So it was that my first day at work ended -- and my second -- and my third -- and I was walking through the Third street tunnel to return to my crawling room, for by now the nits or eggs, of the bugs I had killed, were beginning to hatch and I had no more disinfectant -- and no money to purchase any.
I was going through the Third street tunnel because my job was on Spring street and my room was on West Third and Figueroa.
I still had ten cents in my purse. I still walked with head held high and my jaunty little suit worn with a new dash of sparkling rhythm. It seemed to sense that there was something extra special in the air. But perhaps it was but reflecting the hidden joy that kept gurgling up with such persistent, unquenchable singing from deep within my heart.
I was quite aware that the song of triumph was vibrating with a new note of ecstasy and my feet scarcely touched the grimy, dust-laden, narrow, dingy walk crowding itself along the tunnel wall. The place was dark, almost suffocating, but I didn't notice its dreariness. It was an isle of glory to me that evening, though I could give no logical reason for it being so, nor for the extra gladness singing a melody of ecstasy in my heart. I was only aware that the melody was more joyous, more breathtakingly buoyant than usual. It was quite beyond understanding, or logic. But then, logic often drives men crazy. Besides, how could my mind analyze the things my heart felt?
There is an inner intelligence higher than mortal intellect, greater than logic, beyond thought, higher than physical understanding, yet more real than all. It is more than intuition, or faith, or joy, or gladness. It is all of these and yet reaches even beyond them all. It is the inner essence of life itself.
I had contacted that singing song in the center of my soul when I had offered up my broken heart. I did not know at the time that only the offering of a broken heart could bring a reward so great. In fact, I had never realized that there was anything in existence so utterly, completely beautiful.
I was beginning to feel that if one great heartbreak could bring such a glorious song of sheer ecstasy when offered upon the altars of acceptance then I would be willing to have it broken many times. In fact I would be willing to have it ground into fine dust. Then I knew the answer. It is the complete offering of a broken heart that has the power to transmute all darkness into light. It is only through a broken heart that the pure love of God can come forth and it is that singing love that is the joy and the power and the triumphant ecstatic song awakened in the soul of man.
And so my soul sang as I winged my way through the tunnel, for it seemed that my feet scarcely touched the ground, so great was the joyous melody singing in my heart. It was a song of gladness, a song of adoration, of praise, of rejoicing, of love so deep and pure that everything seemed transformed by it. There was no ugliness in existence. It was the perfect love that banished all fear. It seemed to blend as one with the entire universe, the infinite, and all existing things. It was pure, singing glory.
The song seemed to increase in tempo as I proceeded through the tunnel. It was a vibration that suddenly seemed to turn into words. Not words I heard with my ears, but a deep inner voice of complete knowing -- spoken without words; "Christine," it commanded gently, lovingly: "Now go and find a nice apartment."
I stopped dead in my tracks. If the tunnel had caved in on me I could not have been more surprised. I wheeled around, headed back toward Broadway, never doubting for an instant. How I was to get an apartment in Los Angeles of all places on the earth, in the busiest season of the year, and with one thin little dime in my pocket troubled me not at all. I was only conscious of being taken out of my bug-ridden room with four days to spare. I could have shouted with the very joy of it. There were no enclosing walls to that tunnel, no sealed roof overhead. I was walking in the very highest heaven.
I took ten or fifteen steps back toward the center of the city when I heard, "Don't go back. Turn around and go on through the tunnel."
Then, for a second time, I stopped short and wheeling around again went on toward Figueroa street.
But I never reached Figueroa. I was turned at Flower street, directed, propelled, call it what you like -- I only know that I walked past many apartment buildings, past several hotels -- and without stopping at any one of them, or even giving them a questioning glance, I continued on. At last I stood upon the threshold of the most luxurious apartment building in the area. And without hesitating an instant went up to the desk, above which hung the sign: ALL RENTS MUST BE PAID IN ADVANCE. And I did not see it. How I could have missed seeing it I cannot imagine. There it was, as big as life and standing out as prominent as a sore thumb. I can't imagine what I would have done if I had seen it. I might have folded up right then and there. I don't know. I can't even imagine.
