Fare Forward Page 21

  "I couldn't let it happen." He looks so sad as he turns his head away slowly. "I couldn't survive losing you."

  I know that this is the moment where everything will change as we determine the course our lives will take.

  "You are the one, Benjamin. I know it now. We are meant to be together."

  "I know," he says.

  "I heard everything, everything you said. And Maggie, she told me about my grandmother and you. I saw the picture from 1943—with my grandparents in Jerusalem. And, I have this."

  I hold up the amulet. He looks at it, then at me, and staggers back. "I've loved it my whole life."

  "Gabriella—"

  "Benjamin, I don't understand any of it, why and where you come from. But I do know one thing. We are meant to be together." Tears stream down my face.

  "There are infinite possibilities, infinite choices. I'm sorry, Gabriella."

  "I've made my choice." I push away his words and interrupt him. "There is only one choice for me, and it is you." I look into his eyes, knowing that the direction of my life hangs in the balance.

  His face is a mask of pain and sadness, but he says nothing.

  "Benjamin, I'm coming with you. Nothing matters to me if we are not together."

  I didn't know I possessed this reckless side. That I would be willing to walk onto this jet and fly away from everyone and everything—my carefully constructed life. He looks at me as if he is storing this moment away in his heart.

  "Gabriella, you don't mean that. So many things matter." He seems to know my thoughts. "But I made a promise to your grandfather."

  "You are what matters to me now." I pull him toward me.

  "I'm so very sorry. I should never have let this happen. I couldn't help myself." He takes a deep breath. "I just couldn't stay away from you."

  "We are supposed to be together. I know it, I want this. I want you."

  He starts to back away from me. I see the frustration on his face, the sorrow that hangs in the space between us as he says, "We cannot live in the same world. It has never happened, it cannot work."

  "What? No!" I yell.

  "You don't understand."

  I feel a power that I have never had before, a certainty that drives my actions and my words. I have no more fear. I am operating from my heart while trusting it to guide me through this moment. The next thing I say to him is everything I have felt since the truth was revealed to me at the beach. "Benjamin, I have already decided. I can't live in this world without you."

  "Please, Gabriella!" He is shouting, frustrated. "Do not say that. You can and you will. You will have a long and wonderful life, right here."

  I grip him tightly; my face is in the curve of his neck and my tears are on his skin.

  "If I need to die to be with you forever, then I will. That is the choice I will make." I feel like I am going to stop breathing. That I can't take one more second of the uncertainty. "I'll do anything." My voice is a hush, a whisper, a statement of fact.

  "Gabriella." He carefully disengages. "I must go now. I will see you in a few weeks and, I promise, you will understand. Everything."

  "In a few weeks." I say it out loud and repeat his words, convincing myself. I calculate the distance between that moment and this one. I know I am running out of time with him again. I hear the engines of the jet begin to accelerate, warming up for the inevitable transcontinental flight that will take him away. "Please, tell me. Can we be together?"

  We stand for what seems like an eternity, and then he pulls me into him. His lips are on my ear, and I hear him say, "We will find a way."

  I breathe in the words from his heart. I am in the present but, amazingly, I can see the future I want, with him. He lifts his hand to the pilot, kisses me deeply, then turns to climb the stairs into the waiting jet.

  "I'll be waiting for you," I say.

  * * *

  I'm in the car speeding back into the city and away from Benjamin. I think about everything that has just happened. I have that feeling once again of being on the threshold. Except that this time, I have crossed over. It has happened—everything is already different.

  Especially the pieces of my life that I have cautiously relied upon as constants. My relationship with my grandparents, my friends, and even the consideration of my parents and the life they had chosen in pursuit of their work. Elements of my own character and my inability to find love.

  Everything is shifting, even the most basic assumptions that I hold about the nature of the universe. It's as if I am really seeing everything I know so well, for the first time. Understanding something so familiar in a new way.

  I realize that with the knowledge I have gained, everything in my own life has changed completely. I look out at the millions of lights in the architecture of the city and the stars in the night sky. As the car rockets into the tunnel, I know that this image has been one of the recurring dreams of my childhood.

  "Here we are, Miss Vogel."

  These are the first words the driver has spoken as we turn the corner onto my block. I was lost so completely in my own thoughts that I hadn't realized that he knew exactly where he was taking me, without asking. I blink my eyes and look out at my building, finding comfort in the familiarity of it all.

  "Thank you."

  I lift my bag over my shoulder. He opens the car door for me and lowers his head as I walk past him and slowly enter the building. As I stand at the elevator, I can feel his eyes on me, waiting, watching me from the car, ensuring my safe return home. This is a new feeling for me.

  A messenger for Benjamin.

  I slide the key into the door of my apartment quietly. Exhausted, I collapse on the bed and manage to strip off my clothes. My head sinks into the feathered pillow and I pull the covers up under my chin and stop momentarily to look out at the clear, dark sky. I fight to keep my eyes from closing. I don't want to separate yet from Benjamin and into the next day. The last thing I see before I fall into sleep are the sparkling dots of light that form the familiar pattern of the constellations in the dark black canvas outside my window. Stars, planets, and airplanes moving in the sky.

