three evening bells
by Gail Sher
Sometimes the day would begin with a particular warming light, very clear, almost
sumptuous. Why am I so happy? Unn thought, watching a rosel sun rise. As she walked
the thought arose again, yet it didn't register as a thought. Instead it registered as a color.
On the sand lay a small starfish. Its rays were short. And it seemed young, hardly more
than a baby. Should I put it back in the water? Two or three seabirds, lustrous black, had
their long necks thrust out on the waves.
The grass, she noted, flowered into bluish--almost peacock blue--blossoms. It was tall,
so tall that it slumped over and made the hills seem as if they were laughing. Like a
phosphoric sea continues to portray itself, the grass was continuous with none of the
monotony of a color. I am losing the respect of the color, Unn decided.
*
"Zachi-san! Did I wake you?" A black leather jacket slinked through the doorway of the
studio where Zachory, Unn's friend, and Unn lived together.
"He's too tall for his body," she flashed.
"I was just resting." She had on leggings, an old practice sweater and sagging hand-knit
socks.
"Her hair is young," observed the visitor. "It snaps like a young girl's."
Luciano was not youthful. That is, he did not appear to be youthful. Instead he seemed
untouched. Innocent in a pure, clean way. His intelligence hid it. And his thinness. And
his unusual height.
Sensing Zach's fib he stuck out his hand. "This is for Unn. It's a cassette recording from
Kyoto of their New Year's temple bells." Though he hadn't expected to feel this, he
found himself relieved that Unn was not home and that he could just leave the cassette.
Zachory put the package beside her on the bed. She was about to say, "Unn'll be back
soon. Feel free to wait," but instead she said, "Thanks. She's been talking about these
bells non-stop for days."
Luciano smiled. He had told Unn about them after class the previous week. He wanted
to think that this meant that she liked him. As he turned toward the door, Zachory saw
that his habitual slump to make up for his tallness had hardened into an apology, as if his
body, the back part that faces away, was ashamed of something un-talk-about-able.
Though not unspeakable. The former seemed more willful such that while he appeared
hesitant and a bit awkward, underneath lurked a powerful need to hide.
"I'll give this to Unn as soon as she comes home," Zach said, and immediately blushed.
That was self-evident. I'm probably picking up on his nerves. Soon she fell back to
sleep.
*
"Zachi-san! Did I wake you?" This time it was Unn all bundled up in her mauve down
consignment-shop coat.
Zachory rolled over and tucked the blankets around her chest. "Oh, Luciano left this for
you," she remembered, digging out an immaculately wrapped object with Unn's name
printed in small, clear letters. "He didn't want to stay. I think he really likes you though."
Unn quickly unwrapped it. "How thoughtful of him. These bells are rung in Kyoto every
year as the old year ends. He suggested the sound for my final composition. Coming
from him . . . "
"He should be playing basketball instead of flute is what I think frankly. The hump on
his back is way premature."
"It suits him though. Twenty-eight going on sixty . . . "
"I think he's hiding something."
"I can't imagine what that would be," Unn said, already losing interest. She was eager to
hear the bells and, for some reason, reluctant.
*
At 2:00 a.m. the following Sunday morning Zachory was again awakened by Unn.
"Zach, I have to talk to you."
Zach rolled over and slowly sat up in bed. Her green "Life is Good" t-shirt blared its
positivity. "What? Unn? Did something happen? It's really late."
"I slept with Luciano. I'm no longer a virgin. But that's not the problem." Unn's voice,
cold and far away, sounded as if she were talking to the ceiling.
Zach knew better than to interrupt. She huddled herself deeper under the covers as if to
signal readiness.
"So afterwards we were cuddling. I had this fantasy of being with him and living this
intense musical life, him playing and me maybe composing and also playing. When we
talk about music, we both get very excited." Then his phone rang."
"He didn't pick up, right?"
"Yes he did. Like instinctively. Then he got out of bed and went into the other room
speaking in a low serious voice. I'm still in the throes of our love-making, of course."
