For a little background on this story, see the introduction to Chapter 1: Eliza.
Chapter 2: Threshold
Hey Eliza—you have that schedule estimate ready for the Johannsen building?
"Egads," she mutters as the message pops up on her screen. She promised those figures for Jamal first thing today, and now it's already past ten-thirty. Where had the morning gone? Into a dozen different bits, emails, messages, and then deep into the graywater routing for the Rohini's proposal.
Yes, sorry, give me 15, she replies.
Eliza copies details from her project trackers into a spreadsheet. So much runs on these little numbers flying around, so trivial in themselves yet adding up to something much bigger, something dependent upon all those bits being in place. Small choices in life, like tiny blossoms, that lead to…to…the delicate scent of sweat pea from the bouquet on her desk. The flowers—pink, white, and lavender, and are still holding up since Monday when they arrived, a surprise gift from Adel. So thoughtful…
She shakes her head. Focus, Eliza. One keystroke at a time, one mouse click, it'll just take a few more minutes. Don't keep Jamal waiting beyond his usual limits.
When she sends the estimates and relaxes back in her chair, Eliza corrects herself. She knows exactly where the morning went, and it wasn’t exactly in work.
The deep sense of impending change had been with her all week since she and Adel had started the process of bringing a child into their lives. Nothing would stay the same, or maybe some things would but many things would not. There's time to adjust—a baby takes months to gestate. But a shift looms surely over her present and especially her future and Adel's.
No, it's much more than a change or a shift—a revolution? It’s something more…. Eliza hunts for the word. Cosmic? No, too distant, too impersonal…this is very personal, like the flowers, like the petal she caresses between her fingers.
Eliza once again replays the vision of Christ handing her a baby, as she's done—how many times every day?—for the past five weeks. Her hands enliven with the memory of the baby's skin, delicate like the sweat pea blossom. Her heart warms with a radiant lightness, dancing with a joy, a delight. She takes a few breaths and smiles, for that delightfulness has spilled over into the most mundane moments. Last night wasn't it? The brake lights on the cars ahead of her on the commute home were just beautiful, as beautiful as any sunset that had ever blessed her gaze. It's like I'm in love, isn't it, my Friend?
A twinge in her heart shares her laughter. Yes, it is. Have you ever not been?
Well, yes, but I didn't always know it. Now that I do, I don't want to forget, ever. Promise me that, my Friend, even when Adel and I are enmeshed in parenting a newborn.
Trust me, dear one, you're going to discover new a capacity for love you didn't think possible.
The bubbles of joy in her heart rise like an effervescence, tickling a lump in her throat, tingling her brain in wordless delight.
Yes, that's where the morning went, where the week went, in this connection to a subtler realm, a realm of…
Bing! Her computer's notification snaps Eliza out of her reverie. A few quick breaths, a few quick blinks, and she sits forward again.
Are you coming to the 11 o-clock?
"Shoot." Eliza grabs her phone and her note tablet and hurries off.
* * *
"OK, Eliza, what's going on?" Ms. Saidi motions for Eliza to the guest chair as she closes her office door and takes her own seat at the desk.
"Nothing, well…maybe." Is it too soon to share anything before there's even definite news?
Her manager giggles and flashes a million-dollar smile, only one piece of her overall grace and charm. "You know, Eliza, you're really transparent. Something's going on because you've not been your usual precise self this entire week."
"I know, I'm sorry. I-I've been late to meetings, neglecting my…."
Ms. Saidi waves a hand. "Eliza, please, no need to apologize. Everyone's doing just fine. In fact, others have commented on how sweet and considerate you've been for, well, probably the last month. Last time we talked one-on-one you were somewhat high-strung, trying to achieve far more than you needed to, remember?"
"I guess I was pushing myself pretty hard, and I don't think I even noticed." Was that really me? The memory of herself, her Eliza-before-the vision-self, is now almost a wisp of dream.
"Well, we did, but everyone's glad that you've relaxed away from that. I think we're all enjoying you more despite the oversights! I'm sure you'll settle into a nice groove again."
"Thank you," Eliza sighs. "Thank you for your confidence in me."
Ms. Saidi pauses, then continues. "So…let me guess: you and Adel are trying to start a family?"
