This is part 2 of Obsidian. Part 1 is here.
I lay on the floor looking at the mist of vacant spider’s webs on the ceiling between the wooden beams. As soon as I returned home, I drew the curtains. I was not game to cast my gaze down to the beach. I wished to know nothing more of the man and his circumstance. As I lay in the dark, silence rang in my ears. I reasoned that I had done my part to the best of my ability, and I could pray with more or less the same amount of guilt as anyone else. I thought to make a cup of tea and some toast, but my stomach was unsettled. The house seemed still that day. The curtains did not stir and slowly I calmed. I lay like that resting my head on my hands and watching my chest rise and fall until the evening. I still did not dare turn a light on. If anybody came by, I would hope it seemed that nobody was home. When moonlight peaked around the curtains I got up and fixed some tea and toast. I boiled water in the sooty twilight then stoked the fire and sat down in my chair. The meal seemed to settle me. The day's events no longer swum in my stomach, and I decided it was safe to turn on the light so that I could read. I picked up O.B. Mulvey’s ‘Lost Lagoon’. As was my custom before reading I held up the book to my nostrils and inhaled. It held the scent of private school libraries. That of loneliness. For a brief moment, the feeling washed over me before I subdued it by picking up the story. I remained absorbed in the book for the next few hours and the evening passed without incident. When I felt dozy, I got up and made my way to bed rather than sleeping in the chair. The curtains were open in the bedroom and a bright full moon hung in the sky illuminating the front yard. I drew them, undressed then climbed into the cot which squealed its complaint. There I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When I awoke, the weather had returned to its usual tricks. Rain sprayed against the window and the wind whistled as it streamed around the cottage. The transition from the world of sleep to waking was rarely a pleasant one for me and today was no different. I woke ungrateful and in deficit. I dragged myself half asleep to the kitchen to fix some tea. It seemed the kettle took an eternity to boil. I sat in the chilly loungeroom and waited to feel among the living. The darkness irked me, so I opened the blinds. I could see down onto the beach where the incident had transpired the day before but the funk I was in seemed to negate it. There was just empty sand. Nothing remained to suggest what had transpired. I cupped my hands around the warm mug. I sat like that looking out the window into the overcast day slowly coming back to balance. The predictability of the days had always comforted me. I knew what I would do that day, tomorrow, and the next. The man's appearance had been a slight variation. I would remain housebound to ensure it was so. I finished my tea and remembering the full moon of the night before went out into the garden to fetch the eggs. I unlatched the back door. There was a pause in the rain, so I walked naked into the garden. It was overgrown at the sides, so I need not worry about being seen from the road. Perhaps if someone was on the beach or a ship at sea, they may have seen me in the distance. Regardless, I cared little. I walked to the coop and opened the hatch. As expected, there were three eggs. The chickens made nervous sounds and scratched about as I retrieved them. In my hands they were cold. I walked back inside and placed them on the counter. Later, when I could be bothered, I would place them out the front. However, I desired to read so I gathered some wood and prepared a fire. Once lit I settled back into the story.
A few hours passed and I felt glad. Outside the weather seemed indecisive. Ripe threatening storm clouds, bruise purple, rolled in from the ocean and floated about amongst vast blankets of grey sky. It was not raining, and I remembered I had to put the eggs out. I walked to the bedroom and slipped on some trousers and grabbed my coat from the loungeroom. The eggs seemed small in my hands, and I wondered about the health of the chickens. I opened the door and stepped into the front yard. Leaving the door open I made down the path. What I saw stopped me in my tracks. I stood there for a second feeling the cold, wet cement under my feet unsure what to do. There was a woman outside the front gate inspecting the eggs. She looked up and our eyes met. There would be no retreat. She stood there with some eggs in her hand looking at me as if she had been caught in the act of stealing. She seemed unsure as to what to do next and used her free hand to brush the hair out of her eyes. She looked towards me.
“Ah, hello?”
She said in accented English. I wondered how she could tell I was a foreigner.
I made an attempt at smiling and felt my cheeks flush. I was not expecting this. I walked towards the gate. With each step, I felt more and more awkward. I reached the gate and stood there.
“Hello, do you speak English?”
“Yes.”
I tried to cover my bare chest with the trench coat, but it was hard with the eggs in my hand.
“Would you like some eggs? You are free to take them if you like.”
“Yes, I’d love some, but I've no way of carrying them.”
