ARE WE FALLING IN LOVE?

 By Joan Stephens

Catherine awoke to utter darkness.  Her face felt strange, and when she tried to open her eyes, she couldn’t.  Suddenly afraid, she tried to sit up only to stop when she felt a sharp pain lance through her right side.  Gentle hands pushed her back onto the mattress, and a soft, compassionate voice told her to lie still as she had broken ribs. 

The quiet, whispery voice allayed her fears, but she was still confused.  It didn’t feel or sound like a hospital.  For one thing, the bed was too large and much too soft.  Also the bedding was not the crisp, fresh sheets she expected.  And for another there was this strange metallic tapping constantly in the background, and the frequent sound of an elevated train passing by. 

“Where am I?  Hospital?” she groggily mumbled, hoping the answer was yes but not at all surprised when the soft voice said, “No.”   

There was a pause as if the man was deciding what to tell her.  “You’re in my home.” 

“Why?” she asked, her voice muffled by the bandages covering her face. 

“There was no time.  You could have died.” 

Suddenly she realized that she couldn’t see and her hands darted to the area of her eyes.  “My eyes!” she cried.  “What did they do to my eyes?” 

The comforting voice assured her that her eyes were fine, just bandaged. 

She relaxed, exhausted from her emotional outburst. 

“Sleep now.  You’re safe; nothing can harm you here.”  A calloused, rough hand passed soothingly over her wrapped head.  “Sleep.” 

Heeding his quiet voice, she closed her eyes and slipped unafraid into a deep sleep.

 *

 Imprisoned in the darkness, the days passed slowly.  She had learned that the man’s name was Vincent, and that he had a gentle and caring soul.  He cared for her in every way but those functions that needed the hand of a woman.  He had brought a woman named Mary to bathe her and to help her to the bathroom.  Ever considerate, he would absent himself during her bath then come back with a cup of fragrant herb tea and a muffin or cookies.  She wished so much that she could see his face because she was sure that his features would betray his kind and concerned character.  But that would have to wait until the bandages were removed from her eyes.  

Daily he read to her when she wasn’t sleeping, and she came to look forward to the time they spent together.  When she had become strong enough, he would be gone for a few hours, leaving her in the care of Mary who was as reticent as Vincent about telling her where she was.  It was always a relief when he returned; she felt so alone without him. 

*.

 The strangest thing happened one day at dinner.  He was feeding her some of William’s(she had wrung the name of the cook out of him) tasty soup when she reached out to guide the spoon to her mouth and encountered a heavily furred hand.  Shocked and bewildered, she snatched her hand back with a gasp, unable to reconcile what she had felt with what she thought of him.  She decided to ignore it, convincing herself that it wasn’t important.   

That night she awoke screaming from a nightmare.  She was reliving the attack, and when, Vincent tried to restrain her flailing hands, she fought him like a wildcat.  “Catherine, Catherine,” his velvety whisper finally penetrated her terror.  “You’re safe; you’re safe.  No one can harm you here.  I won’t let them.” 

Sobbing convulsively, she threw herself against him, clutching him as the lifeline he had become.  He held her closely like a baby, her head resting on his shoulder as he let her sob away her fears and disorientation.  At last, she lay quietly in his arms, hiccupping occasionally.  Exhausted, she slipped comfortably into a tranquil sleep.  With his hand cradling her head, he gently lowered her onto to the bed.  He stared at her, recalling the beauty that had shone from beneath the brutal wounds and blood that covered her face.  Her fear and her trust in him pierced his heart, releasing a flood of emotions.  He vowed to love her to his dying day and beyond, if possible.  Silently unmoving, he watched over her all night, ready to rescue her from any and all demons that pursued her. 

*

 “Please, Vincent, won’t you tell me where I am?  Brooklyn?  Queens?” 

He chuckled a little and said, “No, not Brooklyn or Queens.” 

“Am I still in New York?”With an amused smile at her persistence, he assured her that she was still in New York, but that he had to keep it a secret. 

“Please, Vincent, tell me,” she pleaded, “where are we?” 

He gazed at her, a troubled, serious look on his face.  But as he came to a decision, his face cleared, and he said, “I have to keep it a secret.” 

“Why?” 

“A lot of good people depend on this place for safety.” 

“I’ll keep your secret,” she vowed.  “And that tapping, it never ceases.” 

He told her of the tunnels and the people and how they lived and cared for each other. 

Intensely interested, and unacknowledged by her, attracted to his gentle, caring persona, she wondered why he was living in the tunnels.  He related the tale that Father recounted at every opportunity about his coming to the tunnels and his life there.  The tale was so fantastic that she didn’t know what to believe.  But there was no reason for him to lie to her, and anyway, she trusted him, much to her surprise. 

*

 On a day when she felt completely well, she climbed out of bed and groped her way around the chamber.  She felt him looking at her and said, “I know you’re there; you can come in.” 

He could feel her restlessness and offered to read to her. 

