Suncatchers (19 page)

Perry's friend—the one he had come with anyway—had found a seat against the basement wall on part of an old bed frame, and he motioned Perry to join him. But Perry hadn't. He had stood by the basement steps watching the girl, who appeared enthralled by the guitarist's performance. He remembered clearly the sudden ache of longing, wishing he could be the one sitting there in the center of the room with her eyes fixed admiringly on him.

And what if he did find himself suddenly thrust upon that stool under the hazardously wired light bulb? What would he perform? As a boy, he had always had a fear of being shoved out onto a stage during a performance or being coerced into competing in a sporting event at the last minute. It had gone so far as to become a recurring dream of finding himself onstage with a ballet troupe performing
Swan Lake
, suddenly feeling himself spotlighted. Or standing on top of a diving platform, hearing the announcer's voice say “And now Perry Warren, America's last hope in this most difficult of all dives—the reverse quadruple-flip, flying-twist, cyclone-spin.” He hated water and had never even completed the swimming lessons his mother had paid for the summer he was seven.

He swallowed and told himself to calm down. This wasn't the sort of place where performers were dragged out of the audience. Whenever one person finished, according to his friend, whoever wanted to could take his place and do his thing. But then another fear arose. What if Perry suddenly found himself making his way to the stool, unable to stop himself, excusing himself as he stepped over people, then sitting down under the light bulb and finding a hundred or more expectant faces staring up at him? He knew how tenuous a person's hold on reality and propriety was. What if he suddenly forgot himself and went forward on his own—just for the brief prize of the girl's close attention?

He sometimes, even now in college, held his breath during class lectures, afraid he would suddenly stand up and walk to the podium to argue a point the professor had just made. Thankfully, he never had, but he couldn't help fearing that it was only his constant vigilance that had prevented it.

What if it happened now in front of the girl? Suddenly an idea came to him. He could recite something—that was it. The girl would love the passages he had memorized from
Walden
. He could almost imagine himself looking deep into her eyes, blocking out all the others, and speaking with religious solemnity.

“I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”

He wondered if he should credit his source outright. Surely, artistic types like these students would recognize Thoreau. He wouldn't want to insult them.

He caught his friend's repeated gesture to come sit beside him. Several others looked back at him curiously. Perry suddenly grew worried. Had he perhaps said something aloud without intending to? He moved quickly to the wall and sat down. He could still see the girl. She had her eyes closed and was swaying to the music. The guitarist was now playing and singing—and here was the key to the memory—a Brazilian folk tune. The rhythmic complexity was astounding, and the poetry was lovely. The man sang it first in Portuguese, then in English. One phrase Perry still recalled: “the pale dappled luster of twilight's opaled skies.” He had always been fascinated by the art of translating poetry. How could the Portuguese line possibly be as lovely as the English?

After the “Underground Arts” had ended that night, Perry had hung around the basement steps as people pushed past him. His friend left—and never again asked him to go anywhere with him, as Perry recalled—and finally the girl had stood to leave. She came toward him, walking slowly by herself, squinting at the steep dim steps.

“Hi,” Perry had said. She looked up at him and frowned. A light-colored woolen cap was perched sideways on her head, covering one ear but riding on top of the other. Perry wondered if it meant she was careless about details—or maybe she did it on purpose, preferring an asymmetrical look. A thick wool muffler was slung loosely around her neck, with a silk paisley scarf tied tightly above that. Perry was filled with admiration at the unstudied charm of these details.

“I don't know you, do I?” she said, stopping to look closely at him. He wished it weren't so dark over by the steps. He wanted to see what color her eyes were.

“Not yet,” he had said. For months afterward, she was to tease him about that reply. “Pretty sure of yourself, weren't you?” she would say.

It had been so unlike anything he had ever done that he surprised himself thoroughly. But it worked. He walked her ten blocks to a house she shared with six other girls, lecturing her mildly about the dangers of walking by herself so late at night. “But I'm with you,” she had said. “But you don't even know me,” he had replied. “Not yet,” she had answered.

