Book of Shadows (8 page)

“Your Mr. Seldes Robert wanted somethin’ from me, missy. That’s the way with ’im, ain’t it? When ’e wants something, he begins to ooze and grin.”

“What does he want?”

“The Clannons. ’E wants the Clannons.”

Marisa frowned.

Jack Lyle took the black briar from his mouth. “’E was pumpin’ me about that little story I told ’im. I think ’e wants to write about it. Mr. Seldes Robert is a man of very strong self interest, I suspect.”

Marisa closed her eyes and exhaled.

Jack Lyle said softly, “’Im and me’s gonna get along, missy.”

Lyle paused, then whispered, “Barely.”

“I know the feeling,” said Marisa. “Would you mind telling me exactly what it is between you two? You never met each other before, yet you fight like cat and dog.”

“Difference in men, I guess. ’E’s just not me type and I guess I ain’t is. I don’t respect ’im and ’e knows it, so it bothers ’im. We both know the truth about the man.”

“We?”

“You and me, missy.”

Marisa smiled. “I guess we do, Mr. Lyle.”

He said, “You feel sorry for ’im don’t you?”

She closed her eyes to the warm sun. “Yes. He’s been trying so long and nothing’s happened for him. He works hard on his books but they just haven’t caught on. I guess I see myself in him to some extent. I had a hard time before my luck changed and I know how he feels. I know what he’s going through. Maybe I feel if … if I back off from him just now, when thing’s are going bad, it’s … it’s like saying he only matters to me if he’s doing well. You understand what I’m saying?”

Lyle dug his pipe into his worn tobacco pouch. “Aye, that I do. I was poor when I married Moira and it didn’t matter to ’er, but that was another time, in a different place than the one you are livin’ in. It’s nice of you to think that way, missy, but … well, I don’t want to be inteferin’ in yer affairs, so I’ll say it quickly then go about me business.”

He lit his pipe, inhaled deeply and put the burnt match in his pocket. “Got to be careful of fires, what with oil and petrol all abouts. I was sayin’ that your man must live ’is own life. You can’t do that fer ’im. Ask yerself what was ’e doin’ before you met ’im. He was eatin’ three meals a day and buttonin’ ’is underpants and pickin’ ’is nose. He didn’t need you. And that’s the thing to remember. You could walk away from ’im and ’es goin’ to survive. If ’e doesn’t, then that’s ’ow it’s meant to be. You think yer bein’ unselfish but all you’re doin’ is makin’ ’im more selfish with yer actions, you follow?”

Jack Lyle pointed the wet stem of his briar at her. “One more thing, missy. Life on the water’s taught me all I know and I can say this about yer man. ’Es ambitious, well and good, but that’s not the same as ’avin’ ability. Just ’cause you want somethin’ doesn’t mean God’s got to give it to ya. Yer man’s got a lot of wantin’ in ’im and I’m wonderin’ if that’s all ’e’s got. Just the wantin’ and not what it takes to make it come true.”

Marisa smiled weakly. “I’ve got to catch up to the others.”

“You do that, missy.”

“Do you always say what’s on your mind, Mr. Lyle?”

“Only when I find somebody worth talkin’ to, missy.”

Marisa looked ashore. Robert was staring at her and Lyle and that’s when she knew the two men would never get along.

She was right. Only hours later the hatred between them would cause the boat trip to end abruptly and bitterly.

It happened the next evening, just before dark. The day had been hot and on board
The Drake
tempers had been short. Larry’s music had begun to fray nerves and when Robert had asked him to turn it off the two had gotten into a shouting match. Marisa dropped an expensive earring into the canal and could only look behind her and curse as the boat continued on its way. Ellie spilled suntan lotion on a new skirt and ruined it. Nat misplaced several antique stickpins and a thorough search of the cabin hadn’t turned them up.

At dusk when the boat tied up in a cove Robert, tired and irritable from a particularly hard session of opening canal locks, was getting on everyone’s nerves. Jack Lyle had already gone ashore and disappeared in the woods, a practice of his whenever possible, rather than use the chemical toilet below. It was Nat Shields who, in charming and amusing fashion, told Robert the rest of them had taken a vote and voted that Robert go ashore for a walk and cool down. Nat offered to go with him while Marisa and Ellie washed a few clothes and Larry cooked supper. The two men would return in a half hour.

Ten minutes after the two had left the boat, Jack Lyle returned.