“It won’t help,” she said bitingly.  And she confessed to him that she was frightened and worried. 

“I know,” he answered.  “I can feel it.”  She wondered at that statement.  “You’re getting your strength back.  Let me get you some of that herb tea that you like.” 

Sensing that he was gone and feeling edgy as if she was about to explode, she continued to bump into objects as she tried to walk around the room.  She made a snap decision and began to claw at the bandages.  She was desperate to see what damage had been done to her face.  Free of the binding cloth strips, she felt her face with trembling fingers, dismayed at the heavy sutures she found.  Frantically searching for a mirror, she found a broken headlight and stared with horror at her disfigured face.  “Oh god,” she moaned in distress.  At that moment a strange animal like countenance rose over her shoulder, startling her.  With a yelp, she whirled and threw the headlamp at the apparition, realizing as she did that the creature must be Vincent.  Instinctively he snarled and rushed away.  Catherine took a halting step after him, reaching with a repentant hand.  She hadn’t meant to hurt this gentle being, and yet she had with her thoughtless actions.  Suddenly, she began to cry, whether for him or herself, she didn’t know.  Sobbing heavily, she sank unhappily onto the nearby huge chair not knowing that it was Vincent’s own chair.  

She was aware of him before he spoke.  “I’ve never regretted what I am till now,” he said, leaning against the side of the rocky entrance. 

Staring at him resolutely, almost angry with him for not forewarning her and angry with herself for her unthinking reaction, she rasped, “How?  How did this happen to you?” 

He shrugged slightly.  “I don’t know how.  I have ideas.  I’ll never know.  I was born and I survived,” he replied with satisfaction.  When he moved to stand before her, he was holding her clothes in his arms.  Gazing down at her as if he was imprinting her face on his memory, he said the words he had dreaded since he had found her, “It’s time for you to go back.” 

Staring up at him, she asked, “Tell me it’s a nightmare.  It didn’t happen; it can’t be.” 

Slowly shaking his head, he answered her, “It’s not a nightmare; it happened.  And you’re alive.”  He knelt to be at eye level with her.  “Catherine, you survived and what you endured will make you stronger . . . better.” 

“I don’t have your strength; I don’t know how to do it.” 

“You have the strength, Catherine.  You do.  I know you.”   

There it was again that strange certainty of his that he knew her intimately.  It should upset her, but it didn’t.  It was very comforting.  With a slight smile, she reached for his hood.  Flinching, his eyes darting everywhere but at her, he waited to see what she would do.  Smiling with satisfaction and acceptance, she lowered his concealing hood, baring his face to the light.  His heart began to beat again.  Slowly he rose to his feet, and as he spilled her clothes into her lap, he said, “It’s time.” 

*

 He waited for her in the corridor outside his chamber until she called out to him that she was dressed.  Mary had patched the expensive dress as well as she could, but still he could see that it was ruined.  He held her coat for her as she slipped it on.  With a courtly gesture, he ushered her from his chamber and through the tunnels to the opening he had made to her apartment building basement.  It was a silent trip, as he didn’t know how to tell her he hated to see her leave, that he would miss her.  And Catherine didn’t know how to thank him for saving her life–a simple thank you seemed so inadequate–and that she would like to continue their friendship. 

Arriving at the threshold to her world, he informed her that this was the door to her world.  “It is?” she said, astonished.  “Where are we?” 

"The basement to your apartment.” 

“We are?”  Curious, she looked through the opening. 

Vincent couldn’t keep back the little snort of laughter that he felt at her obvious amazement.  Suddenly the fact that they would probably never see each other again hit them, and they became hesitant and diffident with each other.  Catherine felt that she needed to reassure him, “Vincent, your secret is safe with me.  I would never betray your trust.”

With a heavy sigh, he said, “I know.  I knew that from the beginning when you trusted me.”  He backed up to the wall beside the opening, needing the solidness of the wall for support.   

She came to him and leaned her head on his shoulder.  “What can I say to you?”  Unable to answer, he placed a hesitant arm around her and tipped his head back, sighing in ecstasy.   

Voices from the basement interrupted their good bye.  When Catherine looked through the opening to see who was there, Vincent rushed away.  Sighing heavily, she caught the barest glimpse of the hem of his cloak as he left her.  “Vincent!” she called softly after him, but knowing he would not return, she shrugged regretfully, wishing that she had had more time with him.  Time in which to tell him that she would welcome his friendship. What a unique individual. A gentle and tender heart hidden behind an ill-favored face.  Would she ever see him again?  She sincerely hoped she would.  Unknown to her he had already found a niche in her heart, replacing the gratitude she felt toward him.  Walking into the blue-white light, she returned to her world to face the unpleasantness of the following weeks.

 As he fled from the voices and the sadness of saying goodbye, he thought bitterly, I’ll never see her again.  Once again he cursed the accident of his birth, yearning to be like other men, not knowing that fate had provided him with a destiny that would answer all his wishes and dreams. 

                                                                         Fini

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