by Dean Mayes
The things she wanted to believe so much.
She had tried to leave the city, but she couldn’t bring herself to. Joss had convinced her to remain out of respect for Jochen Zinski and for Denny’s memory. Whatever had happened between Sonya and the American, Joss had reminded her of the duty that she had agreed to, for Denny. Sonya hadn’t dared reveal what it was that had so upset her and, fortunately, Joss made up her mind that it must have been simply too soon for Sonya to entertain any form of relationship after Denny.
The piece moved into a complex flamenco solo. Andy lifted his head slightly, his eyes remained closed and he played the performance of his life. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow and were visible in the bright spotlights that played across him from behind the stage. He negotiated the complex solo, infusing his technique with a passion and a grace that he had never before achieved. His concentration was intense, his finger dance flawless. It was breathtaking to watch.
He poured everything he had into it, digging deep into the wellspring of his memories, both recent and long past, to find the emotional core with which he could give the performance more weight. He gave to it the memories of childhood - his own and Denny’s - when they had discovered the guitar and taken their first steps on an intimate journey of music that would define both their lives. He gave to it the memories of the cancer that had afflicted Denny, the fight for his life and the moment at which that life had been lost - before he had awoken in this new life in Andy’s body. He gave to it the wretchedness of Andy’s existence before he had woken on the gurney. He gave to it the shame of having very nearly thrown that life away in the pursuit of drugs. He gave to it the torment of how low he had sunk and the spark of determination that had been ignited in him - Denny’s spark - and he’d determined that he must find his way back to the proud person Denny had been. He gave to it the courage he had found to turn his back on that life of destruction and rebuild himself. It was Denny who had inspired that journey, who was the means to his salvation - this proud spirit, this light that refused to be extinguished from the moment he had become a part of Andy.
He had found his way to live on.
The Andy who once had been was no longer. Andy embraced this incredible gift - the spirit - and became tormented no longer.
When the orchestra erupted back into life at the climax of the Concierto, the audience were on their feet for Andy, applauding wildly - emotionally, and appreciatively. They were bearing witness to something very special. Tears streamed down Andy’s cheeks as he led the orchestra into the final stanza. He let go of the conflict within him and felt the pain of his burden dissipate until all that remained was the warmth of Denny’s indestructible spirit infused with his own noble being. Together, Andy and the orchestra held the audience in their exquisite hand and took them triumphantly towards the soft finale of the Concierto - the dawning of a new day.
And then it was over.
Andy slowly rose to his feet, realizing he was shaking, and he bowed to the audience. He turned to the conductor, who nodded appreciatively at him, as well as several members of the orchestra who were applauding him, and the general applause continued - enthusiastic and appreciative - for several more minutes.
Andy heard it, but it remained distant in his ears. He was too moved by the reception. He closed his eyes and lifted his head up, and held it there for a moment. Then, slowly, he bowed and opened them again, looking out across the audience. His eyes came to rest briefly on a flash of blue that stood out, far back in the audience. It was a woman wearing blue, but she turned away before he could focus directly upon her.
Was it her?
The moment passed, and the figure disappeared.
Andy walked slowly from the stage and down the stairs through the throngs of people eager to congratulate him. Overwhelmed by their praise, he acknowledged them respectfully but absently as he found his way to the performers’ tent and slumped down in a chair.
He was utterly spent.
CHAPTER 23
Sonya stepped down on the sand and unclipped the lead from Simon’s collar, letting him trot away onto the beach and sniff about as he always did on their morning walks. Kicking off her shoes, Sonya took in a deep breath of the fresh salty air and shielded her eyes as the dawning sun appeared over the horizon, beginning its slow ascent above the calm ocean. She gazed longingly toward the sun, studying the soft rays it cast across the water and the sky, tingeing everything with soft yellow hues. She felt the warmth of it on her face and drew comfort from it, closing her eyes and allowing it to soothe her. It was like an old friend she looked forward to catching up with each day. It brought her a friendship that was unconditional, a peace that was comforting.
She was relieved to be home in Hambledown, but she also felt sadness. The week in Melbourne had been too much for her - too much, too soon. And she was left with the memories of him, the American, whom she could not shake from her consciousness. His performance, which had captured the imagination of everyone present, left no one in any doubt and he had won the concert series. Without revealing anything of the circumstances on the Williamstown beach to Jochen Zinski, Sonya had engineered her presence at the ceremony such that she didn’t have to present him with the award. She couldn’t bear the thought of having to face him again.
Not because she didn’t want to. But because she was afraid that she did.
She hadn’t seen him at all in the aftermath of the concert. Andy DeVries was the toast of Melbourne now. Everyone down there was talking about this come-from-behind virtuoso who had stunned the Festival with his exquisitely beautiful performance.
Sonya did everything she could to push him from her mind.
