Truths of the Heart (12 page)

He noticed silence from the other students, some mouths open.

Rachelle waited. “Go on.”

“When I see a striking sunset I hear a voice....”

Snicker. Chuckle. Snort.

Rachelle, “Go on.”

Seth: “…saying 'try this one ... and I paint the sunset ... but when finished,
you have only a painting. Even less so when you try to describe a sunset with
words. See what I mean?”

Rachelle said, “I think so.”

Seth smiled, “And then there is a beautiful woman.”

Snickers.

Rachelle, intrigued, “Go on.”

“Kind of like, what did the Creative Force think when he sat down to create
all this.”

Doris Brady said, “How do you know, if there is such a thing, the
Creative Force is a he?”

“Whatever.”

Rachelle said, “And?”

“Well, look around,” he looked at Doris,
“She
must have gotten
bored, because here we are competing with the stars.”

Rachelle looked into his eyes and said, “And Pizza Pie.”

She remembers,
he
thought.

Student: “What about music?”

Seth said, “I guess you could sing a cappella.”

Laughter then silence then front row Susan spoke, “Can my project be a term
paper?”

Laughter.

Rachelle, moving to the front of the room, said, “Did I miss something
or did Seth upset the creator’s cart?”

Laughter.

Susan, “Well, could it be?”

“On what?”

“My trip to Phoenix.”

“Wet or dry heat?”

“Either way.”

“No.”

“But....”

“Try.”

Seth noticed front-row Don limply raise his hand.

“Yes?”

“What if I don't have an idea, I mean for a writing project?”

“Drop the course, go into law.”

Mary Dilts said to Rachelle, “Who is your favorite writer?”

“Me.”

Laughter.

Rachelle: “Not really, I have many favorites, see our reading list.”

Mary: “What about descriptive sex.”

“I prefer wine to X's and O's.”

Laughter, some chuckles.

Seth,
Blah blah blah. I think I love you.

After ten minutes of questions and comments, Rachelle said, “Okay, enough
for today. Please look over the syllabus, if you feel the course may be too
demanding, not what you thought, you have a week to drop out, change majors,
become dentists, lawyers, President.”

She paused and Seth saw that she was looking at him.

What is this feeling like water being sucked down a drain, a leaf in a stream,
flowing with swift moving water toward the spillway of a dam
.

Rachelle: “Any questions from our art major?”

Is she flirting with me or what? Damn! I'm going over the edge.
“I was wondering if you ever did any
modeling?”

Laughter, a howl, a whistle.

“Anything else?”

Didn't say no
, Seth
said to himself as he made a note for future reference.

Fat chance, reference for what?
He thought.

“Now, I won't hold you today. For next class please be ready to discuss

 
Thomas Wolfe's short story,
The
Far and the Near
. Also, begin reading John Gardner's
On Moral Fiction
.
Thank you for your attention and if there are no further questions, see you
Wednesday.”

She looked at a raised hand. “Yes.”

“Are you going to have a final exam?”

“Didn't we go over that?” She paused, “any other questions?”

“When's the writing project due?”

“Read the syllabus, April 1. Please read your syllabus. All this information
is in it.” She looked at Seth who was sketching her. “See me to set up
appointments for individual conferences on your projects. Of course I'm
available any time if you encounter a problem.”

Seth, sketching the fleshy middle of her nose, looked up.
Anytime?

She looked over the class again. “Any other questions?” She paused.

“Good day then and,” she paused and looked straight at Seth, “write
write write.”

As the students started to leave, she said almost reflexively, “Oh,
Seth, could you please see me before you leave.”

He dropped his pencil.

A few students hung around, chatted, and in a few minutes, Rachelle alone,
Seth picked up his pencil and went to her.

In something like a sigh, she smiled, “Mr. Trudow.”

“Dr. Zannes.”

Only inches from her, he was overwhelmed by her fresh fragrance,
magnetism, warmth and the everything about her that was sucking him in.
Amazing.

She smiled, “You are a senior?”

He smiled,
We went over that
, “Yes.”

“Art major?”

We went over that also,
“Yes.”

“Why creative writing?”

We went over that too.
“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

“This should be an interesting class. See you Wednesday.”

She put the computer printout and extra copies of the syllabus in her attaché.

He said, “Did you know you have a Picasso nose?”

She looked at him like she tasted sweetened cereal for the first time, “Blue,
Rose, or otherwise?”

“You feel that?” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

“Blue.”

“I'm not sure whether to be flattered or….”

“You feel that?”

She closed her attaché, “Class dismissed.”

“There it is again.”

“Maybe it's this old building settling.”

“May I walk you to your next class?”

“Thank you but I'm finished for the day, going to my office.”

“I'm going that way, Bessey Hall.”

Walking the campus, amid hellos from students and recognition nods, Seth
listened to the rustling of her clothes, noted the sun reflecting off her hair.
He could walk to California with her, words were not needed, it was like being
home, finally forever. He wondered if she must feel it too. Approaching the
entrance to Bessey Hall, it was too soon over.

“This is me,” she said.

“I know.”

“See you Wednesday.”

“See you.” He watched her turn away and glide to the entrance of Bessey
Hall.
Amazing, simply amazing.

