CHAPTER 77
Kate set down the journal and strained to see what was happening in the distance. It sounded like explosions. A rock slide? Earthquake? Past the farthest mountain range, smoke rose into the sky, white at first, then black.
Could the Immari be looking for them?
What could she do about it if they were? She gave David his afternoon dose of antibiotics and continued reading the journal to him.
August 5th, 1917
Helena and I walk along the cobblestone wharf, enjoying the warm breeze from the sea and listening to the ships blow their horns as they enter the bay and dock at the harbor just beyond the row of shops and diners. The wooden harbor seems as small as a stack of toothpicks below the towering jagged Rock of Gibraltar. I put my hands in my pockets, and she slips her arm around mine, drifts closer to me, and synchronizes her stride with mine. I count it as a good sign. Gradually, the lights come on along the street as the shopkeepers rouse from their Spanish-style siestas and return to prepare for the rush of dinner and evening shoppers.
Each step twists the knife in my leg, or at least, that’s the sensation walking provides. I feel the sweat gathering on my brow from the dull agony, but I don’t dare move an arm up to wipe it for fear she’ll let go.
Helena stops. She’s seen it. “Patrick, are you in pain?”
“No, of course not.” I wipe my forehead with my sleeve. “Just not used to the heat. Being indoors under the fans has left me ill-adjusted. And I grew up in West Virginia to boot.”
She nods toward the rock. “It’s cooler in the caves. And they have monkeys there. Have you seen them?”
I ask her if she’s joking and she promises she isn’t. I say we have time before dinner and let her lead me over there, mostly because she takes my arm again, and I’d walk anywhere at that point.
The British Sergeant gives us a personal tour of the pens they keep the monkeys in, deep inside St. Michael’s Cave. Our voices echo as we talk. They call them Barbary Macaques, and they are similar to macaques, except without the tail. Apparently the Barbary Macaques in Gibraltar are the only free-living primates in all of Europe. Well, besides humans, if the theory of evolution is to be believed.
As we walk away, toward dinner, I ask her how she knew about the monkeys.
“They treat the sick ones at the British Naval Hospital,” she says.
“You’re joking.”
“It’s true.”
“Is it safe? Treating monkeys and humans in such proximity?”
“I assume it is. Can’t imagine what kind of disease could jump from monkeys to humans.”
“Why go to all the trouble?”
“The legend is that as long as the Macaques survive on Gibraltar, the British will rule it.”
“Yours are a very superstitious people.”
“Or maybe we’re just keen to take care of anything we care about.”
We stroll in silence for a while. I wonder if I’m like a pet to her, or a ward, or someone she owed some kind of debt to for saving her in the hospital.
I’m losing my grip on the pain, and without a word, she stops, and still holding my arm, turns us back to face the Rock as the sun sets across the bay. “There’s another legend about the Rock. The Greeks say it is one of the pillars of Hercules and that the caves and tunnels under it extend deep into the earth, leading to the Gates of Hades.”
“The Gates of the Underworld.”
She raises her eyebrows playfully. “You think it’s down there?”
“No, I sort of doubt it. I’m pretty sure hell is 1,000 miles from here, in a trench on the Western Front.”
Her face grows serious, and she looks down.
She was making a joke, and I was trying to be witty, but I reminded us of the war. It’s ruined the mood, and I wish I could rewind and do the moment over.
She brightens a bit and tugs at my arm. “Well, I for one am glad you’re far away from there… and not going back.”
I open my mouth, but she presses on, probably hoping to head me off from saying something dreary. “Are you hungry?”
The wine comes, and I drink two glasses quickly, medicating. She drinks half a glass, probably to be polite. I wish she would drink more, I’d love for that facade to break, if just for a moment, so I could see what she’s thinking, how she feels.
But the food is out and we’re both smelling it and saying how good it looks.
“Helena, I’ve been meaning to speak with you about something.” It comes out way too serious. I had hoped to be casual, to disarm her.
She sets her fork down and chews the small bite she’d just taken, barely moving her jaw.
I press on. “It’s been very decent of you to put me up. I don’t know if I’ve said thank you, but I do appreciate it.”
“It’s been no trouble.”
“It’s been quite a bit of trouble.”
“I haven’t minded it.”
“Nevertheless, I think I should get a place now that I’m out of my… convalescence.”
“It might be prudent to wait. Your leg might not be fully healed. Dr. Carlisle said re-injury was a possibility as you walk more.” She pushes some of the food around on her plate.
“I’m not worried about my leg. People will talk. An unmarried man and woman, sharing a home.”
“People always talk about something.”
“I won’t have them talking about you. I’ll find a place and work as well. I need to begin setting my affairs in order.”
“It would seem… reasonable… to wait until you knew where you were to work before making arrangements.”
“That’s true.”
She brightens a bit. “Speaking of, there are some men who want to talk with you about a job. Some friends of my father.”
To my dismay, I can’t hide the anger in my voice. “You asked him to find me a job.”
“No, I promise you. I knew how you’d feel if I did, though I wanted to. He rang me about it a week ago, and they’ve been keen to see you. I’ve put it off because I didn’t know what your plans were.”
“Meeting with them couldn’t hurt.” I say. It was the worst mistake of my life.
David could hear her reading, or someone reading, as he pushed the door to their studio apartment open. Allison looked up at him, walked over to the stereo, and pressed the pause button.
“You’re home early.” She smiled and began washing her hands at the kitchen sink.
“Couldn’t study.” He motioned to the stereo. “Another audio book?”
“Yeah, makes cooking less boring.” She turned the sink off.
“I can think of something less boring than cooking.” He pulled her to him and kissed her on the mouth.
She held her wet hands to her chest and struggled under his embrace. “I can’t, hey, come on, they’re moving my office tomorrow, I have to be there early.”
“Oooh, big investment banker lady getting a window office already?”
“Not a chance. Probably a cube next to the elevator.”
“Or the bathroom.”
“Let’s hope not. It is on the 104th floor though, so I can walk near the windows on my breaks. If they ever give me one.”
“Exactly why you should live a little.” He picked her up and threw her on the bed. He kissed her again and ran his hands down her body.
She was breathing faster now. “What time do you have class? What’s tomorrow? Tuesday, the 11th?”
He pulled his sweater off. “Don’t know, don’t care.”