Crowam 281 (13 page)

It was musty and old. The wood flooring was frail. It felt as though you were going to fall through it. "An attic?" I asked.

"I discovered it a year ago. It's mostly used for storage. I come here whenever I want some privacy. It’s so peaceful here at night."

Old desks, chairs, and chalkboards were scattered throughout the attic along with their own cobwebs. At the end of the attic was a window overlooking the meadow outside, cast aglow by the moon. A little table was set up beside the window. A bottle of wine with two glasses were set on the table.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Isn't it lovely? I thought you would like it."

We both sat down. I admired the view outside. She lit a candle, casting an amber glow around us. "I hope you like wine," she asked.

"Sure I do." Although honestly, I’d never had the stuff. I felt bad lying to her. I tried being all "cultured and sophisticated." I picked up the bottle. The label had nearly worn off. The date was all that was legible. "1940, eh?"

"I found it in the basement of my childhood home in London. I knew it was special when I first laid eyes on it. I wanted to drink it, but it's not very ladylike to drink a bottle of wine by yourself. So I decided I would save it for a special occasion."

"I'm flattered our first date is such an occasion," I said.

"It's our first date, isn't it? I hope you don't find this strange, but it seems as though I have always known you."

"Really?"

"Yes. It's as though we knew each in another life. Oh, look at me, talking such foolish nonsense."

"I don't think it's nonsense."

"It’s amazing how two people can meet in, well, in such odd circumstances."

"Yes, it seems every time we meet I’m on the verge of death." I joked.

Hannah turned serious for a moment. She didn’t find my remark amusing.

"That’s not funny Jake.”

“I’m sorry. It’s a joke.”

“Death isn’t something to joke around about Jake.”

“Sorry. Death isn’t exactly a good ice breaker I must confess.”

Her smile returned, but for some reason she didn’t want to leave the subject of death, justifying her previous demeanor.

“My little brother died of tuberculosis when he was very young. He would have been twelve by now. My parents always thought he was going to be a gymnast. At a year old he would climb out of his crib with such ease. When he was older I would take him to the park. He loved climbing on monkey bars and doing flips. He was also smart, very smart.

“How old was he when he died?”

“Seven.”

“What was his name?” I asked.

“Rupert.”

“He must have been a really good kid.”

“Yes, yes he was.”

“And what about your parents?”

“I left after Rupert died. My parents, they were indifferent about my brother and I as if we were some sort of bother. My father was a lawyer; he wasn’t home very often. He took his work very seriously, but somehow he had time for a mistress. My mother always suspicions until he eventually told her. She became an alcoholic. I don’t seem them very much anymore.”

I could tell Hannah didn’t have very many people to talk to. She had these pent emotions and no one to confess them to. The mood was somber, but her smile changed the mood quickly, as she laughed at her self on the account of her confession.

"Look at me again babbling on like I’m some sort of bleeding heart. I must be driving you mad."

“Not at all. I like talking to you.”

"Oh stop. Well, enough with the nonsense. Let us drink this lovely wine."

I popped the cork. I poured the red wine in both of our glasses. I went to take a swig. "What are you doing?" Hannah asked.

"Am I doing something wrong?"

"You're supposed to let the wine breath. Let it sit in your glass for a bit."

"Why?"

"It helps you appreciate the flavor of the wine."

"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't spoil the mood."

"Not at all. You're good company. The mood couldn't be any more perfect." After a few minutes Hannah picked up the glass and swirled the wine. It swished back and forth like a microcosm of a violent ocean storm. She took a deep breath to take in the aroma and took a sip. She grinned with delight. "Umm, it's wonderful. You try."

I picked up the glass and swirled the red wine. Some of it spilled out of the glass and splashed on the table. I was embarrassed. I was thinking that I was really making a fool of myself. I swirled it a bit more, this time not spilling any of the contents. I took a sniff and drank some of the wine, and it was good. Very good, in fact. It wasn’t as bitter as I thought it would be. It was fruity and sweet with the alcohol gentle and not overly intoxicating.

