Touching Cottonwood

by Randall Simpson

  “Matthew Duncan, and indeed each of us, is wrapped up in the bosom of that mystery, and I’ve not yet seen the signs that this mystery is ready to enfold him back into the eternity from which we all spring. Where he is, I cannot say. The clouds have not told me that, the birds have not told me that, and the wind rushing through the trees as I sit in my garden at night has not given me that sign yet. I honor him by being here today, but forgive me if I am now too old or too stupid to accept it, but I keep watching for the signs that he is gone, and I’ve not seen them.

  “And so I’d like to end by reading you all a poem that was written by the Buddhist poet Chin Tao, many centuries ago. He wrote:

  ‘Searching for the Hermit,

  I asked the boy beneath the pines.

  He said, ‘The master’s gone alone herb picking,

  Somewhere on the mountain,

  cloud-hidden, whereabouts unknown.’’”

  As Amida finished and was returning to his seat, Rebecca caught his eyes. They exchanged a smile, and for a moment, the two shared something deeper still.

  According to the schedule for the service, it was time for another hymn, but Takara Yamamoto raised her hand shyly, catching the attention of Pastor Harrison as he approached the pulpit.

  “I believe that…Takara Yamamoto will now be sharing a few words with us,” Pastor Harrison said, appearing to be caught off guard.

  All eyes, especially Amida’s and Rebecca’s, were on Takara as she stood and approached the pulpit.

  “I was not scheduled to speak today, but I now feel it is important for everyone to know a bit more about the special relationship that our family had with Matthew Duncan—beyond what my husband has told you. Bringing Matthew into our house for those very short five years was never a burden—but an honor. He was a well-behaved and fine young man. His parents had obviously done a very good job at raising him, but I think there was also something inside of him that allowed a very bright light to shine on us. Whenever one of our family members was sad for any reason, Matthew would bring a happy thought into the house. He had good things to say about everyone. I remember one day, my youngest son Miki had lost a favorite pet turtle—it had died of old age, I think. The turtle had been a family pet for many years, even before Miki was born. Matthew took Miki down to the creek across the meadow and searched and searched for another turtle, but could not find one. It grew dark and the time came to go to bed.

  “Several hours later, after the whole family had gone to bed, I had woken up and walked over to close the window because of a cool breeze that was blowing. I looked out the window, across our meadow, and saw a small light coming from down by the creek. I woke up Amida and showed him the mysterious light. We both put on sweaters and slippers and walked carefully across the cool grass of the meadow to the creek. There, to our amazement, was Matthew with a flashlight, looking for a new turtle for Miki. We asked him to come to bed, and he begged for a few more minutes to search. A few minutes later, miraculously, there in the dark of night, he found one! In the morning, Miki’s face beamed with joy at having a new pet turtle. This was the kind of person Matthew Duncan was.”

  Takara then looked at Amida. “And now I want to tell you a story that tells about the truly special relationship Amida shared with Matthew. There was always something special between the two of them, and when Matthew was older, they would spend long evenings and then into the night, talking in the garden. Of what they talked about, I have no idea, but I knew their bond was strong. Amida rarely spent this kind of time with his own sons, but I am sure they did not think less of him for it.

  “There is something else now that must be told, and no one has known about this except Amida and me, yet I feel it is important that everyone hears it. It illustrates the deeper story of Amida and Matthew’s relationship.”

  Both Rebecca’s and Amida’s apprehension grew. Takara could see it in their eyes, even from the pulpit, but she continued anyway: “I can tell this story now, because, as we all now know, Matthew made it up to the falls that day to rescue Rebecca. That would not have occurred had Amida and Matthew not had a strong relationship built on trust. Just as I hope I too share with my husband.