It was quiet on the beach this morning, as it usually was. There seemed to be a greater stillness around her, however, almost as if the world was empty. The only sounds punctuating the serenity were the gentle noise of the ocean and Simon, who was yelping noisily nearby, splashing enthusiastically in the shallows, chasing a pair of sea birds that floated overhead, teasing him with their ability to be there while he remained stubbornly earthbound. They squawked at him, which served only to rev him up even more. Sonya drifted on the peaceful warmth of the sun, then opened her eyes slowly to scan for Simon, making sure he was close enough so as not to be causing trouble.
She then made her way along the beach, passing by two old local men sitting on their stools. Mugs of thermos coffee in hand, they watched over a pair of fishing rods cast out into the ocean, held in their custom-made stands on the sand, awaiting the promise of a catch. Sonya greeted them as she always did, planting a quick kiss on the old gent closest to her as she passed by. He squeezed her hand gratefully. He had recently lost his wife, and Sonya had handled their affairs with dignity and discretion - as she had always done. There was something about being around for these people. There was a quiet gratitude for everything she did for them, the kind of gratitude that you just wouldn’t get elsewhere - in the city, for example. Sonya knew her place was here. There was nowhere else that she could feel she could belong.
The local boys with their surfboards sat out just beyond the sand bar, lolling on the swell, eagerly awaiting a pick up in the breeze in the hope they might catch a wave or two before breakfast and the drudgery of school. They waved to Sonya from many yards out, knowing it was she from the presence of the black-and-white dog that galloped about just ahead of her. She smiled and waved back, squinting against the growing power of the morning sun. They were good kids - never the sort to get into any real trouble, aside from being on the wrong side of their frustrated mothers, who would sooner have them dressed and ready for the school day now than welded to their surfboards. It was a never-ending soap opera she’d heard so much about from the local women in the street. And it was something Sonya had once imagined for herself.
The Tai Chi group had begun their morning exercises on the grass just above the beach. They were mainly older people, retirees who’d embraced their newfound freedom with relish and adopted
the ancient martial art as a means of enjoyment in the early hours. The group smiled and waved at Sonya as she passed by, and she smiled warmly back. They limbered up while the instructor chatted with one or two of the newer participants. She noted an elderly couple among them, the Braithwaites, longtime residents of the Hambledown District who had been here longer than anyone could remember.
They had to be in their nineties now, Sonya mused.
But as she passed by she watched dear old Mr. Braithwaite, resplendent in his Tai Chi garb, help Mrs. Braithwaite with a stretch that for anyone younger would not be so demanding. For them, it was a challenge requiring significantly more attention. Satisfied that they had warmed up enough, the elderly couple embraced lovingly and then took their place in the group. Sonya’s heart swelled watching them together, and an overwhelming sadness settled over her as she moved on - a sense of emptiness so powerful it threatened to consume her.
As Sonya pushed the dark emotions down deep inside her where she hoped they wouldn’t rise again, she realized Simon was no longer beside her. She looked around worriedly, concerned that he had wandered off, but she found him just a few yards back, sitting on the sand, completely still.
“What’s wrong with you, sweetie?” she asked.
Simon was looking forward, down along the beach to where a lone figure stood on the sand. The person was just too far away for her to see who it was. Every one of Simon’s senses seemed attuned to that figure. His ears were directed forward, twitching ever so slightly, his moist nose - testing the air with equally subtle twitches, gathering the scent of whoever it was there. His head was bowed slightly in a ready position, his entire body rigid, as though ready to pounce.
Sonya studied him with concern. She placed a hand on his back, just below his neck, and slid it down gently over his coat. She realized he was quivering.
“Simon,” she exclaimed. “What’s the matter? You’re behaving very strangely.”
Simon looked up at her and whimpered, giving her a lick on the cheek before yelping at the stranger up ahead. Sonya looked up the beach to the figure on the sand. She squinted, trying to focus on it.
Suddenly, Simon launched to his feet and tore off down the beach. Sonya was almost thrown over.
“Simon!” she shouted with alarm. “Stop!”
But Simon was oblivious to everything but the figure. His sleek body seemed to blur with such a burst of speed that all Sonya could do was run after him. She raced as fast as her legs would take her, cursing herself for having got up so early and still being so tired.
And then, as Sonya drew closer to the figure Simon had scoped out from 100 yards away, she looked up and gasped, skidding to a stop in the sand. She blinked in shock.
As Simon covered the last few feet between them, Andy dropped to his haunches, smiled and steeled himself as Simon leapt into his arms, yelping excitedly and licking his face furiously. They both fell back on the sand, the dog refusing to let up, licking and nipping playfully at Andy’s face as though he were being reunited with a master he hadn’t seen for a very long time.
Andy eventually got back to his feet and knelt beside Simon, patting him down, scratching behind his ears lovingly, and examining him as though he hadn’t seen the dog for a very long time. Andy couldn’t believe how Simon had grown. The dog had been just a pup the last time he remembered him, awkward and ungainly. Now he was a proud, well cared-for adult.
Sonya dropped her shoes to the sand and she stood unable to speak, unable to think. She was utterly stunned, not only that Simon had responded to a man in that way, but that the man - Andy - was here.
