by Dan Edmund
Chapter 9 - The Love Feast
We arrived home late in the afternoon. Just a few minutes after stepping inside our home, I again heard the familiar sound of a strummed guitar. I opened the front door and there stood Carlos, a big smile on his face and a guitar in one hand.
"Ah, David, my friend, just the person I wanted to see. You said that you liked the guitar. Well, it's now yours." He then held the instrument in front of me.
"But that's your guitar!" I protested.
"No, it's now yours!" he insisted. "I have another one." Then, with the other hand, he picked up a beautifully crafted wooden guitar case and handed them both to me.
For a moment I was speechless, unsure what to say to such a gesture of selfless generosity. I knew even in Paradise, the guitar with its case must have involved a lot of dedicated and exacting work. "Thank you, Carlos," I finally said as graciously and sincerely as I could. I was indeed touched by his generosity, as well as pleased to own such a fine musical instrument.
He flashed a smile and held up a finger. "Ah! But there's one condition, and that is that you'll play at the Love Feast tonight."
I returned his smile. "All right. I'd love to. I'll practice a couple of pieces."
"Including La Paloma?"
I laughed. "Sure, including La Paloma!"
Thus, after he left, I practiced for an hour or so in my bedroom, familiarizing myself with the instrument, pleased again with both its performance and mine. Through my bedroom window, I saw the sun dipping towards the horizon in another blazing sunset. It was time to go. We changed into what were considered our formal robes, which were likewise white, but made from finer material, and more eloquently designed, and with embroidery.
Then, with the guitar in its case and firmly clasped in my hand, the three of us made our way towards the village. Cory remained obediently behind.
The Love Feasts were always held at the Fellowship Hall, located near the center of the village. The hall's exterior had the same rustic look about it that all the other houses had, only far larger, and with a much higher and steeper roof. However, as we stepped onto its veranda and on through the large double doors, the hall seemed anything but homely.
We stood upon a highly polished parquet floor that covered the entire surface of the interior. High above us, upon a huge barrel-vaulted ceiling, were exquisite frescos of people, animals, birds and trees, all seemingly illuminated by the one huge image of the Divine Light. Below, at ground level, stately looking tables and chairs furnished the inside. At the center, an extremely long table brimming with food and drink was invitingly laid out for our consumption. Also, large windows flanked us on either side. At the far end of the hall, on the stage, a group of musicians sat idly, seemingly waiting for their cue to perform. However, even without the music, the entire hall was already filled with a beautiful sound: the voices and laughter of a happy throng.
Carlos, standing by the entrance, was the first to greet us with the customary paradise hug. His wife, Maria, swiftly followed, along with a score of others, a list too long to name. At the completion of the greetings, Carlos finally made his way through the throng and up to the stage, where he invited us all to select our food from the smorgasbord on offer. We lined ourselves along the massive table, and for a moment I simply stared in bewilderment at the vast array of familiar and exotic food, all vegetarian, although, by mere sight alone, I could have sworn it included meat.
My father chuckled. "Pick whatever food you like, son. It all tastes great!"
Thus I loaded my plate with as much variety as I could, then helped myself to a cool glass of plain old pineapple juice, but sweeter and tastier than any I ever had. My family and I were then invited to a table close to the stage where Carlos still stood, waiting patiently until everybody were at the tables and ready to dine. Gradually the hall became silent, and Carlos gave the customary grace before the meal. After a chorus of amens, the feasting began, all amidst the backdrop of pleasant conversation and gentle music for the soul.
The trio consisted of a flutist, violinist and pianist. To my trained musical ear, their music was simple yet still delightful, all composed here in Paradise, and thus ideal for our background dinner music. For a minute or so I listened and watched, greatly intrigued by the piano, which appeared to be nothing more than a keyboard on top of a polished wooden box with legs. However, it amazingly sounded like a grand piano. Carlos sat opposite to me and I asked how such a thing was possible.
"Ah, I think you would be truly amazed by its simplicity." He chuckled. "It's like the guitar. It's also made from a special type of wood that exists only here in Paradise. The same with the strings. They're also of a special type of fiber, and on the bottom of each key are these fibers of different lengths to produce the piano sounding notes."
"What!" I exclaimed in astonishment. "All without the use of hammers, hammer shanks, dampers, levers, springs and other mechanical devices that are needed?"
"Yes, amazing isn't it?"
I shook my head and gave an ironic grin. I should have known. I then commenced my meal, and it was indeed great, just as my father had said. I was just about to place another piece of roast leaf - the vegetarian roast beef - into my mouth when somebody tapped me lightly on the shoulder from behind.
I turned my head and saw a young and attractive blond staring down at me. "Hello, David, remember me?" She then winked at my mother. "Now, don't tell him, Margaret. Let him work it out for himself."
