SACRED VOW – CHAPTER 3
KATERINA
Ian and his new friend had quite a few pleasurable visits over the six weeks that followed. With the exception of a couple of short periods when she did not show at all, he saw her one to several times every week. Her visits lasted only seconds on his watch, yet the activity that he could recall made Ian feel that they had been together upwards of several hours at a time.
He came to call the woman Katerina sometime after her second visit. Absent-mindedly interrogating himself after he returned from their time together, trying to get some better idea about what exactly he was experiencing, Ian realized that at some point he had begun referring to her by that name. The certainty and familiarity with which he used the name amused him.
Ian started to search for the justification of this inadvertent christening. Surely, he had picked up something in the vision without realizing it, something that suggested her name. After considerable deliberation, he found no such clue. And yet he experienced discomfort when he did not refer to her as Katerina.
He was certain that he somehow knew her name. And even if it was not her name, what would it hurt to call her Katerina until he knew her name for sure? Using this name was much more soothing to him.
Ian next encountered Katerina as she was sitting in the grass under a tree of beautiful purple flowers. Comforting a dear, little girl, perhaps three years old, on her lap, Katerina acknowledged Ian’s presence at about the moment he became aware of her.
When Katerina spoke to him, the child looked about as if she had no idea whom Katerina was addressing. But, the little girl did not seem disturbed by Katerina’s response. Once the youth decided there was no one else with them, she laid her head back onto Katerina’s breast and closed her eyes.
“You have a lovely daughter,” Ian said.
Katerina shook her head, very slowly, in order not to disturb the child’s rest. The caring look for him on Katerina’s face gave comfort to the depth of Ian’s soul. He had never imagined that there could be so much connection between two people merely through visual communication. No wonder the child was so contented in the company of such an empathic woman.
“She’s not your daughter?” he asked.
Again, another slow denial, and then Katerina stroked the child’s hair.
He looked about at the surroundings. They were in a sculptured garden, spanning in all directions as far as he could see. True, he could not see much more than fifty yards in any direction, but the paths that disappeared in every direction implied there was much more beyond.
When Ian’s attention returned to her, Katerina was gazing intently at him. At first he was a little embarrassed with the attentiveness of her focus.
“You know, I suppose I should start by introducing myself, though it seems we are rather familiar already.” He was starting to ramble, so he calmed himself before continuing, “My name is Ian Sarin. It has been a joy to meet you, dear lady.” He bowed his head.
She nodded in acknowledgement, placed a hand on her chest opposite the head of the sleeping child, and spoke. It was obvious that she had introduced herself, but Ian did not catch her name.
“I am so sorry,” he responded. “I have always been inept at lip-reading.”
Then Ian started nervously rambling again, “You know, after we met the second time, I got the most assured idea that I already knew your name. I had no reason for it, but I just could not help believing that your name was Katerina. In fact, having become so certain of it, I was afraid that I would just call you . . .”
Noticing her smiling and nodding, Ian regained his focus, thinking he had missed something she was trying to convey.
“I am sorry. What did you say?”
Again, she placed a hand on her chest, but spoke with slow, exaggerated movements, slightly pausing between each syllable. She appeared to say I . . . am . . . Kat . . . er . . . ina.
What she said seemed obvious, but Ian distrusted his eyes. Surely, his own preconception of her name was making him imagine that he understood what she said. Still, he had to check.
“Katerina? Your name is Katerina?”
She nodded with enough enthusiasm that the little girl stirred to see what was happening.
“That’s amazing,” he said. “How could I have possibly guessed that?”
Katerina kissed the little girl’s cheek, and tried to coax her head back to rest. Apparently, the little one had received all the comfort she required and was fully revitalized. Without any further indication of intent, the child jumped to her feet, looked quickly to one side, and started to talk excitedly.
Katerina nodded, and the girl rushed toward one of the many paths radiating from the clearing. Waving back to Katerina, the child barely missed running into Ian. She seemed no more aware of his presence than she had earlier.
He laughed at the transformation and watched the child disappear around a flowerbed. When he turned to look back at Katerina, Ian was surprised that she was now standing right in front of him, gazing into his eyes.
