Mass had now ended. The harsh rays of July sunlight came beating down on the cracked and creviced structure which was the Our Lady of Sorrows Roman Catholic Church.
An aura of searing heat surrounded its stone and concrete walls, and if you looked closely you could see that the light bent around its shape; the rays driven off course by their own splendor and heat on the man-made facade. Deep within their caverns, and there sheltered from the grueling sun, the heavy bronze bodies of the church bells rang 12. And from the violent shocks of metal on metal, from their clean and polished surfaces, which only rarely saw light to truly shine, emanated the deep sound which rang through the spire and the halls of the church. And each stone of the wall reflected their sound in unison with the others. And the organ played the song which announced the end of mass. And so the church rang like a finely tuned instrument. And the powerful voice of the bell tower spread through its entirety, yet could not shake the dust which had accumulated over the years of steady swinging of bells – to and fro, metal on metal, wood on wood, and rope pulling the ensemble – from friction.The people filed out of the church accompanied by the deep hum of the organ’s closing song. The sound of their voices and feet and of the heavy, rusty-hinged door opening and closing rose up to meet the ringing bells in their spire. The echo of the organ and the last hum of the bell tower was heard as the people left the church in a final exhalation.
Their voices rose and fell as they shared each other’s weekly happenings and talked of events to come. Neighbor-hood friends laughed and talked about sports and politics while their wives laughed at and scolded their husbands. A few children who had patiently waited for the mass to end now ran in between the people chasing one another. Friends asked for news about family with true concern and others simply talked with fascination about life.
Paul Irish wandered aimlessly through the groups of aging church-goers. He heard some wondering whether the Romanos’ daughter would be having a catholic wedding. He also approached Jerry Downe who gave him a sober nod, then continued in saying that he would be selling his old barber shop on Maine Street. He would miss working there and talking with all his friendly customers – and so would they him! Especially as a good haircut and a relaxed talk were becoming harder to come by! – but he supposed it meant he should simply come to mass more often and meet them all there! They laughed. Indeed, Jerry was retiring and his son wouldn’t take his place. An old sweaty barber shop was “no place for a man with a degree in biology!”
A warm breeze swept across Paul’s face. Noticing how bright and hot it was outside, he looked up to the church spire and the cross on top which still resonated with the low trembling of the bells, and was grateful for its shade. Indeed, although it was noon the structure still was able to provide enough to encompass the small crowd and shield it from the sun. Paul saw that up in the higher parts of the church a dove was perched and, there, was also protected from the penetrating rays.
In fact, the crowd had dissipated over the last 62 years. Paul remembered that when he was a child the Catholics in Trenton had been far more numerous. He had even been told that the day of his baptism (it was in fact a Palm Sunday) there had been so many people that the traffic on East Front Street had been blocked for nearly a half an hour. This had been caused by the crowd spreading out onto the street when father Morris had made his way outside for his sermon.
Yes, the elm trees which lined the side-walk must have been young saplings then. But now they were so large that they cracked the concrete of the pavement, which had also been cut back for the expansion of the street, and so old that the once perfectly full, cool shade that had been provided to the pedestrians by their canopies was full of lapses.
The return journey down the side-walk always made him think of Ann. Some of his favorite moments with her were when they walked down this road in the shade. She rested her arm on his and they talked calmly and only of good things. She loved the coolness of the shade, as did he. He looked at the squares of pavement in front of him and remembered when Julian, as a boy, used to run on ahead of them, hopping with great energy from one square of concrete to the next, taking care not to step on the same one twice. He looked and saw the blue jays flying from one tree to the next, as if to accompany him in his reminiscing. They were unaware of his gaze, as Julian had always been of hers. Ann loved watching her son, but he did not see her.
Even though she was not there walking with him he couldn’t stop thinking of her, and when he turned his head, if he looked long and hard enough, he could see her soft white face, gazing up at him from his shoulder. Her deep-brown (almost black) and joy-filled eyes watched him and only blinked with every beam of sunlight which made its way upon her.
He was approaching his house. The jays flew away, chirping. He saw a car parked in his drive-way, Julian’s Mercedes-Benz. He had bought it a few months before, but Paul was doubtful that it was really within his means. It was clean and the fresh enamel paint still shone brightly on all but one spot, on the back, where there was a stain of pigeon drop-pings. Julian lived in the city.
Behind his car stood the house where the boy had been raised. It was fairly modest; made of brick and with a shingled roof, which Paul had laid himself, with Jerry and a few other helping hands in the neighborhood. The bricks were old and dark from moss and the wall was nearly covered with ivy so that the greenery ran from the foliage of the oak in the front yard, to the flowers on the porch and up the vines of the wall. It was an old, but inviting house.
He let out a sigh as he pushed up the first porch steps, from the effort, and then stopped. There was a little hummingbird floating near the pink carnations on the window sill. Ann had planted those flowers some months before and they were still in bloom. He wished he could show her, but he didn’t want to disturb it. The little bird hovered there, motionless, enjoying the flowers. Its wings flapped so fast, and yet it did not move; it didn’t want to. Everything was still. Paul watched it. The little wings flapped. It hovered back-wards slightly, further into the shade of the porch’s roof and of the carnations, until finally a warm gust of wind pushed it forward and into the yard; out of Paul’s view. He turned and went inside.
