Mark Lee - The Canal House

We stopped beneath the arbor and Daniel introduced me as l’amica mia, Dottoressa Julia Cadell . La Signora stopped talking and appraised me as if I was a farm animal. I could tell that she was satisfied, because she put her arm around me and guided me through the house. She told me that Signor Daniel had been an irresponsible landowner, but now that such a gracious dottoressa had arrived, everything would improve.

We were nearly out of money. Daniel contacted the Telegraph and some German newspapers and arranged to write articles about the upcoming Italian elections. And for the first time since leaving Kosana, I started working as a physician. The daughter of one of La Signora’s nephews was sick and the village doctor had left for Capri. I took out my medical kit and followed La Signora over to a house in the middle of an apple grove. The moment I stepped into the bedroom and saw the feverish child lying on a bed, my doctor self reemerged from hibernation. The girl had a bad ear infection and I prescribed some antibiotics. It was an easy diagnosis, but the parents were grateful and her uncle brought us six bottles of homemade wine.

After that the villagers decided that I was a good pediatrician, and I was asked to examine several children. I had trained myself not to feel an emotional attachment to my patients, but the informality of these examinations made me lose some of my objectivity. I liked to pick up the babies and feel their warm breath on my neck. Sometimes they would touch me and their hands would play with my hair. If I held them tightly, I could hear their breathing and their heartbeats seemed to dissolve through my own skin.

I spent one afternoon with the postmaster’s wife and her baby, then returned to the house at sunset. Daniel had cooked roast chicken stuffed with garlic and fresh rosemary. He started a fire in the fireplace, mixed in a few cypress logs with the oak and a faint pine scent filled the living room.

“How’s your new patient?” he asked.

“She’s getting better. There’s lots of pinkeye in the village. That’s the third case I’ve handled this week.”

“People don’t always wash their hands.”

He refilled my glass of wine, but I didn’t drink it. “Daniel, I’ve been thinking. I want to have a baby.”

I waited for what seemed like a long time. Daniel looked at me and I felt like he was considering all possibilities—then he smiled broadly.

“Yes. I’d like that to happen.”

We never discussed it again. That was all that was needed between us. I was nervous but happy, filled with daydreams about the future. The first month went by and nothing happened, then the second month disappeared with the same result. La Signora sensed what was going on and started bringing me bunches of parsley and bottles of fresh milk from the village dairy, as if these foods would guarantee conception. Daniel and I had a moonlight picnic down by the bridge and we ended up making love on a blanket. Looking up at the stars, I felt as if I had been absorbed into the earth beneath my body. Surely this would be the moment. It must occur, now. But another month passed with no change.

ONE DAY IN JULY, Daniel and I woke up early, when it was still cool and pleasant enough to work. Daniel made French toast with our last two eggs and the bread left over from supper. We ate breakfast outside, with a basket of apricots and a jar of La Signora’s strawberry jam.

I drank my tea, he sipped his coffee, and we both read the newspapers. The village postmaster brought us the International Herald Tribune and the Telegraph three or four days after they were published. I liked the fact that all the urgent stories had lost their shrill insistence. If you were reading about some crisis, it was already fading into the past.

“Looks like a visitor,” Daniel said as a Ford sedan with rental plates turned off the road and came down the dirt driveway.

“It’s probably another pair of lost tourists, like those Norwegians.”

“I liked the woman, but her husband talked too damn much.”

The sedan approached the house and I realized that Billy Monroe was driving. Billy parked next to the Alfa Romeo; then Richard got out and gazed up the slope. I had thought about meeting Richard again and in these imaginary conversations we were always polite with each other. Now the real person was here, just a few hundred meters away, and I didn’t feel prepared. Perhaps I was a coward back at Westgate Castle, but on the night of the party it felt much easier just to give back the necklace, slip out of the evening gown, and walk away.

I heard a click as Daniel placed his coffee cup back on the saucer. He looked annoyed, but he didn’t say anything. Richard left Billy standing beside the rental car and headed up the path. I could see that he’d lost weight in the last few months and that made him look older. As he approached the arbor, Richard’s confidence asserted itself and he smiled cheerfully.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hello, Richard.”

He nodded to Daniel. “Beautiful place you’ve got here. Do you own it?”

“Yes.”

“Great location. Great investment.”

Daniel glanced at me. “Would you like to speak to Richard alone?”

“Oh, no,” Richard said. “I must talk to both of you at the same time.” He sat down at the table. “Forget about what happened last year. That’s over. It’s in the past. When you two left I was surprised and upset, but I’ve dealt with it. Some things don’t work out and you just have to accept the reality.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked.

“Hand-to-Hand is in trouble. The entire organization is falling apart. I didn’t realize how crucial you were,” he said, turning to me. “I thought I could hire anyone to do the job. Our refugee effort in Kosovo was disorganized and misdirected. We got some bad publicity.”

“I read the article in the Times ,” I said.

“Everyone read that bloody article. Donations are down eighty percent and George Riverton says that the government is reconsidering its support.”

“I’m sorry, Richard. I’m not going to be executive director.”

“Of course not. I realize that. But I do need your help with a specific situation. I don’t know if you two have been monitoring the news from East Timor.”

Daniel nodded. “They plan to vote on independence from Indonesia.”

“Yes, exactly. When the independence side wins there are going to be refugees, food shortages, and a breakdown of public services. The Indonesian government has armed the local militias and they’re already burning down people’s homes. This is a crisis situation that will demand an immediate response. It’s the precisely the reason why we created Hand-to-Hand. No red tape or committees. Just a group of organized professionals, saving lives.”

“And what do you want me to do, Richard? Go to East Timor?”

“Get us through this deployment while I look for a permanent director.” He paused. “Without your help, the whole organization will collapse.”

I glanced at Daniel and saw that he had assumed a deliberately neutral expression, the sort of mask he wore as a journalist. It was impossible to know what he was thinking and I felt guilty and boxed in. “I need to think about it,” I said.

“Of course. Talk this over with Daniel.” Richard glanced at Daniel and grinned as if they were old school friends. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to walk around your garden.”

Richard hiked back down the hill and Billy approached him. Murmuring to each other, they began to study the hollyhocks like botanists out on a field trip.

“What do you think?” I asked Daniel.

“It’s up to you.”

“Of course it’s up to me. But I still want to know what you feel about this.”