The Notebook

use only your science training and your books,\" but they shake theirheads and answer: \"Alzheimer's does not work like this. With hercondition, it's just not possible to have a conversation or improve asthe day goes on. Ever.\" But she does. Not every day, not most of the time, and definitely lessthan she used to. But sometimes. And all that is gone on these days isher memory, as if she has amnesia. Her emotions are normal, herthoughts are normal. And these are the days that I know I am doingright. DINNER IS WAITING in her room when we return. It has beenarranged for us to eat here, as it always is on days like these, and onceagain I could ask for no more. The people here are good to me and Iam thankful. The lights are dimmed, the room is lit by two candles on the tablewhere we will sit, and music is playing softly in the background. Thecups and plates are plastic and the carafe is filled with apple juice, butrules are rules and she doesn't seem to care. She inhales slightly at the sight. Her eyes are wide. \"Did you dothis?\" I nod and she walks into the room. \"It looks beautiful.\" I offer my arm in escort and lead her to the window. She doesn'trelease it when we get there. Her touch is nice, and we stand closetogether on this crystal springtime evening. The window is openslightly and I feel a breeze as it fans my cheek. The moon has risenand we watch for a long time as the evening sky unfolds. \"I've never seen anything so beautiful, I'm sure of it,\" she says. \"I haven't, either,\" I say, but I am looking at her. She knows what Imean and I see her smile.

A moment later she whispers: \"I think I know who Allie went withat the end of the story.\" \"Who?\" \"She went with Noah.\" \"You're sure?\" \"Absolutely.\" I smile and nod. \"Yes, she did,\" I say softly, and she smiles back, herface radiant. She sits and I sit opposite her. She offers her hand across the tableand I take it in mine, and I feel her thumb begin to move as it did somany years ago. I stare at her for a long time, living and reliving themoments of my life, remembering it all and making it real. I feel mythroat begin to tighten and once again I realize how much I love her. My voice is shaky when I finally speak. \"You're so beautiful,\" I say. I can see in her eyes that she knows howI feel about her and what I really mean by my words. She does not respond. Instead she lowers her eyes and I wonderwhat she's thinking. She gives me no clues and I gently squeeze herhand. I wait. I know her heart and I know I'm almost there. And then a miracle that proves me right. As Glenn Miller playssoftly in a candlelit room, I watch as she gradually gives in to thefeelings inside her. I see a warm smile begin to form on her lips, thekind that makes it all worth while, and I watch as she raises her hazyeyes to mine. She pulls my hand towards her. \"You're wonderful...\"she says softly, and at that moment she falls in love with me, too; thisI know, for I have seen the signs a thousand times. She says nothing else right away, she doesn't have to, and she givesme a look from another lifetime that makes me whole again. I smileback, with as much passion as I can muster, and we stare at each other

with the feelings inside us rolling like ocean waves. I look about theroom, then back at Allie, and the way she's looking at me makes mewarm. And suddenly I feel young again. I'm no longer cold or aching,or hunched over or almost blind with cataracts. I'm strong and proudand the luckiest man alive, and I keep on feeling that way for a longtime. By the time the candles have burned down a third, I am ready tobreak the silence. I say, \"I love you deeply and I hope you know that.\" \"Of course I do,\" she says. \"I've always loved you, Noah.\" Noah, I hear again. The word echoes in my head. Noah . . . Noah.She knows, I think to myself, she knows who I am . . . She knows. . . . Such a tiny thing, this knowledge, but for me it is agift from God, and I feel our lifetime together, holding her, lovingher, and being with her through the best years of my life. She murmurs, \"Noah . . . my sweet Noah ...” And I, who could not accept the doctors' words, have triumphedagain, at least for a moment. I give up the pretence of mystery, and Ikiss her hand and bring it to my cheek and whisper in her ear: \"Youare the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.\" \"Oh . . . Noah,\" she says with tears in her eyes, \"I love you, too.\" IF ONLY IT would end like this, I would be a happy man. But it won't. Of this I'm sure, for as time slips by I begin to see thesigns of concern in her face. \"What's wrong?\" I ask, and her answer comes softly. \"I'm so afraid. I'm afraid of forgetting you again. It isn't fair . . . I justcan't bear to give this up.\" Her voice breaks as she finishes, but I don'tknow what to say. I know the evening is coming to an end and there isnothing I can do to stop the inevitable. In this I am a failure.

