Hadrian's Wall (25 page)

“Very...” I whispered.

While disconcerting, the
virtual reality was not what most impressed me...Adrian Cahill, in
natural size, walking towards me as if he knew exactly what he was
doing...
that’s
what really impressed me. It seemed so real...not a mere
projection created by a computer. Sure, I was already delirious. I
took a last look around as if the images could recur at any time. I
had the unpleasant feeling of being watched by unseen
eyes.

When I noticed that Marjory and Charity had
moved away through the columns of the hall, I ran to catch them. I
was overcome by a sudden fear of being alone in that place.

“There are no photos of the panthers?” I
asked both of them.

Charity laughed, but her smile no reached
her eyes.

“Why should there be? As I
said before, the Panthers thing is pure superstition. Nobody ever
saw
them.”
Her
eyes crossed quickly to Marjory’s attentive eyes.

It’s clear that
someone
had seen the
panthers, but Charity didn’t want to talk about it. Why not, I had
no idea...or did I?
I believe that’s a
question, the answer to which I’m not prepared to
meet
.

“However...” she continued, with lightness.
“You can see its statue at the entrance of the hill.

Why
would someone bother to build statues of panther if they
didn’t exist? Whim of an eccentric billionaire?
It’s funny...since I came to Hadrian’s Wall, most of my
sentences have ended as a question.

I forced myself to look
directly into Charity’s eyes.

“Now I understand a little more about the
town. The walls, the saga of your clan, and everything else...”

“Great!” She didn’t let me
finish. “Then we can go.
On another
occasion, you’ll be able to spend more time at the museum. Now, we
have to go.
Shall we?”

Oookay, for sure!
If I were still in town...and
definitely without
Charity’s
presence, maybe I could extract more information from two employees
of museum—maybe not from the boss, but I’m sure that Rita would be
a valuable source of information.

Before we reached the exit, we went through
other rooms where objects appeared to be related to the history of
the region. Beginning with archaeological artifacts dating from
pre-history (cataloged by the local university), to crossing by
scenarios that reproduced the daily lives of American natives and
English colonizers, while going through either of these
environments, I saw something at a glance that shocked me. In
semi-darkness of the room, there was a heavy wooden trunk, very old
and battered, with huge fetters and halters bolted to it. The
fetters were rusty. I felt a strange pain in my chest.

The two women half-stalled
in the hallway when they noticed I wasn’t following them. Marjory
decided to resume the tourist explanations:

“The elders say that the panthers were tied
to the trunk when Adrian Cahill was receiving guests at his
mansion, but inasmuch as it is only legend, we cannot know for sure
for what purpose this tool was used,” Marjory said. “After all,
Cahill never had slaves.

I was shaking with chills. Judging by the
thickness and width of the handcuffs, cats should be huge.

“Poor animals...prisoners of such horrible
thing. It looks like a torture machine to me.” I could almost see
the panthers swinging its head to get rid of the uncomfortable
weight of the halter and scratching the ground with its claws.
Restless, the paws would make the chains clink as they swung from
side to side.

I turned to the hallway and realized two
things at once: Stunned, Marjory looked at me and Charity had a
face somewhere between disturbed and angry. She quickly donned her
sunglasses, hiding the emotion that had begun to sparkle in her
eyes. Then she walked along the hall without looking back.

At the door of the museum, Marjory bade us a
gentle goodbye.

9

PANTHERS’ EYES

Charity moved in front of
me, walking gracefully towards the Porsche. I felt like she was
still angry, but I didn’t understood why. Instead of unlocking the
car, she pointed to the lakeside dock and walked on. I moaned
softly, thinking how much I’d prefer to ride rather than walk in my
uncomfortable shoes.

“I’d like to show you the
façade of our club on the shores of Bluewater Lake.

The pier was crowded with
sailboats and motorboats. On the right, the jagged
cliff
stood majestically
above the calm and gleaming waters, providing a dramatic touch to
the beautiful scenery.

The Panther’s
Cliff
, I deduced, observing that the wall
surrounding the entire uptown area ended at the base of the
cliff.

Wow! What a view the Cahills had from their
hilltop mansion. Watching the sun set over the calm waters of the
lake would be a magical experience.

“The Cahills came from Scotland?” I
inquired.

“Uh huh! And the families
of their loyal vassals,” Charity replied. “Did you know that our
county is known as the ‘Celtic Pearl of Maine’?” she
added.

I raised my eyebrows,
looking at the gorgeous lake. It’s name was appropriate.

“Your family is very important,” I said with
a crooked smile to soften that truth.

“Incredibly, the Cahills
made a fortune at sea,” Charity said, oblivious to my dis-comfort.
“The family business started with navigation, but since then has
diversified. Today, the name Cahill represents several
developments, mostly consolidated in the pharmaceutical
industry.”

My shoulders slumped. The size of the Cahill
fortune was more than I could imagine.

“Why the pharmaceutical industry?” I
asked.

“Well, all of the Adrians
of the family have had a special interest in the public health, in
one way or another. Besides warriors and kings, the family tree has
the presence of druids and doctors. The last three generations of
firstborn were graduated as medical experts. Adrian’s father, who
is a surgeon, founded the town’s hospital.

“So, Adrian decided to follow in the
footsteps of his father and grandfather?”

