The Bird Artist (18 page)
Authors: Howard Norman
Although my mother had not addressed anyone in particular, Mrs. Hagerforse suddenly looked alarmed, all but horrified at the notion of postponement.
“Ohâ” she said, then stammered, “There's, as I mentioned, no rooms for tomorrow night. None available. Tonight, by chance, there was the one vacancy.”
My mother turned from the closet and looked at Mrs. Hagerforse. “I only meant we might have the ceremony later this evening.”
Again Mrs. Hagerforse's composure seemed shattered by such a harmless suggestion. She left the room.
“Peculiar,” my mother said.
Keeping to the doorway, I peered down the hall. There I saw Mrs. Hagerforse knocking on a room door. The door opened and Mitchell Kelb beckoned her in. I stepped back and had such an overwhelmingly clear image of when I had first seen Kelb eleven years before that the words “Do you know what happened to Margaret's bicycle?” seemed to rush forward from that very day.
“You
are
talking pure nonsense. Nervous groom, is all. Come with me. I've straightened up in the mirror. It's time.”
are
talking pure nonsense. Nervous groom, is all. Come with me. I've straightened up in the mirror. It's time.”
She took my arm and walked me down the hallway to the staircase. We went upstairs to room 23. My mother knocked.
But Mrs. Hagerforse suddenly appeared, out of breath, and knocked on the door herself, then opened it.
Near the bay window, Pavel and Klara Holly stood holding hands. While Mrs. Hagerforse's voice was full of cheer, the Hollys' expressions were at best confused. They both looked to be in their late forties. Mrs. Holly struck me as an outsized woman; she was not ungainly, mind you, or fat, but big-boned, as they say. She was a good two inches taller than Pavel Holly. She wore a broad sloping hat rimmed with flowers. It actually hid all of her forehead. But I could see that she had generous features, and, to steal a phrase from Isaac Sprague, “uncompromised blue” eyes. Her smile truly broadened her cheeks, though at the moment it took real effort for her to smile. At 4:30 the planter's clock on the desk behind Klara set itself in motion; a farmer and his wife paraded out the hinged door, each holding a pitchfork, trailed by three goats. The figures completed a half-circle, then disappeared back into the clock. The sun, moon, and stars clicked a bit to the right on their copper sky and Klara suddenly said, “Mrs. Hagerforse, might that clock be for sale?”
“Klara!” Pavel Holly said. “Now is hardlyâ”
“Quite so, and I'mâ” Klara said.
“We can discussâ” Mrs. Hagerforse said.
Each sentence had been brought up short; immediately, everyone but Pavel and my mother found a chair and sat down.
Klara, who wore a formal dark blue gown with a pale white corsage attached with a long, black-headed pin, used a polished cane even to shift a step or two to the side. She seemed to have shinnied down the cane, fixing it into the
rug in front of her chair. I liked her face. Even at a glance, it was not hard to see that her arthritic movements revealed long suffering. I wondered if it had been physically painful for her to have sat for hours, composing letters to my mother. She now leaned forward on her cane.
rug in front of her chair. I liked her face. Even at a glance, it was not hard to see that her arthritic movements revealed long suffering. I wondered if it had been physically painful for her to have sat for hours, composing letters to my mother. She now leaned forward on her cane.
Pavel had been standing stiffly in his black suit. The way that he held his fists at his sides not only betrayed tenseness but also reminded me that Cora had stood a similar way in the photograph. Whether it was part of his natural countenance or born of the awkwardness of the moment, he had a morose look. When he stepped forward to shake hands with me, he said, “Fabian, Fabian, yes, well,” in a low, blustery voice. He had a strong handshake. I realized that I did not know what line of work he was in. “What line of work are you in?” I said. Slightly taken aback, he said, “The exact question a man might ask of his future son-in-law, except I know that you repair boats.” He laughed without smiling. “Well,” he said, “I'm a hooper. I forge barrel hoops. That's my specialty. And I'm an all-around blacksmith, though hoops are the mainstay, you see.” His handshake made more sense to me then. His black sideburns thickened into a beard that accentuated his dark eyes. When he looked at me, he held his lips slightly open, and I saw that he had prominent buck teeth.
“Where is Cora?” my mother said, walking up to Klara first, kissing her cheek, then over to Pavel, and kissing his.