"Have you a vacant apartment?" I asked the woman sitting behind the desk, and directly under that awesome sign that I didn't see. There had been no vacancy sign posted on the outside or within to denote such a possibility of an empty apartment. Ordinarily my very assumption would have been laughable and fantastic.
But as I spoke another gracious little lady, with white hair and an angel's face, stepped out of the inner office.
"Yes," she smiled brightly as she looked me over; "I have an available apartment, which is most unusual for this locality and for this time of the year. It was just re-painted today and isn't quite dry -- but you will only need to be careful for this evening."
She seemed to know that I was going to move in then. I wondered how she knew.
She entered the elevator with me, and taking me up to the top floor, conducted me along a deep, rugged, beautiful hallway to a door with a miniature brass knocker upon it which seemed to contain a very special welcome, especially since none of the other doors had any.
The first thing I noticed, as we entered, was the wide window which revealed a view that took my breath away.
"It's fairy land!" I cried. "It's pure magic! It's beautiful!"
The large neon Pegasus, on top of the Mobilgas building, was winging its flaming flight across the skies. The last dazzling glory of the sunset still lingered with a warm caress, a benediction, a reminder of another sunset -- and a whispering promise of things to come. Then while I looked the street lights came on, sparkling like a string of diamonds encircling a lady's throat, and just at that moment the crowning glory of all burst into view as the rainbow lights flooded into living wonder on the top of the high, tiered black and gold Richfield building. Its spired tower reached up its flaming tip into the evening sky. My eyes took in the dignity of the beautiful, tiled pyramid of the library dome as it stood mysterious and silent against the dusk. And one by one a million lights blinked on in the twinkling delight. It was like a scene from another world yet so close it took my breath away.
Like an excited child I tore myself away from the first window to turn to the second one, just as large, but facing another direction, with another fairyland of twinkling lights.
At last I turned from the windows to look over the apartment. It was a dream fulfilled. It was not new, but fresh with paint, spotlessly immaculate, cozy with a welcoming warmth of homecoming and magically inviting. It had everything -- two long mirrors to check the hem of one's dress -- a living room, a bed room, a dressing room, a bath and kitchen and a convenient little hallway, all its own.
"This will cost more a month than I earn," I thought. Yet with the thought was the absolute knowledge that I was to have that apartment.
"How much is it?" I at last ventured.
The woman looked at me and smiled softly, "You may have it for fifty dollars a month. I rent it for more, but I would like to have you in my building. You see, I own it, and I just happened to stop by for a few minutes tonight. I don't live here.
"Perhaps I came just to meet you," she said contemplatively.
"I must have this apartment," I said; "And it is so gracious of you to offer it to me for only fifty dollars -- but I just arrived in Los Angeles three days ago and haven't any money to pay down. I have work and could pay you in a couple of weeks. I paid for a room over the corner of Figueroa and Third street but it is crawling with roaches and I can't possibly stay there. " I stated it as though it was the most commonplace thing in the world to go apartment seeking without money.
"Of course you can't stay there, " she agreed.
"I would be glad to let you keep my hand-tooled leather bag and my bracelet and brooch set as security. I have never been in such a position in my life before," I laughed.
"I am sure you haven't. It is a new experience for both of us," she smiled; "We should become good friends."
And that was it! The apartment was mine! It was mine! I couldn't believe it! I was going to leave the bugs and the darkness and the filth! I had passed my test! If I could have shouted aloud with all my capacity it would never have been loud enough to express my joy and gratitude. I had not resented the misery of that unclean room. I had not complained. I had truly been thankful! And now! A paradise -- a hundred-fold better had been added unto me.
