A Love From Beyond

A LOVE FROM BEYOND

Dedicated to my Uncle Paul, whose singing cello led me into music

If you could bring back your loved ones back from the dead, this planet would collapse under the weight of all the souls.But I believe they’re all around us, in the wind and the rain, in the morning gold and the twilight blue. We can’t see them anymore but the veil between the worlds is thin. Every now and then the veil tears open and a soul slips through. How else can I explain what happened to me and those around me, changing our lives forever?

It began last July when I fell asleep during a TV talk show. When I awoke, they were showing the usual late-night commercials for laxatives and sports cars. But something different caught my ear. I heard piano music coming from downstairs and sprang up.

Who was down there? I groped through the dark hallway and turned on the light. My daughter’s bedroom door stood open with the light on, but she wasn’t in bed, reading “Charlotte’s Web.” The bed covers were flung back.

I tiptoed down the stairs and nearly tripped. The living room was dark, without even the piano light. Yet the music rolled on, sweet and haunting like a lullaby from beyond.

Lily. In the streetlight, I saw Lily’s profile as she played. Eyes closed, head tilted back, she was the picture of bliss. Not once did her fingers stumble all the way through the difficult parts.

As the last note rang through the air, Lily gazed around and smiled. “Did you like that, Louis?”

Oh my God. I couldn’t take another minute. I snapped on the piano light and we both screamed.

Lily covered her eyes. "Mom! What are you doing here?"

“I should be the one to ask, young lady. What are you doing down here, playing in the dark at midnight?”

She stammered, “I - I was dreaming and I heard him calling me.”

My skin prickled. “Who, Lily?”

“Louis.”

I grabbed Lily close and shouted, “Go away! Leave my daughter alone!” The wind subsided and died down, and I slammed all the windows shut. As I shepherded Lily back to bed, she began to cry.

After this happened three nights in a row, I knew it was time to get help.

I called Dr. Francine Mesmer, a child psychologist at the hospital where I worked as an ER nurse.

“Elisabeth, how can I help you?”

“Lily’s been sleepwalking, and playing the piano in the dead of night. Then she talks to someone invisible. She calls him ‘Louis.’”

She said in her kind voice, “Well, call my office and book her as soon as you can.”

I took Lily to Dr. Mesmer's office two days later after camp. During that time I'd heard her playing the piano at night again. It wasn't "Fur Elise," that ubiquitous recital piece, or her favorite, "The Entertainer." No, this was strangely beautiful and far beyond her normal ability. And when she was done, she always asked, "Did you like that, Louis?"

I had sent an email to the doctor with all of this information, but she replied, "Lily and I will talk."

I waited in the doctor's reception room, leafing through an old story about the ridiculously rich Kardashians.

After ten forevers, Dr. Mesmer and Lily emerged, and I jumped up. Lily backed away as if she'd never seen me before, and a chill ran down my spine. But the doctor smiled as always.

"Well, Lily and I had a few things to sort out, so I'd like to see her again."

We made an appointment for the following week.

That night we took a dip in Cornwall Pond on the way home. Usually Lily adored swimming. Her classmates called her a "barracuda," a name she wore with pride.

As we sat on the sand drying our hair, I studied my eight-year-old. Her creamy porcelain skin had darkened to honey tan over the summer, a legacy of our Asian blood. Her bangs would need trimming now. They hid her long-lashed eyes like a Shetland pony.

Despite the streaks of chocolate ice cream on her cheek, her skin looked as smooth and soft as it had when she was a baby dozing between Doug and me on the big brass bed that first day home from the hospital. I longed to stroke that cheek and cradle my long-legged daughter on my lap.

"Tell you what, sweetie. Why don't we get some pizza and go to a movie? It'll be nice and cool in the theater.”

"What's playing?"

“Oh, I don't know. Probably a Disney film.”

Lily stuck out her tongue. "Those are for babies!"

"You're only eight. And you loved "Beauty and the Beast.” We knew all the songs and every word of the dialogue.

"I hate Disney. Know which one I like best?"

"Let me guess. Batman?"

"Oh, Mom. At Daddy's house we watched “Poltergeist.” Jennifer thought it was awful but I liked it.”

"You saw that? Since when do you like horror movies?”

Lily giggled. "It wasn’t scary at all."

As we stood up to go, Lily whispered, "Mom, are you scared?"

"No, why? This is practically our backyard.”

"I heard something just now. It sounded like a wolf howling.”

"Probably just the Cochranes' dog. It hates being tied up at night.”

A nearby splashing noise made me pause. “Or just a fish.”

The noise turned into muffled yelling. "Help. . .”

