Chapter 14
For a
moment he stands there between myself and the heap of my baggage and it isn’t
awkward, it isn’t like that. It is something else. And I look inside there in
search of …that familiar thing –that thing, you know, that would tell me…tells me
within the moss what I …
“I haven’t
forgotten about your other project,” he says instead of what we both know he
was really thinking
And what
we both are really thinking. I guess it may be the years; how many have gone by
…too many to wish to blow any moment on something stupid or to presume some notion
that –some notion that… and here I just get stuck
“my other
project,” I say repeating his words
“The …about
the family history you are tracing,” he hesitates
“It’s …it’s
for a story I’m working on but actually, it is about another area even though
the family name is Welsh somehow …it was connected to an area where the Vikings
invaded, there was a family and a theory from my dream about a man from the village,”
but I babble.
I babble
for normalcy. To take the pressure off of our more pressing present
Only now I
fear I trivialize the present by even saying this now and it confuses me as to what
to do or say but mostly because of his eyes; the seaweed that wraps around and
pulls, and wraps you inside its hypnotic sappy embrace of its fire-kiln, brilliant
glaze.
I say,
“um.”
He looks
silently at me reading my eyes. He slowly smiles,
“a man?”
I look
away,
“it was…” I
laugh feeling stupid as I have to tell him the rest now, “something that old
psychic told me. Before the boat…. You know the life about –”
“The one from
your painting, I know, and forgive me if I don’t want to make silk screens of
your vampire whatever the fuck he is because—”
I reach
for his hand without planning to. It was just the instinct to --and the impulse
took over. And my hand melts within his large one making me aware of how much
bigger his is. But his hand is warm and familiar as it closes around mine
“Anyway,
it has lead me to a new story that takes place sort of connected to the
industrial revolution, so it is exciting that the paint pigment comes from an
old coal mine. It feels like a sign. I think the two projects can work together
as I will be getting more ideas but I may want to explore other areas closer to
say—where the history calls… so it’s cool, right? Win win, I do what you want
for your business and I can work on my thing at the same time.”
“Would you
like to see your studio?” he still holds my hand and smiles as he begins to
pull me towards the hallway that leads to all the doors.
And so I let
him. I like the feel of his hand on mine. Around it. It fits so well in his. And
as he leads the way down the hall I do not ask myself anything about what
anything means, I go blind as one about to jump
It is a
studio. A very large and very functioning studio. He stands in the doorway and with
a shake of his head urges me to walk in.
And as I walk
around, I see the perfection of the layout. The area for screen printing; the
area for paint mixing, deep sinks and counters. Several long work tables and
sectioned cabinets for different mediums.
Once I have
inspected everything he walks in now and goes to a door I had not noticed. It is
white like the walls of the room. But he stands outside it and just opens the
door by pulling the handle and uses his head to suggest I go in.
It confuses
me when I go inside because it is a private apartment. Fully finished and fully
furnished with a kitchen, a dining room that lets out to the back courtyard, a
bedroom and private bathroom. But nothing has been used.
I feel
confused and look at him,
“I don’t
understand…”
He glances
behind where we stand to suggest the older part of the house,
“to get
the boys used to… things… and for us as well. I thought –you might enjoy a new
space for us to work in together on those long project nights…” and only now
does he move close and stand near enough and long enough—
Or so I thought until a very loud voice shouts
something I don’t understand with a great deal of vehemence
“Ioan,”
Bran looks at me regretfully, “that’s his animal starved boy cry, I’ll bring
your bags and get him sorted,”
he starts
to go but –something surprising happens without warning; he kisses me fast on
the mouth …unexpected as I realize he stops himself stunned in mid kiss and
looks at me,
“I didn’t
mean to assume, sor—"
But I kiss
him back before he says more and I suppose it would have lasted longer if
another bellow had not then occurred
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