Grant removed a fabric-covered bundle from the small wooden box. Unfolding the soft cloth, he revealed a palm-sized device which looked like an earlier incarnation of a communication pad, a data chip and a pair of small objects I didn't recognize. He picked up the chip and inserted it into a slot on the side of the pad.
"Are the images you talked about, of people touching, stored on that chip?" I asked.
"Yes." Grant picked up the pad and began tapping its screen. When he found what he was looking for he handed me the device.
I peered into the small screen and widened my eyes. It was a black and white picture of a man and woman kissing in the middle of a city street with a number of smiling people in the background. The woman, dressed in a loose white knee-length tunic, was bent backwards, held in the arms of a man wearing a dark uniform and a white hat. The words
V-J Day in Times Square photograph by Alfred Eisenstaedt
appeared under it.
"Oh Grant, this is so beautiful. They are actually kissing in public, in front of other people, and everyone around them is
smiling!
Looking at it makes me feel so happy."
He smiled. "This is one of my favorites. It perfectly captured a moment in history, a time when people like us were everywhere, when touching was not only permitted, but celebrated."
We sat gazing at the picture for a long time. As I admired it I thought about all of the people shown. They had been dead for centuries, yet I couldn't help but feel connected to them. With the exception of Grant, in some ways I had more in common with these humans than I did the people of my own time.
"Are there other pictures of people touching?" I asked.
He nodded. After showing me how to use the pad, we sat side by side and looked at image after image of humans engaged in various forms of physical contact. We saw smiling family units with caretakers cradling children in their arms, opposite- and same-gendered couples in intimate embraces, groups of people laughing, their arms draped around waists and shoulders.
All of these records of human closeness reminded us that we, too, were not alone. Putting down the pad, we reached for each other, kissing and stroking hands and hair and faces.
~*~*~
"Would you like to listen to some music today?" Grant asked me the next morning after we retrieved the secret box from its hiding place.
"All music sounds pretty much the same to me. I'd rather look at more pictures of people touching." Music was something I associated with the regime, something I hardly wanted to be reminded of just before engaging in unlawful activity.
Grant smiled. "And we will. I want you to read about humans touching as well. But first I'd like you to listen to a few things. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."
I was skeptical, but there was no doubt what I'd seen yesterday was powerful, life changing. I didn't know how music could possibly compare, but Grant seemed so certain I would enjoy the experience I couldn't refuse.
"Very well."
"Here, put these around your ears." He handed me a matching pair of curved objects made from a flexible material. They were shaped like a
C
, each with a small disc attached to one end.
"What are they?" I asked, holding them in my open palm.
"They're earpieces, devices for projecting sound into your ears, similar to the headpiece on the SxTC. Here, let me show you how to put them on."
A short time later a wave of music swelled inside of my head. It was comprised of multiple strands of distinct, melodic tones, some deeper and grounding, others soaring high above the rest. They wove together into a single harmonious body, flowing gracefully as the music swelled and receded.
Tears rose in my eyes and spilled over, raining down onto the floor. But all too soon the music faded away, and I was left only with echoes, lingering like the memory of a caress. One of Grant's hands closed over mine. The other lifted my chin and wiped away my tears. I removed the earpieces and looked at him, unable to speak.
"I, I...I had no idea," I whispered at last, my lips quivering as fresh tears threatened to overflow. "I had no idea music could be so glorious, so...filled with emotion."
He nodded slowly and squeezed my hand. "Neither did I."
"What is it called?"
"The file is marked 'Violin Romance No. 2 by Ludwig Van Beethoven'."
"Is there more music on the chip?"
"Yes; a lot more, and of many different types. Some is complex and harmonious, like the piece you just listened to. Others are loud and discordant. There is music based almost entirely on rhythm, music where people sing, using their voices as instruments, and music which combines any or all of these elements."
I could hardly conceive of such things. "Can I listen to all of it?"
He grinned. "There are too many files to do it all in one day, but I can try to give you a cross section of some of the different types."
"I would like that," I replied, giddy with anticipation. "I am especially interested in listening to some music where people use their voices as instruments."
"Of course," he confirmed, smiling.
"But first, would it be possible to listen to more like the one you just played?"
He played one file after another for me, each a revelation as he led me through an impromptu tour of musical history.
I wanted to share the experience with him; it seemed unfair to indulge in such pleasure alone. After some discussion, Grant agreed to use one of the earpieces while I wore the other. He warned the full effect would be diminished with only a single earpiece each, but I insisted. Considering the gift he'd given me, it seemed hardly a sacrifice, especially now that we could experience it together.
Some time later, he asked me if I would be interested in listening to something much different than what we'd heard thus far. I agreed at once, eager to hear what other musical treasures he had in store.
Hey, hey mama, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove...
