NOTES: Lyrics are from "I Have Dreamed" from the Rodgers & Hammerstein musical The King And I.
I have dreamed that your arms are lovely
I have dreamed what a joy you'll be
I have dreamed every word you'll whisper
When you're close, close to me . . .
Vincent sat at his table, waiting for Jamie to arrive. She would be staying with Jacob while he attended the festivities in the concert chamber. While he waited his eyes dropped for the hundredth time to the beautiful plant on the floor beside his chair. Reaching out, he softly caressed one deep crimson bud, then touched the half-open blossom growing next to it, its creamy white petals showing just the palest breath of pink at their base.
How stunned he had been to emerge from the Central Park culvert and find Diana already there, the rose bush at her feet. "I found this on Catherine's terrace, Vincent," she'd told him. "I thought you might want it."
Vincent could only nod; his throat was too tight for words. He had wondered what had happened to Catherine's unusual plant, assuming it had been thrown out, and had long harbored a deep regret that he had not thought to salvage it. To learn that Diana had rescued it, pathetic and half-dead, and nursed it back to full, blooming health, had filled him with wonder and deep gratitude. He owed Diana much, more than he could ever repay.
Several days had passed since he'd carried the bulky plant to his chamber.
He knew it couldn't stay there - there wasn't enough light to keep it alive
- and he planned on taking it to the community garden . . . soon . . . but for
now he needed this living symbol of his and Catherine's love close to him, where
he could gaze upon it and touch it. And remember. Oh, God, the memories.
(Catherine, so busily working at potting the bush that she didn't hear his arrival. He stood there for several minutes silently watching her, awed as he always was by her incredible loveliness, marveling that this beautiful, gentle woman actually loved him in return. Then Catherine had scratched her hand, and in his concern he spoke out, surprising her.)
(So happy she had been, displaying her "very special" rose bush, and he basked in the gentle warmth of her satisfaction - until her bleeding hand had compelled his attention. Following a sudden, nameless impulse, he'd lowered his head and kissed the shallow wound. The flare of raw desire that seized her as his lips touched her palm - felt by him through their bond - caught him unaware, with his usual guard down, and he'd been unable to hide his immediate response to her passion.)
Never before had their submerged desires been so nakedly revealed. Even now Vincent felt a stir at the memory of Catherine's hand holding his chin, keeping him from looking away, her green eyes staring into his own as the pupils slowly widened with the passion that was almost palpable between them.
If the knock at her door had not come at just that moment - would I have found the courage to act on my wishes - our wishes? Probably not; my fears were still too strong. I would have withdrawn from Catherine yet again, denying both of us. So many, many times I have regretted that, my love.
Footsteps sounded outside his doorway, jolting Vincent from his musings. Jamie came rushing in, panting apologies for her tardiness. She dumped her bag and a couple of books on the table and craned her neck toward the cradle. "Is he asleep?"
"Yes." Vincent leaned over Jacob, tucked the soft yellow blanket more snugly around the tiny sleeping form. Straightening up, he turned to the young woman. "I think he will sleep until I get back, but if he should wake there's a bottle of formula in the kitchen icebox. Warm it up, but not too hot - "
"Vincent!" interrupted Jamie, exasperated. "I know what to do!" She gave him a gentle push toward the entrance. Go, before the concert starts."
With one last, fond look at his sleeping child, Vincent smiled at Jamie and obeyed. Striding along the drafty corridors toward the concert chamber he reflected yet again on the miracle of love that was his son. Although Jacob had been with him only two months Vincent could not imagine his life without him. He was so precious.
Catherine, I wish you could see our son, he thought, with the ache that was as much a part of him nowadays as his breathing.
Vincent entered the hall, which was well-filled and not only with the Tunnel dwellers; he noticed many Helpers also among the throng. Spying Father sitting on the stairs, he joined him.
Father smiled a welcome as Vincent settled beside him. "Well, this is quite a turnout. Everyone wants to hear Janet, it seems."
"Yes," agreed Vincent. "It has been almost a year since she has sung for us, not since she went Above to join the light-opera company." He paused. "Catherine . . . went to hear her once, in a performance of 'The Mikado.' She said that Janet was doing quite well. I'm sure it will be an enjoyable evening. Do you know what the program is to be?"
"I believe she has decided upon a variety of Broadway melodies." Father's gray eyes twinkled. "Janet believes we are in danger of becoming narrow and hidebound down here, and is determined to expose our community to what she terms 'lighter music'."
Vincent laughed quietly, quirking an eyebrow at Father. Just then a smattering of applause signalled the entrance of the young singer. Mounting the homemade stage the slender brunette smiled at the assemblage, her expressive hazel eyes sparkling with affection.
"Thank you! It's so good to be home, to see everyone again. I promise my next visit will come sooner." Janet acknowledged the laughter that greeted this statement with a smile and a rueful gesture.
"Most of you adults seldom go Above and therefore have not had the opportunity to hear the wonderful music that has been written in recent years - 'recent' meaning the last couple of decades!"
She glared directly at Father with mock sternness. "And despite what some of you might think, good music did not vanish with the advent of rock and roll!" Titters swept the crowd and many sly glances were directed at their patriarch. Father merely smiled good-humoredly.
"So I thought what I would do is sing some songs from a few of the more recent Broadway musicals, giving a synopsis of each play as I go along. Is that acceptable?" Enthusiastic applause answered her.
"All right then! My first selection is from A Chorus Line and is called 'At The Ballet'." Janet turned to the young black man seated at the piano. "Rolley, whenever you're ready."
Father and Vincent, along with everyone else, listened with interest as Janet explained the story of A Chorus Line and then filled the room with her sweet soprano voice, giving excellent, touching portrayals of the different characters involved in the song.
