Where the Wind and the Leaves Play Music

One of Jessica’s favorite feelings is waking up thinking she has to go to work before realizing she actually has the entire day off. A warm, blissful sensation blossoms in her abdomen. She springs out of bed to make coffee. The weeks of rain are over. The sun is finally shining in Philadelphia, and as she turns on her kettle, she notices out the window patches of dormant blue sky, peeking through ash-dusted clouds.

She changes her mind on coffee. She hurries to dress. She grabs her purse and a light jacket, making her way down her stairs, brushing passed her mailbox, which is sure to be filled with bills she cannot pay.

She arrives at a restaurant in Rittenhouse Square. She is seated on the patio, immediately ordering a latte from her server. He nods and smiles and says it will be out shortly. A tall man with graying hair stands up from the table beside her and drops something on the ground.

“Sir, sir,” she says, waving his billfold. “You dropped this.”

“Thank you very much,” the tall man says. “There’s over $300 dollars here. That would’ve been a terrible mistake. Allow me to purchase your breakfast.”

“No, no,” she says. “That’s not necessary.”

“No,” he says. “I insist.” He hands her a twenty-dollar bill.

“That really isn’t necessary.”

“Nonsense,” he says. “It’s my pleasure.”

She thanks the tall man and he hurries away. Her server arrives with her latte and a menu. He has an accent but she can’t place it. She sips her latte, marveling at how delicious it tastes. She glances around the patio, noticing a handsome man seated at table near her. Similar to her server, she would guess he is either Greek or Italian. He has taken off his navy blue suit jacket, wearing just a crisp white shirt and tie. What strikes her most about him is that he is the only person not on his phone. He is writing in a little a black notebook. It dawns upon her that she should purchase a similar one at some point in the day—if she gets around to it. But in the time it takes her to have this daydream, the handsome man vanishes.

His table is left empty except for the little black notebook. She races to grab it. She hurries back into the restaurant to see if he is still there. Her waiter notices her.

“That man, he was sitting over there just a second ago and he forgot his notebook. He must still be around.”

“No, he is gone I’m afraid. I spoke with him. He’s traveling on business from Milan. I’m also Italian. He was catching a taxi for the airport.”

“He’ll be sad he left this,” she says.

“Let me see that,” the server says.

She hands it to him. He thumbs through it.

“He only wrote on the first page.”

He hands it back to her, disinterested.

She flips it open to read it, but it is written in Italian.

“What does it say?” she asks the server

The server takes it back, telling a busboy to water his tables. He then signals to her to step aside out of the traffic of the other servers.

He crinkles his brow and begins to translate.

There is a river,

A wide rushing river,

Where the sun shimmers upon

The water’s white,

Where the wind and leaves

Play music, where all is calm

And safe, and you know this place,

This universal place of safety,

For it is in all our hearts and minds,

Hidden away like a diary.

“That’s beautiful,” she says.

The server shrugs.

“Perhaps,” he says, excusing himself, hurrying off to another task. She returns to her seat. She picks up her purse and pulls out a pen, writing: “there is a river, a wide rushing river, where the sun shimmers…” but that is all she can remember. She wishes she knew a foreign language. She looks down at her menu and has an idea. She will not have breakfast. She leaves the twenty-dollar bill for the latte, pining it under the sugar bowl so the wind won’t steal it. She rushes out of the restaurant, hailing the first cab she sees.

“Where to miss?”

“The airport,” she says. “And please hurry.”

The cab speeds away.

When she arrives, she is gripped by a fear, a typical fear that she has when she no longer can prolong an adventure but has to actually act—to actually do something. The fear mutates into an embarrassment and she cannot enter the airport, imagining getting caught, getting into trouble, as though simply pretending and living out a daydream were a crime. She walks outside the airport, sulking. She notices a policemen speaking with a nun. She has an old face, and when they make eye contact, it appears that the nun recognizes her. Rebecca walks toward her, and the nun, disengaging with the policeman, walks toward Rebecca.

“Miss, Miss, Miss,” the nun says.

The nun reaches up and grabs her crucifix and begins to rub it frantically. She is struggling to breathe.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Rebecca springs into action. She screams for assistance. The policeman rushes over.

“What is it, miss?”

“This, this…she cannot breathe. We have to get her to a hospital!”

The ambulance arrives quickly. They hook her up to oxygen and roll her inside, the driver signals that she can ride in the back.

“Go ahead,” the policeman says. “It’s okay to ride back there.”

“I don’t know this woman.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“I thought you knew her. She looked right at you like she’d known you for years. Isn’t that weird?”

At the hospital, it is frantic at first but she is reassured by the medics that the nun will be all right. She waits in the waiting room. A nurse with blonde hair emerges and asks her relation.

“She works at my church,” Rebecca lies.