“Where’s Mr. Shields and Mr. Seldes Robert?” he asked.

Marisa, hanging a wet blouse on the rail, pointed ashore.

“Oh my God!” whispered Jack Lyle, and the urgency in his voice was enough to chill Marisa’s blood.

“My fault,” said Lyle. “I wasn’t thinkin’. Jesus, I wasn’t thinkin’. I just ’ope I’m not too late. Jesus God I ’ope I’m not too late.”

He turned from Marisa and climbed over the rail, leaped ashore and ran into the growing darkness.

Ellie said, “What was that all about?”

“I don’t know,” said Marisa. “Something about it being his fault and he hoped he wasn’t too late.”

“Strange man. This is turning into a trip to remember. Have you ever eaten Larry’s cooking before?”

Ellie had to repeat the question. Marisa was staring off into the dark woods after Jack Lyle.

Robert walked fast, forcing Nat Shields to keep up with him. Surrounded on all sides by trees and tall bushes, the two men headed further away from the boat. Behind them a red-orange sun was sinking below the horizon, casting long shadows among gnarled tree trunks. Robert, in a foul mood, quickened the pace, while an out-of-breath Nat wondered why the two of them were racing through a strange forest and Nat in white shoes, no less.

Suddenly Robert left the woods and pushed his way through waist-high bushes. Nat heard him say,
“Damn, damn, damn,”
and keep rushing forward. Nat was about to call out to him when Robert stopped near a huge boulder, leaned on it with both hands flat against the rock, and shook his head as though trying to clear it.

Nat, breathing hard and glad to stop, said, “What’s bugging you?”

“Everything. And nothing.”

“That narrows it down, somewhat. There was a point on this trip when I actually thought you were enjoying yourself.”

Robert unzipped his fly and walked behind the huge rock. “A hell of a place to park a big rock. Now comes the most exciting moment of my current travels, boys and girls.” He began to urinate.

Nat said, “Is there a problem between you and Marisa? I don’t mean to pry—”

“Then don’t.”

“Robert, life is—”

“Life
is.
What is life? Life is a magazine. Go on, Nat. You were about to soothe my troubled mind.”

Nat shivered in the damp chill of evening. “Marisa’s trying, Robert. I know she is. You’ve got to try as well. Nothing runs smoothly all the time. You have to start with that and go on from there.”

“Moral uplift in God’s green woodland. Spare me, please.”

Nat shook his head. “You’re spared.”

Robert zipped up his fly, then removed his wristwatch and began to wind it. The watch slipped from his fingers and when he bent down to pick it up, he stayed close to the ground.

He picked up something and rolled it around between thumb and forefinger. “That’s odd.”

“What?”

“A piece of cloth out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Let me see.”

Robert handed it to Nat, but stayed down, eyes peering into the thick bushes around him.

Nat said, “Wish I had my glasses with me. Christ, it’s too dark to tell much, but I think—yes, it’s hand woven. Amazing.”

“There’s a path leading into the bushes. You can’t see it standing up, but when you’re down like this—”

Nat squatted beside him. “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing, Robert. You’re going to have to help me up. Where’s the path and who cares?”

Robert pointed. “There. What the rock doesn’t hide, the bushes do.”

“That it does. This rock is half the size of a city bus.”

“The bushes hide most of the path. See, it’s just inches wide and it leads back through the bushes and into those trees straight ahead.”

“As the youth of America are wont to say, big fucking deal.”

Robert stood up. “You’re not a writer, Nat, which means you’re not curious enough.”

Nat said, “I don’t know, Robert. Fact is, I’m not even sure I want to know. Let’s get back to the boat, assuming we can find our way back.”

“My sense of direction is excellent. We’ll find our way back, never fear.”

“Jack Lyle wouldn’t want us to—”

Robert sneered. “Buddy boy, you have just said the magic words. Jack Lyle wouldn’t want us to go too far and I can’t think of a better reason for going too far. Besides, you can’t go back by yourself. You’ll get lost and the terrible beasties will feast on your flesh. Isn’t that what Jack Lyle would say?”

“Robert …”

Robert sniffed the air. “Smoke. The nose knows. Let’s check it out. Maybe we’ll find the fountain of youth, or a pizzeria. My soul cries out for junk food, for some good old New York grease.”

He plunged into the bushes, pushing them aside with his hands.