I finally tell her: \"I'll never leave you. What we have is for ever.\" She knows this is all I can do, for neither of us wants emptypromises. The crickets serenade us, and we begin to pick at our dinner. Neitherone of us is hungry, but I lead by example and she follows me. Shetakes small bites and chews a long time, but I am glad to see her eat.She has lost too much weight in the past three months. After dinner, I become afraid for I know the bell has tolled thisevening. The sun has long since set and the thief is about to come, andthere is nothing I can do to stop it. So I stare at her and wait and live alifetime in these last remaining moments. The clock ticks. Nothing. I take her in my arms and we hold each other. Nothing. I feel her tremble and I whisper in her ear. Nothing. I tell her for the last time this evening that I love her. And the thief comes. It always amazes me how quickly it happens. Even now, after allthis time. For as she holds me, she begins to blink rapidly and shakeher head. Then, turning towards the corner of the room, she stares fora long time, concern etched on her face. No! my mind screams. Not yet! Not now . . . not when we're soclose! Not tonight! Any night but tonight. . . . Please! I can't take itagain! It isn't fair . . It isn't fair . . . But once again, it is to no avail.

\"Those people,\" she finally says, pointing, \"are staring at me. Pleasemake them stop.\" The gnomes. A pit rises in my stomach, hard and full. My mouthgoes dry and I feel my heart pounding. It is over, I know. This, theevening confusion that affects my wife, is the hardest part of all. Forwhen it comes, she is gone, and sometimes I wonder whether she andI will ever love again. \"There's no one there, Allie,\" I say, trying to fend off the inevitable. She doesn't believe me. \"They're staring at me. You can't see them?\" \"No,\" I say, and she thinks for a moment. \"Well, they're right there,\" she says, \"and they're staring at me.\" With that, she begins to talk to herself, and moments later, when Itry to comfort her, she flinches with wide eyes. \"Who are you?\" she cries in panic, her face becoming whiter. \"Whatare you doing here?\" She backs away from me, her hands in adefensive position, and then she says the most heartbreaking words ofall. \"Go away! Stay away from me!\" She is pushing the gnomes awayfrom her, terrified, oblivious of my presence. I stand and cross the room to her bed. I am weak now, my legs ache,and there is a strange pain in my side. It is a struggle to press thebutton to call the nurses, for my fingers are throbbing and seem frozentogether, but I finally succeed. They will be here soon now, I know,and I wait for them. I sit by the bed with an aching back and start to cry as I pick up thenotebook. I am tired now, so I sit, alone and apart from my wife. Andwhen the nurses come in they see two people they must comfort. Awoman shaking in fear and the old man who loves her more deeplythan life itself crying softly in the corner, his face in his hands. BY THE following week, my life had pretty much returned tonormal. Or at least as normal as my life could be. Reading to Allie,

who was unable to recognize me at any time, reading to others,wandering the halls. Lying awake at night and sitting by my heater inthe morning. I found a strange comfort in the predictability of my life. On a cool, foggy morning eight days after she and I had spent ourday together, I woke early, as is my custom, and pottered around mydesk, alternately looking at photographs and reading letters writtenmany years before. At least I tried to. I couldn't concentrate too wellbecause I had a headache, so I put them aside and went to sit in mychair by the window to watch the sun come up. Allie would be awakein a couple of hours, I knew, and I wanted to be refreshed, for readingall day would only make my head hurt more. I closed my eyes for a few minutes then, opening them, I watchedmy old friend, the creek, roll by my window. Unlike Allie I had beengiven a room where I could see it, and it has never failed to inspireme. It is a contradiction this creek—a hundred thousand years old butrenewed with each rainfall. It is life, I think, to watch the water. Aman can learn so many things. It happened as I sat in the chair, just as the sun peeped over thehorizon. My hand, I noticed, started to tingle, something it had neverdone before. I started to lift it, but I was forced to stop when my headpounded again, this time hard, almost as if I had been hit in the headwith a hammer. I closed my eyes tightly. My hand stopped tinglingand began to go numb, as if my nerves had been severed somewhereon my lower arm. A shooting pain rocked my head and seemed toflow down my neck and into every cell of my body, like a tidal wave,crushing and wasting everything in its path. I lost my sight and I heard what sounded like a train roaring inchesfrom my head, and I knew that I was having a stroke. The paincoursed through my body like a lightning bolt, and in my lastremaining moments of consciousness I pictured Allie, lying in herbed, waiting for the story I would never read, lost and confused,completely and totally unable to help herself. I WAS UNCONSCIOUS on and off for days, and in those momentswhen I was awake I found myself hooked to machines, two bags of

