SIX

by Joan Stephens

Fifth Meeting

Snuggled warmly in Vincent’s arms, her thoughts continued on from their conversation about his home to their fifth meeting.  Could it have been then?  The evening she went Below to meet his family and see his world? 

 He had won the council’s consent for her to come Below and had left a note for her asking her to meet him at the entrance to Central Park.  Warned by him to wear warm clothing and comfortable walking shoes, she stood just inside the park entrance at the appointed time.  Breathing heavily from excitement and exertion--she had raced to get ready--she waited impatiently from him to come.  After several minutes, her excitement slowly abated.  He must not be coming, and disappointed, she turned to march right back to her apartment when she heard him call out her name.

 “Vincent?  Where are you?  I can’t see you?”

 “I’m behind the bushes.  Follow the path; I’ll be close by.”

 Knowing that he was close kept her from any fear about going deeper into the darkened park.  When  he was satisfied that there was no one near, he stepped from the shadows and, grasping her hand, walked beside her.  She smiled up at him.

 “You were afraid that I wouldn’t come,” he said.

 She dropped her eyes, confessing silently.  It was not easy for her to trust; she had been disappointed too many times by the men in her life. 

“Catherine, I will never break your trust.  If I can’t keep a promise, I will let you know.”

 She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.  “I’ve been fooled one too many times,” she said.  “Thank you for telling me that.”

 “You’re welcome.”  He smiled as her squeezed her hand 

 They reached the culvert and he opened the grill door, pulling several levers which opened the heavy sliding door.  Ushering her through the door, he tripped the lever that closed the park threshold, shutting out the noise of the city.  In peaceful silence he led her to the hub of his world, introducing her to all his friends they met on the way.  There were so many that she couldn’t remember all their names.  She did remember Mouse.  He was a bundle of nervous energy and scampered away like his namesake.  And Jamie was a very grown-up teenager who looked as if she could take care of herself.  Cullen was carrying a beautiful piece of furniture that he had just made that she believed he said was for someone named Mary.  Kipper and Samantha were two delightful, courteous preteens who charmed her instantly.  Then Vincent showed her all that he had told her about his world except those that were too far to reach at this time.

 “That tapping is the means of communication that you told me about?”

 “Yes, we would be hard-pressed to survive without Pascal and his pipes.”

 “Oh, can I meet him?  He sounds like such an interesting person.”

 “Certainly, follow me.”  In a short while they were in the master pipe chamber where she wondered how the pipemaster could differentiate between all the overlapping sounds.  “Pascal, this is Catherine, a friend of mine.”

 Pascal looked up in wonder as Vincent introduced a woman as his friend.  Then when he saw her, he had the strangest feeling that this woman would be something precious to his friend.  He hoped that she wouldn’t hurt him as Lisa had.  But after talking with her for several minutes, he decided that she was unusually careful of other people’s feelings.  She left with Vincent after Pascal had taught her how to tap her name on the pipes.

 “What a wonderful little man,” she said.  “He’s quite remarkable.”

 “Yes, he took over as pipemaster after his father died; he was born for the job.”

 At last, he guided her into his chamber, and she noticed how neatly cluttered it was with mementos that he had collected during his life.

 “You have an amazing world here, Vincent.  I’m so glad you showed it to me.  Words do not do it justice; it has to be seen to be appreciated.  And you say it was founded by one man, your father?” she commented as she eased her weary body–she wasn’t used to so much walking–into the reading chair next to a table that had three lit candles on it.

 “Well, not alone,” he confessed, as he seated himself on the edge of his bed, opposite her.  “There were three others but they are gone now, leaving the tunnel world in his capable hands.  Would you like to meet him?”

 As an answer, she jumped to her feet.  Vincent rose with her and, offering his hand to her, led her to the Common Room, which was really nothing more than a huge rock chamber filled to overflowing with books.  In the corner opposite the entrance sat a desk and chair.  Close by it a small metal staircase of three steps led to a stone landing that she was later to learn went directly to Vincent’s chamber.  Several chairs surrounded a large table that occupied the nearer corner just left of the doorway.  A mezzanine with a spiral staircase winding up to it occupied the side of the chamber.  It  was crammed with bookcases and even more books.  Beneath the balcony was a curtain that hid what she assumed was the bedroom of the tunnel leader.

 An elderly gentleman, dressed in patched clothing like all the tunnel dwellers she had met, with eyeglasses perched on the end of his nose, was seated behind the desk engrossed in the slim volume he held in his hand.  There was a quiet dignity that radiated from him that would have told her that he was the one in charge.  She hoped that he would like her.

 “Father?” Vincent greeted the older man.  “This is Catherine Chandler; the woman I told you about.”