Her name was Dinah, of course. And eventually he had quoted Thoreau to her—Emerson, too. And, it had turned out, her eyes were green.

Perry wasn't sure how many more numbers the Derby High School Band had played during his mental lapse, but when he came back he found himself clutching the hard wooden armrests of his seat as if strapped to an electric chair. He even felt hot, as if the button had just been pushed and the electrodes were sending their deadly energy through his body. He saw Jewel glance over at him, puzzled. He breathed deeply and released his grip. The band was in the middle of a medley of tunes from
The Music Man
. Joe Leonard had a solo part in “Marian, the Librarian”—a clever, loping line of bass notes under the trumpet melody. During the applause that followed, Mr. Beatty had the soloists stand, and Joe Leonard rose awkwardly, his face flushed crimson. Perry couldn't tell if it was from pleasure, embarrassment, or simply the exertion of blowing so hard.

He lost track of time again during the second half but faded in and out as Mr. Beatty interjected droll comments, then turned, his lanky arms aloft, to launch a new piece. It was funny how a single memory could set off others, how quickly they flashed and shimmered and changed shapes, like a kaleidoscope, each slight movement producing a new burst of color that spread into a different design. By the time the concert had ended, Perry felt that he had relived his entire four years of college in Urbana, the period of time he had always considered his rite of independence, both dreaded and relished, from the stark frame house in Rockford where he had lived with his mother and Beth.

The band closed the program with Sousa's “Washington Post March,” and the audience applauded wildly. Even the junior high boy in front of them leaned forward in his seat, scrunched up his mouth, and whistled a series of shrill blasts as he beat his hands together. The girl stared at him, amused, and then began examining her fingernails.

Mr. Beatty bowed several times, then made the whole band stand and bow. He walked offstage, then returned almost immediately and went through the bowing procedure again. The next time he came back out, he held up his hands for silence. When the applause stopped, he smiled and said, “All right, all right, you talked us into it. We've got an encore for you, but it might be a little out of the ordinary for this time of year.” He stopped to pucker his mouth, trying to erase his smile, but the smile crept back. The band members were rustling through the music on their stands.

“We had some Christmas numbers all picked out to play for you back in December,” Mr. Beatty said, “but then I decided to take a little vacation in the Dickson County Hospital for a couple of weeks, and when I got out, to my amazement Christmas was almost over and done with.” He put the side of one hand up to his mouth as if confiding a secret. “But it did provide certain advantages, such as saving me the trouble and expense of shopping for gifts.”

Everyone laughed and Mr. Beatty continued. “We thought we'd play as our encore one of the little Christmas pieces we worked up for the December concert—and, really, it's not so much Christmas as it is winter. And since winter's not officially over for another few weeks, we can't be faulted too much.” He turned back to the band, stepped up on the platform, and lifted his arms.

The piece was “Winter Wonderland.” Of course, thought Perry, the perfect finale for an evening of reminiscing. Nobody could have planned it better. The band played the piece briskly, and people in the audience even started clapping in rhythm toward the end. Perry only faintly heard it all, however. Inside his head the sounds of weeping reverberated. He sat perfectly still, wondering whose sobs they were and envisioning a swirl of snow inside a glass ball, with a small plastic figure tumbling over and over.

13

Unique Angles

The following Tuesday was Jewel's birthday. Perry looked at the clock. Five more hours before they would leave for dinner. He still had the afternoon to get through. He cinched the bread wrapper shut with a twistie, deposited his plate in the sink, and headed back to the computer.

The surprise party on Sunday night had gone off successfully, with a larger-than-expected turnout due in part to several visiting families in attendance that night. They had run short on the paper party cups Eldeen had bought at Wal-Mart and had to supplement with some flimsy cone-shaped ones from the ladies' rest room. Birdie Freeman, the organist, had made three large chocolate sheet cakes, each one frosted a different color—pale pink, green, and yellow. In the corners of each cake she had fashioned a cluster of flowers in contrasting colors of icing. Marvella Gowdy brought several dishes of mixed nuts, and Trudy Gill furnished small cups of Dixie Dairy vanilla ice cream. Eldeen supplied all the paper goods and Hi-C.

