+1+
The engine started and stopped almost instantly. Hesitantly I tried to turn the key again and after a bit of smoke escaped from the engine the car started to move slowly down the sloped rough cut road.
It was an old Buick from one of the only car dealerships in this part of Ireland. I had only used the vehicle once at the end of every month to make a trip to the small village Carrigaline and then back.
To say there was not much in Carrigaline would have been being far to generous. There was a general store barley standing and a pub that was popular with people passing by on the country road. The scenic route I think they called it. Many people didn’t stay in this part of the country for the very reason I decided to live here. . .or more so Lucie felt it was best.
She was silent more so than I had ever known her to be. The silence was welcoming. We never had to discuss what happened in the close and distant past. We could pretend, for as long as possible, that this was how things always were, at least how they should have been.
I took the one hour drive toward the village in silence except for the sound of the quiet hum from the radio and a few seconds of music but as soon as it would become clear it would quickly disappear again.
There were no parking lots in Carrigaline so I left the car unlocked on the side of the road. To walk the entire length of the village takes 25 minutes going both ways while stopping at the three stop signs. It consist of 4 blocks of buildings stacked close together
I walked to the post office first , it was single room lined
with mail boxes and misplaced packages. There were a few letters from Emile. I could have called him but I
feared my voice would give more away than my letters ever could. Apart from the
letters there was an large package I had ordered along with a months worth of newspapers that I hoped would keep me
busy untill the next month.
The owner of the general store had no qualms about getting together whatever list of items I had come up with. He liked to overcharge me and add things I didn’t want but It was hardly my concern.
That was it, a two hour drive back and forth for 45 minutes worth of errands.
Even though I found it tolerable living in the Abbey I was not quite ready to go back. I had not had a drink or cigarette since arriving in India and it was something I hadn’t purposely avoided.The pub was mostly empty except for the what I took to be the owner a younger—or older woman, she was 48.
I was only aware of the fact because she proudly displayed birthday cards sent from her extended family. Her elder sons were also present lurking in the back or talking to their regulars.
I found my way to the counter to where she was standing, the television was behind her silently playing a soccer match.
We had met very briefly before when I met the real estate agent here, our introduction nothing more than a few quiet hellos.
“Can I help you ?”, she asked
“I’ll just need a case of cigarettes”,
“Are you sure ? She said, “Those things will kill you”
“Nonsense”’
She let the subject go and I began to read the one of the American papers, tossing away the sections I found to be useless.
“You are staying in Wicklow Abbey, right”
“Yes—“
“Have you ever been in the back ? There is a cemetery right there. . . local kids used to go tell ghost stories up there.”
I didn’t say anything at first. Yes, I did know about the cemetery but only until after the paperwork was said and done.
At first I thought it to be a mirage, the low crumbling rows
of headstones solely being eroded in the hot Irish sun. I walked through the
rows of headstones reading the few that were visible, feeling once again as if i were walking though a city of the dead. A few headstones appeared to have
been desecrated.
I contemplated, with Lucie by my side, if I should move the earth where these people had been laid to start a garden. Each day I began to dig up the earth but slowly my resolve would weaken and so the cemetery stayed. I hated and grew to enjoy it more and more each day.
“Ghost stories”, I repeated
“Yes, not that you have anything to worry about”
I suppose that is what one would call irony.
“Are you from around here”, she asked
I looked up at her suddenly filled with the strange urge to be truthful. Not truthful, I was simply tired of telling lies.
“I mean”, she said taking my silence as confusion, “Were you born here”
“No”
Yes
“I didn’t think so you looked so young , how old are you ?”
“Twenty-nine”
Eighty-one
“Oh, my oldest is a few years younger. . . he’s married though I’m sure he knows some nice girls from nearby towns it must be lonely up there”
“Yes, it is”
Though, I do have my dead wife keeping me company.
At that thought I looked at my watch and while I doubted Lucie had any concept of time I imagined she must have wondered why I was not back yet. It was a simple though ridiculous thing to at the least have someone waiting for you.
“Comeback again”, she shouted on my way out.
“I will”
But only for the cigarettes .
+++
I dragged the large box from the car and up to the bell tower, it was a challenge to do alone but that was how I preferred it.
I cut through the box carefully pulling out a light titanium driver. I balanced the golf ball on the grass carefully so it would not roll down the hill. I held tightly to the driver and watched as the ball sailed through the fields in the distance, literally nothing would stop it for miles out.
The next ball followed suit, the others I could still see by the time the sun went down. I had only been vaguely aware of Lucie’s presence there on the lip of the bell. It would have been impossible feat for any human to sit there as she did and I believe that is why she enjoyed it.
Always there, mostly quiet.
In the three months since the abbey became a home, Lucie and I had conversations, short ones but I imagined it would be a slow start.
When the sun went down I retired to the kitchen as it was the only room with electricity. I brewed a cup of the bitter Assam tea the general store owner enjoyed so much and began reading The Guardian. I generally read about business and politics and occasionally about the arts. Tonight however it all seemed to be of little interest.
I reached to turn the page when the teacup toppled over sending the bitter tea over the paper damaging the ink.
I was ready to call it a night when I noticed the spilled tea seemed to unnaturally avoid the upper section of the Classifieds. I turned the light up and began focusing on the untouched ad.
Coral Street Rare Books
& Collectible ,For Sale By Proprietor
Robert L. Essex, Serious Buyers Only
A phone number and address followed, the name was far to similar to be a coincidence. The next moments went by very quickly. I drove to town, pushing the old car's speedometer as fast as it would manage.
I arrived at the pub just as it was closing. The owner on her way to the car.
"Is something wrong ?"
“No, I just need to make a phone call.”
“Go ahead”, she said opening the door to the pub.
They waited untill the very last ring to pick up.
“Coral Street Books”, A woman’s voice said
“Yes, this is—I saw your ad in the paper. I’m interested in buying the shop”
“Wonderful, I can set up an appointment with Professor Essex to start the application process”
“Professor ?”
“formerly”, she said slightly suspicious, “When would be a good time ?”
“I’ll be there the last week of June”
“We will see you soon Mr…”
“Fierro, I’ll be there as soon as I can”
“See you then. . . oh and there is no need to rush. We aren’t going anywhere
+2+
“No, No, No”, I had never heard Lucie’s voice so loud and demanding and filled with pain, "You can't leave"
“Lucie, I promise I’m not doing this to hurt you. I want to help you”
“No you don’t
“I do Lucie, I don’t want you to live this kind of existence. This is not about you and I anymore—“
“Yes it is”, she said, “I still love you."
She moved towards me for a brief second I felt her hand on mine.
“And I will always love you. You were my first love… however the things we’ve done, the pain we have caused. . . I just need to help you let me go”
She stood at the doorway of the abbey, illuminated by the
lights of the car. Her eyes were downcast and I realized she was not going to
stop me from leaving.
“I will come back”, I offered
“No”, ours eyes met hers were filled with sadness, “Addison, if you leave here you will never comeback .If you leave you will be forced to make one of the hardest decisions of your life.”
“I’m sorry Lucielle, that is a risk I will have to take.”
I offered her one last good-bye before leaving. For a brief second I allowed myself to feel something.
I made peace with my choice, my sights now set on London.