Eliza sits up, her eyes wide. "How did you…?"
"Oh, the same thing happened to me when Tani and I were working on our first. I could hardly think of anything else! It's such a magical time."
"Well, your perception is spot on, as always," Eliza laughs. "We just started this past weekend."
"Then it could happen any time…or it could take a few weeks or even a few cycles."
"Yeah. And you're OK with this?"
"Of course, Eliza!" Ms. Saidi exclaims, raising her palms. "The firm doesn't control your life. And trust me when I say that our clients will be happy for you as they were for me. Most of them have families of their own, after all."
Eliza nods. "I do forget that at times, and sometimes I forget that the buildings and interiors we make are there for people."
"Especially those lush indoor-outdoor gardens you've designed to use the water from the sinks and kitchens. People like Mr. Eduardo and Ms. Wilke tell me that those a big part of what draws their employees want to come to work every day, and once they learned that the gardens weren't using any extra resources, they were all the happier. Anyway…."
Her manager stands and takes Eliza’s hands, lifting her up. "We've plenty of time to plan for maternity leave and all that. Just let me know how things progress."
"Yes, thank you. I will."
"In the meantime, why don't you take the rest of the day off and get an early start to your weekend? Work can wait a few days while you get your bearings."
"Oh, yes, thanks. I'll do that. Thanks, Sophia. "
Ms. Saidi gives her a hug. "Anytime. Good luck!"
* * *
The attendant places Eliza's order before her. The aroma of the vegetable chowder in its sourdough bowl fills her senses and gives her permission to slow down, to pause, to rest. Sophia is right, get my bearings. She breathes in the soup's steam once, twice more, then takes a spoonful with a bite of bread.
The café is not hurried. It never is, despite its popularity and the steady stream of customers coming through at the lunch hour for bagels, baguettes, sweet rolls, or the day’s special of soup, salad, and sandwich. Old Batara Yu, the ever-present proprietor, floats like a swan between the counter and the kitchen and the customers, never one to allow the smallest fuss any more than he allows anything but placid classical music—both Eastern or Western—to invade his kingdom of rising dough and herbal teas. Nowhere else do you find handcrafted compartments to muffle the noise of the blenders and the espresso machine. Mr. Yu clearly wants his shop to be a sanctuary, a place for quiet reflection, perhaps even prayer. Even the first-timers quickly learn to keep their conversations subdued, perhaps subconsciously heeding the counsel of the elaborate Arabic script adorning the eastern wall—the line from the Quran that Mr. Yu translates, if a discerning eye notices that it's not just ornamentation, as "Speak a good word or remain silent."
All the better to enjoy the food and the company of your thoughts.
Meaning. That's the word. The one she was searching for earlier. And not cosmic meaning, but personal meaning. That's what this child will bring into her life. Into Adel's as well? Hard to say. He was so calm when she told him of her vision-impression, so instantly willing to support this next stage, whatever it might bring, like he'd been waiting all along for her to suggest the possibility of a family. With all the haggling, negotiations, and sorting through the options that it takes for him to buy a sofa or a table lamp or a pair of shoes, she'd expected just about anything other than his "OK, when do you want to start trying?" Maybe he is ready for something more himself, but seldom does he divulge such inner tensions.
Between bites, Eliza visualizes Adel holding and rocking a bundled newborn, singing softly. Such a beautiful child, a perfect child. The very embodiment of meaning—how could it…he, she?...not be? New life for everyone. Oh yes, there will be the nursing and the diapers and the crying in the wee-hours and the fussing and the toddler tantrums, everything that she'd heard from other parents. But then there's…
Further vignettes continue to form in her mind. The laughter and joy of rolling over and crawling and walking and uttering "mama" for the first time. The sparkle in the eyes when first learning to draw with crayons and to read and write letters. The blissful mess of finger-paints and birthday cake. Going off to school where skills and talents emerge to the delight of parents and teachers both, revealing clues to her dharma or his right path in life, revealing, surely also, Eliza's own. For the soul that she and Adel attract must assuredly be a spiritual one. How could it be otherwise? In the days and weeks after her vision they'd prayed and meditated together every morning and evening, offering their lives into God's hands and searching within themselves for any disharmonies in their relationship, any disturbance that would eventually manifest as conflict within the family. The child that Christ offered could not but be a deep blessing, the channel through which Eliza would find the means to break through that barrier in her soul.
