It Takes a Thief

by Niels Hammer

  “I must admit I had some doubt, but now I have none. Congratulations again and again. Did you tell Caitlin that we went together to the hospital in Aberdeen?”

  The ghostly light in the ceiling animated the atmosphere with suggestions – but from the recent past came a strong smell of soapy water.

  “Yes, and without you we might not have met. So Caitlin feels as much in your debt as I do.”

  “Nonsense, but there’s no doubt that you have found what you wanted.”

  “And Seymour, I have a confession to make, I said that you should spend less time looking after your patients in the hope that it would enable us to make more trips together.”

  “Of course, it will, and I think Caitlin and Jessie will like each other, but we asked you to come a little earlier than the others so that we could meet Caitlin alone. As for our trip to Scotland Jessie only knows about the fishing part. Is there anybody else who knows?”

  “Only Fjodor. He helped me with internet addresses of the martial arts clubs. I found her name on one of the lists his connection supplied. But Caitlin has already discarded all the tools of her trade. She’s actually an electronic engineer, with an interest in history, and we decided to say that we met one another in the bird hide on the other side of the Broad.”

  “But if she’s an electronic engineer, why on earth did she then – ”

  “Oh, she had the best reason in the world, you know. The joy of it, the excitement. She’s an artist. You should see her pick a lock. She opened my front door in less than twenty seconds.”

  His laughter echoed from the walls to surround him with the warmth of a gleeful conspiracy.

  “Then you’ll have to surpass that kind of excitement.”

  “That will be difficult but maybe not impossible.”

  “I see, you’ve got something to live up to now, just such a challenge as you wanted. So now you’ll be a married man, but don’t expect to be able to go on as you’ve always done, for if I’m not mistaken you might have met your match in Caitlin.”

  “Yes, I’ve already come to depend on her, she’s perceptive, intuitively alert and sensitive; but the marriage you have does not strike me as being all that frightening an example.”

  “No, it may not necessarily look like that on the surface.”

  “Neither Jessie nor you seem to be seriously affected by the ravages of prolonged cohabitation.”

  “But you should not always judge only by appearances.”

  “How can you persuade yourself to such a degree that you can say that with a straight face? A marriage of like minds cannot be anything but a more or less life-long affair and though the commitments doubtless take their toll of enthusiasm and desire, the mutual loving kindness, which forms the basic note, is in yours and Jessie’s case, clearly perceptible.”

  “Of course, seen from that perspective, you’re right, but we are all different, and it’s not easy to reconcile conflicting attitudes, instinctive reactions, presuppositions and expectations though I should not complain, and from the first of July I’ll be a free man from five o’ clock Thursday afternoon till nine o’ clock Monday morning. Three whole days will change everything.”

  The white surf of boisterous voices increased as they ascended the stairs.

  “There you are. What have you been doing? Tasting the Port?”

  “No, planning the future. Long excursions into the wilderness. Vipers and mosquitoes.”

  “You cannot scare me, but you had better say hello to Sally; Gilbert’s in the kitchen.”

  The smell of fish – cheese and steamed vegetables. Whipping oil and vinegar together in a large white bowl he was focused on matching the taste of his imagination.

  “Good evening, Gilbert! What have you been doing to-day?”

  “I haven’t painted all day. Fatigue, lethargy, the weather, middle age maybe?”

  “You need a change of style, a change of commitment that transcends the current day and age.”

  “We are the time we live in and the place in which we were born, you know, or don’t you?”

  Surveying the content of the refrigerator he was drumming with his fingers in impatience on the door while trying to focus on that which he had forgotten he was looking for.

  “I agree with you that we are all to some extent conditioned by ontological factors, but does the real meaning of life and art not consist in transcending these limitations?”

  “But you cannot pull yourself up by pulling your hair out, can you?”

  “From Táng Yín to Velásquez, from Zeuxis to Vermeer and Monet it’s the same simple story of having the ability to see things just as they are, as if for the first time and thereby transcending conventionality and fashions, all time and place conditioned parameters.”

  “But on a blue guitar?”

  “Precisely not on any coloured guitar. The less the personality intrudes, the better.”

  “But it’s precisely my so-called personality that I want to express.”

  “That’s also fine as far as it goes, but now I had better be polite and say hello to everybody.”

  Escaping into the garden he found Sally who was examining the bud of a Tea Rose.

  “Oh Ralph, where have you – ”

  “Listen Sally, I cannot any longer recognise myself. Everything is new. I met a woman two weeks ago at the hide on the other side of the Broad, but I had actually met her in exactly the same place earlier, though we only said hello to each other at that time, but when I saw her again I felt lost and found, for I fell in love with her on the spot.”