Unn had seated herself near Zachory's hands. She noticed they were warm, extra-
terrestial hands, destined for someone whose life would mainly circle around her mind.
Not like Unn's hands that showed her hours at the piano. Plus, her fingers were short
making piano as her instrument questionable. She should be playing flute might be the
real truth.
"Finally, he came back." Unn continued. "At first he was quiet. Then he said, 'That was
my wife. She threatened to kill herself if I didn't stop seeing you.'' I said, "Your wife?"
"What? Wife?" Zachory couldn't help herself.
"Luciano explained that although he was married, he was not happy. The sparsity of
money kept them together. 'Take me home please' was the last thing I said to him. We
were silent in the car."
Zachory just listened but touched Unn with her hand. Unn, suddenly exhausted, flopped
down on the bed in her coat. Soon she was dreaming.
A tall, young woman with cuffs around her wrist, had handed Unn a clutch-bag. 'Would
you mind holding this for me?' Bulky blue rhinestones made a pattern on her dress. The
dress was red. It was ankle-length and sleeveless and shaped in such a way that her
ribbed green t-shirt, also sleeveless, showed through its several cut-outs.
But it was her hair--very black and very cropped--as if an adolescent had taken scissors
to it wrathfully. Its blackness and wildness gave her slightly exotic features an
indescribable edge, that along with her flushed face and unexpected visor, added up to a
girl that in an odd way was breathtakingly beautiful.
'She's a model. Those shoes. No one wears wedgies that are that high and that
outrageous.'
Shortly the woman got off. Unn sat back for the long ride to her stop. The girl had been
tall but her tallness was like a force, a tallness of mind that spilled over to her body. Her
tallness had utterly absorbed the dress.
Though the dream was couched in absurdities easy to dismiss, was it not because she
feared uncovering his mind and finally, inescapably, having to face it?
And the fact that upon awakening she had difficulty remembering--that certain details
and expressions had been blurred--might this be because at the moment of consciousness
a kind of cunning went to work to erase its accusations?
When she finally got up, the earth was still. The day had the aspect of an end, though it
wasn't yet light.
sumptuous. Why am I so happy? Unn thought, watching a rosel sun rise. As she walked
the thought arose again, yet it didn't register as a thought. Instead it registered as a color.
On the sand lay a small starfish. Its rays were short. And it seemed young, hardly more
than a baby. Should I put it back in the water? Two or three seabirds, lustrous black, had
their long necks thrust out on the waves.
The grass, she noted, flowered into bluish--almost peacock blue--blossoms. It was tall,
so tall that it slumped over and made the hills seem as if they were laughing. Like a
phosphoric sea continues to portray itself, the grass was continuous with none of the
monotony of a color. I am losing the respect of the color, Unn decided.
*
"Zachi-san! Did I wake you?" A black leather jacket slinked through the doorway of the
studio where Zachory, Unn's friend, and Unn lived together.
"He's too tall for his body," she flashed.
"I was just resting." She had on leggings, an old practice sweater and sagging hand-knit
socks.
"Her hair is young," observed the visitor. "It snaps like a young girl's."
Luciano was not youthful. That is, he did not appear to be youthful. Instead he seemed
untouched. Innocent in a pure, clean way. His intelligence hid it. And his thinness. And
his unusual height.
Sensing Zach's fib he stuck out his hand. "This is for Unn. It's a cassette recording from
Kyoto of their New Year's temple bells." Though he hadn't expected to feel this, he
found himself relieved that Unn was not home and that he could just leave the cassette.
Zachory put the package beside her on the bed. She was about to say, "Unn'll be back
soon. Feel free to wait," but instead she said, "Thanks. She's been talking about these
bells non-stop for days."
Luciano smiled. He had told Unn about them after class the previous week. He wanted
to think that this meant that she liked him. As he turned toward the door, Zachory saw
that his habitual slump to make up for his tallness had hardened into an apology, as if his
body, the back part that faces away, was ashamed of something un-talk-about-able.
Though not unspeakable. The former seemed more willful such that while he appeared
hesitant and a bit awkward, underneath lurked a powerful need to hide.