"You like it, don't you?" Hannah asked.

"I do actually,” I replied.

"Oh I'm so glad. What wonderful wine."

"This could very well be the finest wine in all of Europe," I said.

"To the finest wine in Europe." We raised our glasses for a toast. Our glasses chimed with the slight touch. We finished our wine, savoring each sip. Her lips were red from the wine. They were plump and delightful, moistened. She puckered her lip after her last sip in a sensual sort of way.

"You know still haven’t told me?"

"About what?" she asked.

"What a girl like you is doing in a place like this."

"Does it matter?"

"You have me curious."

"Curiosity kills the cat.”

"I’m being serious. I would just like to know that’s all."

"Oh, Jake. We are having such a wonderful evening. Let us not spoil it with such trivial matters. Tell me, do you like to dance?"

"Sure I do."

Hannah got up and walked toward a record player that sat on the shelf behind her. She started the player. A woman's voice boomed from the player, singing in French. "Would you like to dance with me Jake?"

"Sure." I grabbed her hand. We began dancing by candlelight. I held her in my arms while we slowly swayed to the melody. I gripped her waist as she wrapped her arms on my shoulders. Her waist was small, waiting to be encircled by my arms. She was shorter than me. I stared into those hypnotic blue eyes. Her eyes made me understand why clichés are clichés.

"You’ve never danced with a girl before, have you?" Hannah asked.

"Sure I have. I've danced with plenty of girls."

"You don't have to lie to me."

"Who says I'm lying?"

"I can feel you trembling."

"Maybe you make me nervous."

"Oh, come now. You don't have to be nervous with me." Hannah pressed her head against my chest as we continued to dance.

"What's she singing about?" I asked.

"The singer?”

"Yea, she sounds sad."

“She's singing about a man who left her. How lonely and miserable she is, not wanting to live on without her love."

"That sounds sad. Awfully sad."

"Jake?"

"Yes?"

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No. Have you?"

"I was never in love. I would like to fall in love. To be romanced. To share a life with someone. Do you..."

"Do I what?" I asked.

"Do you think I'm the kind of girl you could fall in love with?" She looked at me with those damn blue eyes again.

I wanted to kiss her. I really did. To tell you the truth, I could have fallen in love with her right then and there. "You're a swell girl."

"Swell?"

"Yea, you know. Swell. Like, you're a great gal. Probably one of the prettiest in Europe."

Her expression of delight transformed to displeasure. She walked back over to the record player and shut it off. The music stopped to a screeching halt. "Is that all I am to you, a swell girl?" Hannah asked.

"Well, you don't have to get all sore about it. I meant it as a compliment."

Hannah walked back over to me and wrapped her arms around my shoulder again. Her face was an inch away from mine. Her lips close enough to taste. "Do you want to kiss me?"

I thought it was a trick question. I leaned in for a kiss. My lips landed on her cheek.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said.

"Hey, don't you want to kiss me?" I asked.

"I guess you'll have to wait and find out now won't you?" Hannah squeezed my hand. It almost felt better than a kiss, but I would have preferred the kiss. "It's getting late. It's best that we start heading back." We grabbed the bottle of wine. Its’ contents swished back and forth. We went downstairs, through the nurse's office and out onto the hallway, which smelled like boiled cabbage. We checked to see if there were any guards.

"The coast is clear," I said.

We took a left. I noticed an open doorway leading to what looked like a larger room with only one ceiling light on. There were rows of beds stretching as far as I could see.

"Hey, what's in there?" I started walking over to the door.

Hannah pulled my arm. "You mustn’t go in there!"

"And why not?

"Please, Jake."

"Oh come on. You haven't even given me the courtesy of a grand tour."

"This isn't an amusement park, you fool."

"You know something? You look awfully cute when you're mad. Has anyone ever told you that?" I playfully smacked her hand away and went inside the room.

She followed me in, yanking on my shirt as if that was going to keep me away. It made me more curious.

