The Forest Secret - Chapter 3

A flash of lightning had momentarily drawn her attention from looking at her computer screen.   Charley Heron looked out the large window overlooking the East River and frowned as the dark clouds that had been on the horizon only a few minutes ago were now moving over Brooklyn and about to accost Manhattan. The waters of the river were already a deep slate grey in anticipation.

With the city’s iconic Chrysler Building up for sale, the New York Timeshad taken advantage of the cheaper rates to move some of its editorial and journalistic operations to the floor just below the iconic arced windows.  The paper’s Sunday magazine now had its own dedicated space.  The main office building was being retrofitted for digital operations.  It wasn’t the first time the Chrysler Building had faced extinction.  It opened the same day as the crash of the stock market in 1929 and the years of financial depression left the building largely empty and abandoned for over a decade. It flourished during the war years and the decades following but was now again close to being abandoned.

It offered what was the best view of the great city’s skyline, better even than the Empire State Building for a view of the waterline and some of the most memorable bridges in the world.

She wasn’t aware of any of her workmates who didn’t share in the delight of being out of the “big house” of the Timesand here, a few blocks away, where they could concentrate as a team on the more investigative long-reads that the paper was famous for.  Better yet, the business side of the paper was nowhere to be seen - or felt.  It all seemed like journalism at its best and most powerful.

Charley turned from the window to see her assistant editor standing in the door frame, his hair dishevelled and a nonchalant look on his face.

“Sandra has called a meeting pronto in the Lab,” Cliff said.  He had been part of the influential team that hat persuaded Charley to leave her post at the Timesand help give a facelift to the paper’s Sunday magazine.  It had become dated, especially as online publications blew past everything in their path.  The magazine had relied increasingly on slick, contemporary photos in an effort to keep market-share, but it had become clear to everyone heading the main paper that the magazine’s editorial content had fallen by the wayside.  Efforts were then made to recruit some of the best talent within the Timesinstead of looking farther afield.  Five of their talented writers were recruited, Charley among them

She smiled at Cliff Marks, remembering how he had challenged her to come over to the magazine and compose the best writing of her life.  He held up her favourite French Vanilla coffee from the Keurig brewer as they walked down the hallway.

It was called “the Lab” because it was where every idea was dissected, inspected, researched, and finally verified on its way to publication.  Charley’s first grilling in the confined space had been unlike anything she had experienced in her career.  She produced her 2500-word article on the slow dying of the country’s mainline churches and emailed it to everyone, as instructed, before facing them. Punctuation was of no real concern, or even idioms, but full attention was paid to the power of the language. Was it strong enough to break through the din of everyday life, insightful enough for the reader to delve deeper into it, and, ultimately, eloquent enough to prompt reappraisal and perhaps action?  It was the idea and its concept that mattered - and accuracy, always accuracy.

She had survived and the piece had been published two Sundays later.  The reception to the article was strong enough to confirm her selection as part of the new team and she had never looked back. That had been almost two years ago and she had enjoyed every day since.

Sandra Oldensten was in her usual seat at the head of the thick glass table, joining most of the others who had arrived moments earlier.  They were all watching the aftermath of the destruction of France’s - and one of Christendom’s - greatest icons.  The two towering battlements at the front of Notre Dame Cathedral looked solid enough, but between them and the other end of the structure were the hollowed out charred remains of what had been perhaps the most beautiful sanctuary in all of Europe.

“Jesus,” the man beside Sandra uttered.

“Appropriate, I would say, Lhamo,” she said as she slightly turned to face him, a strained smile on her face.

“Sorry, should have been more respectful,” he replied.  “I’ve never been there, but it feels like a death in the family.  That’s a powerful bit of influence lying in ruins.”

Lhamo was part of the team brought over with Charley, specifically to cover important issues in the populous developing world.  He was born to a Buddhist family in India and was named Lhamo after the first name of the Dali Lama.

“Come, sit down you two,” Sandra said to Charley and Cliff.  She turned the television screen off with a remote and turned to face her team.

“Okay, I think it’s fair to say that none of us could have predicted the effect this fire has had.  I mean, everyone in the world seems to have some sort of sentimental relationship, whether they have been there or not.  According to CNN this afternoon, one billion Euros has already been donated for its restoration from philanthropists - all in the 24 hours since the fire began. It seems like everyone is in grief - including us, I suspect.”  She looked around the table and from the looks on the faces knew immediately that she was right.

Sandra shuffled about some pieces of paper before her, then looked up asking, “So what are we going to say about it?  This tragedy will be covered from every angle.  What would we have to say about it that could be different?  I’m looking for some ideas.”

For a moment it was quiet, but these were bright people and before long concepts emerged for everyone to consider.  A needed break from the French riots? Perhaps a new emergence of religious faith?  Just a distraction in a world slowly coming apart?

Sandra weighed every suggestion but couldn’t land on any of them.  “Look, “ she interjected, “all of the other stories on this will be written in real time but we don’t publish every day.  That’s a disadvantage in a moment like this, but on the other hand it provides us the opportunity to reflect, to search for something more nuanced.”

“The old guy.”

“What?” she asked, looking directly at Cliff.

“This came across the wire from the BBC about an hour ago,” he began.  “While initial reports stated that no fatalities occurred from the fire, the partially charred body of an elderly man was found somewhere in the rafters near the part of the roof that had collapsed.  It’s inexplicable. They did some digging and discovered that he was a revered guide of the cathedral for 40 years, only retiring a couple of years ago.”

“In other words, that man and the building have had a love affair and they both perished together.”

Sandra’s insight caused everyone in the room to sit up and consider it.  It was beautiful in its profundity.

“I think that’s it,” said Elizabeth Ash from the far end of the table.  She was the copy editor and had been around for years. “In fact, it’s damned beautiful,” she added.

They all knew it was an obscure piece of the grand story but that it likely carried meaning that other media would bypass on their way to the more immediate.

Charley was lost in thought, but lifted her gaze to see Sandra looking directly at her. “Want it?” asked the editor.

Charley smiled. “In a heartbeat,” she responded in gratitude.

“This is where you’re at your best, Charley - the personal story, the human drama in the midst of something far bigger but which defines that larger narrative in a way no other can.  That’s your task.  I envy you.”

They all did. The truth was that any of them would have jumped at the opportunity, but they were nuanced enough as a team to know that on something like this, Charley was best positioned to put it together.

It was settled. While a couple of individuals left to get back to their posts, the remainder began watching the television coverage of the cathedral fire as soon as Sandra turned it back on.

Suddenly the editor looked over at her and said, “Okay, talk to the travel department over at the big house and get yourself to Paris pronto.  We’ll work on getting you some contacts while you pack your things.”

“Photos?” asked Lhamo.

Sandra thought about that for a moment before replying, “No, let’s see if one of our contacts from Reuters or the Paris office can get some good shots for us - perhaps from the place where the old guide was found, if it’s still standing. We’re trying to move away from images and into narrative.  Let’s throw all our energies into Charley’s work.”

With that, it was over.  “Lucky you,” Cliff offered with a kind smile as they exited the Lab.

“Actually, it was Sandra who provided the best angle,” Charley replied.

“That was a true moment of genius and it gives you a starting point.”

“And perhaps an end point,” she added.

As Cliff continued down the hall to his desk, Charley began throwing things together into her briefcase from the office.  She hadn’t been this excited since her arrival, but the pathos inherent in the images they had witnessed on the television burdened her spirit with the sadness of it all.  In a few hours she would be examining a mysterious life among the ruins.