"Mom, I'm scared!" Lily wailed. "Let's go home now!"

"There's someone out there!" I cupped my hands around my mouth. "We're coming. Hang on!"

"Ich kann nicht schwimmen! I cannot swim.”

I froze. I hadn't spoken German since my father had died almost twenty years ago.

Lily screamed, "Mom, do something!"

I plunged into the water. I’d never rescued someone before but I’m a strong swimmer. The water rose to my chest as I struck out towards the flailing man.

"Kommt hier!" I gasped. "Deinen Hand. Give me your hand!" I grabbed his hand and he nearly pulled me under. I choked on a mouthful of water and struggled to stay afloat. I could see Lily’s small figure jumping and screaming on the sand. She had never seemed so far away.

Somehow I found the strength to get back to shore with my burden. My feet touched the bottom and I hauled the man in as if he really were a fish. We both collapsed on the sand, coughing.

Lily jumped up and down. “You did it, Mom! You're a hero!"

I didn't feel like a hero. I felt sick. I sat up to catch my breath. The man rolled onto his back, still coughing.

Lily stared down at him with wide eyes, then leaned over and hissed into my ear. “Look, Mom, he’s naked!”

I hastily tossed my towel over him and stood up. ”Let’s look for some clothes.”

Lily trotted away. She stopped near a clump of willow trees and called, “Here’s some stuff. Pew-yew!”

I followed her and found a shirt, some trousers, and a heavy black coat spread like a blanket. She was right. They did stink. I shook the sand out of each item and carried them back to the man. Lily struggled behind with a pair of high-top boots.

We found him sitting up, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He had wrapped the towel around his broad shoulders but I could see he was shivering. He looked up as I dropped the clothes beside him.

"Danke. . . Thank you for saving me.”

"How are you feeling?"

"Sick. Cold.”

"But alive."

He nodded. "Alive, yes.”

Lily said, "You're lucky we came down here, you know that? You could have drowned.”

The man smiled. "You are very wise, little one. You knew I needed you.” He clutched the towel tighter and coughed again.

I glanced at my lighted watch. "Listen, why don't you get dressed and I'll take you home.”

As he struggled to his feet and pulled up his trousers, I steered Lily to the car, then went back when he had finished dressing.

"Where do you live?"

He shrugged.

I frowned. "You mean you don't know? Or you don't have a home?"

"I have come for just a little while.”

"Oh? Where from?” We headed for my car.

“I once lived in Wien. Vienna, you call it. But I have been away for many years.”

My neck prickled. "Who are you?"

He stopped. "Need you ask?"

I turned. His square jaw and deep-set eyes looked familiar, but I was sure I’d never met him before.

Lily called from the car window. "Mom!”

"Not now, Lily!"

"But I have to tell you something.”

I sighed. "What's so important?"

"I know who he is.”

We stared at her. Lily turned coy and hid her face in her hair, "At least I think I do."

The man squatted down and gazed into her eyes. After a tense moment, I broke the silence. "Well? Out with it, Lily!"

Lily whispered, "You're Beethoven, aren't you? You've been giving me music.” She looked up at me. “He says, 'Play my music, little one. I wrote it for you.."

"Lily, I hate to tell you this, but Beethoven died a long time ago. People don't come back from the dead.”

Lily's face crumpled, and she hid her face against the seat. I smoothed down her wet hair and turned to the man.

“Don’t you dare mess with my little girl. You'd better come up with a better story than that.”

I climbed into the car and slammed the door. He stumbled after me, but I rolled up the window and started the engine.

"Wait!" He pounded on the glass. "Help me, Elisabeth!"

My blood ran cold and I opened the window a crack. "How do you know my name?"

The man’s white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. “Your father was a fine cellist, and you have played my music.”

"See, Mom? I told you," Lily hissed.

"I am not a stranger to you.”

“If you're Beethoven, what are you doing here?"

He spread his big hands to show they were empty. “I will tell you. Please open the window.”

I complied but kept my foot over the accelerator.

"I have come back to give the world my music,” he said.

"What do you mean? What music?"

He gestured to the dark trees and the water. "New music. To give hope to mankind. All this killing. . . all this hate. . . it must stop. Life is--how do you say--a gift. Do not waste it.”

"But your music has already inspired millions of people. It stands for truth and beauty and joy. Your work is immortal.” I shook my head. “I can't believe I'm saying this! Tell me who you really are and I'll help you get on your way.”

The man slammed his fist on the hood of the car and I jumped. Up until then he had seemed gentle, almost meek. "I am telling you and telling you! You must believe me. If you knew what I knew, if you had been where I have been. . . you would not scorn me.”

