She was new—he had only heard about her—no visual contact yet. The rules were: you couldn’t visit the personal space of another without an invitation. The notice on the bulletin board revealed the essentials—an address he recognized located on the far side of the hill, facing toward the morning sun. He lived in the valley below, studded with shade trees and cheap statuary, most of which had been uncovered at county fairs. It was a place close to the mound where children yelled and played in peaceful frolic. The sound of them rising in the morning evoked pictures from his youth. It caused him to feel eternally young.
Her name was Mary; from that fact, he wondered if she were really untouched by human hands. Rather doubted it. Their meeting almost seemed pre-destined. She was in the midst of a morning walk. Blond, exquisite, a looker! He plotted to intersect her path near the statue of David. (A reproduction of Michelangelo’s statue with a fig leaf—the old master of course was more uninhibited and showed David’s package).
“Aren’t you Mary? I’ve heard you arrived recently,” he spoke with an air of innocence he hoped would cause her to stop.
“Uh…yeah. A few weeks ago. And you are?” She pulled a rose from a nearby bush, casually waving it back and forth in the air. He noticed a large thorn which seemed to have pierced her palm; she was unscathed. The rose was intensely odorous occupying all the air around her.
“John,” he said. “I’m the official greeter here. It would be my pleasure to show you around if you want.”
“Thank you for your offer but I really must be going. Maybe some other time. We’ll see each other again.” Mary walked away rather quickly, leaving John to feel a bit abandoned. His eyes studied her as she disappeared beyond the nearby rise. During his daily nap, he dreamed of Mary, her face, unforgettable and serene. For several days he looked for her to no avail. No matter where he walked through the endless expanses of lawn in the park, there was no sight of her, even though he still could detect the odor of that rose in the air. One morning he looked about; there she was, casually sitting on the rock wall near his home. She was waving another rose.
A broad and winning grin was painted across her face; her stunning perfect and white teeth “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked with a decided air of presumption while an eyebrow curved seductively.
“Sure,” he said thinking the place might be a mess. As he was alone, the usual male clutter had begun to take over. Yet he threw caution to the winds, and he stepped aside to allow her to go first. As she passed him, her fragrance greeted his nostrils again with an enchanting air. He said, “You know you can visit me any time.”
“Thanks,” Mary said. Her gaze was met by thousands of books, neatly shelved around the room. A small step ladder stood before the mahogany towers. John’s heart seemed to pound like that of a small bird. He was trying not to be obvious as he stared at her. Her mouth was agape as she was totally taken by the sight of the endless volumes. She stared about with great curiosity. “My, you look like an avid reader.”
“Yes, always a bookworm,” he said. On the table lay a first edition copy of Hidden Faces by Salvador Dali.
“Dali,” she said. “Always liked his paintings. I loved the pictures I saw of his Spanish home and the gigantic polar bear in the living room, standing on its hind legs and raising a lamp in one paw, giving the appearance of the Statue of Liberty. How’s the book?”
John knew the photo and he momentarily chuckled in his mind. “It’s about a bunch of young decadents in Europe in the mid 1930s.”
“Sounds like I might like it. I’ve always been a bit…decadent myself,” she said inserting a seemingly calculated pause.
“You’re welcome to borrow it…as long as I can see you again,” he said. He searched her face for any expression of negativity. She looked rather coy, pretty and girlish. It almost caused him to blush. On her face was also a subtext of devilishness. Mary seemed so immaculate, so pristine, but she was currently preoccupied with the book, turning the pages thoughtfully as she sat at his large desk. He decided to take a chance and gently blew his breath upon her hair as though the god Aeolus were in the room. He knew it would feel like a quiet zephyr on a late afternoon, just enough to catch her attention. In slow-motion she turned to look at him. One of the yellow curls on her head had fallen forward. It now circled one eye as she gazed through it. The smile on her lips grew larger as she reached up to encompass his head. The melding of spirits began; soon they were joined in a unifying mist. This was a totally new experience as he felt their spirits intertwine like strands of the DNA helix. It was a bit disarming. He did not know how long it lasted: minutes, hours, days or weeks. Years? When it was over, finally, the phantasms of their souls pulled apart like tacky glue. They sat looking at each other for an interminable period of time. John asked “Do you want me to walk you home?”
“One thing I’m not afraid of is the dark,” Mary said and was gone, although the image of her smile floated in the air for several minutes like that of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.