What wisdom might that child bring into the trio? She and Adel, with a clarity of purpose, each time prayed deeply for ten, twenty, thirty minutes—awakening, gathering, amplifying love for God in their hearts, the love they hoped to share with another. Each day and night they focused that devotion in a wordless call from the Christ center, inviting a soul to incarnate into the physical body they would soon initiate with sperm and ovum. They called, too, with their yearning to grow, calling to one whose innate understanding might guide them in their spiritual search even as they nurtured the newborn through all its stages into maturity and learning to relate to the world into which it had come.
After twenty days, a response murmured in their hearts, a unique touch neither her's nor Adel's. Little by little, the murmur grew to almost a voice, perhaps a song, music as clear and distinct as any professional artist, an unmistakable signature of eternal individuality. By the end of the fourth week, they were certain that their call had been answered and a soul was ready to join them when conception opened the doorway between the heavens and the earth.
Eliza delights as she imagines the profound conversations they’ll have with their son or daughter, exploring subtleties of consciousness that they might then bring into the stillness of sadhana. The melodies of devotional ceremonies, too, float through her perception, her voice blending in worship with those of the child and her husband. And her body thrills with the thought of treading the sacred precincts of pilgrimage sites throughout the world, east and west, north and south, a small, calm hand gently clutching her own.
Oh, the possibilities!
Oh, the mindlessness! Sophia was right to send me home. Amidst her reminiscing and daydreaming, Eliza has finished her lunch, who knows how many minutes ago. She takes her dishes to the bussing station, waves to the staff, and heads outside into the temperate afternoon of sunbreaks and cooling breezes.
Yes, Sophia was right, I'm pretty useless right now! She laughs at her wayward romanticism, debating whether to tell Adel as she strides along the sidewalk to get herself grounded. She knows exactly what he'll say: one thing at a time, take the step in front of you, sufficient unto the day, etc. etc., like he did the other day when she worried about sending the child off to school in what, five or six years! Which means patience. Lots of patience…who knows when we'll conceive? It could take a while. You handed me a child, Lord, but you didn't say anything about the timing, did you? Even you had to be born as an infant and grow through every stage of childhood and young adulthood and what? Thirty-some years before you really started your mission? I guess I can wait. Love must be patient. To her humming lips she recalls a melody written to express the youth of another great one with a world mission who held himself in abeyance, and in obeyance, until the time was right, as she must needs hold herself.
Eliza pauses before the display window of a bookstore, admiring the colorful dust jackets of several new children's storybooks. We'll be reading these soon enough, but for now…. Closing her eyes and letting out a breath, she recalls again the presence of the soul to whom they've been calling. There's a powerful devotion there, and idealism? Yes, but also…what's the word? Not a hint of whimsy or fanciful expectations…only…certainty, acceptance, and, and…realism. Calm, unshakable realism.
As if that presence leapt from her heart, she is suddenly aware of it standing beside her, around her, invisible and formless, yet definite. And as if touched by a feather, a tingling tickles her left palm. Instinctively, gently, she closes her grasp, within which she senses, for just a moment, a tiny hand.
A hand that says, "You're ready now. Ready to begin the pilgrimage.”
A hand that says, “I'm here."
Chapter notes and comment prompts:
Were you surprised that Eliza had not already conceived? Chapter 1 ended in a way that might have suggest an immaculate conception, but in Chapter 2 that clearly wasn’t the case.
What is your response/reaction to the level of descriptiveness (or lack thereof) in this chapter?
Much of this chapter, like Chapter 1, is Eliza’s inner perception and thought process. Only on occasion do I italicize specific thoughts to indicate that she’s verbalizing those specific words, whereas the rest is more the kind of thinking that’s not quite verbalized. How does this work for you, or not?
(I’ll repeat this last question in every chapter.) Based on this chapter (along with the title and the one hint about what the story is about), what questions do you have that you hope the story will answer in future installments?
Please also report any typos or passages that you find unclear or problematic.