“Well, I can’t deny that Adrian Cahill had become essential to my happiness. Getting away from him now would, no doubt, make me suffer. I don’t know him very well, but it seems like I have known him for a lifetime. Adrian Cahill was an enigma, but also my safe haven.
Don’t dream so high, girl! He’s beyond your means...
8
MIGHTY IN BATTLE
By my reckoning, less than two months had passed since I’d last drawn something, but now I had a lot to inspire me. Hadrian’s Wall was a beautiful town. From the window of my room, I could see all of the surrounding landscape between the hospital and the lake, which I’m sure was a small sample of the exotic scenery of the region. I was suddenly excited about the idea of portraying some of that beauty in my own artwork.
Sitting at the window, I felt compelled to draw and soon found myself sketching a caricature of a certain resident doctor, a very handsome man with his photochromic glasses. While sketching his features, I wanted to make him less unattainable in my head. He was so handsome, so perfect, and I couldn’t deal with that assault of virility on my hormones barely out of adolescence.
When I finished, the image I’d produced was comically raising his eyebrows and tilting his head toward me like he used to do.
I heard a knock on the door, but the person entering didn’t wait for an invitation.
“Hi, Mel!” said Charity Cahill.
So she’d decided to come back. Why?
“Hi, Charity.” I’d just started to retouch the drawing. Finish drawing art is always the most annoying task.
“Remember what I told you Mel... that my friends call me ‘CC’?”
Friends. My eyebrow was subconsciously raising, just like the caricature that I was highlighting with the pencil. I refrained from making any comment.
Charity walked quickly across the room to where I was sitting. She seemed excited... perhaps too excited.
“I heard you’ve been discharged. How about a tour of the town? You haven’t seen all of our beautiful sights yet.”
“Do you read minds or something? That’s exactly what I was thinking!”
She laughed, tossing her locks platinum blonde hair behind her shoulders.
“Come on, girl! Today I’ll be your chauffeur.”
I was so excited that I dropped the drawing on the table, without thinking twice. Seeing the town…
Finally, I was able to leave the hospital. I was overcome with excitement. Looking around me and seeing Charity’s elegant appearance, her fashionable glasses with their mirror lenses perched lightly upon her head, I realized that I was at a disadvantage. She looked like a goddess to me and I looked like, well...the opposite, so I decided to tie a scarf around my head to hide my clunky hair and shield me from the sun.
Charity was frowning as she watched me tie on thin, faded bandanna. “One of the lotions I brought you was a sunscreen. Put some on so you won’t get sunburned.
Mmm, it seems to me that the Cahills vocation is giving orders. I let it pass, since I owed them so much, which is precisely what kills me—being in debt to others!
She watched me as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and squeezed sunscreen from the tube into the palm of my hand.
“I’ll take you to visit the main attractions and then we’ll visit my favorite refuges.”
“Refuges?”
“Shops and beauty salon...and not necessarily in that order.”
I scowled at her in the mirror. More gifts. She looked back with a grimace, as if challenging me to reject her invitation. For one brief moment, I thought she really wanted me to reject her offer. From the beginning, I’ve had the impression that Charity doesn’t feel comfortable with me. She definitely doesn’t want to be my nanny.
Charity walked to the door, avoiding my eyes. Perhaps she realized that her expression was quite revealing. When she finally turned around, I gave a quick hand signal for her to wait another minute.
She sighed impatiently, but I ignored her. I didn’t ask her to drive me anywhere, so if she really wanted to play the role of nanny, she’d have to bear the consequences.
I’m a proud person, but I know two things: First, I couldn’t miss the chance to explore the town; and second, we wouldn’t have a pleasant time together if I was contrary with her, so I decided to try a diplomatic resolution.
I went to the closet to change my shoes, but hesitated in front of the “shoe store” that Charity had given to me. It was with regret that I pulled my old suitcase from the back of the closet and selected my old, flat ballet shoes. If I don’t walk too much, maybe they won’t hurt my feet...but I’d better make sure. I folded two pieces of paper to use for lining and inserted one into each shoe.
When I returned, to my living room, I saw Charity holding the drawing that I’d done.
“Don’t say anything to him,” I said.
“Why not?” She put the drawing back on the table. “You draw so well. This caricature is great.”
I shrugged.
“C’mon,” she said as she moved towards the door.
I took a deep breath before following her.
* * *
I’d gotten used to roaming the halls, but it never ceased to amaze me what a pleasant environment it was here, so different from the negative impression that I’d had about hospitals since childhood. The Caledonia was so different—warm...peaceful...safe. I didn’t feel threatened. Quite the contrary, I felt threatened by the thought of leaving here, which would happen very soon.
Where will I go after I’m discharged? I had no idea.
Finally, I could see the external façade of the building. It was all white, as hospitals tend to be, but the walls were made of stone and the windows gave it a European flair, a little medieval, perhaps to match the style of other buildings around it.
Charity’s car was parked in a small parking lot, surrounded by neatly trimmed shrubs. At first, I didn’t pay much attention to vehicles, but soon I began to notice that there were some... uh... very fancy things on wheels.
