At this time the waitress arrived with their order. In the interim Morris waited for Irene to respond to his question. After placing a few extra napkins on the table the waitress took off.
“Okay, I’ll go with you,” she announced to his compete surprise, wondering why she was given potato wedges instead of potato chips. She did not know that fish ‘n chips in England meant fish and fries.
“Great, lass! Then I’ll pick you up at seven,” he beamed sporting a triumphant smile.
Late afternoon was her favorite time of day and cruising was her favorite part of biking, minus the constraints of a helmet, and that was the feeling of a steady of air caressing her face and body, and her hair blowing wildly about in the wind, and her hands clutching the handlebars of the scooter tightly as she tore down the road at a high rate of speed. Outside of a roller coaster ride and skydiving, nothing else could compare to this thrilling experience. Up and down the hills she rode. Another fine day she thought.
Rounding the downward curve of a hill she reduced her speed when she saw a delivery truck turn off the road and into the Seabreeze residence. As before, she passed by the property and slowly, then a few yards down the road, she made a U-turn and headed back.
Dismounting her scooter she rolled it behind the tall hedging. Slowly and deliberately, she headed along the gravel path until she could see the cottage and the delivery truck a short distance away.
Positioning herself so that she could remain undetected, she watched silently as the deliveryman placed several bags of provisions, she reasoned, into a large wooden holding box. She then watched him retrieve an envelope from the box and check the contents. Probably the money for the provisions she gathered. Seemingly satisfied that all was in order, the deliveryman returned to the truck and took off.
No sooner had the truck vacated the property, the door of the cottage slowly opened and the mysterious professor, garbed in a long black hooded outfit, his face hidden behind a veil of black, grabbed two of the bags and took them inside. He returned for the other two a short while later.
Swallowing, Irene contemplated whether or not she should make her presence known. The last time she was here he did not seem too eager to meet with her. No one wanted to feel unwelcomed, especially this young woman from the hospitable state of Virginia.
In the distance she could see the busted and burnt out lamp post, compliments of the wild electrical storm the day before. The section of cyclone fence that was struck by lightning appeared just as burnt. Her recollection of the day before caused her to grow anxious and uncertain. Though it was in the low eighties she felt a chill race through her body.
Collecting her thoughts, she mustered up enough courage to approach the house. She had decided to go for broke. Knowing that he was home, she knocked several times and waited. There was no response. Again she announced her presence and loudly. Silence still permeated the grounds. Again, she took the knocker and pounded the door until she was nearly exhausted.
Resigned to the fact that this was all a lost cause, she turned and began to walk away. Her head hung low. She could tell when she wasn’t wanted. And it wasn’t a good feeling.
Several yards into her retreat she heard a sound from behind and immediately turned around. The door to the cottage had been left partially opened. Somewhat conflicted, she stood frozen in place as she pondered whether or not she wanted to see this thing through. Before she could give it another thought she found herself slowly approaching the entrance in a trance-like state. Extending her arm she opened the door and tentatively.
Once inside, she found herself standing less than a foot away from him. And still she was unable to see his face. When he turned and walked into the next room, she followed. For the first time she noticed the long staff he held in his left hand, almost like the one the Grim Reaper carries. Entering the tall and spacious room, the mystery man made his way over to a walnut grain credenza and paused, his back towards her.
She had expected the interior to look strange but certainly not anything like the large room before her, which was anything but strange. There was a sofa, several chairs, and a coffee table. The dark curtains, which hung at every window, made the interior of the house look much darker than most homes. The room had several scented candles burning, which casted their large flickering silhouettes on the far right wall.
She waited for him to say something but he didn’t. So she took the initiative.
“Please, I just wanted to thank you for what you have done for me the past few days,” she began. “The gas for my scooter, the storm incident yesterday. I just wanted to personally thank you, that’s all, Professor Seabreeze.”
Again, he did not respond.
“Well, now that I’ve thanked you, I guess I had better go now,” she said, biting her lower lip.
Turning, she began to make her way towards the door. As she grabbed hold of the doorknob she heard his sensuous sounding baritone voice for the first time.
“Please, stay a minute,” he said, his back still facing her.
Irene stopped in her tracks.
“You say you wanted to thank me but a note at the door would have sufficed, would it not?”
“As I have stated, I wanted to personally thank you,” she answered as she turned to face him.
“I must say that I appreciate your persistence and I admire your tenacity, Irene.”
Surprisingly, she found his voice soothing and comforting and youthful in tone. When he actually spoke her name it sent a mild electrical charge throughout her. The heightened level of excitement caused her heart to quicken. When she thought about it a little more, she realized that she had not felt anything like this before.
“So, you remembered my name,” she said, wondering why he had not faced her yet.
“Tell me, why are you really here in England?”
“I’m here to visit with my aunt for the summer.”
“But why here and with this aunt?”
Without hesitating, she said, “Well, my mother doesn’t think I know, but she thinks I need some additional education in the areas of romance, love, and men, that kind of stuff.”
