was born with this gift, a sort of power, if you will. If I’m not careful, when
I merely go for a walk on Bond Street all the frivolous little dogs the grand
ladies are carrying about leap from their arms and chase after me. Dogs all over
Piccadilly hunt me down. I try to ignore them. I always return them to their
owners, but it just doesn’t stop. What am I to do?”
Humor, I thought, something that hadn’t been in my life for more weeks than I
could now easily remember, hit me between the eyes. I smiled, unable not to. He
smiled back at me, a beautiful white-toothed smile, took my hand, and helped me
to my feet. He was big, too big, and too tall. Most of all, he was too young. He
wasn’t just there?he overwhelmed. Immediately I took a step back, then another.
“George,” I said, growing more uncomfortable by the minute, “it’s time to see
what Mrs. Dooley has made for our lunch. You know that on Tuesdays, she does
something very special with bacon for you. Yes, bacon, fried down to its core,
cooked so stiff you can bang it on the floor several times before it crumbles.
Come along, now. You will ignore this gentleman. He may be nice to you here,
where there’s an audience who can see how talented he is with you, but he doesn’t
want you to catch his coattails in your teeth and pursue him home. Come along.”
I turned then and walked away, praying that George wouldn’t stay with the man,
wagging his tail and cocking his very homely large head in that cute way he had,
his ears at half-mast, that clearly said, “Do you really think she has bacon for
my dinner?”
“Wait,” the man called after me, coming after me, his hand raised. “I don’t know
who you are.” But I didn’t wait. I didn’t want him to know my name. Besides, why
would he care? Didn’t he see that I was wearing deep mourning? Didn’t he know
that being three feet away from him was too close? I even quickened my step. He
was big and tall, and he was too young, too strong. No, I thought, he couldn’t
do anything here, in the middle of the park, with all these people about. I
merely shook my head, but didn’t turn around. I nearly shouted with relief when
I looked down to see George trotting beside me, his tongue lolling, carrying
that branch in his mouth, his topknot flopping up and down. I did turn once I
reached the corner.
The man wasn’t there.
Well, what did I expect? That he would unfold a pair of wings and fly after me?
Snatch up both me and George and haul us off to a derelict old castle? No, he
wasn’t a monster, he wasn’t bent on no good, but he was a man, I thought, too
young, and too sure of himself. He was capable of things I couldn’t bear to
think about. But he’d made me laugh. Imagine.
We went home, George to eat not bacon, but rabbit stew for dinner and snore all
night, and I to read some soul-wrenching poetry by Coleridge?The death-fires
danced at night?and wonder if he had written that line inside a cloud of opium.
I forgot the man.
The second time I saw him, I didn’t know who he was then either.
I was still swathed in black, and this time I even wore a black veil that half
covered my face. When I came out of Hookham’s bookshop, he was just standing
there holding an open umbrella, for it had begun to drizzle. He wore a smile on
his tanned face, aimed at me.
I stopped in my tracks. I wanted to ask him what in heaven’s name he was doing
here, beaming that brilliant smile at me, but what came out of my mouth was “How
can you be so tanned when there hasn’t been a hint of sun in over two days?”
The smile smoothed out, but it was still there, lurking, waiting to become a
laugh. I knew it. “At least this time you’ve looked at my face, something you