Katerina reached to touch him, but her hand remained barely suspended in front of the upper right side of his chest. “Hello,” she mouthed. He was sure of that.
Reflexively, Ian reached to touch her face.
He was so engrossed in her eyes, that he did not really pay any attention to his hand. Anticipating the touch, his senses informed him that his hand had moved enough that it should now be reporting the feel of Katerina’s skin.
Ian pulled his attention from her eyes and looked to where he expected himself to be touching her face, along her jaw line. The translucent distortion that he saw instead of his hand caused him to jerk backwards. He pulled his hand back, bringing it right in front of his eyes for a better look. Still Ian saw nothing but a fuzzy impression of a hand.
“What the . . . ?” he said, stepping back again.
Noticing that Katerina was waving her hand in front of his face, Ian let his attention follow her hand. She drew a single finger to her lips, gently suggesting quiet, calm. From her lips, his attention went back to her eyes; in the process he became as subdued as the child had been a moment before.
What difference does it make that my hand is not solid? he thought. Ian looked around himself and back to Katerina. It was an odd feeling to perceive himself as the only intangibility in the environment.
“Look where I am, what I am doing,” he said out loud, “Why should I be so surprised just because I see something else unexpected?”
Though still not completely comfortable with the appearance of his hand, he was calmed. Being careful not to point with his finger, Ian asked for a tour. “Let’s take a walk. Please tell me about this gorgeous garden.”
They wandered about for quite a while, winding through path after path. It was all much manicured, more like an arboretum or a study of wild flora than the garden of even a lavish estate. He didn’t see any indication of a dwelling of any kind. Of course, since Ian could not hear anything during the visitations he could not rely on sound to tell him if they were close to any houses.
With the sights and the company, it did not take Ian long to completely forget about the distortion he saw instead of his hand. The couple talked like long-lost, dear friends, spending most of the time looking into each other’s eyes as they talked and walked. He was surprised that neither of them stumbled, he especially, since he had no idea where they were going.
Though he did not ever feel the contact, Katerina reached out to touch or stroke Ian—or more precisely, his location—frequently. He was amazed how much intimacy could be conferred by the implication of such a motion. The gentleness with which Katerina carried out those gestures, the look in her eyes, almost satisfied any need for touch, to a degree that he had never known before.
When she was close enough, Ian “touched” Katerina. He had no physical sensation as a result of the effort, and he did not look for confirmation of that touch. He did not want the pleasure of his experience interrupted by what he suspected he would or would not see.
As Katerina continued with the tour of the endless garden, Ian’s conscious mind started to push for answers to questions. Was he only a matter of his consciousness projecting to a location near Katerina when he was in her world? If so, what were the perceived sensations of his body in this place? He experienced fragrances, experienced movement as he walked.
And there was one odd sensation that was starting to disturb him. Ian’s movement had a vague hint of being guided, as if he was in some confined space. He walked along with Katerina, but it didn’t fully feel as if he was moving as a result of his own physical effort. The idea made no sense to him. Yet, it did explain why he never stumbled as he kept his eyes only on Katerina during their tour of the garden.
Two little children came barreling down the path. Their little faces lit up when they saw Katerina. They began chattering and waving, without slowing their pace. She replied with similar enthusiasm. Off they disappeared in the opposite direction, without any indication that they had seen Katerina’s guest.
The interruption was good for Ian. It brought him back to the joy of his moment. He returned to the steady exchanges with Katerina, rather than dwelling on the pointless concerns of his conscious mind.
Shortly afterward, he and Katerina stepped into a clearing and the sky opened up over them. The flood of sunlight drew Ian’s attention ahead and then upward, where he noticed a magnificent old-world building.
“What a remarkable place, Katerina! What is that?” Ian said, looking back and forth between Katerina and the structure, which stood about fifty feet away.
Moving in front of him, Katerina lifted her left hand toward the structure, as if to introduce it to him.
Overwhelmed by its unique beauty, Ian repeated, “What is it?”
She looked him right in the face and began to slowly pronounce something. Ian hated trying to lip-read. He found the slow, labored pronunciations to be more distracting than helpful. For all he knew, Ian caught nothing of what Katerina said, despite her efforts.
