NO MAN AN ISLE
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Chapter 23
Kurt stood in the doorway of the house looking back, the morning sun low enough to throw its brightness past him into the hall, penetrating the gloom. But for the lack of a musty odor, the house looked as it had nearly three years before, when he'd stood in this same spot seeing the same ghostly dust covers draping the furniture. He stood, key-ring dangling from wooden fingers, remote and unfeeling as though he viewed a sequence on TV. Would that this were a dream from which he could awaken, a grotesque nightmare which would disappear. Coastie's complaining cry from the travel case jarred him. The cat knew. His cry broke the precarious dam of memory.
Erik dashed into the library waving a letter. "Look! I've been invited to play a recital for the Richmond chapter of the Guild."
"Fantastic! How did it happen?"
"Their Sub Dean was at Mass Christmas Eve."
Kurt found himself swept up in Erik's excitement. "What are you planning to do?"
"You'll have to help me decide. I'll need enough to last an hour, an hour and a half at most."
"Sure. Are Don and I invited to hear you?"
Erik grinned broadly. "I wouldn't do it without you."
They argued for hours, Erik proposing, Kurt making counter-proposals. Each of them knew the extraordinary demands of playing before a sophisticated group of professional musicians. At length, they agreed: Bach because it was expected; Beethoven because his organ works were virtually unknown; Pepping to please Don; and Reger for themselves.
The preparation Erik had put into his other performances was nil compared with that he put in now. Kurt let the frantic activity flow around him, while Don silently kept the ashtray emptied, the coffee mug filled, not daring to break Erik's concentration.
When Don came downstairs the morning of the recital, Kurt was not in the kitchen. Concerned, he opened the door of his room quietly. Kurt turned his head on the pillow and looked up at him.
"Don't you feel well?" Don asked.
"I feel lousy. I think I've got one of those bugs that was going around the campus. Fix something for yourself and leave the coffee on."
"Don't you want something?"
"I couldn't take it just now. Get me some more aspirin on your way home and ask the dean's secretary to cancel my classes."
"I'll go get the aspirin now and stay with you."
"You shouldn't miss your other classes. There's nothing you can do and I need you to tell the dean I won't be in. I'll be all right."
"If you're sure."
Don placed a thermos of hot tea on the bedside table and left reluctantly after Kurt's repeated assurances that he would be all right.
Near mid-morning, Kurt awoke at the sound of the chief's voice calling from the front door.
"In the bedroom, Joe."
The chief did not speak as he looked at Kurt, but picked up the phone.
"Who are you calling?"
"Adams. You need something; you're pale as a ghost." He barked into the phone and hung up. "You want me to fill that?" Indicating the mug.
"Please. I think Don left the coffee maker on. Get some for yourself if you aren't afraid of catching whatever I've got."
A few minutes later Adams dropped his bag on the foot of the bed. "Got to you, did it?"
"What is it?"
"One of those twenty-four hour viruses. Lots of it going around."
He filled a syringe. "This is an antibiotic. Over and half mast."
He jabbed the needle into Kurt's thigh and slammed the plunger down. "That should do it. Stay in bed for the rest of the day and get it out of your system. I want you to take one of these capsules now, and one after each meal. Other than being a little weak, you should be feeling almost as good as new by tomorrow."
Certain that Kurt had everything he might need at hand, the chief left with the medic.
About noon, Don entered the house quietly and tip-toed into Kurt's room. "Hi. I thought you'd be asleep."
Kurt smiled wanly. "I have been. I heard you come in."
"Can I get you anything?"
Kurt shook his head. "I feel some better already. The chief and Adams came over and Adams stabbed me with something. Go ahead and get ready to go with Erik."
"I can't go with you sick."
"I'm better and there's nothing you can do. Adams just wants me to stay in bed until tomorrow."
He dozed off again to awaken at the sound of Erik's voice. "What's this about you being sick?"
"Just something going around. I want Don to go with you and enjoy the evening."