“It has been some years now, hasn't it, Alaric,” Klara said. “More than I care to count. Anyway, we had so looked
forward to seeing Orkney. His illnessâMrs. Hagerforse told usâsounds grave. It must have been painful to leave him.”
forward to seeing Orkney. His illnessâMrs. Hagerforse told usâsounds grave. It must have been painful to leave him.”
“Where is Cora, though?”
“You see,” Pavel said, “the bride-to-be is using all the water in Halifax, it seems. She's on her third or fourth bath, I've lost count.”
“Why won't she come out?”
“It may just be a case of matrimonial jitters,” Klara said. “I'm quite sure, had there been more time, you and I could have gone into a separate room and told stories of our own wedding days. Perhaps later, in a letter.”
I had not seen Averell Grey step into the room. “Ahem, excuse me. Welcome,” he said.
“Now isn't this nice,” Mrs. Hagerforse said. “Justice of the Peace Grey, this is Alaric Vas, Fabian Vas, Klara Holly in the chair, and Pavel Holly.”
“Pleased. And where is Cora Holly?”
Grey, a slim man of perhaps sixty, had wispy white hair and age spots on his face, so many it was like a map of islands. “I forgot my Bible,” he said. “Of course there's one in this good Christian home.”
We heard the sound of splashing behind the door.
“I'll be direct here,” Pavel said. “There was a Bible in the room here, and by some ingenious means our Cora has wedged it so that the door is impossible to open from the outside. That, along with the lock, of course.”
“I'll need a Bible,” Grey said. “For the ceremony.”
“I'll see to it,” Mrs. Hagerforse said, leaving the room.
“Fabian,” Pavel said, “as her future husband, you might try and convinceâ”
“I'd like to look at her,” I said. “What I mean is, all I've ever seen of your daughter is the photograph.”
“It was an exact likeness,” Pavel said. “A few years back likeness.”
“There is a practical side to her coming out of the bath,” Grey said. “To have the wedding itself. Nothing more practical than that, eh?” He was the only one who laughed.
“We're getting along so well here,” Klara said. “Let's all, except for Fabian, go into one of our rooms, or that lovely sitting room downstairs, and continue to.”
And in a moment I stood at the bathroom door, waiting for the spigot to be shut off. When I heard more splashing, I said, “Cora, it's me, Fabian Vas.”
“I'm actually dressed,” she said. “I've been dressed for more than an hour. I did take a bath, but then got dressed. I've been filling and emptying the bathtub. All done through pipes here. Not like at home.”
The door opened and I stepped back. Add the years hence, but Cora looked much as she had in her photograph, except now she had on a high-collared white lace wedding dress. “You're shorter than in my imagination,” she said. “Do you look like your father?”
“A little.”
“I've never seen him or you in a photograph. Why wasn't one sent?”
“I don't know.”
“Take a good look. I was an ugly child. Then, at age
thirteen, I was dizzyingly beautiful. That was my father's opinion, my mother's, my neighbors in Richibucto's. I weighed their opinions carefully, then agreed. First I was ugly, though, then quite the opposite. And now I'm aware I contain both. But that doesn't mean I feel average. I've never felt that. No, it's more that I remember being both ugly and beautiful, and hope that one stays and the other doesn't come back. We'll just have to wait and see.”
thirteen, I was dizzyingly beautiful. That was my father's opinion, my mother's, my neighbors in Richibucto's. I weighed their opinions carefully, then agreed. First I was ugly, though, then quite the opposite. And now I'm aware I contain both. But that doesn't mean I feel average. I've never felt that. No, it's more that I remember being both ugly and beautiful, and hope that one stays and the other doesn't come back. We'll just have to wait and see.”
“Sit down, Cora. Please. In that chair, and I'll sit on the other chair.”
We sat looking at each other. I stood, walked into the bathroom, poured a glass of water, and handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She drank the water, then held the empty glass. “This is the worst moment of my life.”
“I don't know anything. I don't know anything, except one thing that's trueâ”
“One.”
“âit's that my mother and father wanted me to get married in the worst way. Not to Margaret Handle, whoâ”
“I see.”
“Did you get to read my mother's letters?”
“I had parts read to me.”
“There's a man in the hallway that probably won't allow this wedding.”
