden, really listen. It's all made of building blocks of sound, this world of mine that the rain brings. There's the almost thudding, heavy sound as it hits the roof over the porch, then the gurgle of the downspouts. The spout on the left of the porch is blocked at the end and the water pattern of sound is different as it forces its way through. The curve of the path is marked out as the rain strikes the concrete. Do you hear how different it sounds, hitting the lawn on either side?
Then the lawn slopes away down toward the lake and the rainsounds show me the curvature of the land. Hear the spatter it makes on the wooden dock, and the distinct sound of water on water as it splashes into the lake? Then there's the little cascading sound of it running down the steps close by and the almost blanketed sound it makes on the evergreen bushes. It makes a crisp sort of sharp sound on the dry leaves of the trees in the distance. There's layer upon layer of sound, Eden, differences that reveal a hollow place sheltered from the rain, or the water overflowing from Martha's birdbath.  There's the secondary drip dripping of it off the railing and the distinct sound it makes on the metal of the cars in the parking lot.  The world becomes three-dimensional for me in the rain as though I'm touching all of it all at once. All the broken sounds I hear without the rain are suddenly given conscious space and dimension and it's all joined together into the grace of harmony."

She sighed, a somewhat ragged sigh because she was so filled with emotion looking at him, listening to him. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" It was what she was thinking and the thought formed itself into words before she could stop them, so she just continued.

"You have the most beautiful mind I've ever met."

He smiled slightly and kissed her knuckles. "It's the rain that's beautiful."

"It is, yes," she agreed, "but it's you that makes it so.  You took me, you know, you took me into it, into your world, and I think I understand...just a bit."

She closed her eyes again, trying to listen to the rain with new awareness. He'd said he wanted to share the rain with her. She was filled with a quiet sense of the preciousness of what he offered. There was always such a depth to what he said, something so opposite to the casual talk most men tried with her. It was what she wanted, what she needed. She could no longer deal with casual.

"Thank heavens for the maple leaf," she almost whispered, more to herself than to him.

"The one that blew across the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps?"

"Yes, that one. I wish I'd saved it."

"It served its purpose."

"It did, that it did," she smiled. "And didn't you say there was a poem somewhere in that leaf?"

He chuckled. "I did, indeed."

"So, where is it?"

"Now?"

"Right now."

He blew out a laughing breath. "Well, a poem on the spot like this generally tends to come out free verse."

"Free is fine," she joined his laugh.

"Give me a second."  He tipped his chin again. She loved his up-tipped profile.

"Ok, here goes. Free verse, mind."

He pursed his lips a moment then began:
"It came,
    its fragile thinness
       blown on Autumn's wind
Across
  the chilled concrete
       of her morning's path.
Unknown,
  its mission served
       as herald of the way,
Messenger
  sent to guide
        a choice yet unmade,
A vastness
  of decision
         with life and future
Hanging there
  in the veined
         delicateness...
A wheeling
  mapled portent
          skipping past."

He sat back a bit. "A bit feeble, but very free, eh?"

"You did that just now...just off the top of your head?"

"Was it ok?"

"'A wheeling mapled portent'? I'd say, yeah, it's ok."

He laughed. "Maybe a bit much, eh?"

"Not at all. I like it.  Say it again so I can remember it."

"Again? Eden, it just blew through my brain like the maple leaf. I don't think it's still there."

"Well, try. I need it."

"You need it?"

"I definitely need it."

Between the two of them they recalled most of it. "I've got to write it down before it's gone again," she said, rising. "Come on inside with me so I can find some paper."

Hanging their coats on the rack near the door, they made their way into the parlor where Martha was mending a seam on a handmade pillow. "You two look chilled," she announced, laying aside her needlework and standing. "Hot chocolate or hot cider?"

"Chocolate for me," Eden replied, rubbing her hands briskly together near the fire.

"For me, too. Thanks, Martha," Marshall added.

"Oh, is there paper in the desk?" Eden asked before Martha had fully crossed the room. "I

need to write something down before I forget."

"Top drawer, left," Martha smiled. "I'll be back in just a minute."

Eden pulled out the desk chair and sat down, getting a blank sheet of note paper. "You may

have to help me again."

"All right," Marshall agreed, walking carefully around where he knew the coffee table would

be and taking a seat on the couch. He had no way of knowing Martha had set her needlework there and sat down atop it. "Aaah!" He stood quickly, barking his shins on the table.

Wadsworth, who had just been circling, ready to settle down under the window, was instantly

at his side, poking a wet nose into his palm. Marshall turned, feeling the couch, finding the pillow, a spool of thread, and a very sharp needle.

Eden had been looking at the paper, not at him, and so had not been aware of where he was trying to sit. "One of life's little hazards," he said ruefully, moving the pillow off to the side. "I've actually inadvertently sat on someone's lap...more than once."  He sat carefully at the

far end of the couch, wiping his hand over the seat first. "Not since I've had dogs, though," he continued after he was settled. "A dog will always lead you to an unoccupied seat, even in a crowded restaurant. But on my own, it's a different story. As you see," he smiled.

Quickly she scribbled the words to his poem.  The lines were short and she found that after the second repetition, she'd got them firmly in mind. Rising, she came and sat on the coffee table in front of him. "Marshall?" She rested her hands on his knees.

"Yes, Eden?"

"Would you do something for me?"

"What is it you want, Eden?"

"I want you to take off your dark glasses."

She saw his jaw square and a muscle on one side begin to twitch. "Why?"

"I saw you in the rain. When you were talking about the rain...I really saw you. But I want to see you here, inside, too."

He sucked in a long breath, sitting there silently, tense. "I'd rather not," he finally said.

"I know," she replied. "But I need you to trust me enough to let me see you."

He licked his lips, his mind filled with Beatrice. "They don't look back at you, Eden, my eyes. They don't look back."

"I know that." Her hand curved around his where it rested on his thigh. "But it would mean a lot to me to see your whole face."

"You saw it there in the woods," he countered.

"All muddy, yes," she smiled, "but your eyes were closed."

"I had mud in...."

"Please," she interrupted. "I'm not going to run away. I promise."

"You can't know that," he barely whispered.

"I can," she said. "I do know that."

Very, very slowly he raised his hand and took off his glasses, letting his hand fall with them beside him onto the couch. His eyes were closed, long lashes fanned across his cheeks, traces

of the big bruise still there on one cheekbone. "Please," she asked again.

He sighed, then pressed his lips together, letting his lids open bit by bit.  He kept his face directly towards her, expressionless as he could manage, and waited. He really did not want

to do this, not yet, not after Beatrice.

They were green, green like the sea on a summer day with reflections of the sky mixing in, a

few freckles of amber here and there. They were beautiful eyes and it broke something in her heart that he could not see her, but she loved them, loved them because they were his. Her own eyes sparked with tears that he had done this for her and she felt this really odd combination

of gratitude, yearning, wonder, and even a bit of anger that he'd been made to feel that they were somehow ugly. Leaning her weight on her hands on his knees, she shifted her body

forward until her face was close to his. Then she kissed them, one by one, she kissed his eyes.

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