Chapter Two

The hallway the door led me into was tired, grey and neglected.  I suddenly felt the same.  To my right was a staircase and to the left a small reception desk.  A small, grey haired old man leaned on the counter.  A look of eternal disappointment appeared to have been tattoed on his face.  With complete indifference he stated “Susan Mitchum”.  It had been a long journey and I couldn’t quite fathom how someone could recognise me.  I idiotically answered “Err, yes.  How did you guess?”

“One boat each day.  One guest expected”. 

“Oh”.  I’d declared myself to be an idiot.  This wasn’t much of a welcome.  After David’s endless camp chirpiness I’d forgotten about the other options people took when choosing interpersonal styles.  I stood, bags in hand and dumbly waited for what would follow.   

The man continued in a monotone.  “Welcome to the Star Castle.  What brings you to the island? Mountaineering? Ornithology? Cetology?  Walking?”

“Distance.  I wanted a sense of distance”.

“Ahh, well we provide that above all else.  Three hours from the mainland, no internet, no cell phone signal, no television.  You write yourself a list of modern home comforts we aint got none a them”.  I was a little lost for how to respond but he clearly wasn’t expecting a response. 

“I’m Eric.  You’re in room 4. Up the stairs and turn left.  Come down and find me if you need anything”.  His left hand which held the room key motioned upwards and I followed it.  With my left hand I took the key from him and ascended the stairs.   

Like an apology I say “Thank you”.

Once inside Room 4 I release Horatio’s lead and within seconds he has explored the entire room, entered the dogbed, performed eight circles of it and settled down.  He looks expectantly up at me. “I’ve no idea” I say to him.  The room is okay but smells as if a flatulent Alsatian has been trapped in there for a week and was released moments before we arrived.  It had everything you could need though; a wardrobe from a different century, a single bed and a sink.  From the small window an overgrown garden was visible and beyond its walls mist covered mountains.  An island as small as this and I still don’t get a view of the sea.  By now Myles would be back at reception demanding a different room.

Perhaps I’d explore the mountains in the coming days.  Myles had never shown any interest in the countryside.  One field, tree or hill was the same as any other to him.  He dismissed my interests casually for his own amusement.  He didn’t realise that even if you were standing on the same hillside the view today will be different from any other day; the sunlight, the clouds, the breeze, the temperature....the entire experience is ever changing.

I drop my rucksack into a corner, heave my suitcase onto the bed and open it.  I have toiletries, enough clothes for ten days, enough medication for thirteen days and three of Darden Williams’ novels; ‘God Bless the Pretty Things’, ‘Champions of the Lunatic Fringe’ and ‘Fondness makes the Heart Grow Absent’.  I first bought one of his books in 1984 in the 'Life before Myles' period.  I was in Czechoslovakia and desperate to find something to read.  His was the only English language book I’d been able to locate.  If I ever try to think of that vacation thoughts and memories of Czechoslovakia or travelling from Liberec to Banska Bystrica are lost but I can recall every detail of ‘Champions of the Lunatic Fringe’.  I fell in love with Williams then.  His story of an isolated and socially awkward boy at Wolfville’s Acadia University being harassed by the most popular and beautiful girl there and ultimately taking his own life was my idea of literary perfection at the time.  It still is.  When Myles had seen all of the Williams books on my shelf when he first visited my apartment he asked me to describe Darden’s writing style.  I’d told him that not much would happen over hundreds of pages but how he wrote about so little happening was joyful.  I’d told Myles that “in ‘Fondness makes the Heart Grow Absent’ Archie tells his wife ‘Holding you is like trying to hold smoke’ so maybe describing Darden Williams is like trying to hold smoke”.  Myles had nodded and looked awkward and we’d both internally categorised Williams as an area of difference and incompatibility and rarely discussed him since.  In ‘Fondness makes the Heart Grow Absent’ septuagenarians Archie and Lillian had driven from Saskatoon to Calgary to visit their daughter and grandchildren and reflected on their life together, revealing the different perspectives of events each of them held.  I’d longed to make the journey they had both physically and emotionally.  I’d packed in a hurry when Myles left the house this morning and had grabbed those two books quickly.  They weren’t random choices though.  They were books about journeys and escapes.  

How would Williams have described this room? Maybe “The room was like a Gauntanamo cell with a Floral Border” or “Like a Museum for stains”.  No, he’d come up with something better.  Something unlike anyone else.  Something in five words which most writers needed two dozen to achieve.  Myles and I were like characters in a book.  For the duration of the story interesting things had happened.  There were events, there was passion, it was of interest to us and would be to others but the narrative came to an end.  The narrative came to an end and we continued to exist.  We continued to exist and co-exist only nothing more had happened.  We just lingered.  Characters without a story.  What would Darden Williams have done with us? What would he make of me being here?  Would he have written David or Eric into my story?  Would he have written Myles out of it? 

Myles had announced yesterday that he had a meeting in the city so would leave before seven.  Then after work there was a meeting at the golf club so he’d be back late.  His words had registered but I was flicking through ‘God Bless the Pretty Things’, having bought it that morning.  When I’d heard him leave this morning I grabbed the three novels, packed all of my walking gear into a rucksack, quickly packed the suitcase, grabbed Horatio and left.  When I needed to change trains at 10am I put my house key, phone and wallet into a trash can.

I think I can hear Eric downstairs.

I can hear the distant ringing of a bell.

                                                                                                       (by Patrick)