“Who can you be talking about?”
“I've slept with Margaret Handle, whom you've never heard of, I know, until just now. I've shot a man named Botho August and he died.”
“Please stop now. I'm going back into the bath.”
“Noâdon't.”
I reached over to the table and took up the drawing of the garganey. Handing it to Cora, I said, “Here's something I drew for the occasion.”
She unwrapped it from its cloth.
“It's a garganey,” I said. “A kind of sea duck.”
“A lovely memento. I've room for it in my suitcase, I'm sure.”
“I know about birds. One of Newfoundland's specialties is petrels, did you know that?”
“Tell me something not to be frightened of you.”
“Petrels, they're rarely found inshore. Though sometimes they come in on a storm and fly overland a day or two. We call them âMother Carey's Chickens' in Witless Bay. They get almost tame, some of them. They'll sit right on your hand. We've got Leach's petrels, dovekies, puffins, razorbills, murres, terns, kittiwakes. We get ibis. Crows. Ducks. Many different ducks. Bullbirds. We even see a garganey now and then.”
“The worst, worst day.”
“You look very nice in the wedding dress. It's not that, Cora. It's that there's a man in the hallway going to arrest me. I know it.”
The door opened. “The photographer's here!” Mrs. Hagerforse announced. “Shall we proceed?”
Klara, my mother, and Pavel came in. “All acquainted now?” Klara said, sitting in a chair.
“I need to wash my face,” Cora said.
Leaving the bathroom door wide open, Cora washed her face in the sink.
“Privately bathing one minute, a public display of cleanliness the next,” Pavel said. “An interesting young lady, wouldn't you say, Fabian?”
“Yes, I would.”
A tripod camera, a black box on spindle legs, all but hid the photographer who carried it into the room. He set down the camera, splayed open its legs, steadied it, turned to the room, and bowed. “Alex Quonian,” he said.
He was lanky, about forty years old, had long black hair combed to one side of his face. His brown trousers were belted tightly. He had on a collarless white shirt and a white smock coat. He was all matter-of-fact. He began to organize his thoughts by chopping at the air, as though adding angles to the room. He hummed. Cora began to laugh. It was true, Quonian went about things with comic deliberation. He frowned at Cora. As he stepped by me, I noticed that he used moustache bleach. He looked harassed. He plucked a dust mouse from the floor near the sofa and said, “My wife's the better photographer of the two of us. She's working in the darkroom today.”
“Oh, I've seen Mr. Quonian's work,” Mrs. Hagerforse said. “And I assure you, he's being modest.”
“Let's rehearse a pose,” Quonian said.
The room contained a dark blue sofa with quilted pillows, four chairs, a table, a night table next to the bed. On the mantel was an ebony swan vase full of violets. There were lace curtains on the windows to either side of the large bay window. A scrimshaw tusk was in a glass case on the center table.
Taking each of us firmly by the shoulders, Quonian
placed me next to Cora. Klara and Pavel stood to Cora's right, my mother to my left.
placed me next to Cora. Klara and Pavel stood to Cora's right, my mother to my left.
“Children, please. Rehearse a smile. You look as though I should place black hoods over your heads and call a priest.”
“Normallyâthat is, under different circumstances,” Mrs. Hagerforse said, “there would have been less of a rush.” She stood near the door.
“Well, after the vows are exchanged,” Quonian said, “just turn and look at the camera.” He walked to the door and stood next to Mrs. Hagerforse.
Mitchell Kelb now wedged past Quonian.
“Oh yes, sirâplease, do come in,” Grey said.
“Who's this?” Klara said.
“You see, Mrs. Holly,” Grey said, “we need an official witness, other than family. Mrs. Hagerforse preferred not to.”
“I see,” Klara said.
“Legalities and all that,” Grey said. “This is Mr. Mitchell Kelb.”
Other books
Desolation Angels by Jack Kerouac
The School of Night by Louis Bayard
Uncrashable Dakota by Marino, Andy
Geek Charming by Palmer, Robin
The Silver Chalice by Thomas B. Costain
Shadow of Ashland (Ashland, 1) by Terence M. Green
Jamb: by Misty Provencher
The Color of Distance by Amy Thomson
Chatter by Horning, Kurt
Stokers Shadow by Paul Butler