Part III

An eternity later—or so it seemed—I woke feeling disoriented. A hand rested on my shoulder and shook me gently.

“Sarah? Come on, wake up. We’re here.”

But where exactly was here? I blinked at the unfamiliar landscape. “Where are we?”

“At my house.” Liam, still in his hat and sunglasses, was smiling at me. “Come, I’ve a meal for us, remember?”

“Yeah, that’ll be nice,” I muttered stupidly, and then, with the lack of inhibition so common to me when I was half awake, I looked straight at him and spoke my mind. “Hey! Are you ever gonna let me see you without the hat and the shades?”

I expected him to remove both items promptly, with a grin and a flourish, but instead his face flushed crimson, and he tugged the hat brim down even lower.

“Is something wrong?”

He hung his head as if ashamed. “I was afraid of this,” he muttered.

“Afraid of what? Of being seen?”

“A little. I—I used to be a decent-looking man, but I’m old now, and—God! You’ll think I’m hideous!”

“That’s an awfully strong word, Liam.”

“I’m not what I was,” he insisted. “I’ve been ill, and it’s aged me.”

“I’m not exactly young myself, yet I’ve no problem with letting you see that.”

“Oh, really? Funny, I don’t remember your hair being quite so red in your photographs.”

I blushed. “Well—I confess. I had it touched up before I left. I didn’t like to come here looking so gray.”

“Ha! You see? You’re every bit as vain as I am!” He turned to face me again, smiling, but I still found the sunglasses unnerving.

“Liam, I do wish you’d let me see your eyes.”

“I will, but for now you mustn’t let it bother you. My eyes are sensitive to light, and lately it’s worse than usual. Do you know what iritis is?”

“No.”

“It’s an inflammation of the colored part—the iris—and I’ve got it in my left eye. If the pupil contracts at all, it’s quite painful. Today’s the first day in a long time that I’ve dared to go without a patch over it.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Does it hurt now?”

“Yeah,” he said, and sighed. “I have to put some drops in it, and then I’ll put the patch back on, but let’s get you settled first.”

He slid out of the driver’s seat and went around to the back of the car. I followed him, and together we removed my bags and carried them to the house.

It looked like a very modest, unassuming sort of place from the outside, rather like what we would call a ranch back in the States: one story, with a low-peaked roof. Liam opened the door and stood aside to let me through. At first sight, I gasped with pleasure. The front door opened on a little stone foyer, which in turn opened on a huge, wood-floored room. Overstuffed chairs and a large sofa were placed around an enormous stone fireplace, and light poured in from many windows. “Oh, Liam! How beautiful!”

“It is nice, isn’t it? I’ve grown rather fond of it since I moved here a few years ago, though now with my eyes bothering me as much as they do, I’ve got to start thinking about cutting down on the light in this room.”

“That’s a shame, but—maybe I could help you pick out some nice draperies or shades.”

“Oh, would you? That would be a big help. I know what I need to do to save the strain on my eyes, but I’ve only the vaguest sense of decorating aesthetics.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute! This place is exquisite!”

“Yes, because I hired a decorator to do it over when I first moved in. I had neither the energy nor the ability to tackle the job myself. She showed me things she thought would suit, and I made my choices. Now, let me take you to your room.”

I walked with him down a wide hallway, taking in my surroundings. Imagine that! He’d hired a decorator to do the place! Clearly, he wasn’t hurting for money.

I stopped short behind him as he opened yet another door.

“Here you are, Sarah. I’ll leave you now, and do please join me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

“Thanks. I’d like to change and freshen up a bit, and you were going to take care of your eye.”

“Yes.” He nodded and started to back out of the room, then stopped. “Oh, and before I forget—you’ve a private bathroom, just across the hall there.” He turned and pointed to the doorway. “Make yourself at home.”

“I thought you told me you wouldn’t say that more than once.”

He laughed. “Right, but I’m bound to repeat myself anyway. I always do when I’m nervous.”

“You’re nervous? Why?”

“Well—” He chuckled softly. “You are, too, aren’t you? And why?”

“Point taken.”

He tilted his head to one side and lifted his chin slightly, and that pose, too, was eerily familiar. “I do hope all this strangeness wears off soon.”

“I hope so, too.”

He lingered, watching me. “Have you ever had a face-to-face meeting with an internet friend before?”

“No. Have you?”

“No.”

“I’m not an axe-murderer, Liam. Are you?”

He laughed outright. “Hell, no! What you see is what you get: a pudgy, lonely, middle-aged man, who happens to love the music of Ronan O’Farrell.”

“You’re not pudgy.”

“Well, compared to what I looked like twenty years ago—”

“You were lucky, then. You would not want to know what I looked like twenty years ago.”

“No?”

“No. Now, will you please go and take care of that eye?”

***

When I entered the kitchen a little while later, Liam was standing before the stove, stirring the contents of an immense stockpot with a wooden spoon. The hat was gone, and I saw that he had a good, full mane of hair, thick and wavy, rippling over his shoulders. Though mostly gray now, a few dark streaks told me it had once been a rich, chestnut brown. A length of black elastic circled his head, restraining the hair a bit, and by this I knew he had donned the eye-patch. He was humming along with some soft music playing on the stereo as he worked, dancing a little.

