New Cardiff

by Charles Webb

  ‘Cut to the chase, sir,’ the man said. ‘Why’d you choose our town.’

  ‘Yes,’ Colin said. ‘Well it was the monument, to be specific. The bus drove past it. The lights were shining up against it.’ He nodded. ‘That was the reason.’

  ‘The Battlefield Monument,’ the woman said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But what about it.’

  ‘I saw it and I got off.’

  ‘Just because of that?’

  ‘I asked someone on the bus what it was. A Revolutionary War Monument, they said. When the bus stopped I got down my bag and disembarked.’

  ‘And that was the whole reason?’

  ‘I would say it was.’

  ‘But it sounds like that boy’s mother was driving you crazy,’ the woman said. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t have gotten off here if it wasn’t for her.’

  ‘I think I would have.’

  ‘Then what,’ the man said.

  ‘There were a couple of taxis waiting by the little station. I asked one of the drivers if he knew of a motel. He did. He drove me to one. I checked in.’ Colin shrugged. ‘And that’s it. That’s the reason I’m here.’

  ‘Our monument,’ the man said.

  ‘Maybe on some level I felt at home knowing some Brits had been here before.’

  ‘And got whupped,’ the man said.

  ‘Got what?’

  ‘Got their asses whupped.’

  ‘They lost the battle,’ the woman said.

  ‘Oh. Yes. That’s true.’ Colin nodded. ‘But we’re all friends now. At least I …’

  ‘I’m going to give you a piece of advice,’ the man said.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Don’t visit that woman’s son in prison.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘He’s in there for a reason.’

  ‘Armed robbery and assault with intent to kill,’ Colin said.

  ‘Don’t help that bastard get out.’

  ‘Actually I was wondering how realistic it was that a short chat with me would lead to his early release.’

  ‘You let him keep the manners he has,’ the woman said.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘If she wanted him to have some manners, the time to teach him those was when she was raising him.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Colin said, frowning slightly, ‘I apologise for rushing you, but would you add up the bill? I’m afraid I’m beginning to feel a little faint.’

  ‘Don’t faint on us, sir.’

  ‘I’m trying not to.’

  ‘Are you ill?’ the woman said.

  ‘Just extremely tired,’ Colin said. ‘I got no sleep on the plane. Then on the bus I couldn’t rest. Then even after I got to the motel room I just seemed to lie there looking up at the ceiling the rest of the night, till the sun came up, then I walked over here.’ He looked at his watch. ‘And I didn’t sleep the night before that either,’ he said. ‘So it’s been about two days.’

  ‘Two days awake?’

  ‘About that.’

  ‘Total him up,’ the man said.

  The woman began ringing up the items he’d selected on the cash register.

  ‘You’re an artist then,’ the man said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You should have gotten some coloured pencils so you could draw the foliage.’

  ‘I limit myself to faces.’

  ‘You’re not into the landscapes.’

  He shook his head. ‘Spatial relationships in nature have always defeated me.’

  ‘What sort of faces do you like to draw,’ the woman said, as she entered the price of the sketch pad.

  ‘One will strike me. I don’t really know why. Like the man at the motel last night. I hadn’t thought of doing any drawing over here—that’s why I didn’t bring my things. Then the man was checking me in and I just felt … you know … I have to draw this person’s face. Of course I don’t know if he’ll sit for me. I wanted to buy my things first, then ask him when I go back to the motel.’

  ‘Who was it,’ the man said.

  ‘Sorry’

  ‘The man who checked you in.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know his name.’

  ‘What motel was it.’

  ‘I don’t even remember that,’ he said, opening his wallet. He took out a card to show him.

  ‘That would be Fisher,’ the man said, after looking at it.

  ‘Fisher.’ Colin nodded and returned the card to his wallet.

  ‘Why would you want to draw Fisher.’

  ‘As I said, there’s not really a rational …’

  ‘Why would anyone want to draw Fisher,’ the man said to his wife. ‘The man’s face looks like road kill.’

  ‘Don’t say that about Fisher, dear.’ She tore the receipt off the register and handed it to him. ‘That comes to fifty-seven dollars and some change,’ she said, ‘but I’m going to forget the change because I don’t want you to think everybody over here’s like the lady you met on the bus.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I don’t want you to think everybody over here’s just out for favours for themselves.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Once in a while we like to do something nice for someone else,’ she said. ‘Americans are very giving people.’

  ‘You’re known for your generosity the world over,’ Colin said.

  ‘Well I’m so happy to hear you say that. Did you hear that, Harold?’

  ‘Keep the sale moving.’

  Colin removed a plastic card from his wallet. ‘I’ll go to the bank now.’

  ‘And when you get back,’ the woman said, ‘I’ll have everything in a big bag for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He turned around and went slowly toward the door.

  ‘You don’t want a cup of coffee first, do you,’ the man said.

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘We don’t want you keeling over before you get the money.’

  ‘You do look a little shaky,’ his wife said.

  Colin walked the rest of the way across the store. He opened the door, bumping it against his shoe, then moved his foot and pulled it the rest of the way open.