"I hate to leave you like this."
"Quit worrying. The phone's right here. If I need anything, I'll call the station."
"I still hate to leave you," Erik said. "I'll fix you something while Don's dressing."
When Erik returned with the tray, Kurt realized that he was hungry and ate the soup with enthusiasm. "That was good."
Erik smiled. "I thought you should have something before we left."
"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Don asked again.
"I'm going to be a lot sicker if you two don't stop fussing over me. Go have a good time. You can tell me all about it when you get back."
"Don's taking your CD recorder recorder. When we get back, you can listen and watch me go crazy at the mistakes I made."
"You'll make no mistakes with the work you've put in. Go show them how a genius does it."
Stronger by evening, Kurt slipped on his robe and fixed something to eat. Afterward, he went into the library. Feeling chill, he lit the fire Erik had laid that morning and lay down on the sofa with a yawn. "Must be those pills," he muttered and closed his eyes in the warmth.
He snapped into wakefulness, feeling a presence in the dark room. He switched on a lamp expecting to see Don and Erik, instead the massive frame of the chief towered over him. At the expression on the man's face, his stomach knotted. "Chief?"
He shook his head and stared blankly into Kurt's eyes for a long moment. "I ... I had a call from Derek Gray," his voice trailed off, gruffer than usual.
When the name of the highway patrolman filtered through his drowsy mind; Kurt sat up quickly. "Don? Erik?"
The chief nodded slowly. "It was an accident just the other side of the bridge."
"Are they hurt?"
The chief was slow in answering. Kurt winced with pain as the huge hands grasped his. The chief's eyes filled. "They're gone, son. It was a drunk. He ran 'em off the road on that sharp curve just the other side of the bridge. They hit a tree and were thrown out of the Peep. Derek said it was so fast they never felt a thing." A tear trickled down the weathered cheek.
Kurt could only stare at the chief as his world shattered beneath him. "Oh, God," he wailed. "Oh, my God!"
Still clinging to his hand, the chief sat down beside him, and stared into the embers of the fire. Kurt finally asked, "Where ... where are they?"
"Derek called the funeral home in Manteo. What you want to do, son?"
"I ... I don't know, Chief." He turned back to stare into the glowing embers. "I ... I'd like to bring them home and put them in the garden beside Uncle Paul. Don't you think ... "
"They'd want to be home, son. You gave them a place where they belonged. What about a service?"
"Would you get in touch with Pastor?"
"I'll call tomorrow. Tony can meet him in Duck with the station Jeep. He'd want to, you know." The chief glanced at his watch. "Want me to stay?"
"No, you've got the station to think of. I'll take a sleeping pill and try to get some rest." Kurt looked up with sudden longing. "Be here tomorrow."
"You know I will." His hand lingered on Kurt's shoulder for a moment longer, before he pulled Kurt up and helped him to bed.
Kurt awakened to the sound of voices. He recognized the chief's gruff tones. "Doc, you help Kurt dress; I'll get Cookie started on something."
When the medic finished his examination, he helped Kurt dress and led him into the kitchen. The chief watched as Kurt pushed the eggs back and forth on his plate without tasting them.
"Don't you think Nancy should know?"
Kurt's eyes at last met his, his voice flat. "I guess."
"Do you want me to call her?"
Kurt moved his head slightly. "I'll do it. I have to call the college and let them know I won't be in."
"Let's do it from the station, then, if you're not going to eat." The chief held out his hand.
Kurt took it as a child would have, allowing himself to be led along. As they neared the door he was overwhelmed by a terrifying loneness. He slumped. Only the chief's supporting arm kept him from hitting the floor.
Adams rushed to Kurt's side, looking at his white expressionless face, glassy eyes, then to the chief. "He's out of it. Let's get him in bed."
Kurt remained withdrawn, vague, capable only of involuntary motion, the chief's own grief shunted away by the burden of detail.
