Chapter

32

We passed along what Julian called 42^nd street’s “Alley of despair”—the block between 8^th and Broadway. Julian knew it well.

“When I first came to New York, used to spend lot of time down here,” he said. “Booking agent was right above what used to be the Lyric Theatre. Had his office next to the rehearsal hall he’d rent out for next to nothing to his acts. Met Willie Dixon right there. Hear what’s comin’ from there now? Rock bands. Nothin’ but rock.  That hall used to be Willie’s favorite. People on the sidewalks would stop and look up at that second story window, and ask anybody that passed by who was makin’ all that good sound. Learned a lot from him.”

“Student of his?” I asked.

“Naw. I just used to sit down on the sidewalk and listen. Got him to listen to me one day as he came out. I just pulled out my piece and played one of his old blues while Max gave their heads a three sixty turn with his feet. Willie said I played Willie Dixon blues better than Willie Dixon. Said my kid was a mistake being born white with that much rhythm. After that, he let us watch him rehearse whenever he was in town. Even got to sit in with his trio a couple of times.”

“Comin’ up on Times Square now Mr. Charles,” Max announced. “Next we’ll be passing the second largest library in the U.S. after the Library of Congress in Washington D.C. It contains more than 42 million books, manuscripts and documents. 1.5 million people use the 800 volumes of catalogs and 87 miles of stacks, that’s bookshelves, every year. Its most treasured collections include a first edition of Shakespeare’s works; a letter written by Christopher Columbus; a hand-written copy of the Declaration of Independence; and a collection of over 100,000 photographs of New York City, including,” he said with the radiant pride I was accustomed to by now, “one of my dad playin’ the harmonica in Washington Square. Right Dad?”

“We’ll be turnin’ up big Madison now,” said Julian, “Madison Ave., land of the advertisers, the image makers, the image breakers, and Brooks Brothers. This street... “

His voice trailed away from my consciousness for a few minutes as I watched Max check through his tour notes written on dog-eared 3x5’s. This wasn’t a poor boy who sat across from me, at least he didn’t give that impression. Like his father, he was wearing clean clothes, albeit worn in spots. His hands and face didn’t carry the telltale marks of someone homeless. I wondered where they lived...what kind of home they lived in. Was Max’s mother still alive? Had Julian always been blind?

“You like churches, Charles? Charles?” Julian’s voice crept back in as he called my name.

“Yeah...Sorry, Julian. Churches? Yeah. Sure.”

“Got ‘Patty’s,’ St. Patrick’s Cathedral coming up. You game for walkin’?”

“Hey, you’re the boss.”

We were on 50^th and Madison as we stepped off the bus. We waited for it to pass as Max nudged me and pointed at the graffiti covering the bus’s side panels. “All gang’s from our neighborhood. Hey, Dad? Stone War’s down here now.”

“The bus?” he said, his tone suggesting he obviously didn’t have any deep affection for Stone War.

“Yeah. That one is all theirs.”

“Charles?” Julian said as we stepped from the curb toward 5^th Ave, “Stone War’s one of those ‘bad’ surprises I told you the city had. Remember?”

“Something personal?” I asked.

“Nope. Long as they stay away from Max and me.”

Julian rested his left hand on Max’s shoulder as the young boy guided him across the street.

“You practice any religion, Charles?” Julian asked, as we approached the cathedral.  I almost said, “I don’t think so,” when I realized that would set Julian off again with one of his… “Either you do or you don’t,” so I just said it like it was. “No. Don’t have

any preference.”

“Max and I are the same way, but we like to visit ‘Patty’s.’ Inside is like no place else in New York. You’ll see.”

“Can I light a candle for Mom, Dad?”

“Sure,” Julian replied, his voice suddenly sad.

We came up alongside the imposing edifice of granite and stained glass. I could see why they liked ‘Patty’s’. Even though the surrounding skyscrapers dwarfed it, the Gothic architecture couldn’t help but rouse anyone who looked upon it.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” said Julian. “One of the few Manhattan structures that hasn’t been replaced by glass and steel.”

It was strange to see such a beautiful structure being appreciated by a man that couldn’t see and yet being passed by and ignored by the hundreds hurrying in every direction. I was enjoying the role of a tourist. For a moment, I fantasized staying this way the rest of my life, and then...

As we walked up the marbled tiers, I started to feel like anything but a tourist. The unique smell of burning wax wafted down the steps as we came up to the twenty-foot bronze doors of the entrance. I stopped suddenly. “That smell...” I said.

“Candles,” Max volunteered.

“Candles. Sorry...of course,” I muttered back.

“You OKAY, Charles?” Julian asked, his hand taking my upper arm. I felt Max’s hands taking my other arm just as I felt my knees start to give. I’m fainting? I’m fainting on the steps of...

My eyes struggled to open.  I could hear Max and Julian.

“He’s coming around,” said Max, his voice confused.  “He’s okay, Dad?”  He turned back.  “Mr. Charles?”