fluid hanging near the bed. I could hear the faint hum of machines,sometimes making sounds I could not recognize, and found myselflulled to never-never land time and time again. I could see the concern in the doctors' faces as they scanned thecharts and adjusted the machines. Grim faces would prelude theirpredictions—\"loss of speech, loss of movement, paralysis.\" Anotherchart notation, another beep of a strange machine, and they'd leave,never knowing I heard every word. I tried not to think of these thingsafterwards, but instead concentrated on Allie, bringing a picture of herto my mind whenever I could. I tried to feel her touch, hear her voice,and when I did tears would fill my eyes because I didn't know if Iwould be able to hold her again. This was not how I'd imagined itwould end. I'd always assumed I would go last. I drifted in and out of consciousness for days until another foggymorning when my promise to Allie spurred my body once again. Iopened my eyes and saw a room full of flowers, and their scentmotivated me further. I looked for the buzzer, struggled to press it,and a nurse arrived thirty seconds later, followed closely by Dr.Barnwell. \"I'm thirsty,\" I said with a raspy voice, and Dr. Barnwell smiledbroadly. \"Welcome back,\" he said, \"I knew you'd make it.\" TWO WEEKS LATER I am able to leave the hospital, though I amonly half a man now. The right side of my body is weaker than theleft. This, they tell me, is good news, for the paralysis could havebeen total. Sometimes, it seems, I am surrounded by optimists. The bad news is that my hands prevent me from using either mycane or wheelchair, so I must march now to my own unique cadenceto keep upright. Not left-right-left as in my youth, or even the shuffle-shuffle of late, but rather slow-shuffle, slide-the-right, slow-shuffle. Iam on an epic adventure now when I travel the halls.

When I return to my room, I know I will not sleep. I breathe deeplyand smell the springtime fragrances that filter through the openwindow. There is a slight chill in the air and I find that I aminvigorated by the change in temperature. Evelyn, one of the manynurses here, helps me to the chair by the window. She puts her handon my shoulder and pats it gently. She says nothing, and by hersilence I know that she is staring out of the window. Then she leansforward and tenderly kisses me on the cheek. \"It's good to have you back. Allie's missed you and so have the restof us. We were all praying for you because it's just not the samearound here when you're gone.\" She smiles at me and touches my facebefore she leaves. I say nothing. The stars are out tonight and the crickets are singing. As I sit, Iwonder if anyone outside can see me, this prisoner of flesh. I searchthe courtyard, looking for signs of life, but there is nothing. Even thecreek is still. In the darkness it looks like empty space and I find thatI'm drawn to its mystery. I watch for hours, and as I do I see thereflection of clouds on the water. A storm is coming and in time thesky will turn silver, like dusk again. Lightning cuts the wild sky and I feel my mind drift back. Who arewe, Allie and I? Are we ancient ivy on a cypress tree, tendrils andbranches intertwined so closely that we would both die if we wereforced apart? Another bolt and the table beside me is lit enough toenable me to see a picture of Allie, the best one I have. I had it framedyears ago in the hope that the glass would make it last for ever. Ireach for it and hold it inches from my face. She was forty-one whenit was taken, and she had never been more beautiful. There are somany things I want to ask her, but I know the picture won't answer, soI put it aside. I finally stand and walk to my desk and turn on the lamp. This takesmore effort than I think it will, and I am strained, so I do not return tothe window seat. I sit down and spend a few minutes looking at thepictures on my desk. Family pictures, pictures of children andvacations. Pictures of Allie and me.