  I think about the one carrying Benjamin away from me. Across the Atlantic.

  * * *

  47

  * * *

  IT'S SO GOOD TO SEE you, Gabriella," Wallace Gray says as he opens the door to his office.

  A welcome change from the pressures of the architecture studio, this is the closest thing I have to my grandfather in New York. Not knowing how else to survive, I try to live in the familiarity of routine. Finding any way to manage my overwhelming desire to be with Benjamin, I push myself forward through the days of the semester to reach the end. I try to concentrate on the significant task of completing the rigorous requirements of school with the prospect of our trip to the World Conference and what it represents right below the center of my consciousness. Things are off balance, but it's a feeling I'm accustomed to.

  The weight of history and experience permeates the office. There is an intimacy to the furniture, the walls lined with books, framed art, and articles from his years of teaching and correspondence with students. Signs of gratitude and accomplishment, honoring the past and believing in the future. Everything about being here is a connection to my grandfather: the lack of compromise, the intense quality of exploration, and the desire to shed light on the darkest parts of our world, be it the cosmos or the secrets of the human heart and mind.

  Hamilton Hall has been in use for over one hundred years, witness to the turbulent student protests of Vietnam and the Civil Rights Movement. The same wooden desks are here, sat in by those who have passed through these rooms, retaining the vibrations of questioning and intellectual challenge. It was as if the walls had absorbed the potential, the atomic energy that waited to be released by the interaction of professor and student and the workings of their imaginations. Just like the architecture studios.

  We are quiet, and I look down at the treasured book in my hands: Four Quart
ets. The same one that had fallen out of my bag in the cathedral. I could relive the moment Benjamin had handed it back to me as he watched me in the most arresting, unforgettable way.

  "You're here, Gabriella. Quite amazing isn't it, how time plays with us?"

  I notice that it has started to rain and lighting flashes outside his windows. The trees sway violently and mark the empty spaces between our words. He looks down at my small book, recognizing this older out-of-print edition and reaches for it.

  "May I?" he asks, looking at me with a certain sadness in his gray eyes.

  "Of course."

  "You know, Gabriella, I almost thought you had changed your mind about joining us this semester. Students taking my class know about the tradition of the first lecture. I looked for you. Since you were absent, I thought you were not coming."

  The memory of the day in Hamilton Hall and what had occurred comes flooding back to me, and I am almost knocked over by the force of it. The first time I met Benjamin and the fateful error in my schedule.

  "I had been on my way. I was intending to be there, of course, and something very unexpected occurred. I'm so sorry. I still don't know how it happened."

  He looks at me and raises his eyebrows as if he wants to respond, but instead, changes the subject. "There are many ideas that we explore, ones that might be helpful to you, Gabriella, in your other work. In your life. Your grandparents and I had many debates about this."

  His words cling to me, the distant memories they evoke. Their weight anchoring me into the space across from him as the relevance of his teaching to my work and personal life is mentioned.

  "I am familiar with the authors we are studying, especially T.S. Eliot. My grandmother loved his poems. She said she could find so much in his words."

  "And you? What is it that you are looking for?"

  I think for a moment. "Answers?" I continue slowly, taking a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. "The truth, in painting or architecture." I shrug my shoulders. "I really don't know."

  "Or a scientific proof as your grandfather might say?"

  "I have so many doubts now. Things are becoming less clear to me, more confusing."

  "Think about T.S. Eliot, Gabriella. He celebrates the courage of which the human spirit is capable. I know you understand; I can see it in you. Courage, then clarity."

  I sit in silence and look deeply into the eyes of Professor Gray, feeling the energy of the space we occupy. The years of student's questions that have been investigated right here. The ideas that float like thick clouds in the room. I feel his passion, his desire to address fundamental questions, a force that has driven me to him now. I think about what he said, "Courage then clarity." The words remind me of my family.

  "Have you talked to my grandfather lately? I mean, I know you speak to him regularly." This is the reason I've come to his office, to find out what, if anything, he knows.

  "Yes, of course, why?"

  "I'm worried about him."

  He pauses and frowns as he creates a single line of his brows. He chooses his words very carefully. "He is looking forward to the trip with you and the conference, Gabriella. I talked to him about it the other day. He called me from China. You know, he's been waiting a long time for this moment."

  I try to convince myself that this is all it is—excitement and anticipation. Presenting his life's work.

  "I was just wondering whether he expressed any concerns to you at all. About his safety that is."

  He squints his eyes to help them focus and pushes a cup of tea across his old wooden desk toward me. "Your grandfather has taught many people to believe in the pursuit of their deepest dreams. He himself has done it while maintaining a steadfast adherence to his convictions."

  "He's taught me that as well."

