Hadrian's Wall (41 page)

“Finally I’ll get to see him! Up close!
Noooow! A euphoric girl whooped each word, joining in the shrieking
of her two female friends.

I looked at Adrian that who stopped beside
me. The corners of his lips were slightly curved upward, though the
effort to contain his laughter was difficult. I’d bet that he’d
heard every word they said.

The whispers continued, but he pretended not
to notice until the description about him became so enthusiastic
and absurd that he let out a short laugh. Abruptly, an
authoritative female voice rose above the others and the fuss
ceased.

“You really impress people,” I mumbled.

Wisely, he did not respond. Still smiling,
he led me through the entrance gate. We’d gone beyond an arch
decorated with plants which divided the garden from the house and
sidewalk. Once we were beyond the garden, there was no one else
around. The shadows and whispers seemed to have vanished into thin
air, leaving only peaceful birdsong.

As we crossed the garden,
my curiosity was building.
Why did Adrian
bring me here?
Curiosity guided my eyes to
a building made of perfectly cut stones. On one side was a row of
high windows whose parapets were brimming with flowers.

“What a beautiful place!” I exclaimed,
admiring the flowers.

“Those are pansies,” he whispered near my
ear. “They always bloom in the summer. Keyra is very proud of
them.”

His breath tickled my neck,
making it hard to think.
That’s not
fair!

“Who is Keyra?”

“Keyra McPherson, the owner, he said. The
laughter in his voice indicated that he knew exactly the reaction
that provoked in me.

Keyra McPherson... I got distracted thinking
about her. By name, I was imagining a strong woman with thick
glasses and a tight bun atop her head. It would be interesting to
see a matriarch—Irish or Scottish, whatever it was. I had to be
careful not to show my ignorance about ethnic differences.

We climbed the steps that preceded the large
porch embracing the entire front façade of the house. A beautiful
woman was standing close to the balustrade. She was almost as tall
as Adrian and equally pale. Her brown-red hair, thick and long,
fell down over her shoulders in cascades, forming a striking
contrast with the ivory tone of her skin.

The woman could only be a
supermodel
. How I could fail to notice
that? She wore a lovely, blood-red dress with a daring V-neckline
that left the suggestive curves of her breasts exposed. Only
someone with a perfect body could wear such a dress and she
certainly was in good shape. So, with parochial and jealous
thinking, I concluded that her dress was too flashy to be worn in
broad daylight and at home.

Sally, the enthusiastic
girl
...I guessed, but in the next moment,
Adrian greeted her by another name—Keyra. My mouth fell open. Why
had I pre-supposed that the owner of a pension should be a widow,
elderly, or pudgy?

The woman walked with an
elegance that reminded me of Charity. Again I felt like an ogress.
Were all of the friends and relatives of Adrian Cahill beautiful
and attractive women like them?
That’s not
fair! I cannot compete with them
.

Keyra came up when we reached the
balustrade, introduced herself informally in a warm and relaxed
manner, but all the time keeping her eyes fixed on me until it
started to get on my nerves.

“Well, well... it’s you!” she said with an
unmistakable touch of incredulity in her voice.

The odd-colored eyes, halfway between purple
and brown, moved ceaselessly over me as if I were some kind of
exotic animal or supernatural visitor.

Adrian cleared his throat. She smiled at
him, not even a little embarrassed.

“Give me a break, Adrian! We never thought
this would happen. I even bet...”

“Keyra!”

“Oh!” She gestured vaguely at his abrupt
rebuke, but never stopped smiling. “I almost forgot my manners.
Please come in.”

When Keyra passed me, she gently bumped my
arm. Her touch felt like a low-voltage wire slipping beneath my
skin. I needed to repress the urge to get away, but by the way she
looked at me, I knew it was obvious that she’d noticed my
reaction.

“Don’t worry, dear.” Keyra spoke with
Adrian, but kept her eyes fixed on me. “You know that she will be
safe here in my domain.”

“I have no doubt, Keyra. Nobody in his right
mind would dare challenge you.”

Before I could open my mouth to question
their crazy talk, Keyra grabbed me by the shoulders, put her face
next to mine and plastered a kiss on me with her red lipstick
colored lips.

“Welcome
to McPherson Ho
use , baby
girl!”

It was...a caricatured manner of welcome. I
felt like a child of four years ago being seized by an eccentric
spinster aunt. All that remained was pinching my cheek in that
awful manner that every child hates.

My daydreams remained carefully hidden under
a docile façade. Only Adrian was not fooled by my sweet face when I
thanked her politely. The moment he removed his glasses, his eyes
twinkled at me. He wanted me to see that my attitude hadn’t
deceived him. Keyra didn’t notice our exchange of glances as she
led him inside. I watched them move away, but not before sending
them my best wry smile.

The way they were talking,
I figured they were pretty close friends. While I pretended to
admire the decor and not appear nosy, Keyra and Adrian moved beyond
the door. I strained my ears to hear what they were saying, but
they spoke too fast. I couldn’t understand anything. They spoke so
fast and so low that I doubted that they could hear what the other
was saying. The only thing I managed to grasp was when she asked
about my luggage and Adrian replied that it was in the trunk of the
car. So, I guess this is where I’m gonna stay − the McPherson
House.
Why am I always the last to know
these things?

Looking very serious, Keyra began to
whisper, her eyes constantly searching for my whereabouts. I
thought that this was the perfect moment to leave them alone and
make my field trip. I took a few steps, stopping in front of a
counter. Farther inside, I could see the living room. It seemed
simple, clean, and organized - but not the kind of organization
that makes you wonder if some living soul inhabits the place. You
could see traces of human passage − a glass left on the table, the
television on at low volume. I couldn’t help but notice a
half-empty bowl of popcorn and some magazines spread out on the
couch.