Tony, a former altarboy, held the processional cross high as he led the cortege from the house; the pastor following, reading from the prayerbook until they were at the prepared places. The chief stood beside Kurt, supporting him, Nancy, her parents, and a highway patrolman opposite, as the caskets borne by the crew of the station were placed in position.
Nancy clung to her father's arm, composed for the moment. She gazed at Kurt, standing woodenly, tears coursing down his cheeks. She shared his hurt, yet, when she and her parents had tried to speak to him, he had been impassive. She sensed, too, that the chief suffered as much.
Without telling Kurt, the chief coerced a new crewman with some musical training into playing the organ. As they stood at the graves and the pastor began to read the liturgy, a gentle breeze wafted the notes of Bach's Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring to them, the trompette Erik and Don had so proudly added to the instrument singing out the melody line. For a moment, Kurt raised his head, his eyes brightened, then he looked back down at the two coffins. He crumpled to his knees, sobbing. He had not given to open grief for his parents, nor his uncle, now the accumulation poured out in a cleansing flood. The chief's broad hand rested on his shoulder, offering what little comfort he could. As if minutely planned, the music ended with the final word of the benediction. Kurt crossed himself and arose with the chief's help. The chief's arm still supporting him, they walked slowly back to the house.
As she followed along between her parents, Nancy remembered the foreboding she had felt on her first visit. Now, the sense of gloom intensified. Shut out of Kurt's grief, she felt an intruder, recognizing no one except the chief. All of the others, save two, she identified as crewmen from the station by their uniforms, but the older man accompanied by a young man near her own age wore their clothes awkwardly as though accustomed to less formal dress. Fishermen, she thought. Afterwards, the young one had been introduced to her by the chief as Terry, with the assumption that she would know who he was. He had merely nodded at the introduction and run down the drive to the old truck, the noise of it moving down the drive momentarily startling. Don had never mentioned him.
After a whispered consultation with Dr. Peterson, Adams put Kurt to bed. The chief's weak attempts to fill the silence over coffee served only to increase the awkwardness of their departure.
For the next few weeks, though the chief, Tony, or Adams were in almost constant attendance, Kurt moved through each day mechanically. His resignation from the college to take effect at the end of the quarter, he resumed teaching. After his first day back, he was careful never to see Nancy nor the empty seat next to hers, for looking at her was to see Don and her happily together, the look of pity in her eyes as much a reminder as the empty seat. The students absorbed his lackluster lectures in silence.
Weary of weeks of inactivity after the term ended, the aimlessness of his life, the loneliness of the house, he accepted a position in a college mid-state, the fall session soon to begin. The farewells to the crew had been said the night before, but there was none for the chief. They stood within the dimness of the hall, arms around each other. Kurt pulled back and stared into the chief's eyes. "Has it all been a waste, my coming here?"
"Ya know better than that, son. Ya took the self-destructive personality that was Erik and helped him develop into a confident man and a truely professional musician. Don was a desperate immature child before ya gave him security and love and the chance to achieve excellence with his skill as an artist. From yer ability to give of yerself, ya grew from a self-pitying kid into a generous loving man, much as yer uncle was. It's the greatest gift ya could of give us all." The chief hugged him again then walked through the door without looking back.
The brilliant sun reflecting on the heavy polished knocker of the open door patterned the hall. With a lingering look into his past, Kurt reached out to close the door. His eyes fell on a scrap of paper lying near the facing. He frowned slightly as he picked it up. Don's spidery handwriting:
I sit looking from my window at the raindrops falling to
the thirsty earth below, and I realize that life is like this,
starting pure and whole, and ending in being broken apart
and useless to itself. So many people, thinking that life is
over, make the mistake of giving in to others, letting them
carry on the things they could still accomplish. If they could
see as I see through this window, they would realize that
there is a clearness in the future, that the drops of rain
make a new life bloom, changing death into life.
Slowly, thoughtfully, Kurt raised his eyes to the portrait Don had painted of himself. "Thank you for words I need most. I loved you so, my son."
The End.
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Posted: 09/19/08