  Looking bemused she evaluated his choice of words as much as his affective state of willed nakedness. She believed him and yet she had a notion that he was holding something back – the nature of which she was on the verge of divining – but which she would refrain from trying to divine if he did not want to share it with her – so he felt dejected by this substantiation of delicate doubt which like a semitransparent mist rose up between them to determine their mutual distance in the future – and this state of disjunction was aggravated by her direct courage to accept how the tender hope she had nourished subconsciously – though without visualising it as love – and which she now felt had been lying there as a seed in her heart ready to sprout if given enough warmth and space – suddenly became barren. It was the pearl-grey resignation hovering silently in the distance behind her humour – her understanding and her courage to face life and its sorrows of desolation that made him feel ill at ease – for he had done her harm.

  “Yes, I can see that you did.”

  “I will tell you how it happened but it’s a long story and we have to be alone and have plenty of time; however, only on one condition. You must swear never to divulge anything of what I say for though it’s a wondrous story it is also fraught with serious dangers for us both.”

  Like the tender horns of a snail her trust began to come out towards him once again. She had intuitively sensed that he had withheld something and it had as much been his lack of trust as his news that had saddened her. For although she might not now animate his desire she would keep his trust so their communion was still alive in spite of his new-found love – and his trust might prove to be more important than his desire or even love would be now.

  “You have my word of honour for what it’s worth, that is, if you can trust a woman’s word.”

  “I might not trust a woman’s word generally but I trust yours unconditionally.”

  The feeling of the bond they now shared guarded the feeling of the intimacy they had shared – it kept it from being – balayé – and it kept the door ajar – but there was another aspect in regaining his complete trust. It gave her power. They would share a secret and he would be depending on her – so she felt confident now rather than discouraged. It was the only way he could have made amends – nevertheless he would by necessity have to limit
the tale to how Caitlin broke into his house and to what they had done together – but that would be enough.

  ‘There’s going to be mildew on the roses here, look at these leaves. I’ll have to tell Jessie.”

  Holding her hand he sealed the pact of their new mutual understanding. Though bright green some leaves were beginning to crinkle and a white powdery film gave them an unhealthy look.

  “Roses have the finest bouquet, β-damascenone, β-ionone, rose oxide. It’s these ketones – ”

  “I thought it was geraniol and citronellol?”

  “They are by far the most abundant terpineols, but they do not affect the olfactory receptors in a degree comparable to the ways these three ketones do, especially β-damascenone and β-ionone. When I am old I will take up the cultivation of roses and bees.”

  “Why not now?”

  “I have to paint, and as long as I have the inspiration that enables me to paint I shall do so, but it may with time lessen in intensity, and then I should find new worlds to explore.”

  “Are you really ‘addicted’ to such fragrance?”

  With a smile of forgiveness both for this and for that she tuned in to the steps behind him.

  “Oh there you are! I have been looking for you all over the place.”

  “May I introduce you to Sally, and Sally, this is Caitlin, with whom I am in love, as I told you.”

  “Good evening.”

  Weary as Cats approaching a soggy spot – they took each other’s ambient temperature.

  “Oh Sally, yes, Ralph has told me about you.”

  The potential tension lessened as they evaluated each other without appearing to do so.

  “We have been looking at Jessie’s roses. They have a kind of mildew. Sally saw it immediately. She has the greenest of green fingers and she knows plants just as she knows herself.”

  “Oh Ralph is exaggerating, but it’s true that I love plants, and these roses here will soon begin to wither; they cannot be healed before they bloom. So we will miss their fragrance; and Ralph just told me that what I thought I liked to smell was not what I thought, namely geraniol and citronellol, but a mixture of three other compounds, ketones, I think you said?”

  “Yes, β-dasmascenone, β-ionone and rose oxide.”

  “But he also said that he was addicted to such smells and would take up rose gardening and bee-keeping when he grew old, so now you know what to expect.”

  Laughing politely but spontaneously they both saw him pottering around in a large garden – white-haired and frail – in the distant future.

  “I have been addicted to the smell of roses since early childhood.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Like I cannot be expected to know everything about you after a week or two you cannot be expected to know everything about me either.”

  “There are still and will probably for a long time be mysteries left to explore.”

  Innate benevolence illuminated her with invisible but tangible light.

  “Or rather, the more we discover about one another the more we see that there is to discover.”

  “Quite, but have you ever heard of an entheogen called ‘Magic Mint’ or Salvinorin A’?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “It’s a rare Mexican plant, Salvia divinorum, used by Mazatic shamans; and it contains a bicyclic diterpenoid with four ketones, that was why I was reminded of it, so it’s not a five-hydroxy two-A serotonin agonist but both a κ-opioid receptor and a dopamine D-two receptor agonist although it does not contain any nitrogen atoms – ”

  “All the others do.”

  “Yes, and the effect is visionary, somewhat like the effect of mescaline and psilocybin.”

  “I thought that my conjectures based on five hydroxy two-A receptors were, if not precise, at least right regarding the general pattern of such functions, so this is fascinating.”