For days he repeatedly replayed the entire experience with Mary within him. It was a hypnotic feeling that possessed him for hours. Finally he ventured outside, determined to find Mary. She was not far away. Actually, she was playing with the children in their usual spot. As he watched, he could see that she was loved by the kids. Their camaraderie was mutual. Finally she spotted him and waved, excusing herself from the children’s game.
“That really takes me back,” she spoke to John as she neared him.
“I feel the same. I’ve seen them for months and I always notice how imaginative they are. Even in my younger days, I I doubt I would have been able to keep up with them, but now…maybe I could.”
“Just thinking the same thing,” said Mary. “Have any plans for today?”
“No. You?”
“Let’s do something you like,” she said.
“I sense you have an eye for art,” he said, trying to gauge the effect of his words. She nodded a little; her eyes seemed to sparkle. “I know just the place,” he added. “It’s not too far, but it’s good we wore some good walking shoes.” They continued on to a place that was fairly flat, from which they could see buildings that stood at the boundary of the industrial part of the city. Some railroad tracks were visible beyond the chain link fences, and trains could be seen traversing back and forth. Once in awhile, a train’s whistle would punctuate the quiet summer day, lending an atmosphere of longing to the world.
They walked silently around the massive building to the front entrance. Walking up the three steps he grabbed the heavy wrought iron door and opened it. She stepped through and felt the sudden change in temperature. Also there was an odd aroma. Mary’s nose crinkled a bit. The building had begun to be constructed in the 1920s, and the process had been continued for over forty years. The stained glass windows were exquisite and on many of them there were classic poems inscribed. Each floor had its own unusual atmosphere. There was one tomb which had an inspiring statue of the three graces on top of it. They were sexy and naked. Then there was the tomb that had a statue of Saint George on the top. As one stood at the end of the hallway looking toward it, the entire area was bathed in purple light.
John took Mary to a dimly lit columbarium and pointed out one niche that was unlocked. He showed her the contents. There was a small box covered in brown wrapping paper and tied with a strong piece of twine; that box, unmarked, contained the effects of the deceased. The other object inside was a small sheet metal box whose lid had been secured with sealing wax; that box contained the remains and was marked with a label containing the name of who was held inside.
Through twelve stories they walked with John providing a running commentary. When they finally exited it was late afternoon. Mary excused herself, telling John that she would see him soon. Days passed and there was no Mary. Hope was not lost upon John. He knew that she was…somewhere.
Just as his sadness was growing unbearable, he discovered her at dawn basking in the sunrise on top of the hill; the morning breeze billowed out the sheer flowered dress which adorned her form. She spoke his name in a whisper while she grasped his hand with the benevolence of an old friend. It must have truly been his imagination because she almost felt warm to the touch. He gasped as he noticed the vast marble pillars of varied colors that stood in a circle in the middle of the spacious hall of her home, the daylight reflecting off the gold-leaf ceiling. He was shocked to see his shelves of books were there and his desk with the art deco lamp and the large snow globe containing a miniature model of the Empire State Building.
“But…how?” John said with an expression of vague shock. Mary placed a finger to the side of her nose. She led him to the center of the circle of marble pillars.
There was a large circular bed draped in blue satin sheets. She lay down and he stared at her. She removed her dress and he discovered that she had no form. All he could see was that elegant face smiling. He dared to discover the truth so he doffed his own clothes. He too had no form that he could see. Mary said, “Come here.”
He positioned himself so he could look directly into her eyes, and she into his. As he beheld their voluminous green color, John was falling into the blackness within the center. It was an unknown space but he could feel the lovingness that projected from her eyes. In an instant he could see all of her life’s experiences, feeling them flow through him in an oceanic tide. She said, “Now you are free, John, I have seen all of you and you have seen all of me. This is the feeling of being totally naked. Both of us are liberated from this physical prison—the nothingness and purity of existence. Perhaps those Indian yogis knew it as Samadhi, but we now have it for all eternity. It was up to me to bring you this gift.”
John’s spirit was leveled. If he had an actual body at this moment he would have cried like a small child, eyes flooded by an outpouring of tears; he knew that Mary felt identically. The saltiness of their tears would be cupped in a mountain lake somewhere high above the tree line, where gentle snowfalls drifted to the ground. There was no need for marble pillars or countless volumes of books. John and Mary were now one.