Since this seems to be a night of memories, I look for and find mywedding ring. It is in the top drawer, wrapped in tissue. I cannot wearit any more because my knuckles are swollen and my fingers lack forblood. I unwrap the tissue and find it unchanged. It is powerful—asymbol, a circle—and I know, I know, there could never have beenanother. I whisper aloud, \"I am still yours, Allie, my queen, mytimeless beauty. You are, and always have been, the best thing in mylife.\" It is eleven thirty and I look for the letter she wrote to me, the one Iread when the mood strikes me. I find it where I last left it. I open itand my hands begin to tremble: Dear Noah, I write this letter by candlelight as you lie sleeping in the bedroomwe have shared since the day we were married. I see the flame besideme and it reminds me of another fire from decades ago, with me inyour soft clothes, and I knew then we would always be together, eventhough I wavered the following day. My heart had been captured by asouthern poet, and I knew inside that it had always been yours. Whowas I to question a love that rode on shooting stars and roared likecrashing waves? For that is what it was between us then and that iswhat it is today. I remember coming back to you the day after my mother left. I wasso scared because I was sure you would never forgive me for leavingyou. I was shaking as I got out of the car, but you took it all away withyour smile. \"How about some coffee?\" was all you said. And younever brought it up again in all our years together. Nor did you question me when I would leave and walk alone duringthe next few days. When I came in with tears in my eyes, you alwaysknew whether I needed you to hold me or to just let me be. I don'tknow how but you did, and you made it easier for me. Later, when wewent to the small chapel and exchanged our rings and made ourvows, I looked into your eyes and knew I had made the right decision.More than that, I knew I was foolish for ever considering someoneelse. I have never wavered since.

We had a wonderful life together, and I think about it a lot now. Iclose my eyes sometimes and see you with speckles of grey in yourhair, sitting on the porch and playing your guitar while little onesplay and clap to the music you create. \"You're a better father than youknow,\" I tell you later, after the children are sleeping. I love you for many things, especially your passions: love and poetryand fatherhood and friendship and beauty and nature. And I am gladyou have taught the children these things, for I know their lives arebetter for it. They tell me how special you are to them, and it makesme feel like the luckiest woman alive. You have taught me as well, and inspired me and supported me inmy painting, and you will never know how much it has meant to methat you were always there, encouraging me. You understood my needfor my own studio, my own space, and saw beyond the paint on myclothes and in my hair. I know it was not easy. It takes a man to dothat, Noah, to live with something like that. And you have. For forty-five years now. Wonderful years. You are my best friend as well as my lover, and I do not know whichside of you I enjoy the most. I treasure each side, just as I havetreasured our life together. You have something inside you, Noah,something beautiful and strong. Kindness, that's what I see when Ilook at you now, that's what everyone sees. Kindness. I know you think me crazy for making us write our story before wefinally leave our home, but I have my reasons and I thank you foryour patience. I never told you why, but now I think it is time youknew. We have lived a lifetime most couples never know, and when Ilook at you I am frightened by the knowledge that all this will beending soon. For we both know my prognosis. I worry more aboutyou than I do about me, because I fear the pain I know you will gothrough. There are no words to express my sorrow for this. I love you so deeply, so incredibly much, that I will find a way tocome back to you despite my disease, I promise you that. And this iswhere the story comes in. When I am lost and lonely, read this story—just as you told it to the children—and know that in some way I will

realize it's about us. And perhaps, just perhaps, we will find a way tobe together again. Please don't be angry with me on days I do not remember you— weboth know they will come. Know that I will always love you, and nomatter what happens, know that I have led the greatest life possible.My life with you. Noah, wherever you are and whenever you read this, I love you. Ilove you deeply, my husband. You are, and always have been, mydream. Allie I put the letter aside, rise from my desk and find my slippers. Imust sit to put them on. Then, standing, I cross the room and open mydoor. I peep down the hall and see Janice seated at the main deskwhich I must pass to get to Allie's room. At this hour I am notsupposed to leave my room, and Janice is never one to bend the rules. I wait to see if she will leave, but she does not and I grow impatient.I finally exit my room anyway, slow-shuffle, slide-the-right, slow-shuffle. It takes aeons to close the distance, but for some reason shedoes not see me approaching. I am a silent panther creeping throughthe jungle. In the end I am discovered, but I am not surprised. I standbefore her. \"Noah,\" she says, \"what are you doing?\" \"I'm taking a walk,\" I say. \"I can't sleep.\" \"You know you're not supposed to do this.\" \"I know.\" I don't move, though. I am determined. \"You're not really going for a walk, are you? You're going to seeAllie.\"