Jewel had seemed surprised and pleased. Perry had admired her poise when she entered the big room called Fellowship Hall and was met by the astonishing outcry, “Surprise! Surprise!” Willard Scoggins had detained her in the auditorium after church to discuss the music for an upcoming choir special, and Eldeen had told her she'd be back in Fellowship Hall looking for a casserole dish she'd left at the last social. Still, Perry thought, Jewel must have suspected something when everyone cleared out of the auditorium so fast.

Standing in the doorway of Fellowship Hall with Willard beaming behind her, Jewel smiled serenely through “Happy Birthday.” It was a different version from any that Perry had ever heard. “Happy Birthday to Jewel, we hope it will bring, A new year of service to use for the King.” Brother Hawthorne led in prayer, expressing thanks “for this faithful servant of the Lord's, whose name so beautifully describes her life.” Then Jewel was escorted to the long serving table to lead the line for refreshments. They had lit the candles, only a token few for looks, and Jewel bent gracefully to blow them out, smiling and pretending to pant when she finally got them all. After she was served, she was escorted to a metal folding chair that had been draped with a white sheet and set under a latticed arch decorated with artificial flowers. Here she sat like a queen holding court while everyone stopped at the end of the serving line to wish her a happy birthday. Joe Leonard and Eldeen pulled up chairs to sit beside her, and when Perry filed past, Eldeen gestured broadly with her plastic fork.

“Here, pull you up a chair with us, Perry! After all, I got you to thank for helping me plan all this!”

Perry glanced apologetically at Jewel. “All I did was drive her to Wal-Mart,” he said, but he wasn't sure she heard him.

Joe Leonard set his cake and Hi-C down and dragged another chair over beside Eldeen. Eldeen hooked a foot around it and pulled it closer, then patted the metal seat firmly. “Here you go, we saved this one just for you!” As he sat down, Perry was glad to note that his chair was situated behind one side of the white arch and thus mostly hidden from the sight of the people filing past.

All the children sat at two tables against the wall, and the adults milled around a while, then arranged their chairs in a loose semicircle in front of the seat of honor. The visiting families were taken in, absorbed into the happy community, plied with friendly questions and offers of more punch. People had brought cards and gifts of all kinds, from knitted house slippers to ceramic figurines, and Jewel opened them all, softly praising each one.

By the time it was all over—including a Bible quiz game Eldeen had made up and a chorus sing led by Willard Scoggins—it was almost ten o'clock. Levi Hawthorne was asleep, Perry noticed, his curly head heavy on Edna's shoulder. People began leaving, and the ladies cleared off the tables. Joe Leonard and the Chewning twins started folding up chairs and setting them in rows against a wall.

All the way home Eldeen had declared it the best party she'd ever been to. “It just went off so nice!” she exclaimed. “That was the tastiest cake Birdie's ever made, and them mixed nuts Marvella brought—why I'd forgot how much I liked them! And the Hi-C and Trudy's ice cream—mmm! It was all sure a heap better than that fancy shower of Rhonda Turnbull's over at the Assembly of God church last week. Remember that cake, Jewel?” She turned back to talk to Perry. “The Turnbulls don't believe in sweets, so everything was health food. Why, I never saw the likes—carrot juice and oatmeal and bran fiber—at a
shower!
” She smiled over at Jewel again. “And all them gifts and cards people brought you—why, I never saw anything to beat it! And to think I never told a soul to bring presents. They just did it on their own accord because they think so much of you, Jewel. You should feel proud. And the game—it went over big, too, didn't it? Why, that little Beverly Tillman surprised me to no end with all those quiz answers she knew! Isn't it funny how you never hear a peep out of some people, and then all of a sudden they just pop up and shock you to pieces!”