VIP wing for VIP cars! I thought wryly. Although some apparently were older than others, most of the cars seemed like they’d come straight off of a movie set. I couldn’t imagine so many art objects in the form of costly luxury cars, with their aerodynamic lines. It could only be for one reason: very important people who rule the roost. As someone said in Ocean’s Thirteen, I belonged to the group of VUP—very unimportant people. I was distracted from these caustic thoughts by a very tall, elegant-looking guy. He was dressed all in black. His face was partially hidden by mirrored sunglasses. He was talking on the phone, while opening the door of a shiny black pickup, model F-150 with tinted windows. That is so VIP! I thought, with a hint of cynicism.
I looked around and noticed that Charity was waiting for me next to a...
“Wow!” I exclaimed.
She stroked the blue hood of her convertible. Her fondness for the vehicle was evident in her gesture.
“Wow, no...” she said, faintly amused. “It’s a Porsche, but not just any Porsche...”
No, absolutely not! I also wouldn’t be satisfied with just any Porsche.
“This is a Speedster 356 of 1957,” she was saying.
Charity was an enthusiast for old cars. Who would have known?
I approached it slowly, examining every detail of the car. I noticed that it was a small model, just like what I’d seen in an old movie, so I understood that that Porsche was a relic to collectors with a bold design for an old model. It must have been the epitome of modernity at the time of its conception. It matched perfectly with the owner.
She entered the Speedster. I waited for her to open passenger door for me. I was so afraid of damaging something, there was no way I was going to take the initiative. I assumed that even the door handle would cost more than the salary that I was supposed to have received while working in the department store in South Portland. If I was there...sometime...
I had no time to put on my seat belt. Charity q
uickly put the car in motion and off we headed down the lane. When we crossed the avenue, I had a better view of the place where the hospital was located. It wasn’t exactly in the center of town, instead it was situated at a higher elevation. The area was mountainous, with small hills and valleys, and a spectacular cliff above the lakefront. Above us I could see the tops of hills behind high stone walls partially hidden among big trees.
The hanging gardens of Babylon... If there was a better description, I didn’t know what it could have been.
I could see that the town was divided between “upper Hadrian’s Wall”—apparently the older part—an assemblage of small terraces clustered on top of the steepest area; and “lower Hadrian’s Wall” which was almost flat and expanding around the hills toward the lakeshore.
I had only brief glimpse, while struggling to put the belt, but learned that cars were not allowed in the upper section—only bicycles and pedestrians. So, instead of going up, Charity expertly turned in the opposite direction and made a sharp curve down toward Bluewater Lake.
There was so much beautiful scenery unfolding before us that I didn’t know where to look first—the stone walls running between big green areas, narrow and picturesque streets, colorful buildings...and a prominent bridge that looked similar to an aqueduct that I’d seen in a book about ancient history. Here, it was being used as a pedestrian walkway, crossing over the whole town from low to high. It was a modern tribute to the ingenuity of the ancient Romans.
The car glided along the road that skirted the big pillars of the bridge, crossing under the vaulted arches decorated with colored, wedge-shaped stones. There were eighteen or twenty in all. I looked up and thanked silently Charity for having lowered the convertible’s soft top; otherwise, my visual experience would have been limited.
I gazed at the immense walls that surrounded the upper town. There were watchtowers at regular intervals. From where we were, I could not see properly, but I guessed they were security checkpoints.
Again, a feeling of déjà vu.
If those towers were checkpoints, the town should be very well guarded. Could there be something so valuable, some mysterious treasure perhaps, that would require so much caution? I didn’t ask Charity about it because I thought it would seem like snooping on my part, but I was dying to ask what was behind those walls. I needed to get more information. How do I get her to accidently mention something?
What she said surprised me. “Soon you will see with your own eyes. At the end of our tour, I’ll take you up there.” She giggled. “Relax, girl. Remember that today I’ll be your guide.”
Her reluctance to play “nanny” was soon forgotten as the excitement she felt for her town became apparently. Charity really loved this place and she had every reason to do so. I’d never seen such a harmonious combination of nature and man’s hand.
“Oh, I really need a guide,” I said. “I’ve never seen a place quite like this—it’s fantastic!” Not even in books about fairy tales. This place seemed like a perfect medieval town in the United States.
She was flattered by my comment, like a mother who is proud of her son.
Mmmm... Then let’s start with the roots. You may have noticed that the name of the town is somewhat...peculiar.
“Frankly, no.” What did I miss?
She grimaced, realizing my dazed expression.
“You’re an offline girl, huh? I think I’ll take you to the museum first. Maybe a visit will help your quick thinking.”
The car rounded another curve...and another. I began to feel like my stomach was moving with the car. I silently prayed not to get sick. Charity drove well, but the road followed the terrain, meaning it had a lot of sharp turns. I asked her how an ambulance could reach the hospital quickly enough to save lives.
“Emergencies are met by the other side where the terrain is relatively flat and the streets are straight,” she explained. “Caledonia General Hospital has a helipad and two rescue helicopters of its own. It’s a referral hospital for the entire county. It accepts patients who come from the hospital in the city of Saint Paul, precisely because we offer some specialized care here. Caledonia also receives referrals from the Polyclinic, a large multi-specialty clinic in Divine Town.”