He straightened up, his chest heaving, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Help me give my music to the world and then I will go. That is all I ask.”

I shook my head. “No dice, mister. Now get back!"

He leaped back as I stomped on the gas and sped towards town, spitting gravel as we went. Lily craned her neck to look back, but the man had disappeared from view. “You shouldn't have done that, Mom!"

"Quiet!" I snapped.

She subsided into quiet sniffling. We drove to the Pizza Palace and ordered a large pepperoni. It was her favorite, but tonight she didn’t even look at it. By the time we reached home, she could barely keep her eyes open. I parked in the driveway. Lily stumbled after me, rubbing her eyes.

In the house, I opened the pizza box on the kitchen table but Lily headed towards the stairs.

“Lily? Aren’t you hungry? It’s been such a long day for you.”

“No! I just want to sleep.” We went up to her room and I helped her change into her nightie. She crawled into bed and pulled up the covers despite the heat. I sighed and went back down to the kitchen. I didn’t have any appetite either but forced myself to eat one slice of the pizza. It was already cold, so I washed it down with a bottle of spring water. No sense getting dehydrated.

Who was that strange man? His accent and straight posture reminded me of my father, whose spine was bowed by cancer only in his final months. Nothing could bring him back, no wishes and no prayers could spare him intractable pain. We all knew his death had been a blessing.

If people could come back from the dead, why hadn’t Stefan Sontag tried it or at least sent me a message from beyond? Why would Beethoven come back as a half-drowned rat in Cornwall Pond?

I finished supper and left the dirty dishes in the sink. I hadn’t felt that tired since giving birth to Lily. Upstairs in my room I collapsed on the bed, too tired to get undressed. The air had cooled down but I couldn’t get to sleep. I felt a haunting regret, as if I’d missed my only chance for love.

The next morning, I was awakened by voices in the kitchen. Now what? I threw on my bathrobe and dashed down the stairs.

Lily sat in her usual place at the table, nibbling a slice of cold pizza. But across from her sat the dark-haired man we'd pulled from the water, his clothes even smellier than before.

I snatched up the frying pan and screamed, "Get out!"

"No, Mom!" Lily cried. "I let him in."

"How dare you, Lily? A complete stranger."

The man put up his hands as if I would wallop him upside the head. "I beg you, please listen to me, Elisabeth. I will not harm you. You must believe me."

Slowly I lowered the frying pan. My grandmother had lulled me to sleep with tales of immortals disguised as beggars, who richly rewarded those who helped them. If anyone qualified as an immortal, it was Beethoven!

Reader, I helped him, though it went against every fiber of my medical training. After he took a bath, I gave him clothes that Lily's father had left behind. Later that day, I bought him some white T-shirts and couldn't take my eyes off him. His barrel chest and thick-muscled arms reminded me of Marlon Brando, and I half-expected him to start yelling "Stella! Stellaaaaa!”

I gave him my room to work in, and soon he filled it with manuscripts and apple cores. When Lily came home from camp, they played silly duets at the old piano, or he gave her new music. Their music and laughter made me long for a man in our lives again. Lily would have a father and I would have a lover.

That dream did come true one night when Lily went camping with her Brownie troop. As a cool breeze ruffled the curtains and the moon shone on my bed, we lay together, wallowing in bliss. By then I was so besotted with him I didn’t care who he really was.

But it all ended as the first gold leaves fell in my yard and he told us his new symphony was complete. Lily cried and I felt like weeping too.

He embraced Lily and kissed me one last time. “I thank you from the depths of my heart. You shall be repaid a thousandfold for believing in me. Please take this music to Professor Bachman at the Brandenburg Conservatory. She will know what to do with it.”

That evening he said he was going for a walk. I asked to join him but he grew upset. I followed him anyway, through the woods and down to Cornwall Pond.

”Louis, come back! You can’t swim, remember?”

”No, Elisabeth, do not follow me.” He waded into the water, clothes and all, and sank beneath the surface with scarcely a ripple.

I stood there, too shocked for tears. They never did find his body.

Professor Bachman's jaw dropped when I brought her the music. "Where did you get this?"

"Er-from a friend of my father's. He said this is a choral work calling for peace among all nations.”

"This - looks like Beethoven's handwriting! It must be forgery."

They dusted it for fingerprints and even ran DNA tests, but the results were inconclusive. The music experts agreed that the music was dazzling, no matter who had written it. An international orchestra and singers from five continents performed it on New Year’s Day.

Lily and I have been changed forever by that mysterious visitor. For a little awhile at least, I had been cherished by a love from beyond.