I stood there silently for a few moments. She started laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“It's just your manner of dress, its, how do you say? Peculiar.”
“Well, I wasn’t expecting to run into anyone.”
“Do you always dress like this?”
She looked me in the eyes and smiled. It had been so long since I had conversed with someone. The sound of my own voice was foreign and strange. I stood there in silence like a fool. Not knowing what to do I held out my hand with the eggs.
“Here have these.”
“Oh, thank you.”
She reached out and I put the eggs into her hands. Her finger briefly grazed the back of my hand. We stood there for a few moments.
“I'm sorry to be a bother, but I don’t suppose you have something to carry these in. I’ve got quite the walk home.”
“One moment I’ll check inside.” I turned and made my way back up the path. There was surely something I could give her. I was anxious to be rid of her but there was also something about her. A playfulness that was both alluring and nauseating. There was no doubt she was possessed of beauty; a man could not be shamed for noticing that. I walked inside and a peel of thunder filled the air. The air pressure changed, and I felt a downpour imminent. I hurried into the kitchen. I searched for a container and found some plastic tupperware under the sink. I heard the rain before I saw it. The heavens opened and the sound of the rain on the tin roof was tremendous. I looked outside and saw the lady open the front gate and run up the path. I exited the kitchen and walked to the front door. She stood under the alcove sheltering from the rain. Behind her, the air was thick with icy droplets.
“Do you mind if I wait out the rain here?”
“I guess not.” She smiled at me again. I stood there with the tupperware in my hands. Words left my lips that did not seem my own.
“Would you like to come in? I mean it's dreadful out here. I could fix us some tea and..”
“Yes, thank you.”
The woman crouched down and pulled the boots off her stockinged legs. She took off her coat. She walked inside and hung her coat in the hall, and I closed the door behind her. She lingered just a second and then walked into the lounge room. She took measured steps and curiously looked around.
“Do you live alone?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you get lonely?”
“Sometimes, of course.”
I was surprised by her forwardness and my honesty. She stopped and turned to me.
“And do you have a name….?”
I felt uneasy. She raised her eyebrows.
“Johnathon.”
She stuck out her hand to shake. I looked at it for a second as it hung there. She had elegant hands and wore no ring or watch. I took her cold hand in mine. It felt as if an electric current coursed through me. This was the first person I had touched in quite some time. I let go of her hand.
“And your name?”
“Oh, how rude of me.” Her accent was pleasant and not too thick.
“Sabine.”
“Nice to meet you, Sabine.”
“Nice to meet you too.”
“Please take a seat, I'll prepare some tea, how do you like it?”
“Just black with one sugar.”
“Ok.”
“Ah, where should I sit? There’s only one chair.”
“Please take it.” I motioned with my hand.
“I can’t take your only chair I’ll sit on the ground.”
“Suit yourself.”
With that, she sat down on the rug and crossed her legs. I walked to the kitchen placed the Tupperware on the counter and put the kettle on. I then walked through the loungeroom to fetch a shirt. She ran her hands through her hair and wrung it throwing the water into the fire which hissed. I returned to the kitchen and started to fix the tea. Outside the rain was still pouring down.
“So do you have company here often?”
“Not often.” This seemed to amuse her.
“And how long have you lived here?”
“Since last fall.”
“And how many visitors have your received in that time?” She was laughing now. I stopped and turned to her. The kettle clicked as it finished boiling.
“None. You would be the first.” I said this in a matter-of-fact way not putting any thought into the idea that it might sound strange. She feigned pity.
“Aww. So, you a loner?”
“If you must. I don’t mind it.”
“Mind what?”
“Being alone.”
“Nobody likes being alone.”
“I do.”
“Now I bet if you could find some decent company you wouldn’t like it so much.” She said this with great confidence which was understandable as it was true.
“Your right.” I conceded.
I picked up the kettle and poured the hot water into the teacups. I placed a teaspoon of sugar in hers and stirred both before putting the teaspoon in the sink. I looked outside expectantly but the weather was still abysmal. I picked up the teas and carried them over. I crouched down and placed hers on the ground in front of her which she in turn picked up and cupped with her hands. I placed my tea on a side table and then stepped forward and placed a log on the fire. I then stepped back and sat in my chair. We sat like that for a few moments. I tried not to look at her but now that she had removed her coat and hood it was unquestionable that she was very pretty. She wore a black turtleneck skivvy and black skirt with black stockings. Her hair, black as obsidian contrasted with her pale porcelain skin. She wore no makeup. Around her neck hung a silver chain with a charm on it. She sat like that tracing imaginary lines on her cup whilst she did this, she mouthed a silent song. As if briefly slipping into her own world. I could not help but stare. All through me strange energies coursed. It had been so long since I had entertained anyone let alone a woman. She looked up and I flinched.
