The Man in the Moonlight

One steamy night in July, a nurse and her daughter took a dip in their local pond, not expecting to find anything new and strange. They were wrong.

A car honked. Stefanie shifted gears and reflected that changing gears described what she and Mai would have to go through now. It had been hard to say good-by to Mai three weeks ago, but now Stefanie could feel distance between them. "Sweetie, Cornwall Pond is practically in our back yard. Let’s take a quick dip and get some pizza after.”

They left the highway and headed to the pond, past a rusty sign that read, "NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY. SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK.”

Most people ignored the warning and swam during the day but not usually at night. Stefanie and Mai had the beach to themselves. Mai giggled and splashed in the cool water, and Stefanie smiled.

As they sat on the sand in the moonlight, Mai whispered, "Mom, are you scared?"

"No, why? This is practically our backyard.”

"I heard something just now. It sounded like a wolf howling.”

"Probably just the Cochranes' dog. It hates being tied up at night.” Stefanie stood up. A nearby splashing made her pause.

"Mom, I'm scared!" Mai wailed. "Let's go home now!"

The noise turned into a muffled yelling. "Help. . .”

"There's someone out there!" Stefanie cupped her hands around her mouth. "We're coming. Hang on!"

"Ich kann nicht schwimmen! I cannot swim.”

Stefanie froze. She hadn't spoken German since her father had died.

Mai screamed, "Mom, do something!"

Stefanie plunged into the water. She had never rescued someone before, and the water rose to her chest as she struck out towards the flailing figure.

"Kommt hier!" she gasped. "Deinen Hand. Give me your hand!" Their hands met and he nearly pulled her under. Choking on a mouthful of water, she struggled to stay afloat. She saw Mai’s small figure dancing and screaming on the sand far away.

With a rush of adrenaline, Stefanie found the strength to swim back to shore with her burden. Her feet touched the bottom and she hauled the man in behind her like reeling in a fish. They both collapsed, coughing.

Mai jumped up and down. “You did it, Mom! You're a hero!"

Stefanie didn't feel like a hero. She felt sick. She sat up and struggled to catch her breath. The man rolled onto his back, still coughing.

Mai stared down at him with wide eyes, then leaned over and whispered into her mother’s ear. “Look, Mom, he’s naked.”

Stefanie tossed her towel over him and stood up. ”Let’s look for some clothes.”

The little girl trotted away. She stopped near a clump of willow trees and called, “Here’s some stuff. Pew-yew!”

Stefanie followed her and found a shirt, some trousers, and a heavy black coat spread like a blanket. She picked up each item, shook the sand out of it, and carried everything back to the man. Mai struggled behind with the boots.

They found him sitting up, his dark hair plastered to his forehead. He clutched the towel around his broad shoulders but Stefanie could see he was shivering. He looked up as Stefanie dropped the clothes beside him.

"Danke. . . Thank you for saving me.”

"How are you feeling?"

"Sick. Cold.”

"But alive."

He nodded. "Alive, yes.”

Mai said, "You're lucky we came down here, you know that? You could have drowned.”

The man smiled. "You are very wise, little one. You knew I needed you.” He clutched the towel tighter and coughed again.

Stefanie glanced at her lighted watch. "Listen, why don't you get dressed and I'll take you home.”

As he struggled to his feet and pulled up his trousers, she saw his well-built body in the moonlight, and her face grew hot. She steered Mai to the car and came back, relieved that he had finished dressing.

"Where do you live?"

He shrugged.

Stefanie frowned. "You mean you don't know? Or you don't have a home?"

"I have come for just a little while.”

"Oh? From where?" They walked towards Stefanie's car.

“I once lived in Wien. Vienna, you call it. But I have been away from there for many years.”

Stefanie’s neck prickled. "Who are you?"

He stopped. "Need you ask?" She turned and studied his face. His square jaw and deep-set dark eyes looked familiar, but she was sure she had never met him before.

Mai called from the car window. "Mom!”

"Not now, Mai!"