“And your aunt just happens to be the one person that can teach you.”
“Yes, something like that.”
“Do you feel you’re lacking such knowledge and need enrichment in this area?”
“Well, I am only twenty-six and when I think about it, I really do not know a lot about these things.”
“Your father is deceased, I’ve been told.”
“Yes, that is correct.”
There was an eerie pause. She did not know where this conversation was leading to.
“Are you interested in learning about life and these other things, as you call them?” he asked.
“Yes, I am interested professor.”
“I mean truly interested, Irene.”
“Yes, truly interested.”
Slowly turning, he faced her for the first time. When he stepped out from the shadows and into the ambient light of the candles, she took a step back and gasped. Inside the hood he wore over his head was a face covered in a mesh of metal, almost like what the knights of earlier England put on before they slipped into their armored suits and helmets.
“Why are you covered like that?” she asked, mystified, her heart throbbing.
“I refer to this as my silver cage,” he answered, and quite chillingly. “It is made of silver and was placed on me to keep beautiful and seductive young women, much like yourself, from gazing upon my handsomely repulsive face.”
Suddenly her excitement turned into raw terror. His macabre tone and words rendered her immobile. Was this man truly harmless, as his housekeeper had asserted, or was he some modern day reincarnation of Jack the Ripper, she pondered as her heart rate increased two-fold?
Sensing her apprehension, the professor calmly said, “There’s no need to fear me. But what I have just shared with you is true. I am imprisoned by this ungodly covering and for reasons I wi
ll not go into at this time.”
Irene relaxed a bit. His tone was again soft and convincing.
“Your face…is it scarred or disfigured or something?” she probed. “Please, you can trust me.”
“As I have said, I will not discuss my predicament, but I am more than willing to discuss yours.”
Pointing to an empty chair he motioned for her to sit down. He took a seat a short distance away, this time facing her.
“How can you help me, professor, if I might ask?” she said, leaning forward in the chair.
“I have an interesting book you might want to borrow and read. A book which may assist you in advancing your knowledge in the areas you just mentioned,” he answered, sitting tall and rigid in the chair, the staff still gripped by his left hand.
“A book?” she quipped.
“Yes, a very knowledgeable book and a very comprehensive one at that.”
“My understanding is that you are a professor of philosophy.”
“Yes, that is true.”
“Then if you really want to help me, I ask that you, professor, be the one to teach me these things, not give me some book,” she said in an assertive tone, one she had never remembered using before. But as she was finding out, this mystery man and this strange house were bringing to light numerous things she had never said, felt, or done before.
She waited for his response. And she waited.
“Very well” he finally answered, having giving it some thought. “I will consider it, Irene. If I decide to tutor you, be warned. You must keep your appointments. No exceptions. The subjects I will cover with you are as follows; virtue, religion, sexuality, commitment, and love. Are you still interested Irene?”
“Very much, professor.”
“Then you must go and return first thing tomorrow morning. I will give you my answer then. And Irene, you must never speak to anyone about me or this arrangement we have. I need your word on that.”
“You have it.”
“Now go.”
Standing up, he escorted her to the door.”
“I appreciate you taking the time, professor.”
“There will be plenty of time for you to decide whether or not you appreciate me or what I have yet to teach you. The door will be unlocked so just come in. And Irene, wear a pair of boots tomorrow morning. Something used…something not too valuable.”
Irene’s impulse was to ask why but she decided to just do it.
As she rounded the narrow path her dark and mysterious Good Samaritan watched silently from behind closed doors until she faded from sight.
Chapter 5
As promised, Morris picked her up and promptly at seven that evening. The recently purchased BMW belonged to his Uncle Scott. Loaning out his baby wasn’t something he was in the habit of doing but he knew that Morris wanted to make an impression on Irene. If she was impressed he could not tell. The only compliment she appeared willing to offer was a gentle nod and, “nice car,” almost murmured. And even that was nonchalant in tone. It wasn’t the response he was hoping for. But the night was still young and he remained hopeful.
After introductions, the group of six couples participated in several activity games, of which Irene was glad she had worn slacks because some of the activities required them to be on the floor on their backs or knees, such as dancing under the limbo stick. Irene passed on that one. In time someone fired up the record player and they danced. After a few fast paced songs, a slow ballad came on. It was the song Doggin’ Around by the soulful American singer Jackie Wilson. As beautiful a song as it was, dancing so close to Morris, his hands wrapped around her waist, was an alien experience for her. It was a level of intimacy she was not accustomed to or prepared for. She felt awkward and out of place but she managed to get through that part of the evening without drawing a lot of unwanted attention to herself and her lack of experience on the dance floor. It helped that the lights had been lowered.
After a reprieve from the dance floor Morris went for some snacks and drinks. He returned with a paper plate that had a mountain of pretzels and potato chips on it. He handed her a drink and went to get one for himself. He returned to their secluded corner within seconds.
“What is this?” she asked, unsure what kind of alcoholic beverage it was.