“Do you live here?” he guessed.
Yes, she nodded. Motioning for him to move forward, they headed for a large, ornate entrance. Katerina began telling him about it, at normal speed.
Her home was the archetypal French country cottage. It was neither small, nor very big. The exterior was extremely well crafted with stone, stucco, and heavy timbers. Quite a bit of the stone and exposed wood was carved, apparently by various craftspeople on different themes, at different times since the styles were so different. The cottage had to have been ancient. Unless her world was much different from his, he thought, not even the wealthy built homes of this size with such detail and artistry anymore.
Ian realized that he was acting as excitedly as one of Katerina’s young friends. Moving this way and that, he tried to take in all the rich detail. Katerina moved toward whatever he showed an interest in and tried to tell him about what he was seeing. Nearer the main door, off to one side of the building, there was a sculpture that fascinated him. Katerina stopped to see what he was looking at.
A path led directly to the intriguing sculpture. She waited to see if he wished a closer look. Ian turned toward the house, concluding that he could see the statue well enough from where he was, and he did not want to delay their entry into the house. Katerina followed suit and turned to continue toward the door.
An instant later Ian changed his mind. “I’ll be right back, Katerina. I am going to run over there for a quick look at the statue.”
As he was behind her, Katerina did not see his change of direction. A few steps into his jog, a sense of internal strain, a visceral pull, started to get Ian’s attention. Another couple of steps and he experienced a rush of faintness. Before he could take another step, Ian lunged back—against his recliner.
The return to his study was abrupt, but he recovered without complication. His little stroll toward the statue alone let him know he was correct in supposing he could not move far from Katerina when in her reality. Based on that experience and the children’s unawareness of him, Ian concluded that in that place he was an apparition honed in on, and seen only by Katerina.
Katerina didn’t appear every evening that he had a cup of tea in his red leather chair, and she never appeared when that particular teapot was not in the study. Nor would she visit Ian in any other room, even if he had tea with that teapot there. One evening Ian found out she could materialize in the study when he was not having tea, but had, nonetheless, brought the pot into the room.
Planning to have tea a little later, Ian was in the kitchen rinsing the teapot when the phone rang. Still drying the outside of the pot, he went to the study to pick up the cordless extension. As he talked, Ian sat down in the antique recliner and placed the teapot on the table to his right. When the conversation was over, Ian turned off the phone, and laid it on the arm of the chair.
For no particular reason, Ian continued to sit and stare at the teapot. Suddenly he felt Katerina’s presence. Although it had not been that way in the initial visions, he had recently noticed that his awareness of Katerina was now instantaneous. No progression of sensations led to their connection. During the last few visits, she had consistently appeared someplace in his study, as if out of nowhere, without warning. Or, more likely, Ian had suddenly found himself in her world.
On this particular visit, Katerina was sitting on a bench near the very statue that had caused him trouble in a previous visit. She was playing a wooden flute. Of course he couldn’t hear the music she was making, but she painted a serene picture and seemed to be enjoying herself.
Quite content that he could move only in proximity with Katerina, Ian got her attention and pointed at the statue, to make sure it was not too far away. She nodded to confirm his intention.
The countenance of the statue looked uncannily familiar. It was a woman who looked very similar to Katerina, but it was not she. The stature and dress were regal. Ian leaned forward and stared right into the eyes of this stone woman. Even in marble, those eyes implied a wisdom that could recognize a person by his or her spirit within.
An unbelievably loud, grating noise rose right up Ian’s spinal cord. When it reached the base of his head, a shattering pain shot through the top of his skull. Ian jerked away from the statue, unable to believe that even in this place stone could generate such a sound.
“What is that?” he said.
The noise stopped. But he was back in his study as well. The noise had been the phone ringing and it stopped only after Ian’s convulsion knocked it to the floor, breaking the connection.
In panic he looked at the table next to the chair, where he always set the teapot.
“Thank you, thank you,” Ian said. He had flung out only his left arm to silence the phone. The teapot sat safely on the table to his right.