  “On the day that Matthew rescued Rebecca, Amida had taken the small electric truck up north on the highway to meet our customers with a load of fresh vegetables and flowers. When he returned that day, instead of coming into the kitchen for some water or tea, as he would usually do after such a long slow ride, he disappeared upstairs to the bedroom. I was in the kitchen, and after a while, I followed behind him to see if something was the matter. The bedroom door was closed but not locked. I knocked first and then went inside, finding Amida sitting on the side of the bed and crying. The front of his shirt and pants were stained with blood. ‘Amida,’ I asked, growing most upset. ‘What has happened to you?!’ He looked up at me and said, ‘Nothing has happened to me, but to someone we both love.’ My husband then went on to tell me how he came to have the blood on his shirt and pants.

  “This was his story to me. He told me he’d finished delivering the items to our customers and was driving back south on the highway toward Cottonwood. He was nearing the Home when an electric car zoomed in front of him out of the parking lot, heading rapidly south down the highway. Our electric trucks do not go nearly as fast, and Amida told me, soon the car had gone around the next curve and was out of sight.

  “Amida kept heading in the same direction, and eventually he came to Eddie Flynn’s house, where he noticed the same car that had passed him was parked in the driveway with the driver’s door open. The open door, combined with the earlier erratic behavior of the car, told Amida that something seemed wrong. He parked his truck on the shoulder of the highway and carefully approached the car and looked inside, seeing nothing unusual. He went up to the front door of the house and rang the doorbell, but got no response. He said he tried the front door but found it locked. He then went around to the back of the house and found the door open. He carefully went inside the house, yelling out for anyone, but he got no response. Eventually, he went into the living room of the house, and there he found Matthew on the floor, badly hurt.”

  Takara stopped speaking for a moment and looked at her husband. He was crying.

  “I love you my husband,” Takara said to Amida. “I love you very much, but I think that this secret has been with us for far too long now, and it is good to get it out. You did the right thing that day, and so I will tell the rest of the story.”

  Takara then looked out at the silent audience. “When Amida found Matthew, he told me his first instinct was, of course, to call for medical assistance right away. He chose not to do this for two reasons. First, there were, of course, no ambulances working in Cottonwood because of the Dead Zone, but more importantly, this was not what Matthew wanted. Amida has never told me how he knew what Matthew wanted, whether he actually spoke to him or not, but he did tell me he was certain that Matthew wanted to be carried out of that awful house and up to the trail that led to the falls. More than that, he wanted to be left alone there. Out of some deep respect and bond between them, that I don’t pretend to understand, Amida complied with Matthew’s wishes, and that is the reason I found Amida crying in our bedroom with Matthew’s blood on his clothes—Amida had abandoned Matthew, yet respected his wishes. How Matthew got from the trail by the house and up to the falls remains a mystery, but get there he did, to save Rebecca, and I think that might not have happened if Amida had not arrived and carried him as far as he did.”

  Takara then stepped away from the pulpit and returned to her seat next to Amida as Pastor Harrison stepped up to the pulpit. For a moment, he appeared at a loss for words, and then in a quiet tone said, “Thank you for that, Takara. We will now sing hymn number four-twenty.”

  During the hymn, the crowd seemed inattentive, distracted, confused, and even shocked. Rebecca didn’t sing at all, but held her hand over her face, weeping while her mother rubbed her back. Amida had stopped crying but d
idn’t sing either. He stared at his wife, holding her hand as she sang.

  After the hymn was finished, it came time for Rebecca to approach the pulpit. She wiped the tears from her eyes, took a deep breath, and stood up. As she stood, however, Chelsea Reese, who was seated next to her parents a few rows behind, also stood up.

  “Rebecca,” said Chelsea, “before you speak, would you mind if I said a few words?”

  Still looking stunned from Takara’s revelations, Rebecca shook her head and sat back down.

  Chelsea approached the pulpit and took a deep breath. “I wasn’t planning on talking today, and so I’m not prepared for any special speech, but I am happy that Ms. Yamamoto told the story she did about Amida and Matthew. You see…I was never quite sure how Matthew had gotten to the path that day. He was hurt very badly when I found him.”

