Joe Mudak
CHIMES OF PASSION
It was a dark and stormy night, and the five friends backpacking across northern England scurried to find cover from the rapidly intensifying downpour.
Alyssa was the first to notice the silhouette of the large building, with a dimly flickering set of lights punctuating its shape. “Hey guys, look!” She pointed at the building.
Between the rain battering their heads and shoulders, and the mist that rose from the moors around them, no one was sure exactly how far away it was. But then again, no one cared either. Here was shelter. Sanctuary. A place to dry off and warm up.
The friends shared the unspoken hope that someone would take pity on five poor college students. Five college students who, Irene seemed overly fond of reminding everyone, could be sitting on a beach in Cancun at this very moment, sipping margaritas and wondering where the MTV cameras were.
Soon, the five friends found themselves within shouting distance of the shelter they sought. Following the roughly hewn path into the building, Lynda paused for a moment and inhaled deeply. “I think I smell lilacs.” She’d loved working with flowers since she was a little girl; that’s probably why, she would tell friends and acquaintances, she chose to major in botany.
Her friends had already reached the door into the building and she hastened to join them. The five friends stood in the doorway. Pete asked, “What kind of place is this?”
“A church of some sort, I think,” Ron answered. He let out a deep sigh and continued, “I guess we should knock, huh?” He felt along the door and found a heavy iron knocker, which he used to strike against the metal plate upon which it normally rested, the door opened slightly with a creak that echoed throughout the cavernous halls inside.
The five students shuffled into the building. The large stone walls were lined with thick, heavy candles that, at first glance, resembled torches. The candles sent shadows jumping across the granite floor. The building definitely had the feel of an old church, however there were no icons or religious statues. In fact, with the exception of the candles themselves, there was nothing adorning any of the walls.
As the gang of five surveyed the building, they couldn’t help but notice the large wooden pew-like benches facing what clearly resembled a low-key altar.
The air inside the church was heavy, yet dry. Irene removed her backpack and coat, remarking, “It feels good in here, but I’m chilly.” The other four nodded agreement and followed suit. Irene casually walked to a series of large, thick candles, attempting to dry her skin with the flames. As she rubbed her hands above one candle with two independent flaming wicks, she smiled. “This isn’t fast, but, man it feels good.” Alyssa took her place a few yards away from Irene and started doing the same.
One by one, all five students found a candle and attempted to dry themselves. Ron and Lynda found that they were more comfortable after removing their respective shirts. When Lynda noticed Pete staring at her rain-soaked bra clinging tightly to her skin, she chided him, “This isn’t a wet T-shirt contest, honey.”
Pete quickly looked away. For a long while no one spoke. Most were too thankful or too busy trying to dry off to think about actually communicating with one another. The rain battering the walls outside and the occasional distant crack of thunder was the extent of any real sound.
When Ron figured he was about as dry as he was going to get, he sat down on the floor and stared at the light flickering everywhere around him. He closed his eyes and a slight smile appeared on his face. He spread his arms in what he considered a silent homage to the atmosphere of this place. The sound of the rain, the feeling of the air, the mystery of this whole place.
Alyssa noticed him and asked, “What are you thinking?”
His voice echoed across the church, betraying a sense of revitalization that his companions hadn’t yet experienced. “Do you know the song, ‘Chimes of Freedom,’ by Bob Dylan?”
Pete answered sarcastically, “I try not to think of anything by Bob Dylan.”
Ron scoffed. “It’s just that, well, I can’t help but think that we just walked into that song.”
Alyssa moved closer to him. With a genuine interest in what he had to say, she asked “How does it go, Ron?”
“The first lines of the song go something like this:
“I’ve always loved that song. He goes on to sing about how the chimes of freedom touched everyone who sought shelter from the storm which then reached out to the people he admired and loathed, extending, in one way or another, to everyone in the world. There’s a certain unity to it.”
Lynda cleared her throat. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to begin the song by saying, “It was a dark and stormy night?”
Ron laughed. “Um. No. It’s not—”
“But that’s what he said, isn’t it? Between sundown’s finish and midnight’s broken toll is night. Thunder went crashing, so it was stormy. It was a dark and stormy night.”
Letting out a deep sigh, Ron demurred. “Saying ‘it was a dark and stormy night’ is just too cliche. This way has a lot more poetry and symbolism.”
Pete defended his friend. “I’ll tell you what I’m thinking of. What’s that line by C.S. Lewis? April is the cruelest month, or something like that?”
“T.S. Eliot,” Ron corrected him. “It’s from ‘The Wasteland’.”
“Sorry. Either way, here we are, five friends taking spring break amid less than ideal conditions, it’s raining profusely outside, and didn’t you say you smelled lilacs outside, Lynda? There’s something in that quote about lilacs, too, isn’t there?”
Lynda nodded her head yes.
Ron smiled. “I guess you really did learn something in Lit 101 two years ago, didn’t you?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, you’ve got a good point. I thought of that quote, too. Eliot wasn’t the only one who waxed poetic about April’s cruelty. Chaucer did it in the Canterbury Tales. That’s part of why I thought of ‘Chimes of Freedom.’ That song, believe it or not, is a modern Canterbury Tales.”
Irene stood up and spoke quickly, impatiently. “When we get back home, you can play it for us. Right now, I’d just like to see if this place has a bathroom and maybe change into some dry — dryer, I should say — clothes.”
Alyssa stood up. “I’m with you. Besides, I’m not sure we should be going anywhere in here alone.”
Lynda joined Alyssa and Irene. “Why not all three of us go? That way, the guys can change here.”
Neither Irene or Alyssa objected to Lynda’s suggestion. Ron started to rummage in his backpack. As the three women started to walk away, Ron stopped Irene and handed her a flashlight. “You might need this.”
“Thanks.”
Pete called out, “When you find the bathroom, could you let us know where it is?”
The three women strode semi-confidently across the sanctuary and towards what appeared to be a door near altar, the pounding rain accentuating each stride.
Once he was certain the women wouldn’t hear, Pete looked over at Ron. “Why do you keep trying to impress Irene, dude? She doesn’t have the patience for all of this artsy-fartsy shit. Besides, can’t you tell how much Alyssa wants you?”
“Yeah, I know. But you know how it is. I can’t have Irene, which is why I want her. I can have Alyssa, which is why I don’t.” Ron rummaged around in his backpack and found a clean shirt and a pair of jeans. Why he’d decided to wear shorts that morning, he couldn’t remember, but it didn’t seem all that bad an idea at the time. “How long do you think it’ll be before the storm lets up?”