Faces of the Wind

Chapter 37

The night had fallen when Adrian returned to the neighborhood. As he passed by the Macys', he noticed a shadow move at their doorstep and his heart gave a lurch.

"Took ee long, sur," Oliver said, suddenly appearing at Adrian's feet.

He blew out a breath of relief. "Kid, you frightened me!"

Oliver giggled. "Wann'ed to give ee this," he held up a small brown paper bag.

Adrian frowned, took the bag and opened it. "Oh!" He pulled a bottle from inside, "I've nearly forgotten about this. Thank you, chap!" He ruffled the kid's hair.

"I wai'ed to give it t'ee."

"Now go inside before you catch a draught; your ma will be mad at me if you get ill," Adrian said, and the boy hurried indoors and said before he closed the front door, "Good nigh', sur."

"Good night, chap," Adrian grinned and waved goodbye. He opened the bottle, took a sip and put it in his coat's breast pocket then crumbled the bag into a ball that he continued to squeeze in his fist.

Though he longed to be in bed, he resented having to walk into an empty, dark house. He thought about visiting the Macys but then changed his mind. He did not need that much noise. A short visit to Arden—or Hazel—would be perfect.

***

"I hear there have been revolutions in France, Germany and Italy since February, but nothing in England as far as I'm informed," Hazel said as Adrian made himself comfortable on a chair at the small dining table, "I wonder what should've happened to your face."

A perplexed frown puckered Adrian's forehead. It took him a few second to respond. "You needn't complicate your question!" He grimaced, his voice heavy and deeper than usual. He unfolded the events of these last two days, eliminating most details as he was not in a chatty mood but thought it only courteous to share the story in exchange for some company. She was preparing cinnamon tea. The strong aroma warmed his nostrils and throat.

"And I thought I was the only one with exciting news," she said, fetching the kettle from the fire and pouring the steamy drink into the cups she had placed on the table a minute ago. She pushed his cup towards him, and it gave a screeching voice as it slid over the rough surface of the wooden table. She then vigorously pulled out a chair and sat on it, warming her hands over her drink's steam.

"Well," she said, "if you need this bandage changed, I can try, but with no guarantees that I will do a clean job. I have clumsy, unskilled hands."

Adrian faintly shook his head and a poignant grim managed to curl half his mouth. "Thanks for offering."

"Now is my turn!" She said in excitement, "You would not believe who I saw today!"

"Who?" He softly blew his drink.

"Don't you want to make a guess?"

"Ummm," he swallowed slowly and pretended to think, biting his lower lip.

She raised her brows and announced in a thrilled tone, "George! George McGowan!"

Adrian didn't seem amused. "I see."

"Well, of course, I told him he was mistook and that my name was Hazel and not Arden – who is Arden? Never heard of this name before!" She gushed, "And did you know he has gotten married to some lowly wanton with whom he had been intimate? He now has a brat with her! I still don't know what I saw in him! He is ugly as a swine – pale and smells of pipe smoke! How could I have been so ridiculous! So naïve! If only I could bury my head in the ground every time I remember those billets-doux I used to write him—ah, what happened to that letter you stole form me?"

Adrian's eyes were glazed over as he stared into his drink.

"Are you listening?" Her smile faltered and her excitement vanished.

He looked up at her and blinked. "Oh, indeed, what a surprise!" The surprise in his tone sounded forced.

"You weren't listening," she argued in a matter-of-fact tone.

"I was!" He unintentionally raised his voice a little.

"That's alright; I know I'm boring... me and my stupid life," she looked down and sipped some cinnamon tea, leaving the cup's rim upon her lips.

"No, no," he frowned, "I'm not myself – I'm sorry. Please, tell me, what were you saying?"

She put her cup down and Adrian reached out to hold her hand. "It isn't important," she said then looked up at him, suddenly realizing his face was not only bruised but also emaciated, and his good eye was sunken. "I think you need a medical man, Adrian, you look... indisposed."

"No," he replied, pulling his hand back and sipping some tea, "this tea should set me right."

"I'm sorry, Adrian," she said after a few seconds of studying him, "I have always been so selfish – and prejudiced in a way. Here I am telling you of this ridiculous encounter while you go through a real ordeal. I have always been this way with all my friends—no wonder I have none left, and I placed the blame on you when things went wrong for them. I should've been there for all my friends."

"You speak as if I were ever a saint," he snorted, "we both are too distracted by our lives and desires to show empathy to others."

"Maybe it's time we grew out of it," she said, feeling a sudden urge to stroke his cheek, but she kept her hands to her cup.

Silence fell. She continued to watch him, and he his cup. Her throat swelled as she now saw right through him. He was lost, lonely, scared, vulnerable and shouldering a burden too heavy for his character and experience—or lack of it. His face, illuminated by the candle burning between them, was that of a man who has grown a decade in a few months. Lines have formed at the corners of his eyes, on his forehead and around his mouth. His cheeks were hollow, his hair lank and his skin dull. She slowly extended a hand over the table and placed it over his good wrist. He looked at her hand but did nothing.

Slowly, she rose from her seat and drew closer to him then softly kissed his temple. It was hot – she wondered if he were running a fever.

"I think you need to go to bed," she said, her voice close to a whisper as she stroked his hair with a few fingers. He moved back in his chair and pulled her by the waist so that she was between him and the table then rested his forehead on her abdomen. It was soft; she wasn't wearing a corset. He closed his eyes and his breathing became deeper and slower.

***

Indistinct voices babbled, distressing Adrian's ears. They slowly grew into a loud clamor, he felt his forehead's muscles tense up. Open your eyes, he told himself, but his lids were too heavy. His body shuddered and he finally managed to lift his eyelids a little. Several dark figures looked down at him. He closed his eyes again; maybe this would make them disappear.

A strong weight pinned his chest and shoulders down. It was as if he were sinking. A hand clutched his throat and he could not breathe easily. He forced his eyes open a little and saw Edgar with his massive hand stretched towards him, gripping his neck. His stare widened and his heart raced. He stirred, trying to free himself.

"Adrian," Edgar said, his voice far too soft and caring like that of a woman he knew, "can you hear me?"

He closed his eyes. His head felt cold and he drifted off again.

***