“Well, hello again,” I greeted him.

He jumped, startled, and turned around. Much to my dismay, he was still wearing the sunglasses.

“Hello! Food’s just about ready. Would you like wine with your dinner?”

“Thanks, I’d love some. How’s your eye?”

“Feels better, now that I’ve put the drops in and covered it.”

“But you still need the glasses?”

“Yeah. I thought I told you—light hurts my eyes. Even if I didn’t have this infection—or whatever it is—I’d be wearin’ shades. The only time light doesn’t bother me is when it comes from candles.”

“Then we’ll have to light some later. I want to see you without the glasses.”

His brow furrowed slightly. “Yeah, and with an eye-patch. I’ll have you know it doesn’t make me look very glamorous.”

“I don’t care about glamor. I care about getting to know you, and I don’t feel as if I can do that if I can’t get a good look at your face.”

At that, his expression lost its sweetness, and he frowned. “For someone who barely knows me, you certainly feel free to make demands,” he snapped.

“I beg your pardon, but I don’t think wanting to see you without sunglasses is unreasonable.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” he conceded. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to forgive me. I’m just not used to—to being around people much anymore. I’ve been alone here for too long, with no one to talk to, and no one to challenge anything I do. I’ve got very set in my ways.”

“I’m set in mine, too, and I can be terribly pushy. Forgive me if I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t. Look, if it’s really so important to you, just dim the lights over the table. My good eye could probably tolerate that, at least for a little while.”

I felt ashamed of myself. Why was I pushing him so hard, so soon? “It’s all right, Liam. Wait ’til later, when we’ve lit some candles in the other room.”

His relief was all too evident despite his token protest. “No, really, I don’t mind. Go ahead and dim the lights.”

“Not now. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He picked up a lidded ceramic casserole dish. “If you wouldn’t mind putting this out on the table—”

I took it from him, and our hands connected briefly. The dish was warm, but not too hot to handle. “Vegetables?”

“No, it’s brown rice. I like to mix it in with my stew.”

“That’s how I make it at home.”

“I know. You told me once.”

“And you remembered?”

“Yes,” he said, blushing.

I put the bowl down on the table and stepped out of the way as, with hands and forearms protected by tie-dyed oven mitts, Liam approached with a second, larger casserole. Bowls and silverware were already laid out, and drinking glasses, too: a stemmed crystal wine glass at my place, and a tumbler of ice water at his. “Aren’t you going to have some wine, too?”

“No. I don’t drink anymore.”

I wondered if he was an alcoholic, but thought it wouldn’t be polite to ask. If he was and he wanted me to know, he’d tell me. “Your health?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, and then he plucked the thought right from my mind. “I’m not what you’d call an alcoholic, though. I used to enjoy a drink once in awhile, but my doctor advises against it now. I take some medications that don’t mix well with drink, and while I’d be perfectly safe having a glass of wine on occasion, I’d just as soon not get into the habit.”

“That’s probably wise.” I put the bottle down without uncorking it. “I’ll have water, too, then, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, please! Enjoy it, Sarah! I bought it for you—a special occasion and all—our first meeting. I don’t expect you to drink it all, just—enjoy a glass with your dinner.”

“Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” He took the bottle and pulled the cork out, and stood to pour for me. His hand shook, and a few drops fell on the tablecloth. “Oh, damn. I’m so clumsy,” he fretted, dabbing at the stain with a napkin.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll show you how to get that out later.”

“How did you know I hadn’t a clue?”

“Just a hunch.”

“It was correct. Here, now—let me serve you.”

Without thinking, I put my hand over his and patted gently. “No, Liam. You did all the work. Sit down, and let me serve you.”

He sank into his chair without a word, and I tried not to notice how his hand trembled as it rested on the table, nor how intently he watched me as I dished out the food. Our hands connected again, briefly, as I set his plate before him. “Thank you, Sarah. You’re very kind.”

“You’re welcome, but you’re the one who’s kind, to drive such a long way to meet me and then see that I get a home-cooked meal, when we could just as easily have had dinner in the city.”

“Buying you a meal seemed much less hospitable than making you one.”

“I’d have been grateful either way.” I spooned up some of the stew and hesitated. Though it smelled delicious, I was suddenly afraid. Who was that character in Greek mythology? Persephone? She had eaten food in the realm of the underworld and been compelled to live there for half the year as a result. That, according to the legend, was the reason we now had fall and winter. Her mother, the earth goddess Demeter, had grieved in her months of absence, refusing to let so much as a single flower bloom. When Hades, god of the underworld, allowed Persephone to return to her world again, spring and summer came in full force as Demeter rejoiced.

But Persephone had eaten six pomegranate seeds, not a bowl of stew, and there was no such thing as enchanted food in this day and age, no matter how exotic a place New Zealand seemed to be. I had no Demeter at home to grieve for me, unless I could count Emily, and Liam, no Hades, was an ordinary man. I put the spoon into my mouth and tasted the stew. It was so delicious, it might well have been enchanted.