She parked alongside a building which stood apart from the other buildings around it because it was made entirely of stones, much like a small medieval castle. Charity jumped out of the car and calmly walked down the street paved with irregular stones. She walked as if she were on model parading on a flat runway. I followed her, with my mouth agape, amazed at how she was able to walk in those high heels. It seemed virtually impossible that she was able to move in such a carefree and elegant manner. Never once did she look down! It was as if she knew where was each stone was seated.
I was so busy watching her that I stumbled and nearly fell flat on the street. Thanks to my quick reflexes, I managed to hold onto the lamp post... a providential streetlight, I must say! Perhaps the function of those outdated light fixtures—revivals of an earlier time—was just to save unsuspecting pedestrians. To my relief, nobody observed my near mishap.
I glanced back at Charity in disbelief. It was as if the girl was floating away toward the museum. For a moment, I wished that she’d twist her ankle just to prove that she’s a human being like me—or at least a human with some weaknesses. I shook my head, reproaching myself in silence. Girl, you are dying of envy!
The top of the museum door was arch-shaped and quite tall. A receptionist greeted Charity with joy and something more...deference? respect? caution? fear? I couldn’t really discern the meaning of her expression as we approached.
“Hi, Rita. Will you tell Marjory that we’re here?”
The girl nodded and pressed the intercom. While she was talking with someone on the other end, I noticed she was wearing a beautiful gold chain on her wrist. It was very thin, with a pendant etched with a symbol. That’s when I froze. It was exactly the same symbol that had appeared in my dream about the forest and the strange girl who had jumped over me.
No, it couldn’t be the same. The pendant or charm was smaller and from where I was standing, I couldn’t see it very well. At least that’s what I wanted desperately to believe. I certainly couldn’t approach her and say, ‘Excuse me, I dreamed that a hairy, toothy girl jumped on me and was wearing a symbol just like yours. How do you explain that? And by the way...where’s the nearest insane asylum?’ I blinked, trying to regain my control.
“Take a look around,” Charity suggested.
I was startled to hear her voice, but as soon as her words penetrated my foggy brain, I silently thanked her for the suggestion. I took a few steps away in order to disguise my emotional state. Good thing Charity didn’t notice how I was feeling as she continued her animated conversation with the girl she called Rita.
What began as merely an alternative to pull myself together rapidly became sincere interest. Before my eyes appeared fantastic objects, organized in original arrangements: jewels nestled in exotic cushions, inside transparent glass boxes; artifacts from different generations, placed in the windows that reproduced the scenery and the daily lives of immigrants and what caught my attention—old photos that had been enlarged, occupying most of the walls. And that was just the beginning.
Zap...Zap...My shoes made a sound on the polished wood floor as I made my way down the central aisle. With each step, a new set was revealed. Most curiously, while I was walking, the people in the photos seemed to move with me, as if they were following me. I stopped, confused. I walked back and forth, a few steps at a time, watching the movement of the figures. Again the figures in the pictures moved in the same direction—a three-dimensional effect that I had read about on the Internet, but never dreamed that I would personally witness it one day.
Soon I realized that these were not photos, but great “smart screen” projections. The old photos appear as backgrounds, scanned with an enviable resolution so sharp that they seemed to be originals. The viewer could c
lick on the computer commands present in the screen and change the angle of the picture and be almost plunged into the picture like a video game. Photos could also be enlarged and reduced, or we could achieve other scenarios connected to the environment into the photo...and if we put on the headphones, we can listen to historical explanations in three different languages.
Wow! Cutting edge technology!
As I saw it, the screens were the main attractions of the museum—even as part of its decor since the framework that made them seem like pictures were real works of art technology.
Farther on, a title caught my attention. I took a few uncertain steps and stopped in front of a smaller screen placed right in the middle of the hallway. Gold letters on a red background showed the following words:
C A H I L L
THE BEGINNING
I was curious, so I started reading the explanatory text, but I lost my bearings when I realized that the family coat-of-arms contained the figure of a panther fitted in front of a combination of weapons. I did not give much importance to the other details, like the sword and the three daggers symmetrically arranged. My attention was totally focused on the cat, who had two slits of jade color instead of eyes. Between his paws there was the same symbol as on Rita’s pendant—the same as in my dream.
I was shocked—not just because of the symbol...more because of the panther. Certainly, it wasn’t a lion, it wasn’t a tiger, it wasn’t a puma...much less a harmless Siamese kitten! I immediately remembered the animal on the loose in South Portland and the huge creature that exterminated Simon Cridder. Today, I had no doubt that the thing that I saw moving through the trees was a black cat with glowing eyes...jade colored eyes.
Had I hallucinated this creature too? By all appearances, it was not a hallucination. At least, not all bizarre aspects of my life were hallucinations. That should have brought me some relief, but instead the opposite happened. I felt bewildered. Proof that there was connection between the things I remembered and the present facts—was a twist that only came to mess up everything I had already accepted and rationalized in my head. Now I was simply going back to square one. Girl, you can throw away all the talk of psychiatric diagnosis.
Hadrian's Wall Page 16