16 May

The Mansion, Today, James Talked To Me. Humbled Before Mystery

by Jon Katz
Today, James Talked To Me

Today, James (not his real name) talked to me for the first time. I’ve seen  him almost every time I’ve been to the Mansion, several times a week for at least six months.

Without any conversation or prompting, he told me the most wonderful story.

He was furious with me when we first encountered one another. I had put him on the list for people on the blog to write to, and he was angry about it. He didn’t want any letters or photos or presents. He didn’t want me. He didn’t want Red.

He had never been to a holiday celebration, or an activity in the Activity Room.

He didn’t want to paint, draw, do puzzles or work in the garden. I’ve never seen him with a visitor.

James has never come on an outing, or a boat ride, or trip to a restaurant. He has never asked me for a thing, spoken to me, acknowledged me, touched Red or glanced at him.

When I thought of James, I always thought of Boo Radley in To Kill A Mockingbird, James was always in the shadows, never the light. If you looked straight at him, he was gone.

I would often see James when I came to the Mansion, he was invariably bundled up with a hooded sweatshirt pulled over. He would go outside many times in a day, sit on a bench, take a walk on the path in the back.

Sometimes, I saw him walking in town. He never asked me for anything, or accepted any kind of help or gift. He never seemed to even see me.

I knew nothing about him. I don’t know where his room is (I know it’s upstairs), how long he’s been there, or what he does all day.

Once in awhile we would come face outside on the porch or by the door. We never made eye contact or spoke, I always felt I needed to respect his wishes, I just got out of his way. There are several people in the Mansion like that.

James, I was told,  was  adamant about having no contact with the outside world.

No books, no gift bag, no desserts or chocolate.  I always am careful to scratch his name off of the resident mailing list. I never offered him help.

I never heard the staff speak about James, I never see him talking with them,  I’ve never seen him go to the doctor’s, I believe he smokes outside, I only think so because I see the red embers at night.

To my knowledge, James has never eaten in the dining room, I’ve never seen him there.

He came into our Friday Bingo game once to say he had permission to turn the overhead fans on at night, the noise disturbed him up above. He turned off the fan, and then he left, without saying a word to anybody.

He was a person of complete mystery, and i could feel what I thought was his anger a long ways away.

But I had never spoken to him, or seen his face up close. I never try to sell myself, or push anybody into seeing me or Red. If James didn’t want to, he deserved to be left alone. But still, he seemed so beyond reach, and I wondered if he wasn’t lonely. I thought he had to be.

This afternoon, i went over to the Mansion to bring some residents some things they needed.

As I walked up the handicapped ramp to the porch, Red just ahead of me, I almost walked right into James. He was coming down the ramp the other way, there was no space for either of us to squeeze past the other.

I saw that James’s hood was pulled down, which was unusual. He had a well-groomed beard, his hair was rich and combed and dark. I was startled to see piercing green eyes, and a handsome, kind face.

This time, he didn’t lower his head or walk away. He stood in front of me and looked me in the eye. I was surprised, off balance.

We both started at one another for what seemed the longest time. Truthfully, i wasn’t quite sure what to do. I decided to be silent and let him reveal himself. I sensed he wanted something from me.

After a few minutes, James looked me in the eye – he had a beautiful face, really I thought of some of those paintings of Christ i see in churches. James beard and hair was almost the same, I thought.  His eyes were piercing, I had never seen them  up close before. Red, ever tuned into me, walked slowly over to James and leaned against him.

James leaned down and patted him on the head, he asked me if Red was an Australian Shepherd. No, I said, a border collie.

I decided not to reach for my camera. I decided to stand perfectly still.

I was elated that James had decided to talk to me, I’m not sure why.

I decided to stay very quiet, very still. Why now?, I wondered.

Then James told me this beautiful story about his dog. He just started talking, with no explanation or introduction.

He told me the name of his dog, but I forget it, I think I was just stunned by this moment. I could tell by the way he said his dog’s name that he is a dog lover. James was so careful to avoid Red that I had trained Red to keep away from him, to keep moving or move around him when he approached.

I sometimes do this with frail people who could be easily knocked over.

The story James told me was this:

He lived on the ocean once, he said, right near the beach. He and his dog would walk on the beach every morning, right where the seagulls loved to gather, break clam shells and cry out to their friends. His dog  seemed to love the seagulls and always walked up to them, but then they would flee.

Day after  day, his dog would approach the seagulls, but one day, after months of trying, the seagulls decided to trust the dog, and didn’t fly away. His dog loved to sit down next to them and watch them dive for fish and  squabble and search for food. Sometimes he would  take a nap right into the middle of the birds.

 After awhile, they wouldn’t even move for him, and when he   wanted to go home, he would gently bump into them to get them out-of-the-way, while they squawked and cried out. It was amazing, he said, to see how close the birds and his dog became.

One day, his dog died, he was quite old, James said. When he walked on the beach alone, the seagulls shrieked and complained and followed  him up and down the beach on his walk, for days, they circled over and around him and wouldn’t leave him alone. He thought they were demanding that he bring the dog back, he could not explain the truth to them.

Eventually, they stopped following him him and returned to their work diving for small fish or breaking clam shells on the rocks. Sometimes people left good  stuff on the beach and the seagulls lucked out.

But after a while, James said, he stopped walking on that beach because it reminded him too much of his dog. 

I understand, I said, the first words I spoke to James, then or ever.

I thought you would, he said, and I stepped back away from the entrance to the ramp. Red stood with James.

James nodded, pulled up his hood and walked down the ram and down the path to the park behind the Mansion, and he vanished into the mist, he slid out of sight like a ghost. I thought he had been blushing.

“Thank you for the story,” I said. He didn’t turn around.

I  had to blink, and wonder for a second if this was a  dream, an illusion. But I knew it wasn’t. I did feel a shiver go down my spine, something important had just happened.

People who have had  genuine spiritual experiences always know that they don’t know. They are humbled before mystery. The live in awe of the abyss we call life, and wonder at eternity, death and love.

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