Part V

The memory of Doubtful Sound was still fresh and present in my thoughts and dreams three nights later, when I was awakened suddenly, shockingly, by Liam’s screams. Heart pounding, knowing instinctively that it was not a part of my dream turned nightmare, I bolted up from my bed and raced down the hall to his room. The lights were on, but dimmed, and Liam lay sprawled on the floor, his feet tangled in the bedclothes. His right hand pawed at the floor, seeking something to grasp. “Sarah!” he moaned. “Sarah!”

I sank to my knees beside him. “I’m here, Liam. What is it?”

He raised his head and turned towards me. “My eyes. Oh, God, my eyes! I can’t see!”

“Well, of course you can’t! You’ve got them closed.”

“It hurts to open them.”

“Maybe so, but you’ve got to open them and let me have a look. Come on.” I freed him from the blankets and took his hands, intent on pulling him to his feet. He gasped, then cried out sharply. Startled, I released him, and he crumpled to the floor, clutching at his left arm.

“Liam? Jesus! What did I do?”

He couldn’t answer, just lay there ashen-faced, cradling his arm against his chest.

Clearly, he needed medical attention, so I picked up the telephone and dialed the operator. I gave the address and was assured that an ambulance would be along shortly. Then I rang off and went back to Liam. He’d managed to sit up, his back against the bed. His eyes were still screwed tightly shut, and he was supporting his left arm with his right. I sat down on the edge of the bed and touched his shoulder gently. “It’s all right, Liam. Help’s on the way.”

***

We were lucky enough to escape from the hospital around mid-morning, having spent a good eight hours there, mostly trying to keep our minds occupied while we waited for various doctors to come and go. Finally we were back in Liam’s car, thanks to my having the presence of mind to follow the ambulance rather than ride along to the hospital. I’d already driven a few times in the past week, standing in for Liam when he got tired after a long day afield, or if his eye bothered him. I had gotten used to driving on the left side of the road and didn’t even need him to navigate anymore.

One doctor had wanted to keep Liam in the hospital for observation, but he refused to stay once he learned that he wasn’t going blind. He was in a bad way, yes, with iritis now attacking his good eye, but he would not lose his sight. The attending doctor prescribed complete rest of both eyes for a full week, applied shields, and bandaged them into place. During that week, Liam would take some potent antibiotics to help clear up the infection, and several times a day I would have to remove the dressings to apply eye drops. None of it would be pleasant for either of us, but at least Liam could go home to recover, and I was thankful for that.

The eye problems would have been more than enough to handle, but Liam had fallen hard on his left hand when he tried to get out of bed. The resulting wrist fracture explained why he had screamed so loud when I tried to help him up from the floor. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how much it must have hurt when I grabbed his hands and pulled; I could only hope I hadn’t made the injury worse.

He was slumped in the passenger seat now, groggy from pain medication, with his forearm in a cast and sling. What a miserable situation!

Well, I could take care of him easily enough. I knew how to assist a blind man all too well, thanks to my years with Hal…

Soon I’d have to be telling Liam all about that. He’d heard me tell the doctor that I was perfectly competent to care for him at home, having had a serious relationship with a blind man for a number of years. Curiosity overcame his pain and fear, and with little else to do but talk as we waited, Liam asked more than a few leading questions.

“Not here,” I told him. “Not now.”

“Tell me about it later?”

“Maybe.”

He had accepted that and quietly lay back on the gurney to wait for the results of his x-rays, wrapping the cold pack the nurse had given him more closely around his swollen wrist.

As he rested, my mind wandered.

I had never really told anyone the truth about the way my relationship with Hal ended, not even Emily. I led everyone to believe that Hal and I had simply broken up and he had left town, rather than speaking the unbearable truth: that he lay comatose in a nursing home outside the city, felled by a massive stroke.

Week after week, for three long years I had gone to sit by his bedside, to talk to him and look for some glimmer of hope. Though there was none and the doctors all advised me to stop torturing myself, I couldn’t stop going to see him. I had loved him, and deep inside I still did and always would. I never allowed myself to give up hoping for a miracle until the day I went to visit and found him on his side, curled in a fetal position. Reality hit me hard, and when Liam, with whom I’d been corresponding for a few months by then, issued the invitation to visit him in New Zealand, I leapt at the opportunity. I had to separate myself from Hal once and for all, or go mad with grief.

