Niall Williams - The Fall of Light

“Good luck to ye,” she said. “I hope ye’ll be happy.”

They returned to the dockside. Men watched them. Some with knives bent over fish barrels stopped and looked at the woman in the green dress. A wind blew her hair. She stood alone a time and waited while Teige made enquiries. Then he returned to her with another man who was thickly whiskered and stood very close to her while he told her of the schooner that would bring them to Boston. They sailed from there at noon. Some passengers of origins various stood on the deck in frayed and sea-soiled finery and watched the coast pass. Trees dense and evergreen lay along the shore. Impenetrable forest seemed the landscape and to the eyes of those come from the distant continent the whole seemed country wild with as yet little mark of civilization. They imagined therein were the Indians they had heard of and that these were even then watching the ship with arrows in bows aimed as she moved down the coastline. The voyage was without incident. Cold wind made choppy the waters and slowed the progress of the schooner, but when she arrived in Boston none of the passengers cared. For they were cheered by the elegance of the buildings and the sight of the streets. Elizabeth too smiled and stood on the deck as the ship came in. She squeezed Teige’s arm, her face flushed and her eyes travelling over the thoroughfares. When they disembarked a man stepped over to them and speaking to both but looking at Elizabeth said he could tell they would be seeking fine accommodations and would they allow him to guide them to the best. He carried Elizabeth’s one bag. They went to a hotel finer than any Teige had ever seen. The man tipped his hat and stood and waited and Elizabeth gave him some money in their own currency and he thanked her and was gone. They took a room with flowered paper on the wall. Above the posts of the bed was a canopy of cream-colored linen. Their breakfast was brought on a tray of silver.

They stayed there. In the daytime Elizabeth went out and bought new clothes and returned with these and tried them on before a standing mirror. Teige told her she was beautiful. He searched for signs that she might be pregnant but did not know what these were and if he found them or not.

“We should think of moving on from here,” he said to her one evening after they had dined in the grand room where the chandeliers that had come from Milan glittered above them and let fall brilliant splinters of broken light.

“Why should we?”

“I have no work. We cannot stay here. We must be near the end of your money.”

Her expression turned cold.

“Money is vulgar, Teige. Please don’t speak of it.”

“But—”

“Please, Teige.”

He looked at his plate.

“Thank you,” she said. “You are so sweet. Always so sweet.”

The following morning she went and bought him a white shirt and black suit. He tried them on in the room. When he stood before her she considered him a time and then told him to go to the barber’s and to buy new shoes. Then he would be perfect, she said. He did. In that same afternoon returning, he crossed the lobby of the hotel and caught in a gilt-framed mirror the image of himself and was almost another. He went around and came back to pass the mirror again. He looked then like none in his family ever had and was the copy of others who sat with newspapers in the leather chairs there. That evening Elizabeth was in light humour and sang as she dressed for dinner. Her hair was pinned above and about her neck she wore pearls he had never seen.

“How long do you think we will stay here?” Teige asked her.

“Until we find a house.”

He said nothing. His heart sank. She came to him and touched his shoulder.

“You can get a job soon. I asked today for you at the bank.”

“I can’t work at the bank.”

She turned her cheek as if it had been struck. “We’ll be late for dinner,” she said after a time.

They went down the carpeted stairs and entered the dining room, she upon his arm with her head erect and her pearls shining like defiance. They ate roast beef and potatoes with gravy and were served a bottle of wine courtesy of a man at another table. They said almost nothing. As if they had come into a country of extreme civility wherein all discourse was predicated upon polite formulae, Elizabeth addressed him in dulcet tone over such matters as the passing of the salt and the pouring of the wine. But nothing more. She sat and was the liveliest woman in the room. When the meal was ended, the man who had gifted the wine came to their table and asked them if they were coming in to hear the piano played. He was French with a name Teige did not catch.

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth said, “thank you. We would love to.”

They sat with the man, whose hair was black and sleek and cuffs linked with studs bejewelled. He asked what plans they had and Elizabeth told him they were as yet undecided but that Teige would probably take a job he had been offered at the bank. The Frenchman looked at Teige and smiled. He said it was a good job. Men get rich in banks, he said. He bought them champagne to drink a toast to their beginning. When Teige asked him what business he was in, he said he was in the business of seeing opportunity. He accented the last word so such that Teige was unsure at first of his meaning. There is much opportunity in this country, he said. More than in France. France is old and tired now. Elizabeth agreed.

“Very old and tired,” she said, and giggled and touched her fingers to her mouth where the champagne had left a fizz.

The Frenchman smiled.

“We should go to our room,” Teige said.

“It is early,” said the Frenchman.

“Yes, it is early,” Elizabeth scolded.

They stayed on. The piano music was played and ended and the umber light of that room dimmed further until all were but shadows slumped here and there. At a moment without warning, Elizabeth’s head suddenly rolled and she swayed sideways and the Frenchman caught and held her. He sat her upright once more and removed his arm. Teige lifted her to her feet and she staggered and said small nonsense and the Frenchman offered to help but was declined. He stood to wish them good night. They went then, tilting, wavering, going over and back in staggered progress and were like a thing of sails traversing into dangerous waters.

The Frenchman’s card arrived with their breakfast. Elizabeth could not eat. She moaned and put her head beneath the pillows. The tray was placed outside the door. Teige rose and went out about the city in the black suit. He went to the bank she had mentioned and entered and stood beneath the high-domed roof and watched for some moments the business transacted there. His chest pounded. He watched those men, bald, bespectacled, as they bent over papers, collars pinched beneath their chins. Light suffused through high windows and lit dust motes as they swirled and fell. The air was arid. Across the marbled floor a guard came and asked him if he needed assistance. He turned and went outside then and stood on the steps and tried to catch his breath. He had felt as if his life had been taken away, as if it were a document of sorts he guarded in his chest and the instant he walked inside the bank it had been withdrawn to be kept by another. He stood and watched the sky where clouds moved brisk in the wind. There were signs of the coming winter. He stood and did nothing and considered, and then he crossed down the street to the railroad station and bought two tickets for the afternoon train. Then he went back to the hotel and asked at the desk for their bill. When it came he saw the figure and did not know how they could pay it. He went upstairs and woke Elizabeth.