  "It takes great courage, to really look within."

  "That's what he's doing."

  "And this is what he wants for you."

  "Yes," I hear myself say, "I understand."

  "The search," he continues. "He is searching for the things that are timeless. Just like you. Remember when we discussed this in class?"

  Of course I remembered.

  I know that he is referring not only to this conversation, but to a fundamental belief at the heart of his teaching. His own original interpretation of the texts we study line by line. The same way my ancestors studied the old Testament, analyzing every word while searching for the secrets they held, looking for something new.

  "Take Four Quartets, Gabriella. The poem is about doubt and resolution. The union of time and the stillness of what is eternal."

  Both of my hands rest on top of my legs; my eyes are down. I am afraid to meet his gaze. "What is eternal?"

  "Your grandfather's journey."

  "He has already accomplished so much and inspired so many."

  "Your grandfather is an explorer. This is how T.S. Eliot would have described him. I've told him this many times."

  I listen intently and imagine the years of dialogue between these two friends. The scientist and the artist. Slowly, he leans forward, pushes off the arms of his chair, and stands up.

  "There is something I just remembered."

  At the rear wall of his office is a low cabinet that contains many well-used books kept safe behind locked glass doors. He reaches into one of the drawers in his desk and takes out a long brass key and slides it effortlessly into the lock on the cabinet. The latch releases and the door swings open.

  "Where is that book?" he asks himself and bends over with effort as his eyes scan the shelves.

  These are clearly his special treasures, kept separate from the hundreds of other manuscripts. Safe for private perusal and guarded under lock and key. He continues to talk to himself, muttering, clearly trying to locate something not looked for in a long time. Something remembered.

  "Here it is. I've been wanting to pull this out for some time, and now here you sit calling it forth." He looks at me over the top if his glasses.

  "Incredible."

  He hands me a copy of what I recognize clearly as the same slender version of Four Quartets that my grandmother had given me, but this text is bound in a leather embossed binding. An original edition.

  "It's the same as mine."

  "Go on, read," he instructs me. "The pages that are marked."

  I open it and see why he wanted me to find these particular passages. They were her favorite parts, the words of the poem my grandmother had often spoken.

  We shall not cease from exploration

  And the end of all our exploring

  Will be to arrive where we started

  And know the place for the first time.

  Not farewell but fare forward

  Voyagers.

  I want to understand why these words encourage and yet terrify me at the same time. Why they feel so very personal.

  "Endings and beginnings, the nature of time." Concepts that speak directly to me.

  "One of his favorites."

  "My grandfather?"

  "He loves to talk about it. Always looking for new meanings and interpretations in the words. Especially how the poem relates to his work. To what he believes."

  "I never knew that about him."

  "Now, look inside the front cover, Gabriella," he says deliberately.

  I hold the fragile copy in my hands and open it to the first page and immediately recognize the handwriting. It belongs to someone I love deeply, the unmistakeable lettering that had penned so many notes to me, held safe in a small cherished box of my treasures. The handwriting belonged, of course, to my grandmother. As if the prophetic words predicted the moment that I would be in this room holding the book she had given him.

  "Go ahead, read what she wrote."

  To My Dear Friend Wallace,

  May we always remember not to be burdened by the past, nor fear the future.

  We have far to travel. Teach this well, to those I love.

  SV, 1962

  My eyes fill with t
ears, as if reading the words is like sitting in her presence, feeling her arms around me in encouragement. I look at Professor Gray, realizing that I understand for the first time, so many things I've been told. What she always wanted me to believe. In what she had whispered to me over the years, the many silent messages of my heart. As recently as this day.

  "My grandmother gave this to you?" I look carefully at the initials and the date. So long ago, before I was born. And now I am here with him, holding it. once again the fateful intersections of my life.

  "Your grandmother was a true artist, ahead of her time. She would have been very proud of the woman you've become." Then, as if he can hear my thoughts, the endless questions that still remain in my head, he puts his hand over mine in encouragement. "You will find what you're looking for."

  "How will I know?"

  "You will. The answers are inside of you. They reside within the spacious architecture of your mind. Fare forward, my voyager."

  * * *

  48

  * * *

  “GABRIELLA, THIS IS ridiculous. I haven't seen you at all." Emily, as always, is a force to be reckoned with. "And this time, I'm not taking no for an answer!"

  There's no use trying to make excuses. I hold the phone several inches from my head to insulate my eardrum from her enthusiastic diatribe. I look out the large window next to my desk at the dark December sky. Another day has passed quickly, bringing me closer to the trip with my grandfather—and Benjamin. I know that everything in my life is about to change, and it is good to be absorbed in my work.

  "Where are you right now? Are you still in Avery, in that architecture studio?" I can tell her eyes are rolling by the tone of her voice.

  "Yes, Emily, of course I am. We all practically live here."

  "Well, I'm coming to get you for dinner."

  "The final review is just a few days away. No. But thank you."