by Marc Olden
His body was tight against hers, pressing her into the wall, and she felt his erection. She also felt herself responding and tried to stop it.
“Robert, Jack Lyle’s a nice old man. He’s very interesting, I—”
Robert’s hand was down into the front of her pants and his fingers into her vagina. She pushed forward to meet his fingers. “Robert, Lyle is …”
Her arms went around Robert’s neck and she whispered, “Don’t stop, don’t stop.”
“Fuck Lyle where he breathes,” said Robert fumbling with his fly.
They made love standing up against the wall, with Marisa’s legs wrapped around Robert’s waist and Robert cupping her bare buttocks.
This morning she turned the corner and saw Jack Lyle just leaving a tobacco shop, his black briar clutched between his teeth. He waved to her. “Out for an early morning stroll, missy?”
She waited until two girls on bicycles passed in front of her, then crossed the narrow cobbled street. She barely made it. Marisa was wearing platform shoes; on the rough cobbles her ankles wobbled, and she pawed the air for balance.
Jack Lyle chuckled, “Them’s not the shoes for strollin’.”
“Tell me about it. My God!” She reached the other side of the street and Lyle offered her a steadying hand.
She sighed. “Thank you, thank you. I was about to go down for the third time. My whole life was flashing before my eyes.”
“I’m headin’ back to the boat.”
“Good. I’ll walk along with you.”
“The others know what time we’re shovin’ off?”
Marisa nodded. “They know.”
They passed a church and Marisa stopped and looked up at it. “Beautiful, just beautiful. I think I have this one on a postcard I bought yesterday.” She patted her handbag.
“Aye, it’s lovely,” said Jack Lyle. “It’s one of the few old buildin’s left. The people ’ere tore down most of em and put up stores, factories, and the like. They even tore down the large castle and used the stone to rebuild their houses after the civil wars.”
Marisa pointed to the church. “Those heads carved in stone. What are they, some kind of saints?”
Lyle nodded. “A few are. A few ain’t. It was a Celtic custom to cut off the heads of their enemies and use them to defend their holy places. Churches all over England have these heads inside and out, and nobody knows it started with the bloody pagans.”
Marisa said, “Is that where the use of gargoyles came from? There are cathedrals here and in France where you find the ugliest gargoyles perched on top—”
Lyle laughed. “You’re right about that, missy. It’s the same thing as the severed ’eads. Them gargoyles were made ’orrible lookin’ so as to scare the evil spirits away from a house of worship. There’s worse than that, I might add. The Druids, them what used to be priests to the old Celts, they worshiped the oak tree and if they ever caught a man peelin’ the bark off an oak or breakin’ off its limb, they pulled out his guts and wrapped them around the tree. You know, an eye for an eye, a skin to replace the skin that was taken. A limb from the person what cut a limb from the tree.”
Marisa shuddered. “It’s hard to believe people once actually did that sort of thing to each other, Mr. Lyle. I’m glad I’m living in the twentieth century where the Druids are something you read about and can put out of your mind.”
She was looking at Jack Lyle as she spoke and noticed him blink and look away. It was as though a shadow had passed over his small brown face. For a few seconds Lyle looked at the severed heads over the huge wooden church doors. Then abruptly he began walking away from Marisa.
“Mr. Lyle? Mr. Lyle?”
She ran to catch up with him and when she did something told her to say nothing. Together they returned to the boat in silence. At the boat Lyle looked at her then said, “Sorry, missy. I was thinkin’ about a few things. You get to be my age and you got a lot of things runnin’ round in yer ’ead. Most of yer life’s in the past and you live as much in yer imagination as out. I’m goin’ to work on the engine some.”
Marisa nodded. When he’d disappeared below she stared at the open door he’d gone through and wondered what was really on his mind. As an actress she was too sensitive not to suspect that something was bothering Jack Lyle.
She quickly dismissed the idea that it had anything to do with the severed stone heads that he’d been staring at.
Robert, red faced from drinking, leaned back in his chair and said to Jack Lyle, “You’re a liar.”
The little boatman narrowed his eyes.
“Jack Liar,” smirked Robert. “There’s really not much difference between Lyle and Liar, is there?”
“Robert!” Marisa wanted to slap his face. It wouldn’t have been the first time.
“Never mind, missy,” said Lyle. “This one’s the talkin’ kind. Let’s ’ear ’im out.”
The Drake was moored for the night in a quiet cove on the canal. Marisa and Lyle had been topside talking while below Robert, Larry, Nat and Ellie played bridge to the music of Larry’s cassette. Robert, filled with brandy, was becoming a nasty drunk. When he heard the rattling noise in the boat’s hull behind him it was all the excuse he’d needed to again go after Jack Lyle.
Robert had yelled for Lyle to come down and kill the rat creeping about inside the ship’s walls. A calm Lyle faced him and denied the presence of rats on The Drake. The noise, he said, was being made by a gold sovereign hidden in the framework. It was good luck to place a gold coin inside a ship. This one apparently had come loose and was rattling around.
“It’s a rat,” said Robert. “I know it’s a rat.”
“Friend of yours, maybe?” said Lyle.
Robert snorted. “A wit. We have at the wheel a genuine wit. Tell me, wit, is there some little story about this rat? You have so many little stories.”
“Jesus,” murmured Marisa glaring at Robert. “Open mouth, insert foot.”
He grinned at her. “My character’s flawed, what can I do?”
Nat put an arm around Robert. “If Mr. Lyle says it’s a gold coin, then that’s what it is. Come on, let’s get back to the game.”
Robert pushed Nat’s arm away and pointed a finger at Lyle. “I’d like to beat your dumb little face in, you know that?”
Lyle nodded. “Aye, Mr. Seldes Robert, I know that.” The little boatman patted the sheathed knife worn on his left hip. “But you think on it before you do, because the minute you come fer me, I intend to kill you.”
Robert licked his lips and blinked.
“Where you live,” said Jack Lyle, “men talk much before they do anythin’. Where I live, we do; then we talk on it. I’ve used this knife before and I’ve used it on men. You don’t pose much of a problem to me, Mr. Seldes Robert. And now I bid you all good night.”
Marisa watched him walk calmly up the stairs and when she turned towards Robert, Nat was handing him another glass of brandy. Marisa was about to knock the glass out of Robert’s hand when Ellie touched her arm and shook her head.
Before Marisa could ask why, Ellie whispered, “Nat said one more and he’ll be out like a light.”
Marisa relaxed and clutched Ellie’s hand. “Have Nat pour one for me, will you?”
Seconds later Marisa stood looking down at an unconscious Robert, watching his chest rise and fall with his deep breathing. His hair was uncombed, he was unshaven, and his mouth was open. The front of his shirt was stained with spilled brandy. Not too good looking at the moment, Mr. Seldes Robert. She wondered if Jack Lyle would have killed Robert. She wondered if she would have cared.
The next afternoon the boat docked at Napton-on-the-Hill, where they planned to go ashore and picnic near Warwick Castle. Marisa was the last to come on deck and when she did she saw Robert and Jack Lyle talking quietly with each other. She hung back, not wanting to interrupt. After the two finished and Robert went ashore to join the others, Marisa walked over to Lyle, who, as usual, planned to spend most of his tim
e alone on The Drake.
She said, “I told him to apologize.”
“’E didn’t.” Lyle looked at his compass, then into the sun and back again at the compass.
“I—I saw you two talking. I thought he—”
“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.