  “Do you have any?”

  The underlying interest in the tone of her voice came unexpectedly – at least for him –

  “I have about forty grammes of leaves left. Would you like to try?”

  “Yes, very much.”

  “You only need about two hundred microgrammes, so it’s very potent.”

  “Have you tried it yourself?”

  He kept his breath.

  “Oh yes!”

  “I wonder what it would be like?”

  Conceivably appropriate memories suggested the experience – but the unexpected would be –

  “If you like I could keep you company – ”

  “Oh would you?”

  He let his breath escape his teeth inaudibly.

  “Of course, and then you might do me the favour of keeping me company later?”

  An offering of friendship – an expectation of fulfilment – was floating through the evening air. He had not dared to hope for such a solution – so their spontaneous rapprochement now could signify affective states later that could deepen –

  “Certainly, as soon as I know how it feels.”

  The underlying subconscious affinities must have been so close to the surface that the conscious scepticism or antagonism had been superseded – and these common characteristics had determined his reactions to them both – sky-blue integrity – leaf-green grace – yolk-yellow meddle – blood-red alertness – despite the differences – keen – sagacious – empathising and overpowering – sensual – serene. But it would also have been the difference between the masculine and the feminine – the north and the south pole – the complex character traits and the extent to which they to-day were able to recognise them as such – that sparked the attraction between them – the coniunctio oppositorum – although the transcendence of all such worldly tints and considerations remained the basic urge – the ultimate urge towards the dimensionless being in the world in which they had their true existence as Caitlin maintained – and the only reality they could share – everything else could only be illusions or their shadows.

  “Maybe we should join the rest of the party, they might be wondering where we are?”

  They walked up to the venerable house Jessie had inherited from her grandmother who had made him imagine that she could have been the inspiration for Madame de Villeparisis.

  “The garden is lovely, especially the small brook here with the water-lilies.”

  As at Giverny. She had returned to her summer holidays – after painting or modifying – upstairs and downstairs – but avoiding anachronisms – using oil – though with a nod here and there to what currently happened to be à la mode – the large unseemly windows towards the garden.

  “It is, Jessie and I share the same passion for flowers.”

  She would be bound to feel more estranged from Gilbert now and it might only be a question of time – irrespective of this change in their relationship – though a fair measure of consideration might postpone the bifurcation of their ways.

  “Is that mildew as bad as it looks? To-morrow I’ll have to see how our roses are doing.”

  He was definitely not alone any longer and all by himself in the wide wide world. Freedom? Freedom for lovers – loving well? She had this strength of character – supple Wootz steel inside a night-soft velvet touch. This sudden reshuffling of the cards would postpone their separation for a while – that was all he could see in the present configuration – but her offering of friendship to Caitlin had luckily been accepted – though furthered or maybe even made realisable – by his candidness with them both – for if he had not stood naked like a new-born in their eyes they would have kept wondering why he had hid himself behind a large leafy branch for they were both true-blooded women of some soul and salt.

  “It’s important to spray the roses with nettle or soap water, and take care to avoid that the mildew spreads by keeping the roots wet, the leaves dry and the whole p
lant well aired.”

  Peregrine – carrying a silver filigree tray that matched his cuff-links – handed them each a tall tulip glass of Champagne.

  “May I introduce you to Peregrine, le connoisseur, and to Mary, whom you might have heard singing, and Mary and Peregrine, my I introduce you to Caitlin, who has become my fate.”

  The polished bonhomie of social surfaces lubricated the interaction of prickly personalities.

  “Really, Ralph, your ‘fate,’ as if in an Icelandic saga?”

  “More as if in fairy tale, but you cannot dismiss the Blut und Eisen of the sagas.”

  “What is it Heracleitus says about greater fates?”

  “For greater lots gain greater destinies. ”

  Only her smile of lemon honey saved the event from courting the bombastic.

  “But he also says that ‘a man’s character is his fate;’ or maybe it ought to be turned round one hundred and eighty degrees so that ‘a woman’s character is a man’s fate.’”

  And general laughter saved what was left of the day-light but he wondered if Peregrine actually appreciated the joke and felt dismayed at having had to perform. Mary was on the point of asking him a question of which the weight was felt even in the air but he shook his head to make her postpone it. Long black hair and long black eyelashes and a flame-red dress that swept across the grass made her look even taller and more imposing than she was – for also here they were together on the raft of a stage so she had to play their common drama by ear – however tragic – comic or tragi-comic it would turn out to be – for that was immaterial – the acting was not.

  “Then that’s just the way it should be, a real story of life, but how did you meet?”

  Her curiosity regarding their shared secret animated her natural desire to share their intimacy.

  “We have the same passion for ornithology and met in a bird hide a month ago and then again a fortnight later but it were as if we just didn’t really see each other the first time, but the second time we did, and to such an extent that we have seen nothing else since.”