We wound our way along the pathways of Addison’s Walk to the river’s edge as the sun burst through a cloud. My breath caught in my throat. “This,” I said. “This is the place you wrote to me about—where you walked all night with Tolkien and Dyson. This is the place you came to believe.”
“Yes.” He tipped his hat in response.
“It’s like walking into one of your stories, to see a place once only imagined. To see where you were convinced of the one true myth.”
“That God is the storyteller and Providence is his own storyline.” He stopped and exhaled.
“I wish I’d been here for that discussion, to have someone like you to talk to, or have just listened in.”
“Ah.” Jack laughed and leaned on his walking stick with that twinkle in his eye. “You think you could have just listened?”
I smiled and shook my head. “I’d like to think so . . .”
“It would have been a better conversation were you included.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it? One minute we don’t believe at all. In fact, we are a bit snobbish about those who do believe. And then we know it’s true. We just know.”
He stared at me so intently I almost looked away. “It seemed sudden, didn’t it? But we know it’s not. It had been creeping up on both of us all of our lives.”
“Yes,” I said, and a tremor rumbled under my chest—to be seen like this by a man, to know he felt and sensed all that I did.
He began walking again. “Yet even as I believed in God, I wasn’t sure if I believed in Christ.”
“When did that happen? Here also?” I imagined the air remembering, the trees and the flowers and all the company of heaven remembering the conversation Jack Lewis had on this very walkway, the one that changed his life.
“No.” He laughed. “I was in the side car of Warnie’s motorcycle on the way to the zoo. Somewhere between the Kilns and the zoo, I believed in Christ. I don’t know where it happened on that ride, but it did.”
“In a side car on the way to the zoo. God does have a sense of humor.” I fell silent a moment, watching the flow of the river. “I can see why God would reveal himself here. It’s achingly beautiful. I would come here every day if I could.”
“I do.”
With each dropperful of our lives that we dripped into our conversation, the closer we became. It was a quick flutter inside my belly that told me to be careful. I’d ruined more than one friendship with the wrong kind of love. This was a friendship I would never sacrifice.
“Tell me about your average day, Jack,” I said brightly.
He swung his walking stick in a circle and then popped it onto the ground. “It’s not so thrilling. Maybe you’d rather imagine.”
“No.” I shook my head and my hat fell over my eyes; I pushed it back with a laugh. “Bore me.”
“On the nights I stay here in my rooms, I’m awakened at seven fifteen by my page bringing me tea. Then I walk down here.” He tapped his walking stick on the green earth and looked directly at me. “To Addison’s Walk. I linger for as long as I can. I pray and allow nature to bring me to silence.”
“The beauty that brings us to peace and whispers that there’s something more.”
“And every square inch claimed by God.” He gave me that look I’d come to know—that we agreed and there was nothing more to say. It was just enough.
“Then at eight o’clock we have Dean’s Prayers in the chapel.” He pointed toward the quadrangle. “Then to breakfast in the Common Room, and by nine in the morning I’m in my rooms, reading correspondence and answering as bloody much as I can. My students then arrive until about one in the afternoon.”
“Since I’ve been here I’ve barely been up before nine,” I said. “And there you are with half your day done. And structured. I believe I need more of your order.”
“I’m quite sure your life has more excitement,” he said. “And variety.”
“Well, go on,” I urged, hungry for more of his everyday-ness.
“Some afternoons I give lectures on High Street. But usually after my students leave, I walk or catch a bus back to the Kilns, three miles from here. Once home, I sneak my way into the fourth dimension.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “My nap. Then I’m back here by five for more tutoring. It’s the evenings I enjoy most—full of readings and guests and conversation in the Common Room at Magdalen.”