Hillary Kanter - Dead Men Are Easy To Love (6 page)

I found myself nodding. Really, how many women ever get the opportunity to go back to Beethoven’s place?

After our meal, we walked the short distance to his flat. It was a beautiful spring night, yet cool, and I shivered slightly despite my light jacket and scarf. By lantern-light, Ludwig bowed and held the door open for me. Though the servants had gone home for the night, several more lanterns flickered in the music room.

As he closed the door behind us, I felt a crushing pressure in my chest. This was no heart attack, but my heart would not stop pounding. We talked through most of the night. Ludwig played me more music, all of it familiar, all of it brilliant. He possessed a lot of confidence, but only I knew how successful these compositions would become
.
I told him they would be classics for future generations.

He grinned. “You say that with such conviction, I almost believe you.”

The sun was rising over rooftops and steeples. Morning had come.

“Ludwig, I really should go.”

He drew my face to his with both hands, kissing me. His passion ignited mine, and I felt an urgency in his touch. We slipped to the floor, his body pressing against mine. I was lost in his gaze, and if asked what day, time, or year it was, I couldn’t have told you—not that I was sure of the timeframe anyway.

Ludwig broke the silence. “Day after tomorrow I leave on tour. If I send for you sometime, will you come to me?”

“I would love to, but I don’t know that I can.”

“Dearest, what did you say? Come closer so I can hear you better.”

“I said I would love to, but I don’t know that I can.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t really explain it you,” I said, feeling sad.

“I must find a way to see you,” he nearly shouted. ”Ariel, I think I love you. There’s no other way for me to say it. And thanks be to God, we still have tomorrow night.”

“But you barely even
know
me. How can you love me?”

“It is true I don’t know you well, but what I
do
know of you, I
love.”

I rejoiced, hearing those words, but I was afraid of their magnitude. How much longer would I be around? Could I risk joining my heart to his when we could be torn apart in an instant?

‘‘I suppose I should get you home now,” he said. “Or I might be tempted to take advantage of you, my dear.”

***

When I awoke the next morning, I found a note under my door.

Good morning, my dearest. Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, joyfully then sadly wondering whether or not fate will hear us. I can live with you only wholly or not at all.

Yes, I am resolved to wander in distant lands, until I can fly back to your arms and say that I am really home. I can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits. I pray you will be the more composed, assured of my fidelity to you.

No one else could possess my heart, never, never. Mein Gott, why must I be parted from one whom I so love? You make me at once the happiest and unhappiest of men. My darling, meine Liebling, please do love me. And never misjudge this most faithful heart of your beloved.

Ever thine, ever mine, ever ours,

Love,

L. V. B

p.s. I must see you. It is of the utmost importance! I will be in rehearsal all day today, but please meet me at my flat at nine tonight. I have something I must say to you, or die not saying it.

***

Beethoven greeted me at the door that evening. “Dearest girl, you’re even more beautiful today than yesterday.”

I rushed into his arms and laid my head on his shoulder. In the dim lantern-light, he looked more handsome than I remembered. Slowly, carefully, he unbuttoned the top few buttons of my dress, and kissed my neck. My feelings rushed to the surface as I tore at his shirt, all the while helping him remove my own.

“Time and distance, my own suffering and pain, will never dampen my love for you,” he whispered.

“I think I’m falling in love with you too,” I said.

He cocked his head. “Darling, would you please say that again? It’s my damn hearing. What a curse on my life it is.”

I had forgotten. Yes, that was right. Beethoven was known to have had bad hearing and eventually gone deaf. During our times together he had asked me to repeat myself a number of times, but I’d never thought much of it.

“I think I’m falling in love with you, too,” I said in a louder voice.

He responded with a gentle smile.

Tenderly then, meticulously, he finished undressing me, swept me up in his arms, and carried me to his bed. Kneeling, he removed his shirt the rest of the way and pulled me to his chest. We made love for hours. The curtains fluttered, and the light of the full moon shone across the bed. I had never felt such peace, as I lay with my hair spilling across his chest. There was no need for words.