\"Yes,\" I answer. \"Noah, you know what happened the last time you saw her at night.You shouldn't be doing this.\" \"I miss her.\" \"I know you do, but I can't let you see her.\" \"It's our anniversary,\" I say. This is true. It is one year before gold.Forty-nine years today. \"I see.\" She looks away for a moment, and her voice becomes softer.I am surprised. She has never struck me as the sentimental type.\"Noah, I've seen hundreds of couples struggle with grief, but I'venever seen anyone handle it like you do. No one around here has everseen anything like it.\" She pauses for just a moment and her eyesbegin to fill with tears. \"I try to think what it's like for you, how youkeep going day after day, but I can't imagine it. I don't know how youdo it. You even beat her disease sometimes. Even though the doctorsdon't understand it, we nurses do. It's love—it's as simple as that. It'sthe most incredible thing I've ever seen.\" A lump has risen in my throat, and I am speechless. \"But, Noah, you're not supposed to do this, and I can't let you. So goback to your room.\" Then, smiling, sniffling and shuffling somepapers, she says: \"Me, I'm going downstairs for some coffee. I won'tbe back to check on you for a while, so don't do anything foolish.\" She rises quickly, touches my arm and walks towards the stairs. Shedoesn't look back and suddenly I am alone. I look at where she hadbeen sitting and see her coffee, a full cup, still steaming, and onceagain I learn that there are good people in the world. As I begin my trek to Allie's room, I take tiny steps, and even at thatpace my legs grow tired. I find I must touch the wall to keep fromfalling down. Lights buzz overhead, their fluorescent glow makingmy eyes ache, and I squint a little. I press on, and the movementforces blood through banished arteries. I feel myself becoming

stronger with every step. A phone rings in the nurses' station, and Ipush forward so that I will not be caught. I am young and strong, withpassion in my heart, and I will break down the door and lift her in myarms and carry her to paradise. Who am I kidding? I lead a simple life now. I am foolish, an oldman in love, a dreamer who dreams of nothing but reading to Allieand holding her whenever I can. I am a sinner with many faults and aman who believes in magic, but I am too old to change and too old tocare. When I finally reach her room my body is weak. My legs wobble,my eyes are blurred. I struggle with the knob and in the end it takestwo hands and three truckloads of effort. The door opens and lightfrom the hallway spills in, illuminating the bed where she sleeps. She is lying with the covers halfway up. After a moment I see herroll to one side, and her noises bring back memories of happier times.She looks small in her bed. I do not move, on this our anniversary, for almost a minute, and Ilong to tell her how I feel, but I stay quiet so I won't wake her.Besides, it is written on the slip of paper that I will slide under herpillow. It says: Love, in these last and tender hours, is sensitive and very pure Come morning light with soft-lit powers to awaken love that's ever sure.

I think I hear someone coming, so I enter her room and close thedoor behind me. Blackness descends and I cross her floor frommemory and reach the window. I open the curtains, and the moonstares back, large and full, the guardian of the evening. Though Iknow I should not, I sit on her bed while I slip the note beneath herpillow. Then I reach across and gently touch her face. I stroke herhair, and I feel wonder, like a composer first discovering the works ofMozart. She stirs and opens her eyes and I suddenly regret myfoolishness, for I know she will begin to cry and scream, for this iswhat she always does. But I feel an urge to attempt the impossible andlean towards her, our faces drawing closer. When her lips meet mine, I feel a tingling I have never feltbefore, in all our years together, but I do not pull back. And suddenlya miracle, for I feel her mouth open and I discover a forgottenparadise, unchanged all this time, ageless like the stars. I feel thewarmth of her body and allow myself to slip away, as I did so manyyears ago. I close my eyes and become a mighty ship in churningwaters, strong and fearless, and she is my sails. I gently trace theoutline of her cheek, then take her hand in mine. I kiss her lips, hercheeks, and listen as she takes a breath. She murmurs softly, \"Oh,Noah . . . I've missed you.\" Another miracle—the greatest of all! —and there's no way I can stop the tears as we begin to slip towardsheaven itself. For at that moment, the world is full of wonder as I feelher fingers reach for the buttons on my shirt and slowly, ever soslowly, she begins to undo them one by one.