  ‘Can you find the bank?’

  ‘It’s in the next street,’ he said. ‘I saw it earlier.’

  ‘And be very cautious crossing,’ the woman said, removing a large plastic bag from under the counter. ‘Our traffic goes the opposite way, so be sure and look both left and right before you step off the kerb.’

  Colin paused a moment longer in the doorway, then went out into the sunlight. ‘I will need to remember that,’ he said, ‘thank you.’

  2

  When Colin got back to the motel, Fisher was no longer on duty, and the plaque in the office on which his name had appeared the night before had been replaced by one reading JOANIE FISHER, CO-MGR.

  After listening while Colin told her why he wanted to speak to Fisher, the woman explained to him that her husband was driving a table up to their son at his college in New Hampshire, and wouldn’t be back till the middle of the afternoon. ‘Why would you want to draw Fisher’s picture,’ she said. ‘Not that he isn’t a nice-looking man.’

  ‘His bearing struck me,’ Colin said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘But there’s really no way to put these things into words,’ he said.

  ‘Visual qualities speak for themselves.’

  Joanie Fisher was neatening the brochures in a display case against one of the walls of the office. ‘I’m sure he’ll be very flattered,’ she said, ‘as far as I know, no one’s ever wanted to draw his picture before.’

  ‘I’ll try not to take up too much of his time.’

  There was a mirror in a ceramic frame next to the door, and as Colin started to leave he caught a glimpse of himself in it and stopped suddenly to look more closely.

  Joanie opened a new packet of brochures.

  He pushed his hand up the side of his unshaven face. ‘God,’ he said. He ran his fingers through his hair.


  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘I haven’t given a thought to my appearance in two days.’

  ‘It doesn’t really show.’

  ‘It doesn’t?’

  ‘We’ve had worse.’

  ‘Than this?’

  ‘Much.’

  ‘I’ve never looked worse than this.’ He pushed his finger against a puffy fold of darkish skin under his eye. ‘Good God.’

  ‘Did you just get in from England?’

  ‘Last night.’

  She fitted the new brochures into the case. ‘Probably the jet lag.’

  Colin continued staring at his face in the mirror.

  ‘We have a friend who travels abroad all the time, and he deals with the jet lag problem by going to bed an hour earlier each night before his trip, so by the time he leaves he’s already adjusted to the time difference in the new country.’ She stepped back and looked at the case. ‘Of course that has its drawbacks too. Last year he had to go to India and by the time he left he was going to bed at ten-thirty in the morning.’ She glanced over at Colin for a moment, still at the mirror, then down at the entries in the motel registration book open on the desk. ‘Mr Ware?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you have any urgent business this morning?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then why don’t you go to your room and get a few hours sleep. I’ll hold your calls, and you can tell me when you want a wake-up.’

  Colin turned around toward her.

  ‘How does that sound.’

  ‘There won’t be any calls. I don’t know anybody in America.’

  ‘You don’t.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well maybe a call from someone in England.’

  ‘No one there knows where I am.’

  She looked at him a moment longer, then picked several wilted flowers from a bouquet in a vase on the desk. ‘Two English businessmen stayed here last month,’ she said, dropping the flowers into a wastebasket beside the desk. ‘They were trying to find stores to carry their software products. But you don’t seem to be here on business.’

  There was a chair in the corner. ‘Can I sit down a moment?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘You know,’ he said, walking slowly across the room to the chair, ‘I’ve never realised before what it means when people say they’re too tired to sleep.’ He slumped down into the chair. ‘When I filled out the customs form, I put for the purpose of my trip that I was on holiday. I couldn’t think of what else to write.’

  Joanie studied him a few moments, his eyes fixed on the floor between his shoes.

  ‘Be sure and help yourself to any of our brochures that look interesting.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said without looking up.

  It was quiet a few moments.

  ‘Do you like dog racing?’

  ‘Dog racing.’

  ‘Would visiting a greyhound track give you a lift?’

  He shook his head, and again it was quiet.

  ‘Mr Ware?’ she said finally. ‘I don’t like to see one of our guests so gloomy.’

  ‘I’m ashamed to be this way.’

  ‘Well you shouldn’t be ashamed,’ she said. ‘I’m just sorry I can’t think of something to give you a lasting memory or two to take back to England.’

  ‘The reason I’m here is to try and get rid of a memory I already have.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘But I can’t,’ he said, shutting his eyes tightly.

  Once again it was silent.

  ‘Well Mr Ware?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘A memory of what.’

  ‘A woman.’

  She pursed her lips momentarily.

  ‘A woman,’ he repeated. He put his fist up against his forehead.

  ‘An English woman?’

  ‘Half English,’ he said, lowering his hand again.

  ‘And half what else.’

  ‘Her father’s Welsh. Look, don’t pay any attention to this. I’m just utterly …’

  ‘Well New Cardiff was founded by Welsh people, you know.’

  He nodded.

  ‘In 1759 fourteen families migrated here from their small mining community in southern Wales, after having heard there were rich coal deposits in this region. They founded the town, calling it New Cardiff after that city in their homeland, but it soon became evident there were no coal deposits here after all, and they moved on.’