  Chelsea paused, looked briefly toward her parents, and then continued: “Against my parents’ wishes, I had intentionally gone riding on the trail, north toward the Home to see my father. There was so much going on in Cottonwood, and I just needed to get out. As I was riding along the trail that leads from the river down to the highway near Eddie’s house, I came across Matthew lying on the ground next to the trail. I stopped and saw that he was badly hurt. I screamed for help and went to get my cell phone, but realized I’d left it at home. I then poured a little water onto Matthew’s bloody head, from my water bottle, and also dabbed his face with one of my socks that I’d taken off and moistened with water.”

  Chelsea’s voice then began to break up, and tears began to stream from her face. “Exactly what happened next…I have a hard time understanding. There was a voice, maybe just my own voice inside…I don’t know…but it told me to pour out the water with faith. That’s exactly what I did…I poured the water right onto Matthew’s wounds, and then suddenly…there was a deer. I remember the deer’s eyes were staring at me…they were large and brown and filled with something…something wonderful…something…I don’t know…a mystery…a connectedness we all share.”

  She took a break, recomposing herself. The audience was silent as Chelsea continued: “The next thing I saw, after looking at the deer, was Matthew standing right next to me. He told me to share this story with others…and to never forget it. You are the first ones I’ve shared this with. The last thing he did was to give me Ms. D’Arcy’s wedding ring and tell me to go and bring help up to the falls. That’s when I got on my bike and rode as fast as I could to the Home, where my dad called the sheriff.”

  Chelsea then looked at Rebecca. “Rebecca, when I gave you the ring from Matthew, I promised I’d tell you the whole story, and now I’ve fulfilled that promise.”

  Chelsea returned to her seat, and it came time for Rebecca to speak. Her mother squeezed her hand before she stood up, and she was still wiping tears from her eyes as she approached the pulpit. Her head was spinning from the sudden, vivid, painful, confusing, and yet rewarding information the previous speakers had related. They had given her the details of the last hours of Matthew’s life, and of how her husband had come to rescue her. Rebecca stood at the pulpit for a moment, gathering her thoughts and strength.

  “I have thought about what I was going to say for a long time,” Rebecca finally began, her voice trembling. “What can you say about a man who was your husband, and who gave up his own life in saving yours? Not just yours, but the life of his child that you now carry inside of you. Are words adequate for this? I think not. Words limp along and then finally fail, when trying to adequately and fully express the landscape of the heart; however, words are expected in this situation. So, despite their inadequacy, I will try to convey to you what Matthew meant to me, but more than that, I will try to convey to all of you what I am certain Matthew Duncan meant to the town of Cottonwood. He…”

  As Rebecca was about to continue, the back door of the church, which faced the now setting western sun, began to open, and a few of the overflow crowd who’d been standing in front of the door turned around and began to make way for someone who was entering. From the pulpit, Rebecca looked straight on toward the door, and nearly every head was turned toward the back of the church. Her heart began to beat harder as a shaft of orange sunlight cut through the opening door. Footsteps could be heard coming from somewhere in that shaft, but Rebecca could only see the outline of someone walking down the center aisle, toward the front of the church and directly toward her.

  Gasps could be heard from the back of the church, and those gasps rippled forward in waves as the silhouetted figure and footsteps moved further into the church. Her heart was now racing with a mad and anxious energy. The outline of the form in the sunlight, though, seemed wrong somehow. Even from the pulpit, it seemed too short to be the one she’d been hoping for. The gasps then turned to silence—the kind of silence that can only come from the human mind being stunned by the intrusion of a larger world—first poking, then puncturing, and finally bursting through the thin veneer of what most cling to so desperately as their reality.

  The door of the church closed, and what was only an outline to Rebecca before, was now a man—one she knew very well. Standing in the center of the church was Old Blind Carl—his eyes wide open. He was looking right at her.

  Rebecca felt faint but held loosely onto the pulpit to steady herself. Carl was smiling at her, and without thinking about it, she managed to smile back.

