This is an assignment I completed for my Intro to Literature class. Our class discussed the poem and most thought it meant the woman was fickle or untrue to her love. When I read it, I had a different idea in mind, so I expanded the poem into a short story. Mystery Man helped edit it and this is what we came up with:
Slim Cunning Hands – Short Story Adaptation From The Poem
“Slim Cunning Hands”
Slim cunning hands at rest, and cozening eyes-
Under this stone one loved too wildly lies;
How false she was, no granite could declare;
Nor all earth's flowers, how fair.
-Walter De La Mare
He kneeled in the snow, knees wet. The cold from frozen earth crept over him, numbing his body, if not his heart. As he brushed the snow away from the stone marker, hot tears spilled over his cheeks where they froze. He could scarcely believe that the bitter winter had come again already. He stood up, turned to go and caught a brief glimpse of the morning sunlight illuminating the daisy he’d just placed on her grave.
It took him back to another place and time.
He walked the grounds of the new amphitheater on campus just before its dedication ceremony as the orchestra rehearsed for the evening’s concert. The warm sun of early summer shined down on the horns and reflected off the brass, casting a perfect halo around her face. It softened her features, creating an illusion that the light was radiating from within her. The movement of her fingers drew his eyes away momentarily. Those slim hands expertly plucked at the strings of her instrument, an ornate harp with a maiden carved into its column. So intent was her focus; so apparent her passion. For a moment, he indulged in a fantasy. What might those fingers feel like dancing across his own skin? His thoughts were interrupted by the gruff voice of his coworker, Hank, calling him back to his duties. “Johnny, if you’re lookin’ at that harp player, yer wastin’ your time. You know what they say about her. Sure is nice to look at, though.”
This was their final walk-through of the surrounding gardens to make sure everything was perfect for the occasion.
A sparrow’s twitter brought him back to the moment; time to get to work. Even in the winter, plenty of outdoor tasks kept him busy on campus, although sometimes he wonders why he even bothers now.
----
Passing the chapel on his way back to his office, he trips on a loose paver in the walkway. He comes down on one knee; the stone bites into his flesh and he remembers the moment they first touched. Her ensemble was setting up on that same path to play for an outdoor wedding. She was trying to reposition her instrument when she stumbled and started to go down. Instinctively, he reached for the harp, thinking only of sparing the intricately carved maiden. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she landed with a thud and he realized his mistake at once. Why didn’t he have the sense to cushion her? He was shocked when she reached down and cupped his chin in her hand. He was completely unprepared. Her warm breath on his face, he was stunned when her lips brushed his. She explained that the harp was one-of-a-kind, a gift from her mother. It meant more to her than he could possibly imagine.
4:30pm. It’s already too dark to work outside even if it were warm enough, which it isn’t. He steps into the building, the familiar lemon scent of wood polish assaulting his nostrils and for a reason that only just makes sense to him, his eyes well up again. There’d been a time when he’d welcomed the aroma, when the mere hint of it sent a jolt of desire through his body because he knew it meant she was close by. Again, he found himself lost in reverie.
Every day, the same routine… The work he previously relished had become an exquisite torture, the sun inching its way across the sky far too slowly while his hands carried out his duties. Digging, weeding, and pruning. Digging, weeding … pruning. All the while his mind consumed with her. He took great pleasure in mapping out every detail of their next encounter. What would she be wearing? How best to undress her delicately with his calloused hands? Ever so slowly, their mutual anticipation building. Finally, the workday nearly at its end, he’d shower quickly in the maintenance building and walk the short distance to the music building. By now, he had arranged his schedule so that the last of his duties was to polish the wooden banisters that lead to the auditorium balconies. He would complete his work just as the orchestra wrapped up rehearsal for the day, affording him a few moments of private pleasure watching her, watching her hands, her eyes, as he’d done on that first day.
---
He is finished for the day. He sits alone in the dark, sparsely furnished office that has become his second home. His mind drifts to another time, not so long ago. The first snow of the season falling softly outside. Inclement weather has interrupted the routine he and Hank have developed that allows each of them time alone in the office they share. Today, they are here together.
They sit in an uncomfortable silence, which he attributes to the differences in them. Hank is a burly man, perhaps better suited to his position as custodian and groundskeeper than is Johnny. Hank’s interests were confined to tractor pulls, rodeos, and which local watering holes had the best beer on tap. Johnny had tried on more than one occasion to strike up a conversation with Hank, but to no avail. Although Hank would never be mistaken for an intellectual, he was a hard worker and very reliable and they’d never had a cross word between them. Johnny could see Hank fidgeting in his chair, something uncharacteristic for the man.
Hank cleared his throat several times. He seemed nervous, something else out of character. Finally he spoke, “Johnny, I know you’ve been seein’ that harp player. Hell, everyone knows. Thing is, I’m not sure you’re the only one she’s seein’. I seen her on the arm of some good lookin’ fellow who’s studyin’ to be a doctor. She was walking with him, leanin’ on his arm. They looked pretty cozy.”
Johnny felt his heart drop and his stomach clench, but he assured Hank he wasn’t angry with him and even thanked him for passing along the information. He politely excused himself and went to the men’s room to retch. This wasn’t exactly news to Johnny. His head spun with snippets of conversations he’d overheard about her. It amazed him what people said right in front of him while he worked – as if his uniform made him invisible. It amazed him what random thoughts popped into his head as his heart broke.