Entering Bessey Hall, for some reason, Zannes thought,
someone special
has just been met
. Then she recalled Carl, returning from a Sunday night
football game in Dallas. She had to pick him up at the airport.

Entering her reception area, two students were waiting to see her, and
Kay handed her a message to call Dean Rait.

CHAPTER TWO

After “Anatomy Drawing 401”, the last class for the day, Seth took a

Capital Transit bus,
got off at a familiar spot on West Grand Avenue, and walked a half mile to
Chapel Hill Cemetery.

A habit acquired after his sister's death, he often visited final
resting places in an attempt to sort out the big mystery, at least try to find
a few good answers, some meanings. The question that kept popping up was the
one from which all else flowed: is this all an accident or was it begun by
creative design?

So far Seth hadn't seen any ghosts, aliens, or cute little E.T.s. And,
other than the voice urging him to paint (he had a hunch the urge-voice was
Seth Trudow incognito), he hadn't heard anything on the accident/creative
design matter either.

Searching for answers, meaning, he reasoned, had begun after Natalie's death.
He could never forget his father meandering around in that “what-if” garden of
why. Or maybe the search was innate, come slithering from under a rock into a
bright and shiny world. Or maybe it was simply a drunk who had too many snorts
of tequila.
Time to think, listen to the universe, at least give 'hello' a
chance, then get out. But the finding is not so simple and here we are. Blah
blah blah. If people knew you hung around graveyards talking to dead people
they would probably lock you up … blah blah blah.

He walked slowly over the thick grass, past headstones large and small,
reading dates he said, “No exceptions here, you get two dates, beginning and
end, that's it Seth-o. And so what and who cares? Zeus, Helga, or Rain Forest?

He listened.
Not news, Seth my boy, question of the centuries, out
of the muck, little blue blobs did we come or....

“Blah blah blah my easel.”

You know there is another reason you are here visiting the bone yard
this fine day. It's the intensity of that Zannes' encounter this afternoon, it
requires a sorting out
.

He shook his head and kicked at a clump of grass.
Why, like a kick
in the head comes this apparition. This Diva, popping into my life out of
where? A flesh and blood Venus, making me nuts … what is that all about?
Nothing will ever be the same again, forever.

He sat by a 4x2 block of marble and read a familiar epitaph:

MARCH 28, 1952 - NOVEMBER 17, 1967

A BELOVED SON

PFC, BENJAMIN C. ARCHER, C. CO. FIRST CALVARY DIVISION

KILLED IN ACTION

IA DRANG VALLEY, VIET NAM, 17 NOVEMBER 1965

“So, Ben, how goes it?”

He listened for a moment. Nothing.

“Ben, I saw this creature today, she is like no one I have ever seen
before. She radiates like the first sun must have given off first light.”

He listened, felt a presence and said, “She's a professor, an
apparition, Dr. Rachelle Zannes. I tell you, Ben, she looked at me and I felt
like water being sucked down a drain … looking at her I was almost convinced a
God must have begun all this because she couldn't have ape genes … she is too …
pristine … I can't imagine what it would like to touch her, taste her.”

Seth paused, then asked, “Did you know those feelings, Ben?”

He waited as if hearing a question, then clarified, “You know, when you
lived, did you see another creature you couldn't take your eyes off of?”

He listened, then said, “I guess so … it was kind of young for you to
check out, Ben. But you know what Lord Byron said, 'Whom the Gods love die
young'.” He picked up a stick and tossed it. “Not much comfort from Byron for
you Ben, when the god in the poem is some jackass looking to win an election.
Worse yet, an ego-filled maniac looking to pin another star on his collar. Just
run on up there guys, take that hill, I gotta get a hot shower. Be at the
Officer’s Club bar if you need me.”

He kicked at the grass, paused, listened, remembered words from
somewhere he had read or dreamed or thought of:

War's murderous insanity trampling over the canvas of time …
dung-covered boots in search of fame, glory, money in the name of God, country,
and free elections! And what is God doing while the self-righteousness gluttons
driven by pride, testosterone, lust, trample the earth? Where will it end?
Humanity burned in a blaze of nothing, a smoldering cinder in the Milky Way,
gone forever and for what! What is it that these lust warriors want? Food, sex,
wine, fame, power, what is it? What is worth the death of one person to satisfy
their craving? Insanity is in vogue. Truth becomes lie, lie becomes truth.

Just then a white step van pulled up on a gravel road, twenty feet from
the grave site. A window rolled down, a male voice called, “Hey pal, you okay
over there, we close in fifteen minutes.”

Seth waved, “Okay, just leaving.”

It thundered and began to sprinkle.

Seth stood, “I gotta go Ben, stay warm, talk to you later.”

CHAPTER THREE

Rachelle, sweaty palms, white satin blouse damp with sweat, ten minutes
late in the picking-up-Carl business, inching along the airport pedestrian
area, saw Carl. Avoiding a light rainfall, he stood back under an overhang.

“Oh geez,” she whispered and pulled to the curb.

He jerked open the rear door, tossed his garment bag on the back seat, slammed
the door shut, then jerked open the front door. He paused outside then slumped
in on the passenger seat and shouted, “This is fucking bullshit, Rachelle,
plain fucking bullshit!” Specks of spit hit her cheek. He slammed the door
shut.

Driving away from the curb, Rachelle said, “So, how was your flight?”