Soon enough, though, there would be much to say.

Ludwig rose from the bed. “I have something to give you, Ariel, and something to ask of you.” He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared with a small, black, velvet box in hand.

My heart was pounding again.

“Here,” he urged. “Open it.”

I flipped back the lid and gasped. Cradled within, a canary diamond ring was cut in the shape of a heart. It looked to be at least three carats, surrounded with daintily faceted white diamonds. It was the ring I had always dreamed of being presented when a man proposed.

“It’s … it’s beautiful,” I said.

“
Meine Liebling
, I know this is an inopportune time, but I want you to marry me. Please say you will, and deliver me from this prison of hope.” He removed the ring and placed it on my finger. It fit perfectly.

I swallowed hard, my mouth turning dry. “Ludwig, my love, don’t you think this could be rushing things? Maybe you should give it a little more thought. After all, you are leaving on tour, and who knows when we will be together again.”

“Ariel, I understand the situation, but how can we deny anything this strong?” He kissed my fingers one by one.

“I love you,” I confessed. “More than I can say. But is it wise to do this so suddenly? We have only known each other a few days.”

“Say again, my dearest?” He cupped his hand to one ear.

I felt like crying. “I love you more than I can say, but is it wise to do this so suddenly? What kind of future would we have together?” With a heavy heart, I removed the ring and reluctantly handed it back. “Please forgive me.”

“Darling …” His eyes were also moist.

Avoiding his gaze, I got out of bed and started dressing. This would never work. Everyone
knows
a girl should never marry a musician—even if he
is
Beethoven.

“My darling,” he said again. “I must leave here by noon tomorrow. Please come to me. I pray that between now and then you will change your mind. Give us this life together. It is all that we have. I will only be half alive without you, and alone I will surely be half dead.”

***

I spent the morning in my bed at the inn. I had tossed, turned, and ruminated through the night. Though Ludwig must have spent a fortune on the ring, I knew it was best not to accept it. He was not marriage material. Despite the severe ache in my chest, I knew I must cut my losses. I must not see him again.

Coming down to a late breakfast, bearing dark circles under my eyes, I ate in silence. I was exhausted. I pushed my food around the plate. A clock on the inn’s huge oak mantel told me it was half past eleven.

Ludwig was leaving in thirty minutes!

I had an epiphany then. I knew what I must do. Dashing out to the barn, I cried to the attendant on duty. “Hurry! Ready the carriage. I haven’t much time!”

Gathering my dress around my knees, I climbed inside. The attendant whipped the reins, and the horse galloped through the gates. Time was slipping away. As we neared a shallow stream, I guessed we had fifteen to twenty minutes to catch Ludwig at his flat.

But bad luck was running rampant this day.

Water splashed beneath the carriage, and then the entire structure lurched to a halt. I caught myself, smoothed my dress, and peered out the window. A wheel had gotten stuck in the rocky streambed, and the attendant tried with all his might to dislodge it. He looked up and down the road for anyone who could assist us. There was no one in sight.

How much longer did we have? Ten minutes maybe? Five?

I would have to go on foot.

I climbed down from the carriage and waded through the water to the other side.

The attendant yelled after me. “Wait. Wait, Miss, I can fix this.”

“I don’t have time,” I called back.

Running for what seemed like miles, I thought I would die of heart failure. Was I too late? It had to be past noon by now. When I arrived at Beethoven’s flat, I pounded on the front door.

“Herr Beethoven,” I cried. “Herr Beethoven.”

There was no answer.

“Ludwig!”

A servant cracked open the door. “
Ja?”

“Is Herr Beethoven here?” I gasped, still short of breath.

“
Nein, Fraulein.
He had to depart earlier than expected, just a few moments ago. He left you this letter.” The servant thrust an envelope into my hand.

