Alarmed, he looks at the door.
No knock, no bell, no call.
She is late.
She is never late.
Mr. Danan looks at the telephone, ornate, antique, and little more than a paperweight.
It does not ring.
Debate rages within his own mind.
Had she found him unworthy?
His own Eleonora;
Would this be his lost love?
Standing at the telephone his fingers press the buttons, hands shaking.
Words never come, he drops the receiver with a thud.
They made no vow to each other.
He should not consider her his own.
They shared so much.
He told her stories that he had never told anyone else
Should he go look for her on the streets?
No. If he left and she came to the door he would miss her.
What if she were ill?
What if she were unable to call him?
He must remain calm.
She may need him.
His brow furrowed.
What could he do but wait.
Was waiting cowardly?
Would she expect him to come to her?
Should he have pursued her with the ardor he felt in his heart?
Yes, that might be what she expected.
She entered his life suddenly.
Would she leave suddenly?
A thought he could not bear
He drew in a deep breath as a lump formed in his throat.
Like a work of art,
Her gentle face resembles a painting by Raphel.
A thousand brushes on a thousand canvases could never capture the qualities of her beauty.
What had he to offer her?
Should he try the telephone again?
His mind continued to spar with itself.
If she were merely a loyal friend what would he do?
Yes, he would call.
He pressed the buttons one by one as if they were on fire.
He hadn’t any expectation that she would respond.
She was never late.
His mind reeling with worry.
The phone ringing felt like a hammer in his ear.
Heart sinks as he hears the answer phone pick up.
He had no right to expect, did he?
Betrayal written in his eyes.
He stood facing the door.
It had been years since he left to visit a friend.
This was probably the most important visit of his life.
Hat, gloves, coat in his hand.
The door blew open as a powerful wind swept through the shop.
There she stood bundled up, protected against the cold.
“Mr. Danan, have you any coffee,” the small voice said from behind a scarf.
The smile on his face radiated joy.
“Yes, I have coffee,” he answered.
He turned toward the back of the shop to hide the tears.
Drawing out a clothes rack, he hung her coat up to dry while she sat by the fire.
“Tell me about your day,” said she.
How well her mother chose her name.
She brought him contentment;
She was his bliss.
Read the follow up, “Window Shopping“.