"I'll give this to Unn as soon as she comes home," Zach said, and immediately blushed.
That was self-evident. I'm probably picking up on his nerves. Soon she fell back to
sleep.
*
"Zachi-san! Did I wake you?" This time it was Unn all bundled up in her mauve down
consignment-shop coat.
Zachory rolled over and tucked the blankets around her chest. "Oh, Luciano left this for
you," she remembered, digging out an immaculately wrapped object with Unn's name
printed in small, clear letters. "He didn't want to stay. I think he really likes you though."
Unn quickly unwrapped it. "How thoughtful of him. These bells are rung in Kyoto every
year as the old year ends. He suggested the sound for my final composition. Coming
from him . . . "
"He should be playing basketball instead of flute is what I think frankly. The hump on
his back is way premature."
"It suits him though. Twenty-eight going on sixty . . . "
"I think he's hiding something."
"I can't imagine what that would be," Unn said, already losing interest. She was eager to
hear the bells and, for some reason, reluctant.
*
At 2:00 a.m. the following Sunday morning Zachory was again awakened by Unn.
"Zach, I have to talk to you."
Zach rolled over and slowly sat up in bed. Her green "Life is Good" t-shirt blared its
positivity. "What? Unn? Did something happen? It's really late."
"I slept with Luciano. I'm no longer a virgin. But that's not the problem." Unn's voice,
cold and far away, sounded as if she were talking to the ceiling.
Zach knew better than to interrupt. She huddled herself deeper under the covers as if to
signal readiness.
"So afterwards we were cuddling. I had this fantasy of being with him and living this
intense musical life, him playing and me maybe composing and also playing. When we
talk about music, we both get very excited." Then his phone rang."
"He didn't pick up, right?"
"Yes he did. Like instinctively. Then he got out of bed and went into the other room
speaking in a low serious voice. I'm still in the throes of our love-making, of course."
Unn had seated herself near Zachory's hands. She noticed they were warm, extra-
terrestial hands, destined for someone whose life would mainly circle around her mind.
Not like Unn's hands that showed her hours at the piano. Plus, her fingers were short
making piano as her instrument questionable. She should be playing flute might be the
real truth.
"Finally, he came back." Unn continued. "At first he was quiet. Then he said, 'That was
my wife. She threatened to kill herself if I didn't stop seeing you.'' I said, "Your wife?"
"What? Wife?" Zachory couldn't help herself.
"Luciano explained that although he was married, he was not happy. The sparsity of
money kept them together. 'Take me home please' was the last thing I said to him. We
were silent in the car."
Zachory just listened but touched Unn with her hand. Unn, suddenly exhausted, flopped
down on the bed in her coat. Soon she was dreaming.
A tall, young woman with cuffs around her wrist, had handed Unn a clutch-bag. 'Would
you mind holding this for me?' Bulky blue rhinestones made a pattern on her dress. The
dress was red. It was ankle-length and sleeveless and shaped in such a way that her
ribbed green t-shirt, also sleeveless, showed through its several cut-outs.
But it was her hair--very black and very cropped--as if an adolescent had taken scissors
to it wrathfully. Its blackness and wildness gave her slightly exotic features an
indescribable edge, that along with her flushed face and unexpected visor, added up to a
girl that in an odd way was breathtakingly beautiful.
'She's a model. Those shoes. No one wears wedgies that are that high and that
outrageous.'
Shortly the woman got off. Unn sat back for the long ride to her stop. The girl had been
tall but her tallness was like a force, a tallness of mind that spilled over to her body. Her
tallness had utterly absorbed the dress.
Though the dream was couched in absurdities easy to dismiss, was it not because she
feared uncovering his mind and finally, inescapably, having to face it?
And the fact that upon awakening she had difficulty remembering--that certain details
and expressions had been blurred--might this be because at the moment of consciousness
a kind of cunning went to work to erase its accusations?
When she finally got up, the earth was still. The day had the aspect of an end, though it
wasn't yet light.