Andy’s smile faded as he realized that she was so close by. He rose to his feet and looked at her.
He did not speak.
Simon continued to jump playfully until Andy held out his hand, palm down, and signaled for him to sit. Simon obeyed and sat beside him, looking towards Sonya with his tongue hanging to one side, panting, his tail wagging happily.
Andy cleared his throat, considering his words one final time, the only words he had thought about at the expense of anything else on his way here. Nothing else mattered anymore.
“I remember ... getting up ... at 4:30 every morning ... before dawn,” he began tentatively. “Putting on that old Melbourne Uni track suit with the tear in the sleeve and giving Simon two of those biscuit bones that Lionel got in especially for him - the beef ones, not the plain ones. He never did seem to like the plain ones.”
Andy paused as he looked down at Simon, who was licking the ends of his fingers. Andy tapped the end of his nose gently, signaling him to stop.
“I remember ... leaving the house with Simon on the lead, running down here and along the beach as far south as the old jetty ruins, circling back towards the fishing port up by the Braithwaites’ house and then doing two, maybe three laps of the football oval. I remember passing by the Uniting Church on the hill, then stopping by the General Store for a coffee. Simon would always get three slices of Strasburg that Lionel would cut off especially for him and have ready for when we got there.”
Sonya remained silent. She watched Andy as he looked out across the ocean towards the sun, which had now cleared the horizon and continued up into the morning sky.
“Remember that day it poured here? A storm as powerful and as fierce as anyone could remember. We were forced inside from working on the balcony.”
Sonya felt her breath catch in her throat as Andy looked back at her.
“Remember when I painted your toenails for the first time? How you teased me mercilessly, because I hadn’t done it before and my hand was shaking like a leaf? You gave me such a hard time - I tickled you as payback. Remember that? Would anyone else know that?”
Andy stepped forward a little, letting the rising ocean tide lap at the bottoms of his jeans.
“Remember when I was having the chemotherapy? How you’d come with me to the clinic every week - every single week - and sit with me? You’d load up a whole heap of episodes of that podcast I liked so much - Keith and the Girl - and we’d share them while I had the treatment. Remember those dirty jokes I used to swap with the nurses? The ones you used to cringe at, but the nurses loved? Those fruit muffins you’d bake? They were so large I often wondered how you used to fit them in the basket. You’d take them into the clinic for the nurses, and we would never come home without that basket completely empty.”
Sonya’s eyes were already filling with tears and she was trying desperately to hold them back. Her emotions spun out of control as she listened to his words, and she felt powerless to stop them.
Andy turned towards her now and took a few cautious steps towards her, wary of not scaring her again. This time, Sonya didn’t flinch or retreat.
“Remember what I said to you - in the hospice - at the end when I was close to death and all that kept me from the incredible pain was the morphine and the sleeping drugs? Remember the last thing I said?”
Together they uttered the sentence in unison:
“This is not over.”
Through the maelstrom of her emotions, the tears that blurred her vision, Sonya gazed at Andy. She gazed into his deep green eyes, worlds within a world and in that moment...
...She knew.
They were the dreams - her dreams - the indestructible dreams that had visited her in her sleep in the days and weeks and months after Denny had gone, and they had comforted her. They were the dreams that had protected her from shattering into a million pieces, the dreams that protected her from her grief. This man standing here now recalled her memories as though they were his own. There was no possible way he could have known them without having actually lived them himself.
She hadn’t noticed before now, but Andy held something in his hands that caught the breeze. As he held it out to her, Sonya looked at it. It was a posy of sorts, but not of flowers.
It was sprigs of rosemary, tied together with mint leaves.
“I came across the world to find you, Sonya,” Andy said softly
, his voice cracking with emotion as he handed her the memento of their past life together. As he did so, she saw the tattoo on the inside of his right forearm, those two languid words, crafted in a flowing script that had meant so much to Denny. Ancora Imparo - “still I am learning”.
“I can’t explain what happened to me, but - I didn’t die then. My body did - but not my mind, my soul. All I know is - it’s not my time yet.”
Sonya succumbed to her tears and to the knowledge her rational mind refused to believe possible.
She embraced Andy.
She drew him close, holding him in her arms, resting her head into that familiar corner of his neck. She closed her eyes and drifted, knowing that this man spoke the truth. Andy, hesitantly at first, enfolded her in his arms. He closed his eyes.
He knew.
Sonya drew back and looked into Andy’s eyes. They were the eyes that she had known for most of her life, ever since she and Denny had met as children. They were the same eyes that she had been captivated by when they had reconnected as young adults, the same eyes she had fallen in love with when she had fallen in love with Denny.
They knew.
Andy kissed Sonya tenderly, longingly as Simon jumped up, pawing at their legs, splashing them both with the cool sea water. The breeze picked up and tugged at the ocean from the north, whipping up the sea just a little - much to the delight of the surfers out on the swell.
Andy drew back from Sonya and took in her wondrous smile with his soulful green eyes.