"What I Did For Love," from the same play, came next, then Janet entertained them with selections from Evita and Cats, plus a few of her personal favorites from slightly older musicals - Carousel, Man of La Mancha, Hair, Camelot. Warm applause greeted each offering.
"Thank you!" Brushing a few dark strands away from her flushed forehead, the young singer smilingly acknowledged her audience's enthusiasm. "Thank you. Well, it seems you approve of my choices. I want to end tonight with a couple of songs from a current Broadway hit, Phantom of the Opera. I love this show and I especially love these two songs. Is there anyone here who doesn't know the story?"
Not a single hand was raised. Janet laughed. "Ah. I see Father's literature classes are still as popular as ever. Now, this first song is a duet between the two lovers, Christine and Raul, and so I've persuaded Mark to join me in it. Mark, will you come up here, please?"
A tall young man with shoulder-length brown hair rose from his seat and climbed up onto the stage, grinning shyly at the storm of applause that greeted him.
"Rolley." Janet smiled at her accompanist. A soft melody flowed from the keys. Mark faced Janet and began singing in a rich, though untrained, baritone.
"No more talk of darkness
Forget these wide-eyed fears.
I'm here - nothing can harm you.
My words will warm and calm you."Let me be your freedom,
Let daylight dry your tears.
I'm here - with you, beside you,
To guard you and to guide you . . . "Janet's lovely voice rose sweetly through the room:
"Say you love me every waking moment.
Turn my head with talk of summertime.
Say you need me with you, now and always.
Promise me that all you say is true.That's all I ask of you . . . "
Father listened in open delight. "What a lovely song," he whispered to Vincent. He failed to notice either the absence of a reply or the absolute stillness of the taut figure beside him. Vincent closed his eyes and caught his breath painfully as Mark continued with the lovers' duet.
"Then say you'll share with me one love,
One lifetime.
Let me lead you from your solitude.
Say you need me with you, here, beside you.
Anywhere you go, let me go too . . ."Christine, that's all I ask of you . . . "
Vincent sat with bowed head, his face hidden within the tawny curtain of his long mane. The words pierced him with reminders of all that he and Catherine had shared - and of all that they had been unable to share. Reality wavered and dimmed as a bittersweet memory rose before his eyes:
(Catherine, after meeting him for a picnic in the Chamber of the Falls, rummaging in her bag and bringing out a portable CD player complete with miniature speakers. "Vincent, you must hear this; it's wonderful!" Settling into his embrace, her arm resting over his waist, she nestled against his chest and together they listened to the beautiful music.)
The two voices flowed together, softly, tenderly,
"Say you'll share with me one love,
one lifetime.
Say the word, and I will follow you."Share each day with me, each night,
each morning . . . "
then rang out in passionate crescendo:
"Anywhere you go, let me go too!
Love me . . . that's all I ask of you."
(Catherine's face upturned to his at the conclusion of the song, her hair like silk under his caressing fingers, his soul forever trapped in the bottomless universe of her deep eyes . . . her breath soft and warm on his lips as she shyly lowered his mouth hers . . . the tremors that started deep within him when their lips parted and he tasted the softness of her tongue . . . his heart pounding as he ended the kiss and raised his head, feeling to the bottom of his soul Catherine's whisper: "I love you, Vincent.")
Catherine! Tears filled Vincent's eyes as the longing that never left him rose to flood his soul with unbearable sadness. He was only vaguely aware of the applause around him as Mark returned to his seat. Hearing Janet begin another song Vincent forced himself to concentrate, hoping to regain some measure of control over his emotions.
"You were once my one companion.
You were all that mattered.
You were once my friend and lover,
Then my world was shattered."Wishing you were somehow here again,
Wishing you were somehow near.
Sometimes it seemed, if I just dreamed,
Somehow you would be here . . ."Wishing I could hear your voice again,
Knowing that I never would . . .
Dreaming of you won't help me to do
All that you dreamed I could . . ."
Vincent clenched his hands tightly, unheeding of the razor-sharp claws piercing the flesh of his palms. Each word cut like a knife, stabbing him with agony. Tiny droplets of blood oozed from the wounds, dripping slowly to the ground, but Vincent was oblivious to everything but the lyrics Janet was singing. He felt himself begin to tremble.
"Wishing you were somehow here again,
Knowing we must say goodbye . . .
Try to forgive, teach me to live.
Give me the strength to try . . ."No more memories
No more silent tears . . .
No more gazing across the wasted years . . ."Help me say goodbye . . . "
Vincent all but jumped up, jostling Father as he left. Startled, Father looked up. He frowned, then his eyes dropped to the step below him, widening as he took in the tiny drops of blood on the stone. He started from his seat but Vincent had already vanished through the doorway and out of sight.
* * * * * * * *
Vincent ran blindly through the twisting tunnels, automatically selecting the
fastest route to his goal. At the outside entrance Vincent had just enough awareness
left to raise his hood before he plunged into the cold, gusty night. He scaled
the iron fence with ease, headed unerringly to the right spot, now moving with
more care to avoid the gray stone blocks casting their long black shadows over
the moonlit ground.
Finally he reached his destination. Vincent stood, choked with repressed sobs, shaking violently. The chiseled letters stared up at him relentlessly, stark and cold and cruel:
CATHERINE CHANDLER
1956-1989
Slowly Vincent dropped to his knees on the half-frozen ground. As in a dream
the words of Janet's last song echoed around him:
"Wishing I could hear your voice again,
Knowing that I never would . . .Help me say goodbye. . . "
Catherine. My love . . . Resting his forehead against the icy stone, Vincent wept, great shuddering sobs torn from the bottom of his soul.