An Imperfect Librarian - Elizabeth Murphy [26]
I stare ahead with the cup hugged between my hands. Someone moves, unblocks my view and I see him for an instant. It’s not hard to miss his bald pink head. A student moves, blocks the view, and I can’t see him anymore. When the student moves again, Francis is gone. I crumple my cup then toss it on target into the waste basket, my most successful accomplishment for the day. Students shuffle off to class; the space clears. I catch a glimpse of blue through the window. The curtain of fog has lifted to reveal a city behind it.
The change reminds me of a fable about two brothers. They begin their day as usual, starving. That night, they profit from confusion over a dog’s name, Estula, which also means are you there? to steal cabbage and a lamb from a rich and stupid neighbour. Moral of the fable: he who laughs in the morning, cries at night. What is sadness and despair at night, is happiness in the morning.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
quarto, folio and octavo
NORAH EMAILS DIRECTIONS: DRIVE TO the end of the harbour front, past the railway station, take the first set of lights left up the hill past the whale mural, then follow the signs for Cape Spear. What’s the end or what’s the beginning of the harbour front? Signs for Cape Spear? What signs? I backtrack to the other end, drive past a train station without trains, turn left at the light then head uphill by the whaling wall. After about 5km, you’ll see a road heading to the ocean. Five kilometres from the lights? From the end of the harbour? From the start of the mural? Details are important.
The first road leads me to a metal graveyard with mangled carcasses of rusted car wrecks stripped clean to the chassis. You’ll come to a concrete post with a sign saying: Cliffhead private road. I back up, wonder if I have a spare tire then swing left onto the next road that points to the coast. Private road? More like a private path with private potholes, bordered by stunted, private vegetation. I manoeuvre a sharp private turn, dodge private ditches filled with runoff from the public rain of the night until I reach a clearing where I see three buildings that make me think of windmills without the mills or lighthouses without lights.
I park next to another car. Three large dogs race towards me barking. Norah calls to them and they go to her side. She holds the collars of the two biggest dogs, one in each hand. The third beast poses at her side, looking like a butler or an official greeter. “Welcome to Cliffhead,” she says as I climb out of my car. “Say hello to Octavo, his brother Quarto, sister Folio, the runt of the litter. One black, one yellow, one chocolate, colour-coordinated Labrador retrievers. Gently guys. Octavo. Be nice, Octavo! Bad dog, Octavo! Heel, Octavo!”
Dogs with names of book folds poke their noses between my legs, circle me then dart off after each other. The smallest hangs behind to sniff my boots.
Norah turns to face the building behind her. “I promised you it was a magical place. Ever seen a hexagonally shaped building?”
“Never even imagined it.”
Her hair is tied into a ponytail which makes her face more visible. Her freckles overlap on her cheeks near her nose. “You have to think snowflakes, honeycombs, crystals,” she says.
“Red snowflakes?”
“The red one, the smallest of the three, is for storage. It’s not mine. We call it the Crimson Hexagon. Next to where you parked is the barn. The bigger one straight ahead is where I live. My horse Biblio is grazing in a meadow behind that grove of spruce trees. I don’t give names to anything I eat. Here we have three sheep, a goat, a few chickens and too many fleas to count. That’s it for the intros.”
I tag along after her up the slope to her house. In the other direction the path leads to a rocky beach. The goat glares at me. I try not to picture it at the end of a fork and knife.
We crowd into a porch filled with firewood, outdoor clothes, rain gear and dog gear. From the porch we walk into a kitchen with wooden floors and ceilings. We go round the table in the middle then into a living room with an area rug,