He got up, disconnected every phone in the house, and pulled the curtains closed. He made tea and had a cup, hoping to return to Katerina and relax. He was unsuccessful in both pursuits.
“Tomorrow I will disconnect the doorbell as well,” he said, finally rising from the chair. “I’ll never again be yanked back before my visit is complete!”
From then on, Ian went through an invariable process of closing the house up, sealing himself off, and switching off all the phones before each tea.
The day soon came when Ian was able to visit Katerina in her cottage. With all his precautions in place, he settled into the recliner one night, hot pot of tea prepared and on the table beside him. He had not poured himself a cup. Yet, an old room of large stone and timber-frame opened up before Ian. The interior reflected the same grand artistry and craftsmanship as that he had previously seen on the exterior.
It took him a moment to become aware of his new surroundings, but Katerina was already smiling and talking to him— as she worked with some herbs.
“Hello, dear one,” he said. “Your home is even lovelier inside.”
With her hands in a pot of a liquid mix, she motioned with her head for him to look around. Fearful of encountering the limit of his energetic tether, he turned slowly around where he stood, taking in every detail of the environment.
The room was reasonably large, perhaps twenty-five by thirty feet. Judging by what he had previously noticed about the exterior size of the cottage, the staircase to the left of the area, and the windows he had seen from outside, Ian knew there were several other rooms in the house. This room seemed to serve as the all-purpose area. It was kitchen, dining room, and study. Shelves of books and a couple of large, comfortable upholstered chairs sat at one end. He and Katerina were at the opposite end.
The primary entryway was through an arched door in the center of one wall. The floor beneath Ian’s feet was of stone similar to slate, but more rustic. A few feet in front of the door was a sturdy, old rectory-style dining table, flanked by benches. Opposite the door was a very wide span of deep-set leaded transom windows, set over a kitchen counter made of large, handmade ceramic tiles. The cabinets under the counter were handmade, with wooden knobs. Shelves holding many kinds of ceramic jars covered the wall on either side of the windows behind the countertop. Between the windows and the back of the counter top, there was a window box filled with various flowers and herbs. Dried bunches of plants hung from the ceiling in several locations.
While Katerina worked with the flower essences, and another pot of dyes, Ian stayed near her. He could not assist her with her chores, for he still proved to be without substance in her world. Though unable to hear what she told him about her tasks, Ian could smell the aromas and was happy just to see the sights and pastimes of her life.
Obviously, Katerina had acquiesced to Ian’s innate inability to lip-read, no longer seeming to expect further progress. Ian was convinced that they understood much more of the intention of their communication by speaking naturally. One thing he was certain of: the silence did not diminish their enthusiasm for communicating with each other.
“What is your vocation, Katerina? I still don’t know if I visit only when you are away from work,” he said. “That happens to be the case with me because I initiate the visits, and can only do so at home, after work.”
Katerina watched him, considerately.
“At least I imagine that I instigate the visits—perhaps foolishly.” Ian had to question just how much of this experience he could afford to make assumptions about. It was all so anomalous.
He looked back at Katerina. She warmly smiled, continuing her work and patiently waiting for him to go on.
Ian speculated that the image of his form must be clearer to Katerina than it was to him in her world. When he spoke, she was always attentive for the duration of his monologue. Ian considered that this conduct might have been due to a difference in their cultures, but the ardor of her attention sometimes made him uncomfortable. If not for the familiarity that she also expressed, Ian might have thought she believed him to be a visiting dignitary or luminary. Maybe such a visitor as himself was not so common in this reality either.
“Never mind talk about work. I’m finished for the day,” he said.
Starting another look around the room, Ian changed his focus. “I think I like your world better than mine. With you being here, I am certain of it.”
It appeared that Katerina was reasonably well-to-do, for even if the house was an old, inherited family home, it would have cost a fortune to maintain the structure and its ornamentation, not to mention the extensive gardens that surrounded it. Even though the gas oven and the lighting that was similar to electricity implied that Katerina lived in a time with some modern technology, the furniture, doors, and windows of her home followed the décor of an architectural “period display”. It crossed Ian’s mind that he had only seen a home furnished with such a disassociation to present time when it was a part of a cultural heritage display, or perhaps a church property used as the home of a vicar in a wealthy parish.