“It’s a rum and coke, that’s all,” he replied, as he took a swallow from his glass.
She stared at him momentarily before averting her eyes.
“You never had a rum and coke, have you?” he said, now understanding the reason behind her hesitation. “Matter of fact, you never had any alcoholic beverage before, I bet.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Well, go on and try it,” he urged her.
“I don’t know, Morris,” she said, giving him an anxious look. She had heard about the effects alcohol had on some women and the vulnerable state it sometimes placed them in, especially in the company of men willing to exploit that vulnerability.
“Go on, just take one swallow and if you don’t care for it, then it’s all said and done,” he encouraged her on. “Trust me.”
Determined not to be the odd ball, tonight, she placed the glass to her lips and took a large gulp. Morris studied her as her lips puckered then her mouth opened widely, as though it was on fire. Her face grew profoundly distorted, though only momentarily.
“See, that wasn’t all that bad, now was it,” he asked, taking another swallow of his drink.
“I think I’ll stick to punch,” she managed to get out, wiping her mouth with the napkin.
“Honestly, I only meant for you to take a sip, not chuck it down like some blimey sailor on liberty,” he chuckled. “Now, forget the punch. This time, take it slowly, a little at a time.”
Though hesitant, she took a few more sips, at his urging. After a while she began to feel a burning sensation course throughout her body. It did not take long before she became slightly tipsy. It was another sensation she had never experienced before. There was no way of her knowing that Morris had instructed his friend to give her a double shot of Jamaican rum. In time her sober look turned into a fixed stare, as she leaned back and became limp in the chair.
Morris chewed on some pretzels and chips before downing the remainder of his drink. “You’re looking mighty mellow there, Irene. That’s it, lass. Relax and enjoy the buzz.”
“Listen Morris, I’d like for you to take me home now,” she said, her eyes glossed over.
“If you insist, lass,” he answered. “Besides…no harm done, right?”
One mile into their return ride Irene became nauseated. Coming to life, she hurriedly rolled down the car window, leaned out of it, and puked, turning the faucet on as though she was Niagara Falls, most of her offering landing on the side of the recently waxed car door. Morris cringed in disbelief.
Irene arrived the following morning on time as instructed. She was dressed in a pair of cotton shorts and a short-sleeve cotton top. And as the professor had indicated, the door had been left unlocked. But he was not there to greet her. Though uneasy about entering a home without the homeowner being present, or at least nearby to grant permission inside, she opened the door, which squeaked slightly, and entered the cottage. She immediately made her way into the expansive area the two talked in the day before. Taking a seat on a padded easy chair she waited.
Surveying the room, she took in wall-mounted gold framed paintings, wood carvings, statuettes, antique furniture, and other interesting objects she had not noticed on her previous two visits. She was impressed. The professor had quite a collection, along with good taste.
Across from her sat an easy chair which was twin to the one she now occupied. There were no signs of a television or radio or stereo; electronic components you’d expect to find in every modern home. And there were no mirrors.
Before she could entertain another thought, the professor appeared out of the corner of her eye, and seemingly out of nowhere, his monk-like garb worn the same as the day before, including the hoo
d and mesh facial covering. Instead of a long staff, he held a wooden cane this time.
Taking a deep breath, she stood up to greet him. Though slightly nervous she hoped to start off on a good note.
“Good morning Professor Seabreeze,” she said, unsure if she’d get the silent treatment again.
He nodded, then said, “I would be remiss if I did not express my surprise at your prompt arrival.” His deep sensuous voice was still able to stir her senses. “You see, it is my experience that many of your peers remain contumacious in their approach to authority figures.”
“I’m not quite sure what that means, professor,” she said with an honesty he found admirable.
“Stubbornly disobedient,” he answered, tapping the floor once with his cane to emphasize his words. “But it is obvious to me that you are interested in learning something or you would not be here. Now, what it is you’re searching for, I am not sure. Nor am I sure exactly why you are looking.”
“But I want you to teach me about life. I expressed that sentiment yesterday, professor.”
“I know what you said!” he bellowed, then lowering his tone added, “What I gather from our previous conversation is that your mother is the major influence behind your current pursuit. I need to know what Irene wants out of life. Not what mother wants. And not what your aunt wants or anyone else. Only then can you free yourself from whatever it is that is making you feel unfulfilled and misunderstood.
“You see Irene, before we can proceed successfully, I must know what your motivation is. Only then will I be able to decide whether it is feasible for me to invest my time and effort on you.”
Irene stood motionless, thoughtful.
“Come on; tell me what is it that occupies your thoughts during the day and night, what is it that you are searching for Irene. Surely you have given it some thought, hopefully a lot of thought. But I need to know and I need to know now!” he said drawing closer to her. “Tell me!”
Unnerved, she thought about what he was saying until his words seemed to ricochet inside of her head, growing in intensity with each pass. Finally she blurted out, “I am searching for knowledge and enlightenment. That’s what I’m looking for, professor. That is what motivates me.”
A Gothic Lesson in Love Page 4