Liam slept through most of the ride back to Manapouri, waking only when I stopped at the chemist’s to have his prescriptions filled. “I’ll be fine right here,” he assured me. “Take your time.”

He was snoring lightly when I returned twenty minutes later. I got into the car and closed the door quietly, not wanting to disturb him. He continued sleeping, and I headed for home.

At the house, I hesitated to wake him. Though I’d been with him for nearly two weeks now, we had only touched one another shyly and tentatively, usually by accident. Now, with Liam injured and blind, I would have to be much more physical with him, beginning with the trip from the car to the house.

Well, there was no sense in putting it off any longer. I went around to the passenger door and opened it carefully. “Liam,” I called softly.

He started. “Eh?”

“We’re home. Come on, let me help you into the house.”

“Right.” He groped with his good hand and found my shoulder. “Tell me where I’m going.”

“Just on the straightaway for a bit.” I put my arm around his waist, and he laid his arm across my shoulders, and we made our way slowly to the house. He moved uncertainly, hesitating.

“Shouldn’t we be at the front steps by now?”

“Almost. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you when to step up.”

He tightened his grip on my shoulders and concentrated on moving forward.

Finally, we reached the front steps.

“All right, Liam. Step up. Now, again, and one more time—good! Now, wait ’til I get the door open.” I fitted the key into the lock and turned it, and the door swung open. Putting my arm around Liam’s waist again, I led him inside. “You should rest now.”

“Yes, I know, but I don’t want to go back to bed. Take me to the bathroom first, and then let me lie down on the sofa.”

“All right.” I walked him down the hallway to the bathroom door and hesitated. “Liam—”

He detached himself from me and moved his hand to rest on the door jamb. “I’ll be all right now. It won’t be difficult to find the right piece of furniture, and I’m reasonably certain I can manage to take care of myself. I’ll call you when I’m done. Could you fix us some coffee?”

“Sure. Decaf?”

“Yes.”

I left him and went into the kitchen. In the time I’d been here, I’d come to love this room. It was so spacious and well-organized, unlike my apartment kitchen back home. Maybe I should make some food to go with the coffee. A batch of muffins might well hit the spot. I was hungry, and Liam probably was, too. I started the coffee first, then turned on the oven and gathered the ingredients. I wanted blueberries, but Liam didn’t have any.

Did blueberries even exist in New Zealand?

I settled for apples, raisins and walnuts instead. I measured and mixed, then found a big muffin tin, greased the cups, filled them, and popped the pan into the oven. While the muffins baked, I started washing the dishes.

“Hullo, what are you doing?”

I jumped. “Liam! You said you’d call me!”

“I know, but I wanted to try and navigate a bit on my own. I’m slow, but I can do it, as long as there’s a wall to follow. I’ve just run out of wall, though.”

I dried my hands and went to his side. “Shall I bring you to the sofa?”

“Not right this minute. Let me sit and have coffee first.”

“All right.” I guided him to the table and put his hand on the back of one of the chairs.

He pulled it out from the table and cautiously lowered himself on to the seat. “Thank you.” He sniffed the air, nostrils flaring slightly. “You’re baking?”

“Yeah. I was hungry, and thought you might be, too.”

“I am a wee bit peckish, and it smells wonderful. Scones?”

“No, muffins. They’ll be ready soon. Would you like coffee while you wait?”

“My Lord, I feel like I’m in a restaurant, being waited on like this, but—yes, please, with a little milk.”

“Sugar?”

“No.”

I fixed it and put the mug on the table before him, then guided his hand to it. “Careful, now. It’s hot.”

He nodded, slipped two fingers into the handle, curled his hand around the warm stoneware, raised the mug to his lips, and sipped cautiously. “Ah, that’s good! Thank you, Sarah.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m sorry to be such a bother, but I suppose there was no way to predict something like this.” He sighed. “It would be inconvenient no matter what the circumstances, but I do feel badly about spoiling your vacation.”

“I don’t consider it spoiled at all. We’ve taken some nice drives together, and we had that wonderful trip into Doubtful Sound. When your eyes are better, we can go around a bit more, if you like, but it’s not a necessity. I’m content, actually, to just hang around here with you.”

“You are?” he asked, sounding surprised.

“Well—yes. I—enjoy your company. You find pleasure in a lot of the same things I do, and your grasp on music—”

“You have a rather excellent grasp on it yourself, my friend.”