When Ian returned his attention to Katerina, she began a very lively, cheerful conversation. He watched closely and picked up what little he could. From her animation and facial expressions, he took in the joyfulness she was conveying. Ian caught his name a couple of times, and a few hand gestures certainly were referring to him. She seemed to be speaking of some interaction that she had had with others, concerning him.
Stopping mid-sentence, Katerina jerked her head toward the heavy, arched door. The top half of it was open. She rose quickly from the stool where she had been sitting, and wiped her hands dry on a towel that lay on the counter. Ian had no idea of the sound she was responding to, but it now had her full consideration.
She moved quickly across the room, and swung open the bottom of the door. After a momentary delay, Katerina stepped out onto the stoop, awaiting some arrival. Of course, Ian followed, as he knew he must if he expected to continue the visit.
A little boy charged up the pathway, crying. Katerina kneeled and scooped him into her lap. She rocked and stroked him, speaking all the while. Ian slipped out the door and came close to watch her perform this magic. His movement disturbed neither the child nor Katerina. Though Ian believed that no one but Katerina could see him in this place, he suspected that the little boy would not have noticed anyone else anyway. The boy was completely focused on the comfort he was receiving from Katerina.
Apparently the child had scraped his leg. Katerina was consoling him, his head on her shoulder next to her face. She had one arm wrapped around him, and the other hand pulled various salves and herbs from her pockets and applied them. It was quite a ballet of motion. No wonder the children came to her. Ian could see how the rhythm of her speech and the loving way she touched the little boy would soothe him. Watching it was enough to hypnotize Ian into a state of tranquility.
Katerina must be the village godmother, Ian thought. He didn’t doubt that she was particularly adept at healing small injuries, whether to body or to spirit.
After a while, the boy was sufficiently soothed. His energetic predisposition returned, and he slid off Katerina’s lap. She gave him a little advice and a peck on the cheek. Away he went as fast as he had come. Katerina’s face was sublime radiance as she rose and returned her attention to Ian.
“Lovely,” he said. “What a lucky child.” What a lucky man, he thought of himself.
Fully returning from what almost seemed a meditative state, Katerina beamed a smile at Ian and continued with what he assumed was her previous conversation. They moved back into the cottage.
Thinking about Katerina’s manner with the children, Ian wondered why she was the only other adult he had seen in this place. But that question was soon to be resolved.
Ian and Katerina had a particularly long visit that day. As they talked Katerina sketched some pictures. Then she painted for a while. Later, she wove fragile baskets from the stems of the flowers that she had used in the essences earlier that morning. Ian was so comfortable and involved in their visit that he did not even notice when he started to return home. There was no warning at all. Instantaneously, he was sitting in his chair, still wrapped in the warmth of Katerina’s company. But he was alone now.
Without thinking about it, Ian looked at his watch and realized it showed he had eased into his chair only a few minutes before.
Enjoying his immediate memories, he thought about Katerina with the children during his various visits. It crossed Ian’s mind that she was not only supremely attentive with them. She paid the same special consideration to him as well. She possessed a remarkable selflessness, a singular thoughtfulness that made one feel more significant with her than when outside her company.
Ian’s visits with Katerina continued to be silent, but with every visit he felt a greater intimacy with her. He knew that much of what he felt was all in his mind. Ian became acutely aware, however, of the value of kind and loving gestures—of touch and conversation. He began to give greater value to the many other ways people can convey affection to each other, but so often take for granted.
Ian became certain that the teapot was the most crucial element in invoking the visits. During two lapses when he had no visits, however, it proved evident that removing anything else from the room also had a disruptive effect. He could only speculate why, since the combination of those items never caused the experience before the addition of the teapot.
The first period of Katerina’s absence began when Ian removed a balloon-back chair in front of his desk in the study to have its seat re-caned. At the time, Ian had no idea why Katerina ceased to join him in the tea ritual during the two weeks that the chair was being repaired. As the days passed he became quite distressed by her absence. He only hoped that the remarkable circumstances that made her visits possible had not ceased to exist.
