147. Loss

Agnes did not go quietly. Five minutes after I told the fireman there was a dead man in the fire, our former abbot let out a scream I will never forget. When I dream of that snowy field on a Sunday afternoon so many years ago and hear the scream, I cannot tell if it is his or mine. But he was killed by the fire and I lived. It was a horrible enough way to die, but was almost made worse when a brave fireman rushed in and searched from room to room.  I don’t know where they found him, evidently on the other side of the building, because I saw the firemen haul a stretcher over there and bring back Agnes’ body to the ambulance near where we stood watching the fire.  He was dead by the time they  hoisted him up into the ambulance.

The monastery was a total loss. For a building filled with rot, it went up like a tinder box, throwing flames high into the sky and spreading to the nearby hemlock trees. The firemen worried about the possibility of a forest fire and soon were training their hoses on the nearby trees more than on the monastery. Everyone knew the building was gone.

All of our work for scholars from years past was now ashes floating in the pools of black water that ran off the steaming mass of what had been our monastery, doused with thousands of gallons of water pumped from trucks by the local fire departments, three of which showed up to battle the blaze.

The flashing red lights and activity around what was now a ruin lessened considerably after an hour or two as the hulk that had been our monastery fell in upon itself, sparks whooshing up in a curtain of applause for its last performance. I began to see the outline of the trees against the dawning sky in the east. Soon the sun would move up from behind the Taconic Mountains and pour itself over the valley just like any other day, as if nothing was new or changed.

"Poor Agnes, " I said to Harpo as we stood side by side and viewed the smoldering smoky ruin after the flames were subdued.

"Agnes made his choice," said Harpo.

I reflected on that for a moment, for the first time wondering if Agnes had been of sound mind. For all I knew he may not have been sober. But I could beat myself about the head for the rest of my life over "shoulda/coulda's" as Sparky used to say. It was done.

"We've lost everything," I said.

Harpo sighed audibly. "We are blessed to have had nothing to lose." he said. "I lost my Timex."

"All our work and records and manuscript copies ..." I said.

"You know as well as I that we no longer had any work of great importance," he said.

"We lost our rice and beans," I said.

"Thank God," said Harpo.

I turned when I heard Sally’s voice call my name.  She walked up and stood hesitantly before me, then reached up to give me a hug.  I couldn’t help myself, I folded her up in my arms and gave her the kind of embrace I had not given a woman since Immy.  She did not resist.  I couldn’t let go.  I wanted to hold on to her forever.  Hold on to the feminine, the safety, the beautiful golds and pinks and blues on the horizon, to life and  maybe to “a manifestation of God personalized for my feeble mind.”  I don’t know what I wanted.  Sally’s hands slid down my arms signaling me to release her.  I let go and sobbed.

“It will be OK,” she said.

“It will never be OK,”  I said, trying to hold back the tears.  “I am still so afraid.”

“But we’re not alone,” she said. “He is with us.”

“I want to be with you,” I said.

“You will always be with me, David, in my heart.” Gently, she continued, “I have a life to live.  So do you.”

“Mine is so confused.  I’ve lost the map,” I said.

“Forget the map,” she said.  “Remember the dance.”

Looking up into my eyes, Sally kissed the hollow of her right hand and placed it on my chest, her eyes still holding mine. She leaned into me and pressed the flat of her hand hard on my chest.  I felt my heart stop. Then she turned and walked back down the driveway, past the fire trucks, stepping lightly over the hoses that lay across the ground.  The dawn broke in a bouquet of colors as Sally disappeared into the small crowd of firemen and neighbors.  I never saw the young woman again, except in my mind, my fields of gold.