Blind Salvation

 

          “Good heavens, there he is!”  Edward wasn’t astonished.  It was more a sense of wonderment, the type that arises out of mystery and smacks of fatalism.  He had arrived just moments before at his favorite lunch spot, a cafe in the city that he discovered and immediately adopted just three weeks earlier because it served a variety of vegan sandwiches that he quite liked.  A day or two after his first visit he noticed the strange fellow with the serious countenance, dark features, graying beard and receding grey-black hair.  He wore a non-descript, dark trench coat, which, like the man himself, was of indeterminate age.  By now Edward fully expected to see the fellow at his customary table but he couldn’t help but marvel at the consistency of his presence.  Like Edward, he always sat alone, never conversed with anyone and, most disquieting of all, his inscrutable visage always seemed to peer directly at Edward.  His posture was erect, a steaming cup of some hot beverage before him received only occasional attention.  He gazed, usually unfocused, but always right at Edward, no matter where the latter seated himself.  

          For his part, Edward had sampled several seating choices over the last two weeks, sometimes facing away from the ever-present stranger.  But he found this arrangement intolerable as he could feel the man’s gaze, like the heaviness of a hot, summer sun, directly on his back.  Unable to resist the urge to turn around, invariably he met the man’s eye aimed squarely at him.  A defiant streak arose and Edward decided to face his bugbear head on; so, after the first week, he seated himself in a direct, unfettered line of sight.  Gradually, Edward discarded his reticence to stare and met the man’s face directly.  He studied his features, just as the man was studying him.   An occasional twitch of the stranger’s eyebrow, a twist of the mouth, the smallest of nods, all conveyed subtle, yet increasingly recognizable signals that the two had come to a tacit arrangement, a detente of sorts.  A cautious man, Edward offered only the softest of smiles in reply, but he felt a nascent bond developing, one that grew each day.   The stranger’s countenance, so severe at first, softened, yet retained its constant, quite obvious, perspicacity.   Clearly, this was a man of insight and wisdom, and just as clearly to Edward, the man recognized something in him that elicited similar respect.

    Other aspects of Edward’s life were in a shambles - dead end job, long-gone spouse, a fatuous, cliche-spouting “counselor” who offered the most banal insights at the conclusion of each fifty-minute hour.  Increasingly with each lunch visit, Edward found solace and strength in this taciturn stranger.  Each day their silent conversation of facial expressions at a distance, over a veggie Reuben and a cup of coffee, buoyed him more than anything had in years.  The fellow had become a touchstone of reliability.  Edward was musing on this one afternoon over the remains of his lunch when the waiter brought his check.  He put cash on the table and stood.  He had adopted the habit over the last few days of turning his head toward the stranger upon departure to nod and smile.  At first, he issued a mere courteous, desultory sort of expression, but increasingly each day the corners of his mouth met his eyes to convey a message of appreciation and camaraderie.  The most he received in reply was a slight rise of the chin, the subtlest of smiles, an upturn in the corner of the mouth, yet this was enough for Edward to know, unmistakably, that fellowship was emerging.  A small ember of optimism in Edward’s heart, absent for so long, emitted the tiniest flame that grew slowly over weeks to warm that cold, hibernating vessel.  Some long-abandoned books, languishing in a thin coat of dust on the shelf of his library, beckoned him one evening.  Edward chose one, seated himself in his corner chair, and opened the cover.  He began to read and became enthralled, overcoming a distracting and quite annoying noise toward which he finally wrestled his attention.  It was the TV he had turned on, unconsciously, by habit when he arrived home.  Resting the book in his lap, he cast his gaze about, spotted the remote, and punched off the set.  Edward returned to his book and lost himself for hours.  

On weekends Edward came to miss his mysterious friend, but the loneliness was tempered by a world of growing allure - Edward read, he dusted off his stamp collection and actually went out for a run each evening.  He reached out to old friends, whom he had unconsciously demoted in his mind’s pantheon to acquaintances, even strangers.  He skipped counseling sessions until, finally, in one awkward telephone conversation, he cancelled the standing engagement over the admonishing voice of his therapist who insisted that Edward was now at “a very critical stage.”  His decision was, in her words, “rash and irresponsible.”  and she warned him that she would not be held to account for what fate might befall him.  Furthermore, she continued, “trust was now irretrievably broken” and Edward should seek out someone else in future should he feel in need of further counseling.  

    “Yes, certainly, I understand … goodbye.”  Edward clutched the phone to his breast and gazed at nothing, digesting the exchange.  Far from anger or hurt, he felt incongruously relieved by the dismissal; an onus had been lifted. His next thought was that it was time to approach his serendipitous benefactor.  Tomorrow would be the perfect day, as Edward was scheduled to have the afternoon off work.  Given the undeniable connection that had been forged, he had no doubt that a friendship was in the offing … heck, it had already begun, and he anticipated a long conversation over more than one coffee or tea. 

    Edward finished his sandwich quickly the following day, downed his last gulp of coffee, paid his bill, and stood, peering straight at the man whom he felt was no longer a stranger.  The slightly upturned chin and the risen corners of the man’s mouth signaled an obvious invitation and expectation. Consciously donning a friendly but not exuberant smile, Edward approached with quiet confidence and seated himself to the man’s right, in the adjacent chair.  Oddly, the man whose gaze never left Edward when at a distance, paid him absolutely no mind now.  His eyes were focused straight ahead.  After a moment’s pause, Edward offered a quiet, “Hello.”  

    The man ignored him.  “Is Mona here already?” he blurted out, as if to the room. “She’s early.”   

“Mona?” Edward replied, himself now a bit at sea.  “Are you waiting for someone?”   

“Is Mona here?” the man repeated in a tone of distress.  He never looked at Edward nor acknowledged him in any way.  Deftly, he reached back and grabbed a cane that was parked behind his chair.  Then he stood abruptly and moved in small steps from the table, tapping the cane side to side in front of him.  

    A waitress emerged from nowhere to intercept the man and grab his elbow.  She said, a bit too loudly, “Mona’s not here yet Richard!”  She maneuvered him back to his chair and shot an unflattering look down at Edward who sat, paralyzed, befuddled.  As the waitress, with no small fuss, got the man settled back into his chair, Edward collected himself, uttered an embarrassed apology, rose to his feet, and rapidly made his way toward the door.  Behind him he heard the man again beseech the waitress, “Where’s Mona?  Is she here?”  She replied with some reassuring words, their voices fading as Edward gained the exit and took to the street.  He walked rapidly in the direction of his apartment, his thoughts swirling in a haze of incredulity.  

Then, he stopped, turned his face to the sky, paused … and laughter emerged from his throat: spontaneous, joyful, unsuppressed laughter.  He slowly shook his head and quietly declared to himself, as if speaking to another, “I can’t believe it!  I just can’t believe it.”  Edward hadn’t been this happy in years, nor this thankful.  He couldn’t wait to get home to his book.