On the evening Ian picked up the repaired chair, he had a flat tire on the way home. There was a light mist of freezing rain, which made changing the tire all the more frustrating. He was chilled when he got home. He brought the chair in, placed it beside the desk, and immediately started to make some tea, for a little warmth and comfort.
Concentrating on his warming brew, he looked up to see Katerina sitting in the newly caned chair, smiling and talking to him while she worked on a book of handmade paper.
His body was suddenly filled with warmth, and his heart gladdened.
“It is so good to see you, dear, dear friend,” he said. “Until this moment, I didn’t realize just how much I had missed you.” Ian was so overwhelmed with happiness that he was trembling slightly. He had to put the teacup down until he could recover.
Katerina smiled and nodded. Looking directly into Ian’s eyes, she spoke for a few moments, her facial expressions seeming to reciprocate his feelings. As usual, the only words he heard were his own.
Picking up his teacup, Ian rose from the chair and moved toward her. “How do you like the new caning? Does it sit well?”
Katerina was looking down, tying the binding on her book. Ian saw that she did not know that he was speaking. It didn’t matter. He was so content though, that as he neared her he continued talking.
“Do you think the absence of the chair could have interfered with our visit, Katerina? I don’t understand how it could. We were never able to come to each other before the teapot. I am sure the teapot is the source of our connection.”
Midway through his last sentence, as Ian was standing just in front of her, Katerina looked up at him. Raising her eyebrows, she questioned him for what he had said.
“I said that I wish I could do better at lip-reading. I am sure you can understand what I am saying, but it won’t help much for me to ask you a question because I won’t be able to understand your response.”
Her fingers finishing the knot on the binding, Katerina raised her shoulders and then began talking to Ian about something, very casually. He was sure it was intended to provide some comfort. She reached out to “touch” him.
After a couple of minutes, she quickly turned her head to one side, as if she had heard something.
“What is it, Katerina?” he said.
She lifted a finger, retaining her focus outside his study.
“Is one of your children calling?”
Katerina tilted her head and started to rise. Instead of coming to her feet before him, she vanished.
There he was, teacup in hand, looking at his newly caned chair. Comforted by her return, he moved back to the recliner and admired the caning that Katerina had been sitting on only moments before.
“Welcome back, Katerina,” he said as if she were still with him. “Come back to see me anytime.”
It was rare that they visited in his world, and Ian could not discern what determined who would visit whom. Though Katerina’s world was much more interesting to him, he would have preferred to always have her visit him in his study. When visiting in his home, Ian had independent mobility, the experience of moving about at will. He was also afforded the comfort of being fully corporeal. Katerina appeared to be solid flesh in either environment.
Much to Ian’s pleasure, his and Katerina’s teatime visits occurred regularly after that, and were uninterrupted for a couple of weeks. Then one night, he sat down with tea, and was surprised to find that he remained alone. He lingered, having several cups, thinking Katerina might return.
“What is keeping you away tonight, Katerina? Hope you are having fun. I miss you.”
He was disappointed, but not overly distressed. After all, Katerina did not visit every night.
The next night, still alone, he was a little more anxious. Just drinking tea and letting his mind wander, for no particular reason the incident with the balloon-backed chair came to mind suddenly.
“Oh, no. Is it I that have been keeping you away?” he said.
Ian began to frantically go over the inventory of the room, searching for what he might have done to disturb the ambience of the room.
“Think, Ian. Something tells me you’ve done something that you shouldn’t have.”
Midway through the second cup of tea, he realized what it was. The day before he had moved a Fauvist-style painting of a male angel—painted by a local artist—to another room. Without thought of any consequence, he just decided to try the painting elsewhere.
“The painting; I moved that angel! What was I thinking?”
He rushed to the painting and brought it back to its previous location in the study. Confidently, Ian headed back to his chair. Before he could raise his cup from the table, Katerina had come and gone. He could not remember any of the activity of the visit, but he had the sense that she had been with him. It was as if she made the connection, imbued him and the room with her presence, without ever needing to materialize.
Never again did Ian allow any article to be moved from the study.