“Are you ok? You seem skittish?”
“I’m fine. I’m just not used to this.”
“To what?”
“Conversing.”
“Oh, am I making you uncomfortable?”
“A little. But it's ok.” She put the cup down, leaned back, kicked her legs out, and leaned back on her palms.
“So, what do you do?”
“Well, I don’t really do anything.” My voice was wooden. Inside an anxiety was building.
“You don’t do anything?” she laughed.
“Well, I read and ahh relax. Sometimes I take walks.”
“Isn’t that boring?” She seemed to draw energy from her line of questioning. With each answer, I felt more drained.
“Sometimes but I'm mostly content.” The lie didn’t come out as seamless as I liked. She made strong eye contact which I was unable to match.
“And why this place? Not many foreigners stay here, almost none during the winter.” She moved her feet from left to right and back again as we talked. Like a metronome keeping the rhythm of conversation. It was obvious she was enjoying herself.
“I just ended up here. I never meant to stay this long. The rent was low, and I decided to stay for the winter.”
“Hmmm. Ok.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Well, what are you doing here?”
“I’m from here, I’m down from the city visiting my parents.”
“And what do you do?”
“I’m a dancer.” She smiled. When she smiled only the top row of teeth were visible. They were straight and neat. However, when she talked it was obvious the bottom row were crooked.
“Oh really?” I don’t know why I found this surprising.
“Really.”
“Ballet?”
“Not quite. More dinner shows and some theatre.” I took a sip of tea. Following suit, she picked her cup up and brought it to her lips.
“The tea is good.”
“Thank you.”
For a while, we sat in silence save for the fire and stop start of the rain. I was warming to the company and didn’t want it to end. She spoke first.
“What will you do this afternoon?”
“Oh, probably just continue reading. It looks miserable out. And you?”
“Well..” Her demeanour changed.
“I'm actually looking for my boyfriend.” My stomach dropped and I felt a prickly embarrassment spread under my skin.
“Your boyfriend?” The words fell out.
“Yes, we had a fight, and I can't find him anywhere.” She looked pained.
“Oh, I'm sorry, what does he look like?
“Well, he’s normal height, I guess. Handsome, brown hair, Shaven, usually dressed in black. He has a scar on his chin”.
“Ok.”
“You haven’t seen him have you.” She looked at me hopefully. I thought of the man at the beach.
“No, I can’t say that I have.” I did not want to alarm her. I also wanted her for myself.
“Oh, I miss him dreadfully.” A few tears escaped and ran down her face. I felt a pang of concern.
“He’ll turn up, he always does.” She wiped her face with her sleeve.
“I’m sure he will.”
“It seems the rain has eased off.” I looked out the window. The rain had stopped, and a mist had begun to form around the cliffs.
“I best be going.” She lifted her cup and finished the tea.
“Ok, I'll show you out.” She stood leaving the cup on the carpet. I got out of the chair picked up her cup and took mine to the kitchen. I picked up the tupperware from the bench.
“Here don’t forget this.” I handed her the container. She walked to the door, and I followed. She put the container on the ground and put on her coat. I stepped forward and unlatched the door. A wall of cool air met us. She stepped out and put her boots on.
“Thank you for the eggs. I’ll return the container.”
“You don’t have to do that. Just keep it.”
“No, I insist.”
“You can just leave it out the front.”
“You don’t want to see me again?”
“It's not that…” She stopped me with a smile.
“Goodbye, Johnathon.” She stepped forward and hugged me with one arm, the tupperware awkwardly between us. Still, I savoured the touch.
“Goodbye.”
I watched her for a moment as she walked down the path, then closed the door. I felt an odd elevation. I’m not sure I enjoyed the novelty of feeling something. I walked back and forth in the lounge room. I was imbued with a fondness or affection. I tried not to succumb to it. I thought of all my past trouble with women. It was with this feeling that it began. Moths in the stomach. I laughed at my own joke. And what of the boyfriend? Surely, she would bring nothing but trouble. How many times must I go through this ordeal? But I could not help it. She was the last thing on my mind when I went to sleep that night and the first when I awoke the next day.