I turned, caught a glimpse of Beethoven’s carriage rounding a corner two hundred meters in the opposite direction of where I had come. I saw, through the trees, the horse’s head bobbing as it pulled the carriage along another switchback. Frantic, I dashed into the woods and cut down the slope. I emerged on the path’s fringe, only a moment behind the carriage.

I shouted at the back window. “Ludwig, Ludwig! Please stop. I love you. Yes. Yes, I want to marry you … Stop, please …”

His head was down, possibly looking over a music composition. He never lifted or turned that handsome brow my direction. He could not
hear
me!

I tried to keep pace, screaming as loud as my lungs could manage over the thundering hooves, yet to no avail. Dust swirled around me. Dirty, wet, and despondent, I watched the carriage crest a small rise and disappear.

“Ludwig …”

I plopped myself on a roadside log, sweating, mopping my forehead with my sleeve. Defeated, I sobbed in frustration. My fingers curled around the letter still in my hand. When my crying stopped, I tore open the envelope and read:

Dearest Love of My Life,
 

I waited for you until twelve, and realized you would not be coming.

How will I live? How do I go on? This I do not know. You are my all, my everything, and the light you brought to my world has now left only darkness. I will love only you, though we will never live together as we dreamed.

As I write these words, your touch stays with me on my skin, but I know I will never feel it again. My beautiful and brilliant lover, the smell of you still lingers and keeps you as close to me as breath.

I hope you will be happy in the life you have chosen. I will try and be happy for you. Please remember me, my life, my all. Be well.

Love now and forever,

L. V. B.

In the bottom of the envelope, wrapped in plain white tissue, the glittering surface of the canary diamond ring brushed my fingertips. My thoughts spun, sucking me down into darkness …

***

I awoke in my New York City apartment, in the present once more. The ring was gone. I was no longer in the chair where I had been listening to Beethoven’s music, but on the bench at my upright piano. I gripped the seat, fighting dizziness and confusion.

Not again. Not
again.
Why had I been ripped away from love once more?

On the piano’s music stand, a handwritten sheet of notes and stanzas caught my attention. I recognized the composition’s unique flair, and my mouth fell open. For God’s sake, I never had bought any classical music since I was ten years old. I could not believe my eyes. This was titled, “Concerto in C Minor.”

My hands flipped through the pages, and there, in barely legible writing at the bottom of the last sheet, I found these words:

For Ariel, My Immortal Beloved,

Ever mine, ever thine …

Love,

L. V. B.

Journal Entry

It has been some time now since I left Ludwig behind, and returned to the present. Today, I’ve had an epiphany. I think I’m in love with my shrink.

Yes. There. I’ve said it. I’ve known this was coming for some time now. Tonight, along with a cold rain, I am falling … falling. There is a longing that gnaws away at my insides the way that a dog gnaws away at a bone. I am in pain. Serious pain. I have not been able to wrench him, whom I’ll call Mr. Perfect, from my mind. In my mind, he
is
perfect. After all, here is a man who is totally there for me and listens to me for one whole hour a week. Yes, indeed. He is cute in a Matt Damon sort of way, and he smells good. He’s funny, too. Unusual traits to find in a man these days. Why wouldn’t I fall in love?

It is a Sunday evening, and I wonder what he is doing there in his house in Connecticut. He goes there with his wife and a menagerie of animals, every weekend. He’s a writer too, working on a book. I can picture him at his desk. He is in jeans and a t-shirt, and barefooted. I think he might have nice feet. The kind you would not mind playing footsies with under the table … or under the covers. I had a dream about him last night. We were making love, and I soon noticed there was blood on his mouth, or rather I should say pouring
from
his mouth.

Nice dream, up until that part.

I wonder what it all means? It has to mean something. I think I will ask him in our session next week. I am not in my right mind tonight, that’s for sure.