An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [15]
Mercedes and Cyril were guardian angels, especially during the first few months. If it hadn’t been for their hospitality, I might have headed back to Norway. They invited me for supper every third or fourth night. After we’d eaten, we’d play 120s or watch the news. I’d take the La-Z-Boy chair. They’d sit on the couch. By 9:30, she’d be asleep with her feet in his lap. Cyril’s head would be plopped forward and he’d be snoring into his chest. At that point, I’d open the basement door to go downstairs to my flat.
I spent Christmas with them and their daughter, Heather while she was home from university. Cyril gave me a fishing rod as a gift. “We’ll go troutin’ on the May 24th weekend,” he told me. Night after night, we played a trivia game. Cyril and I formed one team against Mercedes and Heather. I was good with literature. He knew all the answers in the sports categories. Mercedes and Heather beat us every time.
It was my second Christmas without Elsa. For the first one, she was with Brutus. I asked her if she’d come by. I told her about the gift I’d bought. She said maybe Christmas morning. I had everything ready, decorated our tree, bought some eggnog, put a ribbon on the bike. Every time a car pulled up I’d jump up to look out the window. By 4:00 in the afternoon, I turned off the Christmas lights. I ate some curried turkey from the corner store then drank half the bottle of wine with the card that said: all my love, Carl. When I woke it was December 26th.
Mercedes and Cyril weren’t the only ones who helped me after I arrived in Newfoundland. Edith went out of her way to do things for me. She made sure I had lunch every day. She told me I should get out more, buy some new clothes, and find a proper living situation for a man my age. When I told Henry about her shoulds, he said Edith and I would make a fine pair. “She wouldn’t get shagged in a bucketful of pricks and you wouldn’t know a tit if it introduced itself to you.”
During my first month at the library, Edith spent more time in my office than her own. After a while, I had to stop leaving my door ajar. But then she’d knock; I’d answer and she’d come in. Henry and I eventually settled on a coded knock-knock-knock-knock, one of those quick, successive, galloping horse beats, four times in a row.
Henry was also very helpful during the first few months and after. He drove me around everywhere and even lent me his car. Eventually, I thought it was time I bought one of my own. He came with me to help pick it out. I told him, “Thanks, Henry, I’ll make the final decision.” I turned to the salesman in his eager-for-the-deal white shirt and skinny black leather tie to shake his hand.
Before I could open my mouth, Henry bumped against me, hands in his pockets, and announced loud enough for the salesman to hear, “It’s a deflated, impotent prick of a car. You’re wasting your fucking money. It’ll be a worse pain in the arse than a severe case of haemorrhoids.”
I bought the car. It was a lemon. Henry was right. But that didn’t justify his behaviour with the salesman. I told him that and he said I was a thumb-sucking sissy. The more time I spend in his company, the more I worry about his behaviour. Although, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s thinking the same about me.
He did make it easier during those initial months when I thought I’d made a mistake moving to Newfoundland. I wasn’t going to run into Elsa walking down the street in St. John’s. I couldn’t go to her flat to ask her why she wasn’t answering my mail or my calls. It wasn’t only Elsa I missed. Tatie and Papa were getting older and more dependent on me. The Oslo to Paris flight was quick and cheap. From there, I used to take the train to the nearby town where they’d pick me up in their car. I