Mrs. Wilcox, for that was the owner's name, insisted that I keep my bag, but I assured her that I had no need of it. Why carry a bag if there is no money to go in it? At that we both laughed.
Mrs. Wilcox didn't come to the building too often. However, she did come the day my rent was to be paid, and to return my bag. I think she came herself so that the clerk would not know that I had lived there for two full weeks without paying a cent or that I was renting an apartment she could easily have got eighty-five dollars for, for only fifty. As she handed me my receipt, Mrs. Wilcox smiled again her warm, glowing heavenly smile and said, "You were led here, weren't you?"
"Yes. I was," I answered. And I told her how it happened.
"I knew you were brought to me when I saw you. I knew that I had come in that evening just to meet you. I feel so humble and so grateful when I am called to play a small part in the hands of destiny."
My eyes filled with tears of gratitude and the singing song of glory must have been heard all over that whole, wonderful building.
What I lived on for those two weeks was another miracle, a very beautiful miracle.
I had no sooner got my suitcase into that apartment than again I heard that inner voice of minute instruction telling me how to obtain food. You may believe that I thought of it all by myself. I didn't. I would never have thought of it because it was something beyond my knowledge. I did not know that Karl Morgan, a childhood acquaintance of mine, was a supervisor at the Carnation Creamery Company. I did know that Karl had moved to California several years before. But I did not know he was in Los Angeles, nor what his work was.
But I was told: "Christine, Karl Morgan is a supervisor at the Carnation Creamery. Call him up. Tell him you just got settled and would like to order two quarts of milk, delivered every other day, some cottage cheese, a dozen eggs as often as you need them, and a bottle of half-and-half, which is half cream and half milk."
I used my precious little dime to call the Carnation Creamery and asked for Karl Morgan. And marvel of marvels! He was in! Or was it? To me it was as great a miracle as the feeding of the five thousand. Their meal was only to appease the hunger. Mine was a matter of life and death -- of starvation or living.
Karl and I had a wonderful chat. He sounded really glad to hear me. And I was almost overwhelmed with the wonder of it all. After discussing many things I gave my order.
"I think the driver for your route calls in the morning, early. Wait while I check."
I waited with one foot teetering in heaven and the other balanced on a silver cloud.
In a few minutes came his voice, "Christine, the driver will be at your door at eight in the morning. Will that be all right?"
"Just perfect," I answered, for only I knew how perfect. I would have breakfast before going to work.
"And Christine," he continued; "I will fill out the application blank and o.k. it so it can be sent right on through without any delay.
"And, by-the-way, when can you come and have dinner with us? I'd like you to meet my wife. She's wonderful. Could you come Monday?"
I had no bus fare so I said, "Not Monday, Karl, not until the nineteenth. That's two weeks off. I have a lot of business to attend to besides getting settled."
"That will be wonderful! I'll be seeing you then. Say, I'm surely glad I happened to come in this evening for a few minutes."
"Aren't you always in, in the evening?" I asked, while little goose pimples began keeling summer-saults up and down my spine.
"I've been here for nine years and this is the first time I have ever come to the office in the evening," he laughed.
And that was that. I didn't even know until sometime later that it was necessary to have a bank account, plus references and several other requirements, I didn't possess, in order to have a milk man deliver dairy products to the door. But forever and forever I shall be grateful for the wonderful blessing it gave.
The next morning as I was walking to work, a woman standing with several others waiting for a bus, dropped her bag on the sidewalk. Coins rolled every-which-way. We all began helping her to pick them up. We had just unloaded our collections when the bus came and all who had been standing there boarded it. I turned down the street on my way to work when I saw a fifty-cent piece leaning against the light post. I picked it up, turned hastily back toward the departing bus. It was already crossing the intersection at the other corner. Fifty cents and no owner.
With that coin I bought two loaves of day-old bread at half price and some fresh dates. And from there on I lived like a princess in my castle above the clouds. It could easily be said, "And I lived happily ever-after." But the story is only beginning.