Nat, growing more irritable by the second, followed. If Robert was a schmuck, what did that make Nat, who was ruining a pair of white shoes by running after him?

As Nat Shields and Robert slowly walked across the clearing towards the old man and the young boy, Nat looked around for other people and saw none. He heard a dog bark and saw smoke drifting from a few chimneys. But there didn’t seem to be anyone in the dozen or so thatched cottages and two or three barns. Just the old man rocking back and forth and the young boy at his feet, thumbing through a book. Chickens clucked and more dogs barked. The village was inhabited. Yet it wasn’t.

Nat yelled, “Hello!” and waved to the old man and the boy.

The boy slammed the book shut and scampered to his feet, moving closer to the old man in the rocking chair. The boy was barefoot and wore the kind of dirty peasant smock Nat had only seen in old paintings and prints. He was no older than ten or eleven and terrified of the newcomers.

“There isn’t a chance in the world of getting a banana daiquiri here,” whispered Robert. “Jesus, this place is really the boonies.”

The two stood in front of the frightened boy and the old man, who smiled and continued rocking.

“I’m Nathan Shields and this is my friend Robert Seldes. We’re sailing up the Oxford Canal to Manchester. We’re tourists.”

The old man rocked. His smile was fixed. And senseless. Nat Shields looked into the old man’s eyes and knew.

It was Robert who said it. “The old bastard’s either senile or stoned.”

The boy clutched the book to his chest and backed away.

Extending his hand Nat said, “Don’t be afraid. We’re just passing through and …”

Nat saw it. The door to the cottage was open and there was a burning candle on the table. The table. It was exquisite, easily the most beautiful thing Nat Shields had seen in years. If he never purchased another thing while in England, he had to have that table. He had to have it at all costs. It was small, hand carved from dark brown wood, with graceful curved legs that seemed almost vibrant and alive. Nat was mesmerized by it.

He reached out as the boy quickly ran inside the cottage and shoved the book into the table’s only drawer.

Nat pointed. “I’d like to buy that table. Name a price.”

Behind him he heard the creak of the old man rocking. A dog howled and Nat shivered. He told himself it was because of the damp chill that came with English nights.

Robert said, “Why in hell is this place so deserted? Nat? Nat?”

The antique dealer turned quickly. He saw them.

Three large dogs trotting past the cottage and staring at Robert and Nat. Two, three, then four times the dogs passed in front of the cottage and lifted their heads and Nat Shields could have sworn they were waiting for a signal to come closer,
to attack.
But the old man only smiled and rocked.

Robert cleared his throat, his eyes on the dogs. “Bad vibes. I can feel them, man can I ever feel them. Nat, I’d like to get out of here.”

Nat turned to face the boy.
The table was irresistible.

“Did your parents make that table? Where are they?”

“Nat, the dogs. Let’s be gone.”

“In a minute, Robert, in a minute.”

Nat’s wallet was in his hands and he removed all the cash he had. Dollars, pounds, it didn’t matter. Only the table mattered.

He heard the dogs growl, and turned to look at them again. They were ugly, like no breed he had ever seen before. Lean, black bodies, long skulls, and curved teeth in the front of their mouths. It was as though these dogs were a lost species.

Nat stepped closer to the frightened boy. “Here, take the money. It’s all yours. Go on, take it. It’s over a hundred dollars American.”

The boy looked at Nat, who smiled. The boy held out his hands and Nat gave him the money. When Nat pointed to the table and nodded, the boy nodded. He was responding to Nat, imitating him, neither understanding nor approving of what was taking place. Somewhere in Nat’s mind he knew this wasn’t the proper way to do business and he suspected that the boy, like the old man out front, was a mental case. But the table was stunning.

Money had changed hands. Nat told himself a bargain had been made and he stepped forward, his hand trembling as it reached out to touch the table.

Robert backed into the cottage, his eyes on the dogs. “Christ, they are a collection of evil mutts. You can feel it.”

He looked at the table. “Well, pick up the fucking thing and let’s get out of here. This thriving metropolis gives me the creeps.”

The voice behind them almost made them shriek with fright.

“What the bloody hell are you two doin’ ’ere?”

They turned quickly to see Jack Lyle standing in the doorway. Candlelight sent flickering shadows over his small, angry face.

“I could kill you both fer what you’ve done this night,” he said.

Robert took a step toward him. “Now just a minute.”