The Saffron Gate (20 page)

^{'Perhaps we will take coffee again,' he called, and I didn't know, by his tone, whether it was a question or a statement, and just nodded in a dumb way. Later I asked myself why I didn't smile gaily, saying
yes, of course,
as if I were used to being asked to have coffee with French doctors.}

^{I watched his tail lights until they disappeared from Juniper Road, and then sat on the top step while darkness fell around me.}

^{Beautiful,
he had said.
Now you will again be beautiful.
I thought of his expression as he had told me that, and couldn't remember it, or perhaps it was that I couldn't interpret it.}

^{Surely it had simply been the doctor — not the man, but the doctor — speaking, pleased with his work on a patient. Surely, for I had never been beautiful.}

^{I went back into the house and turned on the light over the bathroom mirror, looking at myself, tracing the pink but smoother and narrower line of the new scar.}

^{Had he said
perhaps we will take coffee again
in a nonchalant way, knowing we never would? Or had he meant it?}

^{I turned out the light, my reflection in the mirror now just a shadowy oval.}

^{I had no idea how to interpret a man's, words or actions.}

^{For the next four days I was in a state of anxiety. I didn't want to walk to the store to buy groceries in case Dr Duverger came when I wasn't home. Every day I wore one of my two good dresses — either my green silk or a deep plum that emphasised my waist — and periodically checked that my hair was held back securely. I put a good cutwork cloth on the dining-room table. I made a spice cake. I constantly went to the front window, thinking I heard a car door slam, thinking I heard footsteps on the walk up to the porch.}

^{By the fifth day I was so annoyed with myself for my stupidity — of course Dr Duverger hadn't really meant it when he talked about having coffee again — that I cut up the drying cake and threw it out for the birds. I took off the tablecloth, snapping it a little harder than necessary as I folded it into a neat square and returned it to the linen cupboard.}

^{And then I put on my overalls with the muddied knees over an old shirt of my father's, rolling up the sleeves. I braided my hair into one loose plait, and went out into the back garden and started on the weeds; in the steamy summer heat everything grew so quickly. After neglecting the garden for the last few weeks, the tangle was overwhelming. I hacked and cleared, attacking the coarse thistles and twining bindweed. The sun on my bare arms was warm, and it was satisfying to stab at the earth, the green growth yielding under my hoe. I was angry with Dr Duverger for acting as though he might really be interested enough to come again, but also angry with myself for four days wasted on daydreams.}

^{I shook my head to drive away the thoughts, and instead imagined the delicate wings of the Blue Karner. Of asking Mr Barlow if he would drive me out to Pine Bush one day soon. Of needing to buy more ochre paint.}

^{At that I stopped, leaning on my hoe. I had been thinking of things other than my father's death. It was still there, but the overwhelming sadness had been edged out, just the tiniest bit for short periods of time.}

^{I went back to the weeding.}

^{'I knocked, but there was no answer.'}

^{I jumped, turning to see Dr Duverger standing at the edge of the garden. He had spoken in French.}

^{'I'm sorry to have startled you, Mademoiselle O'Shea. As I said, I knocked . . . then I heard the whistling.'}

^{'Whistling?' I wanted to answer him in French, but didn't. I was sure my French was rusty, and it was so different from his. So much less cultured.}

^{'I think it was Grieg. "Solveig's Song", wasn't it?'}

^{I hadn't realised I was whistling. I didn't think I'd whistled since my dad's death.}

^{'Mademoiselle O'Shea? I can see I've disturbed you.'}

^{'No, no, Dr Duverger. I just . . .' I rolled down my sleeves, seeing smears of dirt on one forearm and palm. 'I wasn't expecting you.' Only a short time earlier I had been angry with him, but now that he was here, I was glad. Excited.}

^{‘I know it was rude to just stop by. I had extra shifts this week, but today I unexpectedly had some time off. I did telephone your neighbour, to ask them to call you to the phone, but there was no answer. So I took a chance . . .'}

^{I swallowed, thinking of my tangled hair, and the shapeless overalls. I rubbed the back of my hand over my forehead; I was perspiring in the heat. Dr Duverger looked cool, wearing another crisp shirt under his light linen jacket.}

^{'Of course it's all right, yes. But I must wash my hands, and change,'I said.}

^{He gestured at two old Adirondack chairs in the shade under the broad leaves of a basswood tree. 'There's no need. We can sit out here. Please, stay as you are. You are looking very . . .' he put his head on one side, 'relaxed. Very relaxed and, if you will allow me to say, it's a charming effect. Apart from the last time I came, I've only seen you in less happy circumstances. Oh,' he added, 'I am too forward? You appear surprised.'}

^{I half smiled, still aware of the tightness of my cheek. I tried to act as if men regularly came into my garden and called me charming, as if smiling was natural for me again. 'As I said, you just caught me off guard. I . . . I didn't expect . . .' I stopped, knowing I was repeating myself.}