“Not
exactly
…
He and
Adrian Senior don’t get along very well. They barely speak since
the death of AC’s mother, who suffered from a rare blood disease—a
disease that also affects the nervous system. For this reason, AC
decided to devote himself to seeking a cure. He traveled abroad,
began studying in a prestigious medical school in Germany and found
the best specialists. I think, deep down, what he wanted was to
rescue himself...like save the essence of what he’d lost a long
time ago. But now, when he least expected it, he found
you...
Charity was looking at me
strangely. “To everyone’s surprise, he decided to return and
complete his studies at the University of Wall.”

So, he’d only recently
arrived in Hadrian’s Wall?

“Adrian Senior was never
the same after his wife died. In my opinion, he couldn’t give his
child as much attention as he should have. AC was and still is an
impetuous young man. By the time his mother died, he needed a great
deal of support and guidance. If not for Stephen and Vincent...”
She shook her head, obviously recalling painful events. “It looks
like father and son have begun to reconcile. They’re still far from
having an ideal relationship, but at least it’s a
start.”

“How is Adrian’s father?” I
tried to create a mental image about him, but I couldn’t. Only
Adrian’s face came to mind.

“He’s an old man—very sick,
reclusive, suspicious...someone who doesn’t receive any visitors.
He sees virtually no one. In my opinion, ‘eccentric’ is the
adjective that best describes him, but deep down, my uncle is the
sensitive type who is interested in humanitarian causes.” She
looked at me askance. “I think you’re the reason for their
reconciliation.”

“Me? Why?”

She laughed at my astonishment, but remained
annoyingly composed.

“Adrian Senior hardly ever
leaves the house. Very few people are honored with his friendship.
Consequently, it’s very rare that anyone has permission to visit
him. However, he has innumerable contacts. He hears everything
happening in town.” She looked back as if to say ‘why are you
taking so long?’

I suppressed a groan of anger for tripping
over the paving stones again.

“When the old man heard
about your...
unusual
appearance, he wanted to know more about you. Because AC was
on duty in the ER on the night that paramedics brought you in,
Adrian Senior called his son for more information. It was the first
time that their conversation lasted more than two minutes. After
that, Adrian Senior was visiting you in the hospital. It was an
historic event because he
never
leaves his house...
never
.”

Huh?

“But you were still unconscious...” She
continued, oblivious to my almost catatonic state. He became
fascinated with you as soon as he saw you. Can you believe it? He
said you resembled his deceased wife, so he simply decided to care
for you...as if you were the daughter he never had. You should have
seen his joy, the glow in his eyes when he told the hospital staff
to give you all of the attention they possibly could.

No doubt this explains why
I got so much care at no charge. So, I looked like Adrian’s mother.
Now, I understood why he watched me in that peculiar
way.

“And one more thing, AC also has a special
affection for you,” she added. “He really cares about what might
happen to you, so he decided to swallow his pride and go to his
father to talk about your drawings.”

My heart pounded, then
almost immediately a sinking feeling set in. When she said that
Adrian had a special affection for me, I was delighted; but she’d
already mentioned the humanitarian motives of Adrian’s father and
my alleged resemblance to Mrs. Cahill, so I concluded that the
son’s motivation was pity.

Suddenly,
I understood something that I hadn’t realized
before
—the contents of a conversation
between father and son.

“My drawings?”

Instead of answering my
question, she interrupted me. “I believe you don’t know about our
university.” She pointed to some buildings across the valley,
surrounded by woods. “The UWall has a renowned art
school.”

No, no, no! Rewind the
tape!
I stopped short. I felt a throbbing
in my head and pressed my fingers against my temples. Please, not
now!

“You said that Adrian spoke to his father
about my drawings. Why?”

She smiled but said
nothing.
How annoying!

“You’ve got a benefactor...
or godfather, if you prefer.”

I opened and closed my mouth. I must have
looked like a fish out of water.

“Adrian’s
father?”

“Yes, no, I mean...” She
looked at me askance.
Okay, straight to the
point!
Adrian Senior has a project
that is near and dear to his heart, but
for many years the family business has left no
time for it. Now he’s old and sick, so he decided that he cannot
postpone its execution any longer. The only snag is that he needs
someone to assist him with the paperwork—someone who has time and
talent for drawing...in other words, you!”

“What project and
how
exactly
can I
help him?”

“My uncle wants to write
the family memoirs—the whole saga from its origins until today. He
plans to use illustrations to depict the Cahill
clan
from the ancient and medieval
period. Here’s where you come in. It would be a big boost for your
artistic career, would it not?”

I got her...at least I thought I understood
what she was saying, but when she continued to talk, I realized
there were still more revelations to come.

“He
needs...
really
needs an illustrator with your talent, but he also needs help
with the notes and diaries of the family which will be used to
write the memoirs. He does not see well, you know...” She
hesitated, seeming a little embarrassed. “In other words...I’d
better get straight to the point. Adrian Senior has sent me here
today to offer you a job.”

I was in shock. I had
deduced that she’d come to me because of Adrian—the son, not the
father, but apparently he was not involved...at least not
directly.

I seriously thought about
what she told me, but I could not make a decision. The only thing I
knew was that I couldn’t accept charity from anyone more...even
from Charity (a miserable pun), but also because of my attraction
to the family’s only son. It would be humiliating.

“It won’t work,” I said.
“Tell him ‘thank you from the bottom of my heart,’ but I cannot
accept his offer.”

Charity stopped walking and turned to stare
at me in astonishment.

“But...why? It’s the chance
of a lifetime! Many artists around the world would kill to have
that job!”

“One more reason not to
accept. I did nothing to deserve this opportunity. Your uncle has
never seen my drawings, so he doesn’t know if I’m up to the task. I
couldn’t commit myself to doing something that will disappoint him
later.”