 The tunnel patriarch rose stiffly and, leaning on a cane, hobbled around the desk to greet her.  Seeing his distress, Catherine immediately sprang forward to save him any more discomfort.  He took the hand she extended to him and shook it politely.  “Welcome, Miss Chandler.  I understand that you’ve become a great friend of my son.  Thank you for being so gracious to him.”

 “Thank you for allowing me to visit.  May I call you Father?”  He nodded.  “Please call me Cathy or Catherine, whichever you prefer.  I’m the one who is indebted to him.  He rescued me from myself.” 

“Yes, he told me about that.  I hope you don’t make a practice of it,” he commented reprovingly.  She felt thoroughly chastened by his calm reprimand.

 There were three cups with mismatched saucers and a pot of fragrant tea sitting on his desk as if he had expected company this evening.  “Would you share a cup of tea with me?”

 “I’d love to; walking is thirsty work.”  She settled into a chair that was conveniently placed beside the desk.  Vincent sat next to her.  The next hour was spent in interesting conversation, and Catherine learned much more about the tunnels.  Her admiration for the founder grew even greater.  And Father’s questions were to the point and elicited answers from her that proved to him that she was an intelligent and caring woman.

 Vincent chafed at the length of the conversation; he wanted to have some time alone with Catherine and finally suggested that they return to his chamber before he had to walk her home.

“Thank you, Father, it’s been a very pleasant evening,” she said, rising to her feet.

 “It has indeed been a pleasure.  Do you play chess, Catherine?”

 “Not very well.”

 His eyes gleamed as he contemplated an adversary he could defeat.  “Good, we’ll have to have a game sometime.  Good night, my dear.”

 “Good night, Father.”

 Vincent added his own good night and the young couple withdrew.

*

 With a sigh, Catherine dropped onto Vincent’s bed.  “Do you think he approved of me?” she asked.

 “His approval is not necessary, but yes, I think he did.  He has his reservations about me going Above too often, and he is afraid that I will endanger myself to be with you.”  He wandered around the room randomly touching his souvenirs and whatnots.  Catherine noticed how nervous he seemed to be, and she wondered why.

 “Is there anything wrong?” she asked.

 His head shot up and he gasped, “Wrong?  Why should anything be wrong?” 

“I don’t know; it just seems that you’re nervous or something.”

 “I am nervous, Catherine.  I have something to ask you, and I don’t know if I have the courage.” 

“You not have courage?  I know you better than that.”

 “Yes, but you don’t know all about me.”  He stopped his pacing to stand in front of her and held his arms out to the side.  “When you look at me, what do you see?”

 Silently she appraised him for several minutes.  She knew that he wanted an honest answer from her.  “I see a man,” she finally answered.  “A strange man, it’s true.  One like no one I have ever met: in the way he looks, in the way he lives, and in the way he perceives life.  A man I hope to have as my friend forever.  You are very important to me, Vincent.”  That was as far as she could go until she knew how he felt about her.

 “You have no idea how important it is to me that you see me truly as I am.  I have a darkness in me that would frighten you away if I ever released it.  I am a beast who walks on two legs.” He turned away from her, unable to bear the thought that she might agree with him.

“No, never!” she vehemently replied as she pulled him around to face her.  “You are first and foremost a man.  All men hold a darkness in them that has come down through the ages from our ancient ancestors.  You are not alone in that.”

 “But mine is so strong that it is a constant battle to control it.  Even now it is straining to be free.”

 “Why?” she asked quietly.  “I am no threat to either you or it.”

 “I cannot speak the words of what he could do to you.”  He held out his hands to her.  “How can you allow these claws to touch you, to hold you?  They can rend your flesh.”

 She took his hands in hers.  “True, but I don’t think they can ever be raised against a truly innocent person.  You have a mind, a will, and you can use it; you do use it every day.  There is no darkness that can overcome your will unless you allow it to.  These are beautiful hands, and I welcome them as friends.”

 “Oh Catherine, how brave you are to want to be friends with these hands; they are deadly.” 

“I know that,” she said in exasperation.  “But I also know that they are gentle and caring.  I saw you just tonight hold the hand of a little girl with gentleness.  And she loves you, Vincent; she sees you  as a man.  Just as I do.  Does that answer your question?”

 “Yes, I suppose so . . . I cannot change your mind?” 

“No.  You are my friend and nothing you say or do can change that.”  But I wish I could be more, she thought.

 “All right,” he dropped his head in defeat.  He had tried to dissuade her, but she would not be deterred.  But he needed to know if she loved him and that she had not said.  She called him her friend.  He was that, but he wanted to be so much more.  Suddenly tired, he grabbed his cloak from the hook on his chifforobe, and taking her hand, he led her home.

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