Johnny snaps back to the present when he sees the lights go out in the hallway. Time to go back to his tiny apartment before the building becomes unbearably cold – turning down the heat at night was a way for the college to cut costs.
---
Just before he walks out into the cold night, Johnny stops before the big double doors, as though he’d forgotten something. In reality, he’s remembering the evening he’d stood there, hidden in shadows. He’d watched her walking close to the guy Hank described. They appeared to be engaged in deep conversation, though he couldn’t hear them. He hated to spy on her; didn’t want to believe, even now, that she was cheating. He waited until they parted where the path split off to the boys’ and girls’ dormitories. At least they hadn’t kissed.
He ran to catch up with her – to confront her. She sighed. She looked almost resigned, as if she’d been through this before, but she agreed to follow him back to his apartment so they could talk privately. As an employee, he wasn’t subject to the same rules of conduct as the students, but they’d always been cautious when she visited him. Despite the tension, they still maintained protocol. When they got to Johnny’s room, they kept their voices low and measured. He’d already made up his mind. If she said she loved him, nothing else mattered. He didn’t even have to ask.
Her eyes disarmed him; those cozening eyes artfully coaxing him into loving her all the more. She told him everything he wanted to hear – that she knew about her reputation of moving from one relationship right into another and she’d earned it, but things were different now; she was different. She loved him with her whole heart and wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, if he’d have her. What more could he ask for? He was under her spell and there was no going back.
He removed a small box from his desk drawer, kneeled down by the bed where she was seated and asked her to marry him. He’d slipped the ring on her finger, and she’d pulled him to her, kissing him deeply; her slim, cunning hands caressed his body as though he were her instrument.
He did his best not to notice how she changed the subject any time he tried to discuss plans for their future. He trusted her when she said the dark circles under her eyes were the result of her grueling studies and rehearsal schedule. He knew how much of herself she poured into her music and he refused to doubt her explanation. Spring brought with it longer work hours for him, so he wasn’t there to see how much she slept during the day. Was it love that blinded him or fear? How could she do such a thing? Was it guilt? How could she promise to love him for the rest of her life, only for that life to end abruptly - and by her own hand?
The biting cold brings him back to the present – back to the darkened hallway and another in a seemingly endless string of lonely nights. The tears flow freely now. He wills himself to push through the doors and step outside.
---
His boots crunch in the snow as he makes his way back to his apartment. He doesn’t want to go. Every reminder of her contained in those rooms is torture to his soul, and yet? He simply can’t bring himself to change a thing. What if he’s missed something? What if here, somewhere, there lies some clue as to why she did it? Did she want him to follow her into death? Was that what she meant by forever? Why didn’t she even have the decency to leave him a note? These questions run through his mind thousands of times. Abruptly, he changes direction and walks towards the chapel, something else he’d done a thousand times, but tonight, he feels inexplicably drawn to enter. The door is locked, but he has the key. He has all the keys, he realizes, except the one most important to him.
Once inside, he isn’t quite sure what to do. It’s too dark to see clearly, but he the idea of turning on a light seems too harsh, so he lights some candles on the altar. For the first time today, he is in the present. He hears the creaking door as he stands there gazing into the small dancing flames. Who has the audacity to interrupt him at this late hour? He turns to look and his knees buckle. What is he doing here, tonight, of all the nights, the anniversary of her death? Johnny didn’t want to hear what the med student had to say, but he needed answers, if there were any.
The med student speaks in halting sentences, “I’ve been watching you. I know you loved her. I should’ve come sooner. I’m… I’m sorry – she made me promise, but it doesn’t really matter now. I can’t stand to see you suffer anymore. I know what you must have thought about her – about us. I don’t know why you stuck with her, but it wasn’t what you thought. That meant everything to her. We were never a couple. She came to me in a, well, I guess you’d call it a professional capacity, but, I mean, I’m not even a doctor yet. I don’t know what made her think… I mean no one could help her, and she knew it... I’m sorry. I’m not making any sense. Let me start from the beginning. Can we sit down?”
They sat in the front pew and were silent for just a moment, then, the med student continued, “We’d known each other since we were kids. We grew up in the same town. I always hoped we’d end up together, but she never saw me that way. She never wanted a serious relationship with anyone. She’d always been like that. You? You took her by surprise. “
“When she was eight years old, her mother started getting sick. At first, the doctors thought Eleanor was suffering from exhaustion and told her to rest. It made sense at the time – the woman had worked hard all her life, but resting didn’t help. No matter what they tried, nothing worked. She got worse. Much worse. She was in excruciating pain the final months of her life. The best they could do for Eleanor was to try to make her comfortable. The family went through hell. At the end, she begged them to help her die. Afterward, a few days after her funeral, Ellie found out her Mom had made provisions for her. It was Eleanor’s life insurance that paid for Ellie’s harp and her college – Eleanor had even picked out the harp before she died, but it took Ellie quite a while before she could even get herself to touch it. Eventually, she poured her heart and soul into her music, maybe as way of trying to bring meaning to her mother’s death.
When Ellie’s symptoms started, she asked me to confirm what she already knew. She made me promise to help her hide her illness so she could make the most of what little time she had with you. She also made me promise to spare you the agony of watching her suffer the way her mother did. Maybe I should have said no, but I couldn’t. How could anyone say no to her? Could you?” &n bsp; &nb sp;