“Well?” he prompted, his eyebrows rising above the frame of his sunglasses.

“Really good! I think it might even be better than mine.”

“You’ll have to show me your way, then, so we can make a proper comparison.”

“I’d be glad to, but not right away. Let’s have some other things for variety first.”

“Yes, of course. Perhaps I’ll fish in the morning, and catch something nice for us.”

“There are good places to fish, then?”

He nodded. “Lake Manapouri, for starters, and I have a boat, but—you don’t fish, do you?”

“No, I don’t, but I do enjoy boat rides.”

“Well, there’s lots to see on the water here. I can take you on some nice journeys before it gets too cold. The boat’s big enough to sleep on, and maybe I could take you into the sound.”

“The sound?” I asked, automatically thinking of music. “What’s that got to do with your boat?”

“Perhaps I should have said fiord instead of sound.” He smiled. “Did you not look at some maps before you came all this way?”

“I did, but mostly to try and figure the distance from Dunedin to Manapouri, and you already know how successful I was in that endeavor.”

He laughed and took another spoonful of stew, then drank some water from his glass. “There’s a lovely place just across the lake, called Doubtful Sound. The natives ought to say fiord, because that’s what it is. Anyway, ’tis one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, and believe me, I’ve seen a lot in my travels.”

“You’ve traveled pretty extensively, then?”

He hesitated. “Well—yes.”

“For business or pleasure?”

“A—a little of both, I guess. My business was my pleasure, to such a degree that I may have missed other things equally as splendid as Doubtful Sound.”

“What did you do before you came here to live?”

He looked down into the depths of his bowl. “That doesn’t matter anymore.”

His tone of voice was not convincing. “No?” I asked gently, hoping he would elaborate on the subject.

“No,” he answered firmly.

“How about what you do here? Can you tell me something about that?”

“There isn’t much to tell. My life is rather simple and solitary. I love being near the water, and I’ve got the boat, so I fish quite a bit, and I putter about in the garden, and I—I practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yes. My music. I—I’m no Ronan O’Farrell, but I do play a little guitar.”

“You never told me! All these months we’ve been chatting, and you never said!”

“Well, I’m not really much of a player these days. I don’t have as much time for it as I thought I would, though technically I’m retired now, and ought to have all the time in the world.”

“You seem young to be retired.”

“I’m not exactly young,” he demurred.

“How old are you, then?”

“That’s a rather personal question, m’dear, and it’s lucky for you I’m not sensitive about telling, but—how old do you think I am?”

I studied his face, its lines cutting deeper as he grinned at me, and remembered that he said his illness had aged him. He might look sixty, but I was reasonably certain he was younger than that. “Fifty-two?” I guessed.

“Fifty-four, actually. Now, tell me how old do you think I look?”

I winced. “Ooh, Liam, don’t ask me that!”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot, but I can’t help wondering—oh, never mind. I suppose it really shouldn’t matter, but—I do hope you’ll believe me when I say that my looks really are improving as I regain my health. I was skin and bone for a long time, and too weak to do much of anything, but now—well, living here has worked wonders. Shall I guess how old you are now?”

I laughed. “Don’t you know it’s not polite to ask a lady’s age?”

“Yes, but I think we’ve known one another long enough to be honest about such things, and I’m guessing that you’re about to celebrate—” His brows drew together as he studied my face. “—the fifth anniversary of your thirty-ninth birthday.”

“Now, how could you possibly have known that?”

He smiled fondly, his head tilted to one side. “Dunno. Just a lucky guess, I suppose. Would you like more food?”

“Thank you, Liam, but no. I’m really full.”

“Right, then.” He rose quickly and gathered the dishes before I could make a move to assist. “Won’t take but a minute or two to clear up and get these things in the dishwasher. Have some more wine if you like.”

I picked up the bottle and poured another half glass. It was a fine, full-bodied Merlot, and I savored it: wine this good was a rare treat for me. “This really is lovely.”

“What, the wine?”

“The wine, the food—everything! You’ve made me feel so welcome.”

“’Twas no trouble.” He shook out his dish towel and draped it over the oven door handle. “What’s your pleasure now, though? We could listen to music for a bit, or perhaps you’d like to head off to bed. You’ve had a long journey, and you must be exhausted.”

“I am tired,” I admitted, “but I think I could stay up for a little while longer.”

“All right, then. Let me show you my music room.”

***

The space was dark and cozy, with comfortable furniture just perfect for relaxing and listening. An oversized leather sofa facing the stereo cabinets begged to be sprawled upon, but instead Liam and I perched formally and uneasily at either end. He cued up the CD player and the room was filled with the sound of Ronan O’Farrell’s acoustic album. In the light of flickering candles, Liam finally removed his sunglasses, but then quickly shielded his eyes with one hand and let the music carry him away. He breathed and moved to its pulse, following every nuance ever so subtly, as if he knew it intimately. I kept silence, not wishing to disturb the intensity of his focus. Another time, perhaps, when I wasn’t so tired, there would be time for conversation…

***

C.P. Warner
© 9 May 2007

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