The creaking of the heavy door resonated through the house as he opened it; he hadn’t oiled it for some time. It was an old door, but it only needed some grease at the hinges and some shellac, then it would be fine. After shutting the sunlight out behind him he noticed how dark it was inside. His eyes easily adjusted and he saw that there was a light on in the study.
“Hello Julian, how are you? I thought of you during mass today! Father gave an interesting sermon on the way technology…” He was cut short when he heard a long series of taps on a keyboard. Knowing that his son wasn’t listening he began to scrape the dirt off his shoes and take them off.
After a long pause, a young stern voice came back from the study: “What about the final write-up? I thought you had that covered! ... Jesus Bill! ... No, you talk to him! You figure this out! It was your job, so it’s your mess! …” Julian was talking to Bill from accounting. He worked for a company which built and engineered research equipment for biology. He was employed as an engineer in nanotechnology. That hadn’t been his original diploma however. Over the last year he’d made his way to the job he wanted. To be helping cancer research. This project was the closest he had gotten so far. He was developing nanobots to track down cancerous cells. It was cutting-edge technology. He thought it great to know that he would be bringing people longer life with his work.
He had been listening to the accountant for the last ten minutes, beating around the bush to tell him he’d screwed up. The project would be set back. He could only barely hear the guy’s voice over the sound of the JFK international airport. Speakers were bleating repetitively. People were talking and moving and buzzing in his ear. He hung up. After a few minutes he shut off his laptop and the light from the screen left his face. He had come to see his father. It had been a month since his last visit. He had arrived early though, so it was fortunate that he’d brought his PC(mac?). That way he lost no work time over his father’s mass. He closed the computer with a ‘click’ and fit it snugly into its compartment in his bag. He then took out his earpiece and put it away as well.
He would go deaf if he kept listening to that ruckus beating directly against his eardrum. His old man was going deaf. Julian had barely heard him come in over the noise of the phone and had greeted him with a brief “’Afternoon!” He knew he hadn’t been heard though. He hadn’t heard an answer.
“Dad!” he called out as he saw the man making his way to his kitchen. He needed to inform Paul of his presence, but hoped not to scare him.
“Yes boy?” asked Paul without turning to look at him.
There was a pause. Julian hadn’t yet thought of a question to put forward. He didn’t usually start small talk. Especially with Paul.
“How was mass?”
Paul sighed, “Fine, fine”.
He made his way to the fridge and opened it. The cold air which escaped relaxed him. He saw Julian make his way to the coffee machine and turned to him.
“Should I make chicken-pot-pie? It’s your mother’s favorite.”
It took Julian some time to answer. He was busy reading the instructions for the coffee machine. He used it regularly, but still had to make sure he got the proportions right. Paul’s coffee machine was old.
“Huh? … Sure. Do what you like… Do you want some coffee?”
No. He didn’t need coffee. He was already awake. Paul didn’t recognize the man that stood in front of him. Who disregarded his mother like she didn’t exist… had never existed! And disregarded him! He rarely got visits anymore and when he did they were boring and emotionless. Julian was as stiff as one of the tin robots he had played with as a boy.
“Ok.” Julian filled the machine meticulously, and then started it. He then leaned over the counter to the window shutters and opened them to let the sun in from the front porch. As the water began to boil he took a seat at the small kitchen table. He was expecting the old man would join him, but instead Paul moved toward the window, squinting. Julian began to talk to him:
“I’m so close with this new project I’m starting, dad! We’re working on tracking mutated cells. Soon medicine will be isolating cancers! I think that, soon enough, breast cancer will be a thing of the past!”
Paul put his hand up as a visor to protect his eyes from the sun as he kept looking out the window at the front porch. There, he saw Ann’s rocking chair, where she would sit and wait for the afternoon birds to come. Ann loved the birds and her flowers, and they loved her. She often sat in her wooden chair, in the middle of the flowers, with a handful of seeds waiting for the jays and the doves and the vireos to come eat from her palm and perch all around her. Even the hummingbirds would come and watch her from the surrounding flower beds and he from the window.
A white bird flew gracefully into view, perched itself on the seat of the wooden rocking chair, and cooed. Paul smiled at the beauty of the creature that sat there, calmly, in the middle of his porch. He smiled with admiration and pride as his gaze shifted from the bird to the multitude of carnations which still bloomed there.
“The flowers are wonderful! I hope she sees them.”
“Who?” asked Julian, confused.
“Your mother. She really has something to be proud of out there. She planted them you know?”
Julian said something, but Paul was too confounded by the scenery. He now saw the dove spread its wings and fly out of the porch. His eyes followed it up into the sky and he saw it fly out into the sun with whose light it contrasted and cast a shadow. As it spread its wings again he saw it appear black as a raven. Then it dove out of sight.
Longer progression {Paul stepped away from the window. His heart beats ran up through his veins and to his head. The sunlight beat down on him and the steam from the coffee machine rose up to choke him. He turned to Julian who sat upright in his chair, taking a big gulp from his mug.
“Ann’s carnations… They’re beautiful…” he said in a low voice, almost to himself.
--She’s dead, Paul… She’s gone.--
By Thomas Saleh
