Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

The phone rang again. Holly spoke to someone for a few moments and then, when she hung up, she announced she had to leave for a while.

"I have to do an astrological reading for someone. It's way past due. I hate to leave you your first night here, but . . ."

"She'll be fine," Billy said.

"Will you read her one of your poems?"

"If she would like," he replied, turning to me.

"Oh yes, please," I said. "But I insist that you let me help clean up."

"No problem. I'm a gourmet cook and all gourmet cooks let people help clean up."

He and Holly laughed and I smiled widely. I had been in New York only a few hours, but I felt more at home here than I had at the homes of my socalled relatives and family. Maybe Billy was right; maybe there was such a thing as positive energy and maybe he would give me enough to help me get through the dark valleys and tunnels that loomed ahead. The question was, would I find any light at the end?

After I straightened up the kitchen and put dishes and cooking implements away, I stopped by the living room where Billy sat gazing at a notebook in his lap.

"Come on in," he said. "I was sitting here thinking about what I had written that would be most appropriate for your circumstances and it's taken me all the way back to my rebirth."

"Rebirth?"

He nodded and flicked some strands of hair from his eyes. He had that soft, angelic smile on his lips again. I had never met anyone who seemed so at peace with himself. It reminded me of the deep calm before a storm, when the whole world seemed to be holding its breath. Cary called it Mother Nature's deception, claiming she tricked us into believing all was well just before she sent the furies down around us.

"Yes, rebirth, for I was dead to so much before my.. . my death," he said. "I was like most people, blind and deaf, confused by the clatter and noise, chasing material things, living on the lowest level and never hearing the song."

"The song?"

"The spiritual song, the voice deep within us all, the voice that links us to each other, to every living and even non-living thing. Even the man who shot me is part of this overall spiritual essence, and in that sense, we're part of each other, forever."

"Did they catch him?"

"No, but that doesn't matter. He shot himself when he shot me. We're eternally tied together by that act."

"You mean you could forgive him for it?" I asked, astounded.

"Of course. There's nothing to forgive. The negative energy that was in him is what must be driven away. He was captured, a prisoner of that, just as I was captured and for a while made prisoner by the bullet that shattered my spine."

"How can you be so positive?" I asked with curious astonishment.

"I was lying on my hospital bed, feeling terribly sorry for myself, cataloguing all the things I would no longer be able to do, regretting how much I was dependent on other people, in truth, wishing I would die," he explained, "when suddenly Holly stopped at my bed accompanied by her guru, an elderly man from India who had eyes like crystals themselves. It was part of their charity work to visit the infirm and give sick people hope. Right from the start, I felt something about him, some inner strength that he was able to share with me, instill in me. He taught me how to meditate and opened the doors to my new self. I dedicated my first poem to him. He has since gone back to India. That's a picture of him in the shop.

"After that Holly came to me and offered me a job in her shop and I agreed. I've been here ever since.

"Let's see," he said, flipping the pages. "Ah, yes. This was when I first began to write poems. I wasn't working here long. I had read some poetry in this Village newspaper and thought I would like to try putting my thoughts down, too. Want to hear it?"

"Very much, please."

He stared at the pages for a long, silent moment and then in a very soft, low voice, read.

"I had come to the end of daylight and faced the doorway of darkness. But when I touched my face,

I realized my eyes were closed and my skin was cold.

All that I thought I loved and needed was gone and I was naked, shivering in misery. They were measuring me for a coffin. Suddenly, I heard a voice calling from within myself

I turned my eyes around to look back, to look down, to look deep and I saw a single candle.

It drew me closer until I could reach out and put my fingers in the flame.