  Colin raised his head and looked up at her across the office. ‘No deposits,’ he said.

  ‘None.’

  ‘Well who told them there were.’

  ‘I don’t know that,’ she said, brushing some petals off the desk, ‘but after they left here they went down to eastern Pennsylvania, a region rich in high-grade coal, where they founded a new community that was soon thriving, and where many other Welsh immigrants soon travelled to join the original settlers, when news of their success spread back to the Old World.’

  ‘That might have been an unconscious reason I got off here,’ Colin said. ‘The connection between Cardiff and Vera.’

  ‘Her father probably isn’t a coal miner,’ Joanie said.

  ‘Vera’s? No.’

  ‘The man at our Chamber of Commerce always likes us to be on the lookout for promotional tie-ins for the town.’

  ‘He’s a bursar at London University.’

  ‘I don’t think Doug could use that.’

  Colin looked back down at the floor.

  ‘Well I hope that connection doesn’t make it harder to forget Vera.’

  ‘It probably will.’

  ‘So you just basically broke up with her then.’

  Reaching into his back pocket, Colin got up from the chair. ‘This came three days ago,’ he said, removing a white card and opening it as he went across the office to her. ‘Her wedding invitation.’

  Joanie took it from him and held it a few moments as she read it. ‘The wedding’s on the fourteenth.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That’s tomorrow.’

  ‘At three P.M.,’ Colin said.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mr Ware.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of the person she’s marrying. I’d never even heard his name before reading it on the invitation.’

  ‘Roger Pelham,’ she read.

  ‘I’ve never heard of Roger Pelham.’

  ‘Well were you and Vera close?’ she said, handing back the invitation.

  Colin folded it and returned it to his pocket. ‘She was my life.’

  ‘Your life.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And what did she say, Mr Ware, when you asked her about the wedding.’

  ‘She wouldn’t see me. I was sure it was a joke. Not a very funny one, but that’s what I thought. I went over to her flat, thinking we’d sit down at the kitchen table and have a laugh about her rather odd joke.’ He looked down at the seat of the chair.

  ‘But she wouldn’t talk to you?’

  ‘Her sister was there,’ he said, seating himself again. ‘It was obvious they were expecting me. She said, “The invitation’s Vera’s way of telling you your engagement is off.”’

  ‘Well that would make the point, wouldn’t it.’

  ‘“I want to see her,”’ I said. ‘“I have to see her.” “No,” Alicia said, “she won’t see you, and what’s more you’re not really invited to the wedding. That was just her way of letting you know where things stand. And if you try and come, the ushers have instructions to stop you. And they’ve all been given your picture so don’t try to get in with a false name.”’ Colin shook his head again, closing his eyes.

  Joanie took a step back so she could glance down for a moment at the open register on the desk. ‘Colin?’ she said.

  ‘Please, please forgive my talking about this,’ he said, ‘but I do not feel I’m probably going to get through it.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Joanie said, going over to him. ‘Now tell me about her. Just talk to me about Vera for a m
inute or two.’

  ‘She’s just a very beautiful, sensitive person, that’s really all I can say about her.’

  ‘She may be beautiful,’ Joanie said, ‘but she’s hardly sensitive, Colin, to do something like that to someone. You say she’s your life.’

  ‘More than my life.’

  ‘How long have you known her.’

  ‘Since before we could talk.’

  Joanie frowned. ‘Well how did you communicate.’

  ‘Our parents were good friends before we were born. The two families were always seeing each other, doing things over the years. Vera and I pretty much grew up together.’ He shook his head. ‘Was that the problem? That we were like brother and sister? That we were too close?’

  The phone rang.

  ‘Excuse me, Colin.’ Joanie stepped to the desk to pick it up. ‘Battlefield Inn.’ She nodded. ‘Mandy, I’m with an English guest right now. Let me call you back.’

  ‘I’m interfering with the smooth running of your business,’ Colin said, as she hung up.

  ‘It was just Mandy,’ she said, returning to him. ‘Now.’ She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Colin, I want you to talk to me about Vera.’

  ‘What’s the point.’

  ‘The point is you’re Fisher’s and my guest and part of our job is to do everything in our power to see that our guests enjoy themselves. If that means someone has to talk an ex-girlfriend out of his system, so be it.’

  ‘But you’re going beyond the requirements of motel management.’

  ‘Were you intimate?’ she said. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want.’

  ‘Intimate.’

  ‘You and Vera.’

  ‘In what respect.’

  She shrugged. ‘Physically.’

  Colin nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you want to talk at all about that part of it?’

  ‘About intimacy between me and Vera?’

  ‘Often that area can be a source of much of the pain of breaking up.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Very often.’

  ‘But I mean I wouldn’t say that was really the basis of our relationship.’

  ‘Not if you knew each other as babies, no.’

  Suddenly Colin smiled.

  ‘What,’ she said.

  He shook his head.

  ‘Really. What were you smiling about.’

  ‘You brought up intimacy,’ he said, still shaking his head, ‘and sometimes I just can’t help smiling when I think about our first time together.’