A somewhat cluttered looking bulletin board
was affixed to the nearest wall. None of the walls had any other
adornment—no paintings, no pictures...nothing. The bulletin board
itself was a work of art with its colorful clippings, messages,
alerts, notes, and many snapshots. I wondered if maybe it was
intentional, meant to attract the attention of guests.

What caught my attention
were the pictures tacked to the board showing several young people
of my age wearing summer clothes. They were probably taken during a
summer vacation, but all of the people appeared in all of the
photos, but for one. Only the scenarios behind the group changed:
one track, one rock by a lake...
probably
the Bluewater
, one camping in the woods of
the lower town.
I recognized the last
photo!
Apparently, they had explored their
surroundings quite often. The date in the corners of the photos
indicated that they were taken in mid to late July. I’d bet they
were students taking advantage of the wonders of the County before
returning to school for the fall term. Soon I confirmed my
brilliant deduction through the captions under the photos. The
group consisted of college freshmen from Uwall.

The bulletin board also
contained clippings of articles taken from the student
newspaper—“
The Wallpaper’s
Today
”.
Mmmm
... Interesting. The name of the
newspaper, I mean. Who considered the stories appropriate for
tacking on the bulletin board. It might be a fan of the authors or
something. Maybe it was the author himself or herself who put them
there, hoping for recognition from their colleagues. The glory of
the university is what I am talking about.

The headlines said: “New clue of the
Mountain’s Ghost—Part I”; “The implications of the University’s
financing...”; “Mysterious Disappearance of Law Academic”; “Panic
in the Green-Screen: participants of party claim to have heard
beasts roar in the woods.”

Beasts in the
woods
. A shiver went down my spine.
Immediately, I thought of the Panther. and I don’t mean the statues
on the wall of the town. What came to my mind were fleeting images
and even more frightening, a huge shadow moving through the trees.
I could not see it entirely on that fateful night in South
Portland, but what I could not see was enough for me to fear the
little I saw.
If you understand what I
mean!
I remembered the roars, the screams
of Simon Cridder, and the recent talk about predators between
Adrian and me during lunch.

Shaking my head, I tried to concentrate on
reading the text that described the party promoted by the
“fraternity of the empirical.” The event was held at the forest
Green-Screen located on the opposite shore of the lake. According
to the author, the roar began when the party was in full swing and
caused widespread panic. “Those who weren’t sober soon were...”

All other articles were by
the same author—Joe Verano. So my last hypothesis was
correct.
Elementary, my dear
Watson!

Still shaken by the news, I
looked around the rest of the bulletin board. Below the reports,
there were reminders of activities and schedules. Mostly referring
to the university: Rules for using the library and
refectory...schedule of classes, events and commemorative dates,
plus instructions about required documents and a host of other
bureaucracies.
Mmmm...That was
important!”
Later I would have read those
guidelines more closely.

The other reminders involving the operation
of the boarding house itself: rules of conviviality, scale of
cleanliness of the common rooms; procedures for the use of the
kitchen; time to use the available computers; and shared
bathrooms...

“Excuse me,” muttered someone.

I almost jumped with fright. The young man
was very close to me and I had not noticed his approach. He glanced
around me without looking directly at me. By his body language, I
understood that he wanted to cross the hall toward the living room
only I was between the bulletin board and the counter—directly in
his way. Immediately, I stepped aside, close to the wall. In
return, he gave me a grateful smile.

When he passed me, I took the opportunity to
study him. He wore rumpled clothing. Part of the short-sleeved
white shirt was out of his belt, revealing another black shirt
underneath. Both collars were raised and the sleeves rolled up. His
hair was a sideshow—disheveled like the characters from Manga
Comics. When he turned sideways, I realized that his glasses—a John
Lennon style—threatened to fall off the tip of the nose at any
time. One of the stems was patched with a Band-aid. If he didn’t
look so rumpled, I might have said he was cute.

The boy walked quickly across the room,
looking all around until he stopped suddenly and clutched a sheaf
of papers over the television. I heard muffled laughter from the
other side of the aisle. I looked back and saw a group of five
people - two young men and three girls jostling amid their
giggles... The young man returned to my side, facing the group. He
lifted the wrinkled sheaf of paper above his head. His body showed
tension.

“Thanks, guys! Thanks, anyway!” he said in a
mixture of irony and embarrassment. His voice was low and
pleasant.

The group burst into laughter.

He turned to me and apologized in an
absurdly formal way, but as he was apologizing, I thought it was
appropriate to say something like “it was nothing” or “okay” or
“stay cool”... but before I could open my mouth, he was marching
out of the room.

“Oh, come on, Derek,” mocked one of the
others. “You were dying to meet the new girl!”

Derek pursed his lips, his only visible sign
of anger, but didn’t bother to respond. He went his way without
seem shaken until we heard the door down the hall slam. It was
followed by another burst of laughter from the group.

“He never gets out of that music room,” said
one of the girls.

“If you had not stolen the music scores from
him, he probably never would have gone out today either,” another
young man replied.

“Just between us, this kid goes to the Water
Closet?” asked another young man.

“No, he’s an alien,” said a young woman with
monotone voice.

“How do you know that aliens don’t use the
Water Closet?” someone asked, provoking new laughter.

“In some things, he’s so like...oh, never
mind!” The girl with the monotone voice was now staring at a girl
in dressed in black from head to toe.

Someone cleared his throat. “You and your
conspiracy theories,” the girl with the monotone voice added.

“Why not leave them alone?”the girl in black
interjected. It took me a split second to realize that the two were
no longer talking about Derek, much less aliens.

“You do seem obsessed with
them, not me,” retorted the monotone voice girl, who no longer
sounded monotone.
How confusing. I wish I
at least knew their names!