^{'Come then,' he said, making a sweeping motion towards the chairs. 'I'll only stay a few moments. But it's so glorious, this weather. And I'm glad to be out of the hospital, even for an hour.'}

^{I sat on the edge of the seat of one of the Adirondacks, and he sat across from me.}

^{'Do you mind if I remove my jacket?' he asked.}

^{'No. And it
is
a glorious afternoon,' I said, sitting further back. Cinnabar appeared from stalking insects in the grass, jumping rather heavily on to my lap.}

^{'What's your cat's name?' he asked, draping his jacket over the arm of the chair. Without it, I noticed the breadth of his shoulders.}

^{'Cinnabar,' I said. 'She s deaf,' I added, unnecessarily.}

^{'A good name,' Dr Duverger said, smiling, and I nodded, lowering my face into Cinnabar's fur so he couldn't see the effect his smile had on me.}

^ELEVEN

^{T
he world became a different place. I became a different person. Over the next month I fell in love with Etienne Duverger.}

^{He came to see me twice a week. The day and time depended on his shifts at the hospital, but unless there was an emergency, he would arrive when he said he would.}

^{For the first two weeks we sat in my back yard, or on the porch, or in the living room or kitchen, and talked. Over the following two weeks we went to dinner in Albany twice, and once saw a play.}

^{He always left my house by ten o'clock; it was only after we'd seen each other four times that he picked up my hand as he was leaving and pressed his lips to it. At the end of that first month he put his arms around me as we stood on my front step, and kissed me.}

^{I knew, by the look on his face, and the way he moved closer to me as we said our goodbyes, what would happen, and was trembling with both excitement and anxiety. It was the first time I had been kissed, and I was embarrassed by this fact and didn't want him to know, but I was so overwhelmed by the feel of his lips on mine, of my body against his, that my trembling increased.}

^{After the kiss he simply held me. 'It's all right, Sidonie,' he said, and I leaned my head against his chest. I could hear his heart thumping, a slow, steady beat, as opposed to mine, which fluttered like petals in the wind. 'It's all right,' he repeated, pressing me closer against him, and I knew then that he must suspect my innocence in the matters of man and woman.}

^{But that one kiss awakened my body. I realised it had been asleep all these years; I had forced it into hibernation with first my adolescent prayers about my recovery and then, later, because it was easier to live a celibate life without questioning it.}

^{After he'd left, the night he kissed me, I sat on my bed in the dark, reliving the moment. I wanted to hold on to this feeling of wonder, but I was also troubled in a vague way.}

^{Dr Duverger was handsome. He was clever and witty; he laughed easily. He had an exciting career, and had lived a life out in the world.}

^{I didn't understand why he wanted to spend time with me. Me, with my wild hair and dark eyes and skin. Me, with a built-up shoe and limp, with a permanent, although now less noticeable, seam down my face. Me, with my small and narrow life, lacking experience in so many areas.}

^{Of course I knew about the world from reading, both the daily newspaper and books, and every morning I turned on the radio to listen to the news reports. But as for actually living . . . I tried to hide how little I knew about this world — the world beyond Juniper Road and Albany — by making sure Etienne always talked about himself. By forcing him to talk about himself, with my endless questions and my absolute silence as he answered.}

^{He had an exotic background. Although he'd been born in Paris, and had received his medical training there, he now explained that he'd spent much of his youth and young adulthood with his family in Morocco, in the city of Marrakesh. When he said Morocco, I tried to picture a page in the atlas, but couldn't. I was embarrassed that I wasn't entirely sure where it was situated. The only thing that came to mind when I heard the word was the fine leather cover of an expensive book. As to Marrakesh, I couldn't even imagine how to spell it.}

^{'But how is that?' I'd asked, when he'd first told me. 'Why were your parents living in Morocco?' At his request, I now spoke French with him. My Canadian French was provincial and unsophisticated, including, I now realised, many colloquialisms. So from the beginning I tried to emulate his Parisian French. He noticed me doing this, smiling at me and telling me he found it touching.}

^{'The French Protectorate. They took over the government of Morocco early in the century, and a good number of people from France moved there. My father
was a doctor as well, and had actually been involved with Morocco before the occupation, coming and going by sea and helping to set up clinics. He told me that North African medicine was based on sorcery, and the antithesis of rational science.' He smiled. 'But somehow the Moroccans had managed before the French arrived.'}

^{I smiled back, reaching up to cover my cheek. It had become an unconscious habit before the operation, and now Etienne occasionally reminded me that I still did it.}

^{'You shouldn't do that, Sidonie,' he said now. 'Please,' he added. 'I keep telling you, there's no need. You're beautiful.' He stopped. 'You have a melancholy beauty. In fact,' he said, reaching over to pull my hand away from my face, 'it makes you look a little dangerous. As though you have lived a life of intrigue.'}

^{A life of intrigue. I'd had absolutely no intrigue in my life. No danger, no chances taken, no consequences to deal with. I'd known deep sorrow, but no giddying joy. I laughed. 'Etienne. You're not describing my life at all. Please. Go on, tell me more about Morocco.'}