Rebecca is given permission to follow the nurse. She enters the hospital room where the nun is in bed. She speaks with the nun, but it doesn’t appear the nun remembers her. She doesn’t know what to do or what to say. She reaches into her purse and pulls out the tiny black notebook, wanting to read her the poem. But she remembers that it’s in Italian. The nun turns to her and smiles.

“What is that?”

“It’s a notebook,” Rebecca says. “There’s a little poem written inside, but I can’t read all of it. I only know the beginning. It’s written in Italian.”

“I’m Italian,” says the nun. “I can read it.”

Rebecca hands her the notebook. The nun translates.

“It’s pretty,” the nun says. “I know a place similar to that. It’s near where I grew up—outside Rome. It’s not a river but a stream. But it is always a calm, happy place. I enjoyed going there.”

“It sounds pretty,” Rebecca says.

“It’s beautiful,” the nun says. “I could spend eternity there.”

“Sounds like anyone could.”

“Do you have a pen, my dear?”

Rebecca reaches into her purse and pulls out her pen.

“What is your name, dear?”

“Rebecca.”

“Rebecca what?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What is your last name?”

“It’s Briest.”

“How do you spell that?”

“B R I E S T…”

“Thank you, dear.”

“Why do you want to know my name?”

“No reason,” the nun says.

Rebecca cringes. She looks out into the hallway for the blonde nurse and finds her. The blonde nurse confirms that the nun is doing well. That she just needs to rest. The nun is quiet, clinging onto the notebook. The nurse leaves, shutting the door behind her.

“May I keep this notebook?”

Rebecca doesn’t know what to say.

“Yes,” Rebecca says. “Of course, you can keep it.”

The nun begins to pray, signaling to Rebecca to pray with her.

“I can’t.”

“Of course you can, my dear,” the nun says.

“I’m not a religious person,” Rebecca says. “I want to be very honest with you. I don’t believe in God.”

“Everyone always says that,” the nun says. “That is not the point.”

Rebecca cringes but says nothing. She lowers her head as the nun prays. She seems to be in a trance. Rebecca feels out of place, a warm rush of guilt floods her abdomen. She feels like she has committed a soft crime. After the nun is done praying, she thanks her. She wishes her well. But she leaves quickly, hurrying out of the room and down the hall. Something about the whole scene is very wrong. She has to get out of the hospital as quickly as she can.

“Miss, miss,” hollers the blonde nurse, running after her. “You forgot your wallet!”

“That’s not mine.”

“The nun said that this is yours.”

“She did?”

“Yes she did,” the blonde nurse says, sounding suspicious.

She takes it. The blonde nurse eyes her but says nothing, hurrying off to another task.

Rebecca grips the wallet like the little black notebook. She places it against her chest and hurries out of the hospital. She hails the first cab she sees.

“Where to miss?”

“The river.”

“Excuse me?”

“Take me to the Delaware River.”

The cab speeds off.

Rebecca wants to open the wallet and see what is inside but she can’t. The cab driver drops her off a few blocks away. She races down the street, heading east, running as fast as she can. She arrives at the Delaware River. She finds a bench. She sits down and opens the wallet. There is an envelope with her name: Rebecca Briest, written on it. Inside the envelope is a large check folded in half. It is endorsed to her. She opens the check and is shocked to see that it is worth $20,000.

“This can’t be,” she says aloud, staring at the check like it is a ghost. Her heart is beating rapidly in her chest; her palms are sweating. She sits secretly thinking of all the things this money will do for her. But it isn’t hers. She can’t keep it. She glowers at the river, hearing the seagulls, seeing them ride the wind as she tries to summon from within her the right thing to do.

She puts the check in her purse. She races back to the hospital. She rushes up to the floor. She frantically explains who she is looking for, but the other nurses have no memory of seeing a nun. She races away down the hallway toward the nun’s room.

“Miss, miss, miss,” the nurses holler after her. “You can’t go down there without permission.”

She arrives at the nun’s room, but the bed is made and the nun is no longer there. She sees the blonde nurse from earlier.

“Miss, miss, the nun, the nun, from before,” she says.

“I’m sorry,” says the blonde nurse, cringing. “Who?”

“The nun, remember?”

Rebecca takes her to the room. She points at the made bed. She explains the whole story.

“I’m sorry, miss,” says the blonde nurse, folding her arms. “This room has been empty the entire day. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. But I have to say that you do look a little bit familiar to me.”

Rebecca, an odd mix of elation and despondency, walks down the hallway toward the other nurses. She passes them, heading toward the elevators that are going down. In her peripheral she sees one of those nurses holding the little black notebook. That nurse looks up at her.

“Oh,” says the nurse, waving the little black notebook in her direction. “Maybe you can help us.”

Rebecca, anticipating the question, produces a soft smile.

“Do you speak Italian?”