For a moment I stared intently at her, then slowly shook my head. Two days ago I would have said that such a beauty was not easily forgotten. However, in this world, everybody looked beautiful. I smiled and regretfully shrugged my shoulders.
She gave a teasing smile. "No! Well, remember Jane Murray?" she asked, still smiling. "You know, the little old lady from the church in Portland, the one who had given you that little black pup."
"Cory!" I blurted out. "Of course, I remember now, but you were..." I gave a tentative laugh, "well, so..."
"Old!" she finished my sentence, then laughed along with my parents next to me.
She certainly looked different. I had been about ten and she in her eighties, although to me at the time she looked more like a hundred. Yet, how incredible it was to see her before me as this stunningly attractive blond. She then embraced me as if I had been some long lost relative, then called out to three people nearby.
"This is my husband, Sam. I don't think you've ever met him, as he died before you were born." A tall, red-haired man embraced me, then I was introduced to yet another beautiful blond. "This is our daughter, Nicole." She flashed a smile and likewise embraced me. Others also followed, and soon our table became abuzz with cheery conversation.
After finishing my dinner, the now young Jane gave me an endearing grin. "David, I heard all about your wonderful guitar playing abilities. You simply must perform for us tonight."
"Sure!" I eagerly replied. "Carlos has already requested that I would."
However, I had to wait for the trio to finish their repertoire for the night. Carlos then ascended onto the stage, thanked the musicians for their performance, which was sincerely applauded by everyone, and then announced me to the audience, not just as a musician, but also as a "dear brother that God has brought back to life last night." Amidst the loud but warm applause, I opened the guitar case, took out my newly acquired guitar, picked up a makeshift footstool that Carlos had found for me, and made my way onto the stage. After sitting on a chair and positioning myself in the classical guitar position, I tuned the instrument, thanked the audience, and then introduced the music I was about to perform.
Again, it was Francisco Tarrega's guitar arrangement of La Paloma. A hush of anticipation filled the hall as I made sure the sixth string was still correctly tuned to the D note. I then took a deep breath, placed my hands into position, and commenced to play.
I was pleased with the acoustics of the Fellowship Hall, and here the guitar sounded both louder and fuller than my earlier midday performa
nce in the open air. Likewise, I was pleased with my own performance, playing each note and chord not only accurately, but with a sense of interpretation and tonal coloring that I could only achieve when I was at my very best. And performing here in Paradise, I was truly at my very best, and by the applause of the audience at the song's conclusion, I had no doubt that it was enjoyed. Many clamored for more. I thus opted for my next performance one of my own favorites, an original guitar composition by Tarrega himself, and one of the best loved and evocative pieces of music in the classical guitar repertoire: Recuerdos de la Alhambra.
I tuned the sixth string back to the standard E, then, with my left hand, I fingered the correct chord, whilst my right hand fingers hovered slightly over the second string, and my thumb over the fifth. Feeling slightly nervous as I normally do just before a major performance, I took another deep breath and slowly breathed out, and as I did, my fingers on my right hand began the tremolo plucking movement of my thumb, ring, middle and index fingers, all in extremely quick consecutive order, over and over again, my thumb playing the base strings, the fingers the melody in the treble. Each single melody note was a demisemiquaver, a thirty-second note, a single note played six times in rapid succession so that almost magically the illusion of a single note appeared, followed by other notes executed the same way, the tremolo that formed the basis to a beautifully haunting melody. On and on my right hand fingers and thumb flowed, small tight movements plucking more than eight notes a second, whilst my left fingers stretched to different positions of the fingerboard as the music progressed. Near the middle, the music modulated from A minor to A major. I glanced at the audience, seeing their mesmerized looks as the notes continued relentlessly, producing a soft romantic but stirring melody throughout. My right hand finger movements continued like a self-programmed machine, my consciousness fully directed towards the music that conveyed the romance of the sparkling fountains at the palace of Alhambra, in old Moorish Spain. The music then neared its end, and with the last few bars, I steadily slowed the tempo. I arrived at the third last bar, then softly and gently, pianissimo, I played the closing arpeggio, letting each quaver note chime out clearly and distinctly before ending on a cadence with two long but sonorous chords.
Applause erupted. The audience were clearly moved; they always were upon hearing this musical masterpiece. Several shouted for more, but for me, that was enough. I again thanked the audience and made my way to our table, with the sound of applause still ringing in my ears. For a long time afterwards, people were still coming up to me, not only telling me how much they had enjoyed the music, but telling me of themselves and their life in Paradise. I was as if intoxicated, not just from the appreciation of my musical performance, but more so from the love and kindness I was shown. Finally, my parents and I were amongst the last to leave this 'Love Feast,' which certainly lived up to its name. The night was well along before I finally went to bed, happy and content. Thus ended my first full day in Paradise, and what an incredible day it had been.