Chapter 4
He pulled a plush robe from the closet and led her to the bathroom. He didn't want to let go of her hand or even to lose sight of her but he stepped back and closed the door to allow her privacy. He quickly shed his wet clothes, pulled on a pair of jeans and nervously combed his hands through his hair.
He was lighting a fire when she walked up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. The familiar scent of magnolia engulfed him and he inhaled deeply, intoxicated by her scent.
"We need to talk." He said before standing.
"Yeah, that's an understatement."
"Can I get you something to drink? The bar is fully stocked." He felt awkward; he fought the urge to touch her and turned for the kitchenette.
"Scotch, if you've got it." He faltered a bit.
"Certainly, how do you take it? Straight, mixed, on the rocks?"
"Chilled is my usual preference," he stopped short "but under the circumstances, whichever is the quickest is probably best. I'm freaking out right now so you might want to bring the whole bottle." She said with a nervous laugh.
He returned a moment later with a cold bottle of Glenfiddich's Vintage Reserve, two chilled glasses and two bottles of water.
"I come baring essential liquid provisions." He tried to appear at ease and casual even though he was about to burst. "I was surprised by your request for scotch but, I must say, I was taken aback by your preference for chilled scotch."
"And why is that?" she said with a toss of her hair "Do I look like a fruity frozen drink kind of girl? I can probably drink you under the table!" He laughed and responded
"No! No, that's not what I meant. I've just never met anyone else who likes their scotch chilled, like me, let alone one that knows enough not to order it on the rocks, because a real scotch lover..."
"...would never allow ice to water down a glass of thirty year old perfection." She finished the sentence for him and they both laughed while he poured them each a snifter. They sat facing one another on the rug in front of the fire, each unsure what to say or how to begin.
"Well, here's a toast..." he said to break the ice " a toast to... "
"Scotch!" she added
"To Scotch, indeed!" they both downed the first glass, they wanted the delicious burn to warm their bellies; plus they needed the liquid courage immediately and neither was patient enough to sip. She poured the next round while he began with the questions.
"So, how do you know me?"
"I've dreamt of you." She whispered
"When?"
"Always." She looked down at her glass
"What happens in your dreams?"
"There's only one dream; it's always the same dream. I've never told anyone, not even my mother."
"Can you tell me?" he whispered
"You're the only one I can tell, Joseph. You're the only one who will understand it." She tipped her glass before continuing "I'm standing in the rain outside Lafayette Cemetery watching as the grand funeral parade flows in through the gates. I'm the last one in because I don't want to watch them put the casket in the crypt." She looks into the fire as tears well and overflow.
"I stay in the back as the grieving family and friends sing hymns, and I'm angry, really angry because they were praising God when I was cursing him for taking... " she stopped abruptly.
"For taking who, Eva?"
"My husband... he had been killed in the Second World War." The tears flowed down her cheek, the reflection of the fire dancing in each drop. "Joseph, it was you in that casket and I couldn't let you go!" she flung herself into his arms and he rocked her gently as sobs wracked her body. He was more confused than ever, something was still missing.
"What else, Eva? Is there more?" he whispered as she continued to shudder and cry. She nodded slowly and covered her face as she pulled back from him. "Please, Eva, I need to know."
"After everyone left and the gates closed I forced myself to get closer until I was sitting on the steps to the vault. You...HE loved to hear me sing and so I sang to him... only, in the dream, I'm singing in Hungarian." She looked up at him "I don't speak Hungarian, Joseph, but my Grandmother did."
"What was the song?" He could hardly breathe as he recalled what he had learned about the song's origins.
"The one I was singing tonight when you came into the bar. It's called Gloomy Sunday, well Billie Holiday's version is, but it's based on a piece known as..."
"The Hungarian Suicide song by RezsÅ Seress." Their eyes met and both knew the song was of immense importance. "Go on."
"Well... I'm sitting on the steps of the vault in the pouring rain watching numbly as the blood spills from the slices I made in my wrists."
"Oh my God, Eva!" he pulled her closer, wiped the tears from her cheek and tucked her under his chin. "How long have you been having this dream?"
"I don't know. Since I was about 12 I guess." She shrugged. He held her there for a few minutes; she could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek; his thick arms and chest gave her a sense that he somehow made her whole. "Now, what about you, how do you know me?" She broke the silence first and reluctantly pulled out of his embrace.
"Well, this is really going to sound crazy." He paused and shifted uncomfortably "I'm not even sure this is happening."
"What do you mean?" she asked, her head tilted to the side.
"I... uh... I guess I think I'm going to wake up in the morning and this is all going to be just a crazy dream... or a figment of my imagination." He looked down and added quietly "Just like the last time."
"What happened last time?"
"Something I've never told anyone, either." He began to tell her about his previous visit to New Orleans, even the sounds and the melody that bound him there. When he told of the woman he raised his face to gauge her reaction "It was you, Eva. My God, I even remember the way you smelled and the clothes you were wearing..."
"Vintage black Tea Gown and a funny hat? Like something out of the 40's?" she asked softly, he nodded. Somehow, his vision was interrelated with her dream. "This doesn't make any sense. There's got to be more."
Joseph related the remainder of the story about the house, the staircase, the old Victrola; he stuttered and stammered as he reached the more intimate parts but by this time they both knew what transpired in that room.
"Will you come somewhere with me?"
"Sure, but where?"
"Just come with me, ok?"
He nodded and pulled on a shirt as she slipped her still damp clothes on in the bathroom. They were both disheveled and for all outward appearances everyone in the lobby, including the door man, assumed she was a prostitute and he her john but Joseph gripped her hand firmly and led her back out into the pouring rain where he hailed a cab.
"Where to?" he asked Eva
"Lafayette Cemetery."
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Submitted by:
KdDiva
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