  There was a long moment of silence in the church, when one could almost hear the dissolution of every preconception and conception so tightly held. All eyes were on Carl and on his eyes—his beautiful, brown, kind, fully-seeing eyes.

  “I guess you’re all surprised to see me,” said Carl, smiling, “but not half as much as I was a few months ago when I could see you—sorry I had to leave so suddenly and all.”

  People in the crowd who knew Carl then rushed from their seats and thronged around him. Pastor Harrison stood quickly from where he was seated and gently nudged Rebecca out of the way.

  “Everyone…please…please take your seats! Someone could get hurt! Please give Old Blind Carl some breathing room here! Please return to your seats now…please! For everyone’s safety…please sit down!”

  After several more minutes of the pastor’s pleading, the crowd around Carl slowly cleared and returned to their seats, though a fair amount of whispering and talking could still be heard from points all around the church.

  “Old Blind Carl,” began the pastor, his voice now shaking and trembling as though it was his first time before a congregation, “or, perhaps, we all need to call you just Carl now…well, you certainly know how to make an entrance—I can say that much. Now, even though this is a service honoring Matthew Duncan, I believe that under the circumstances, it would be appropriate for you to perhaps come up here and say a few words. Please.”

  The crowd grew quiet, as if hypnotized by Carl’s every move. Rebecca too, standing off to one side of the pulpit, was transfixed. Carl moved down the center aisle and then climbed up the few stairs leading to the pulpit. With his mouth hanging slightly open, Pastor Harrison stepped to one side of the pulpit as Carl approached.

  “If I knew I was going to get such a reaction upon my return,” began Carl, “I would gladly have left this town more frequently over the years.”

  On any other day, under different circumstances, those comments might have drawn a laugh—even at a memorial service. The sanctuary remained silent, the audience too stunned to laugh.

  “Now, I understand this is a memorial service for Matthew Duncan, and that’s exactly why I’m here. I don’t want to take anything away from your paying tribute to him. He deserved all that—and more. I’m sorry to come in late and miss all the other grand things you’ve no doubt said about him. So what grander thing can I add to all of them, but to stand here before you? As I hope you can all clearly and plainly see—Old Blind Carl is blind no more.”

  A person could have heard a mouse chewing on soft cheese in the top rafters of the church—it was that quiet—as
all eyes remained on Carl.

  “I’m sorry for this dramatic entrance and all,” continued Carl, “but it’s pretty darn hard to get into Cottonwood right now, as there still aren’t that many electric busses coming here, and I haven’t bought an electric car yet. I kind of had to take what I could get. Boy, getting out was sure a whole lot easier.”

  Carl looked out over the audience. “Where is Ned Quinlan? Ned, are you here?”

  Slowly, from the transfixed audience, a hand went up.

  “Would you mind standing up for a minute, Ned, please?”

  Looking nervously around, Ned Quinlan stood up.

  “Well, it’s damn good to see you, Ned,” said Carl, laughing. “I’ve been waiting for a lot of weeks to use that line. It was worth the wait. Just the look on your face is worth it! All those years of talking to you down in front of Masterson’s, and now I get a chance to actually see your face. It’s just wonderful!”

  Ned smiled nervously and finally said, “Uh, and it’s great…to see you again, Carl. You’ve been missing a long time.”

  “Missing?! I knew exactly where I was all the time—though I confess, I figured my absence from Cottonwood might cause a bit of a fuss. But once I got my eyesight, well, I was in a big hurry to get out of here. I had some other things I wanted to see—and to tell you the truth, I wasn’t sure how long this whole vision thing might last. I’m going to talk more about all that in a moment, but right now, the reason I had you stand up is that I just wanted to make sure you got my note of thanks along with the money. I hope you understand—you had the only transportation out of here at the time.”

  “You took my car?” a still stunned Ned asked as the dumbfounded audience volleyed their gazes back and forth between Carl and Ned.