“Charles, old buddy,” said Julian.  “Can’t just stop and take a nap on ‘Patty’s steps.”

My eyelids lifted what felt like the entire top of my head.  “Oh, I—Oh.”  I grabbed my head.

“Just a little bump when you fell,” said the priest who was leaning over me now.  I opened wider.  Max and Julian were standing there beside him.

I was sitting on a small chair in the far corner of the entranceway.

“Here, Mr. Charles,” said Max as he handed me an verflowing paper cup. “Have some water.”

I took a swallow and sat up in the chair. The priest gave me one last glance and patted my shoulder. “You’re okay now. Probably the heat. Happens once in a while. You rest here for as long as you like.”

“Thank you...thank you Father.”

He nodded to all of us and disappeared into the shadows.

I tried to slough off what had truly embarrassed me. “Did I...did I just collapse out there?”

Julian leaned in and smiled.  “Like a snowman in the sun.  You okay now?”

“Yeah...” I stood up and let my head settle, then repeated to myself. “Yeah...I’m okay.” I looked around at my surroundings. “This is...Whew! I’ve never seen a church like this.”

“How about the size?” said Max. “A football field. 328 feet long and 164 feet wide,” he announced.

I stepped to the center aisle and gazed all around, my eye catching a glimpse of Max and Julian proudly smiling from behind.

“He likes it, Dad.”

Julian humored his son. “He’s gonna see the rest of this place and pass out again.”

I turned around and shushed them. “I’m all right. I’m all right. Give me a minute, okay?”

“Hey,” Julian whispered, “you’re the boss. Take as long as you want. Need my cane?”

“Tell your father to behave himself,” I murmured with a smile.

The walk up the center aisle started out innocent enough. I was awed by the majesty and beauty like any other tourist, so the fact that I felt this way was justified...I thought. But, suddenly, I realized the feeling wasn’t just awe. It was… How could it be déjà vu? The pillars, the high ceiling, the stained glass, the altar...

I paused at the back of a pew and seated myself. I looked down at the kneeling bench, then back to the area up front where a few people were kneeling before the altar itself. I looked around. Many were in the pews, kneeling. Bowed heads, beads and barely heard prayers were passing through my senses mixing with other, bowed heads, beads and barely heard prayers from somewhere else, as if in an illusion. The disjointed images, the broken sounds, everything vacillated back and forth.  I knelt and tried to pull myself together, but the images and sounds kept coming.

Suddenly there was a transient ta ta ta ta ta, repeating over and over, coming in and out of the images and voices, sounding like a shallow vessel being struck or tapped...maybe a small drum...ta ta ta ta ta ta. The pitch began varying. Taps of a different sound, more metallic joined in. Then the older sounds, primitive...

Distant tolls from a belfry announced the hour. The images and confusion stopped abruptly. I opened my eyes and looked up. Perspiration trickled from my chin to my folded hands.

Standing at the foot of the altar railing, looking out over the cathedral, was the priest that had assisted me earlier. I hadn’t noticed him since he left me. But now we were within eye contact of each other and for no other reason than just the fact he was the first thing I focused on after opening my eyes, we continued looking at one another.

Finally, I rose and walked up to the railing. I felt a strange wave of emotion pass over me as I stood there. We didn’t say anything. We just curiously gazed into each other’s eyes.

His eyelids closed as if nodding an acknowledgement of some unseen, unheard communication with me. I watched as he walked to the left and entered a small curtained enclosure.

I glanced to the right of the enclosure where dozens of candles were lit. There was Max lighting his candle. Kneeling before the quiet flames was Julian. Max joined him. The two bowed their heads.

I looked again at the enclosure. Not knowing where it led, I nevertheless felt compelled to walk over. As I came up to it, I was able to see that there were actually two curtained openings. Suddenly, I realized I knew what to do and entered the one opposite the priest. I pulled the curtain shut. I sat for a few moments, then...a small window opened to my left and the priest spoke. “How long since your last confession, my child?”

I sat there for another moment, knowing I had entered because I wanted to, but the question...I couldn’t answer the question. I squeezed my eyes shut and hummed the deep sound Sara had taught me. The Ohm vibrations trembled inside me, but the calming wasn’t happening.

Suddenly, something else was happening...something I was familiar with...something that wasn’t welcome. It started as a quiet warning at first. Then, a growing momentum coming from the buried depths of that somewhere I didn’t know, pushing the ice capped tidal wave of fear I thought was gone forever after Central Park, but it was up and out of the deep. The crushing sound of cascading ice that had stayed away...was back. I was immobilized with terror.

“Are you there, my child?” came the voice from behind the window.

The undertow of destruction from beneath the wave was moving closer to the shore and me.

I reached ever deeper within me for the strength to stop it, but it kept coming. The splintering spray of the ice caps came closer. The wave was beginning to crest, starting to curl under, creating the undertow. My feet and ankles began sliding down and out with the pull as the crest broke into giant slabs of ice and...