“How did he know what it sounded like? I mean, in order to write music, don’t you need to be able to hear it?” Samuel replied in wonder.

“It was inside him, I guess.” I pursed my lips in contemplation. “It was in his head and in his heart. I guess he felt the music, so he didn’t have to hear it with his physical ears.” I paused. “Sonja told me once that many of the great composers, including Beethoven, have said that the music they compose is in the air, that’s it’s already there, you just have to be able to hear it. Most of us can’t…we can only appreciate that people like Beethoven seem to be able to, and then write down what they hear.”

“Do you hear it?” Samuel asked, his eyes penetrating.

“I don’t hear it…but I know it’s there.” I struggled to express something that I’d never put into words. “Sometimes I think if I could just see without my eyes, the way I feel without my hands, I would be able to hear the music. I don’t use my hands to feel love or joy or heartache - but I still feel them all the same. My eyes let me see incredibly beautiful things, but sometimes I think that what I see gets in the way of what’s…what’s just beyond the beauty. Almost like the beauty I can see is just a very lovely curtain, distracting me from what’s on the other side…and if I just knew how to push that curtain aside, there the music would be.” I threw up my hands in frustration. “I can’t really explain it.”

Samuel nodded his head slowly. “I found myself closing my eyes while you were playing that night in the church. Others did the same. Maybe that’s why. Our ears were trying to hear what our eyes keep hidden.”

He understood. I felt a luminosity fill my soul and a sudden urge to hug him.

“It’s in the air,” Samuel mused softly. His eyes were unfocused and his brow creased in reflection. “Like ni ch’i.”

“What?” I didn’t understand.

“It’s like ni ch’i. Ni ch’i is the Navajo for air or the wind ... but it is more than that. It is holy and it has power. My Grandmother says ni ch’i means the Holy Wind Spirit. Everything in the living world communicates through ni ch’i. Because of this, the Holy Wind Spirit, ni ch’i, sits at the ears of the Dineh, or the people, and whispers instructions tells them right from wrong. People who constantly ignore the ni ch’i are abandoned, the ni’ch’i will not remain with them.” Samuel’s eyes became focused again, drawing down on mine. “My grandmother believes that the ni ch’i is breathed into a newborn baby as they take their first breath. The child then has the companionship of the ni ch’i at all times. Ni ch’i guides him as he grows.

“It sounds like the Holy Ghost. I learned about the Holy Ghost in church. It helps you to do what’s right, guards you, warns you, leads you, but only if you are worthy of His company. It only speaks the truth. My Sunday School teacher says it is the way God talks to us.”

“Maybe what Beethoven hears is ni ch’i singing God’s music.

“I think you might be right.”

I rewound the cassette and extended the earphones to fit a head the size of Goliath’s. Then I leaned close to Samuel and fit the whole thing over both of our heads, one earphone on my left ear, one earphone on his right and we listened to God’s music, with our heads pressed close together, for the rest of bus ride.

Samuel never complained about my taste in music, in fact he seemed to enjoy it immensely. He rigged my earphones so that we could turn the fuzzy ear pads outward, so that our heads weren’t pressed together when we listened. I hadn’t minded a bit…but I wasn’t going to admit it. He seemed concerned that someone might misconstrue the intimate proximity of our heads. We each held one side of the headphones pressed to our ear. After about a week of non-stop Beethoven, I brought my tape of Rachmaninoff. We were listening intently to Prelude in C Sharp Minor, and Samuel’s black eyes were wide and shining. He turned towards me as the movement came to a stunning finish.

His voice was awed. “This music makes me feel so powerful, like I could do anything . . . like nothing could stop me as long as I kept the music pounding into my head. And there’s just that one small part where the music becomes triumphant, like the intensity is climbing and climbing and pushing and reaching and then those three chords play and it says ‘I did it!!!’ - kind of like Rocky raising his hands at the top of all those stairs. You know what I mean?” His voice was soft and sincere, and he looked at me then, smiling a little sheepishly at his enthusiastic review. “It’s so powerful .... I almost believe if I kept on listening I would become ‘Super Sam!’”

I laughed, delighted with his rare humor. Samuel didn’t joke around a lot, and he was definitely not verbose.

“I know exactly what you mean. Remember when I fractured my ankle?” I confessed sheepishly. “I got a little carried away with the music in my head and for a minute I was convinced I could fly.”

Samuel stared at me with a half smile on his face, shaking his head.

“Maybe I will have to make us matching capes and this can be our theme music.” I struck a pose. “Super Sam and Bionic Josie here to save the day!” I sung out.

Samuel actually laughed out loud. The sound was even better than the music, and I smiled at him, happier than I could ever remember being.

Samuel sat silently for a moment, not putting the earphone back up to his ear. I pushed the stop button on my player.