The rows of beds were covered in white linen bed sheets, neatly pressed on each bed with a fluffy white pillow adorning each top. In the back, the beds were separated by white screens, where you could only see a faint shadow of what was behind them. It looked like someone was lying behind it, eerily motionless. It was awfully quiet, but I could hear some activity behind the curtain. "What's this room for," I asked.

"Please. We must go. If they catch you in here, there's no telling what they'll do."

"What could they possibly do to me? Put me in another orphanage?"

"You have no idea what this place is capable of."

We heard footsteps outside the hallway. Hannah panicked. "Jake, lay on the bed!"

"What? Why?"

"Do as I say now. I beg you!"

I got on the bed, befuddled by Hannah's demeanor.

“Now I want you to look at the ceiling and make no sudden moments. And for God's sake, don't say anything."

"Hannah you're not making sense."

"Jake..."

Before Hannah could finish, a man wearing a white laboratory coat entered with a clipboard. He was tall and slim, bald, and wore glasses like the one Mr. Hugo wore. He was professional looking. A no nonsense sort of man who was direct and forward. "Why, Ms. Byrne. I'm surprised to see you here so late this evening."

"I'm sorry. I just got caught up with work Dr Sterg.. That's all."

"Not enough time during the day to finish your work?

"I've haven't felt so well the past few days. I have fallen behind a bit."

"A bit overworked, perhaps?"

"Perhaps, yes."

"And who is this?" Dr. Sterg asked.

Hannah moved my bed away from the light to disguise my face. I just looked up as Hannah instructed. I didn't say a word, but I was trembling underneath the bed sheets. I was trying not to laugh or scream. I felt the intensity boil in the atmosphere of a room that served a mysterious purpose. "Where is this boy’s paperwork?" he asked. Dr. Sterg looked me with this, “you’re a piece of excrement,” expression that made me realize that whoever was laying in those beds several rows ahead of me were not being treated very well. I wasn’t sure how long I could maintain my composure. I felt my muscles twitch underneath the bed sheets from the nervous tension of what may happen if Dr. Sterg discovered whatever it was Hannah was trying to hide from him.

"Well..."

"Is he scheduled for an examination?"

"Not at the moment. No."

"Then where is his paperwork?"

"I was filling it out in my office."

Dr. Sterg looked at his watch. "I am late. Make sure this boy’s paperwork is complete and placed on his bed immediately."

"Yes, of course."

Dr. Sterg sped off for whatever he was late for.

"Jake. Please go."

"Who was that guy?"

"Damn it, you are as stubborn as a mule." She kept shoving me until we both were in the hallway. "We'll see each other soon. I promise."

I snuck through the hallways again, escaping watchful guards and their flashlights. I made it to my dormitory. Thomas was asleep with a book laid open on his chest. I went straight to bed thinking about Hannah and the added shroud of mystery of Crowam 281.

I was back in Professor Vanden’s class. I was intoxicated with boredom. It was hard trying to stay awake. Vanden was lecturing us about the Russian Revolution. I didn't give three shits about the Russian Revolution. Vladimir Lennon, the Czar. Figures in history that I had very little interest in. His eyes lit up with excitement, talking about Lennon as if he was some sort of prophet. I never met a communist before. I always heard about how dangerous communists were, but I didn't see what the big deal was. All Vanden did was talk about how workers need to unite and capitalism was the exploitation of the poor. I don't think anybody in class even knew what the hell he was talking about. I think he just liked hearing himself talk. Vanden lectured on about the past and its relevance to the future and the historical context of not just the Russian revolution but also other events that shaped the modern world. His pompous attitude gave the impression that he thought he was the ambassador of all that his history and that he holds the key to knowledge and understanding. Frankly, he just seemed like a hypocrite.

As far as I was concerned, everybody was a hypocrite; some people just make it more obvious than others. Communists, fascists, they all were the same to me. I quit trying to listen to Vanden’s lecture. Hannah preoccupied my mind. I wanted to see her again. I though about what the other students were thinking in their chaotic minds. I doubt it was about history. But with every lecture Vanden made sure he planted the seed of propaganda into the minds of each student to contribute in his own way to a new world order.