"But I have to tell you something.”

Stefanie sighed. "What's so important?"

"I know who he is.”

Both adults stared at her. Mai turned coy and hid her face in her hair, "At least I think I do."

The man squatted down and gazed into her eyes. After a tense moment, Stefanie broke the silence. "Well? Out with it, Mai!"

Mai whispered, "You're Beethoven, aren't you? I saw you in my dream.”

He smiled, but Stefanie blurted, "What dream, Mai? What are you talking about?"

“Last week. . . I dreamed I was playing the piano and he was giving me something to learn. He said, 'Play my music, little one. I wrote it for you.'”

She looked up at her mother. "I keep hearing it in my head. It won't go away!"

"Mai, I hate to tell you this, but Beethoven died a long time ago. People don't come back from the dead.”

Mai's face crumpled, and she hid her face against the seat. Stefanie smoothed down Mai’s wet hair and turned to the man.

"In case no one told you, mister, Beethoven’s been pushing up daisies in Vienna since 1827. You'd better come up with a better story than that.”

She climbed into the car and slammed the door. He stumbled after her, but she rolled up the window and started the engine.

"Wait!" He pounded on the glass. "Help me, Stefanie!"

Her blood ran cold. She opened the window. "How do you know my name?"

The man’s white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. "Du hast meine Musik gespielt -you have played my music.”

"See, Mom? I told you," Mai hissed.

"I am not a stranger to you.”

“If you're Beethoven, what are you doing here?"

He spread his big hands to show they were empty. “Please, open the window.”

Stefanie complied but kept her foot over the accelerator.

"I have come back to give the world my music.”

"What do you mean? What music?"

He gestured to the dark trees and the water. "New music. To give hope to mankind. All this killing. . . all this hate. . . it must stop. Life is--how do you say--a gift. Do not waste it.”

"But your music has already inspired millions of people. It stands for truth and beauty and joy. Your work is immortal.” She shook her head. “I can't believe I'm saying this! Tell me who you really are and I'll help you get on your way.”

The man slammed his fist on the car hood, his eyes fierce, and she jumped. Up until now he had seemed gentle, almost meek. "I am telling you and telling you! You must believe me. If you knew what I knew, if you had been where I have been . . . you would not scorn me.”

He straightened up, his chest heaving, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Help me give my music to the world and then I will go. That is all I ask.”

Stefanie shook her head. “No dice, mister. Now get back!"

He leaped back as she let out the clutch and stomped on the gas. They sped towards town in a cloud of dust.

Mai craned her neck to look back, but the man had disappeared from view. “You shouldn't have done that, Mom!"

"Quiet!"

The girl subsided into quiet sniffling. They drove to the Pizza Palace and ordered a large pepperoni, her favorite, but tonight she turned her head away. By the time they reached the house, she could barely keep her eyes open. Stefanie parked in the driveway and pulled out the Ninja Turtles backpack and leather suitcase with wheels from the trunk.

In the house, Stefanie opened the pizza box on the kitchen table, but Mai headed upstairs to her room instead.

“Mai? Aren’t you hungry? It’s been such a long day for you.”

“No! I just want to sleep.” She changed into her nightie and crawled into bed, pulling up the covers despite the heat.

Stefanie sighed and went down to the kitchen. She had no appetite either but forced herself to eat one slice of the now-cold pizza and washed it down with a bottle of spring water. No sense in getting dehydrated. She hadn’t felt this tired since giving birth to Mai.

Who was that strange man? His accent and straight posture reminded her of her father until his final months, when bone cancer had bowed his spine.

Nothing could bring Stefan Sontag back, no wishes and no prayers could spare him three months of pain. His death had been a blessing.

If people could come back from the dead, why hadn’t her father tried it or at least sent her a message from beyond? Why would Beethoven come back as a half-drowned rat in Cornwall Pond?

When she had finished supper, she left the dishes in the sink and went up to bed. The air had cooled down but sleep didn’t come so easily. She felt a haunting regret, as if she’d missed her only chance for love.