“But I can’t play worth a damn.”

“If I were a gambling man, I’d be willing to bet that you can.”

“Yeah, well—I wish you would have let me hear you play.”

His smile vanished. “I had almost worked up the nerve,” he said regretfully. “I’d been thinking about it, but now—” He ran his good hand over the rigid contour of his arm. “The doctor says I’m to wear this thing for at least six weeks. You’ll be gone home long before it comes off. But if you could stay—”

“I know, Liam. I wish I could, but this is all the vacation time I’m allotted. Maybe next year.”

“A year’s a damn long time.”

“I know.”

The timer bell dinged. I donned Liam’s tie-dyed mitts and removed the muffins from the oven.

“Those really do smell wonderful,” he said, startlingly close to my ear.

I gasped in surprise, turned, and found him standing beside me. How had I failed to hear him approach? “You should be sitting down. You’re not used to feeling your way around yet.”

“I’m fine navigating my way around the kitchen. I know this space better than any other in this house,” he explained. “I spend a lot of time here, not just cooking, but reading and writing, and working on the computer.”

“I don’t see any computer in here.”

“I have a laptop. I keep it in my room when I’m not using it.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, once I’m actually in the kitchen, it’s very simple to find my way around. What kind of muffins did you make? I think I smell apples—”

“You do, but I also put in raisins and walnuts, and oatmeal. Would you like butter on yours?”

“Please, and could I have more coffee?”

“Of course.” His empty mug dangled precariously from his fingers. I took it and began pouring. “Go sit down and I’ll bring everything over.”

“Thanks.”

I watched as he made his way back to the table. He placed his feet cautiously, but did not shuffle, his hand held out in front of him, searching for the edge of the table. He found it and followed it until he located his chair. Only then did I feel safe turning my back to arrange our plates.

“There’s plenty more if you want it, but I thought you could start with two,” I told him, as I set his plate before him. “Let me know if you want more.”

“Thanks, but I think two will suffice.” His hand groped its way towards the coffee mug, connected, and once again, raised it to his lips. “Your coffee is stronger than mine.”

“I’m sorry, I like it strong. Do you want me to dilute it for you?”

“No, no. I didn’t say I didn’t like it, Sarah. I only said it’s stronger. Actually, I rather think I prefer it like this.” He put the mug down and found his muffins.

I thought he’d be terribly clumsy about trying to eat them, but he managed surprisingly well, and I realized that his biggest challenge would come when he had to use eating utensils without being able to see what he was doing. Would I end up having to feed him?

Well, we’d deal with that, if and when we had to.

“How are the muffins, Liam?”

“Lovely. Do write out the recipe for me, will you?”

“I’d be glad to. Sure you wouldn’t like another?”

He polished off his last bite and nodded. “I’m hungrier than I thought, but one more should do the trick.”

I got up and fetched another, stopping to butter it first, then set it down on his plate. It, too, disappeared quickly, and then he downed the last of his coffee.

“Want a refill?”

“No, thank you.” He sighed contentedly, then belched lightly. “I beg your pardon,” he apologized.

“That’s all right. You know, in some cultures, a belch is considered a high compliment to the chef, and not belching is the gravest insult.”

“Yes, I know, but where I come from you excuse yourself, unless of course you’ve just downed a dirty black pint of Sir Arthur’s best.”

“Guinness, right?”

“Roight!” he agreed, his accent thickening with more than a hint of a brogue.

“Where do you come from, Liam?”

“Eh?”

“What part of Ireland?”

“Och, that doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve been away too long, and I’ll never go back. When I left, I left for good.”

“But it’s such a beautiful country. How could you?”

“I had my reasons,” he replied, in a tight voice.

“You miss it.”

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t, and God knows I’d love to be goin’ back there one day, but—I can’t. Not now, but maybe someday, when I’m an old, old man, and no one will recognize me.”

“You’re running from something, aren’t you?”

“You might say that.”

“From the law?”

“Er—not exactly.”

“Oh, God! You were active in the I.R.A., weren’t you? And now you’re in hiding, with a price on your head—”

“Oh, for the love of God!” he exclaimed, sounding exasperated. “Nothin’ could be farther from the truth!”

“Tell me, then.”

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I did, but—” He rose abruptly. “Help me to the living room, will you? There are some things I need to say, and I’d like to be comfortable while we talk.”

***

C.P. Warner
© 21 May 2007

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