When he finally sat in the barber’s chair, he requested a full shave and haircut. The barber was a tall dark man who looked gruff, but when he began working he was very ginger and methodical. It soothed Caleum to feel so well cared for, which he could not remember being since he was a boy, and the shave was the best he could remember. When it was done he looked as though he had shed five years off his age, and he left the chair feeling like his better self again. More than that: He felt he had shed a carapace that had grown up around him in place of his normal skin.
He set about then to find the pub from the day before. He walked back the way he came, past the breweries and through the tannery district, at which point he was too tired to continue and decided to hire a coach.
By the time he found the pub the lunch crowd had all left, and the room was nearly empty. The same waitress who had attended him before was working again, though, and when she came to show him to his table there was the same enticing openness about her.
“You’re a bit late, aren’t you?” she asked, as if their meeting had been previously arranged.
He did not answer, not knowing how one was supposed to deal with such directness. He wondered whether she would take offense if he were to give his own tongue such free rein. He had not made an advance toward a woman in that way since his marriage to Libbie, and then it was according to the rules of proper engagement, while here in this city he could not tell what rules governed the different interactions between the sexes.
“I see you’ve had a haircut?” she went on, not seeming to mind that her last question had gone unanswered.
“I did,” he answered, taking the same seat he had previously occupied.
“Well, it looks very smart,” she continued.
“Thank you,” he told her. “What do they call you?”
“Elissa,” she answered him. “And who might you be?”
“Caleum Merian.” He introduced himself with both his names, even though that did not seem always to be the custom of the island.
“Well, it is very nice to see you again, Mr. Merian,” she replied. “I think the chowder is good today.”
He simply nodded, allowing the woman to chose his meal for him. When she brought it around, she had the same smile as before, which prompted him to wonder again how she would respond if he made an advance. Emboldened by the fact that he had no reputation in that city, he decided he would do just that when she next came by the table.
“Would you care to meet me this weekend?” he asked, when he saw his opportunity.
“And just where is it you want me to meet you?”
“At Bowling Green,” he answered, trying to think of a place that would not seem too intimate.
“It’ll be freezing there,” she said. “But I’ll be at Mary Hamlet’s on Saturday, around eight, if you should happen by.” She smiled at him again.
“Where is that?” he asked.
“You’re not from here?” she teased him. “It’s over on Mulberry. Everyone knows it if you have any trouble.”
It wasn’t until he left that he realized the implication of what he had just done, and it occurred to him that he knew nothing about the woman. He worried he had made a bad decision and told himself he was not bound to go there, as she knew little about him and would never find him again if he chose not to go. As he remembered her smile, though, he knew he would venture to meet her. There was something about her he found exhilarating in a way he could not remember having encountered before, and he allowed himself to trust this instinct.
He remained hesitant, though, as he was very strict with himself in such matters. What he argued then was that it was only lack of feminine company for so long that made him feel as he did. The line of thought turned on him, however, and he found himself arguing that this was a perfectly good reason why he should enjoy her company the coming weekend. He told himself to let his boldness have its way and see how far it would get him. Despite his efforts to quell it, he found this inner arguing and turmoil delicious in and of itself, both as its own pleasure and as an intimation of larger ones to come.
He reached the inn with the same lightness he had felt the day before, knowing he would accept her invitation, from curiosity if not the growing loneliness he felt there in those days.
He hoisted himself up the few stairs that led to the door and entered the hotel, hoping his new suits might be ready before the weekend. As he continued on to his room, he heard his name called. He was delighted indeed when he turned around to see Mr. Miles waiting.
“Mr. Miles,” he said, greeting the other man. “Have you been here long?”
“No, sir,” Mr. Miles answered. “Only just ahead of you. I have your order ready, and have brought it around so you can try it for fit.” Caleum nodded, and indicated that Mr. Miles should follow him up to his room. When he closed the door, Mr. Miles opened the large box he was carrying and removed from it the most beautiful piece of wood Caleum had ever beheld.
He peered at it a long while, then stretched out his hand and let his fingers touch the new limb, and it looked exactly like a leg, so much so that but for its texture and shading he would be hard pressed to tell it from his other. It felt cold and ungiving, such that no one would ever mistake it for the living thing, but it was no less accomplished because of that and even seemed alive in its way.
“Do you wish to try it?”
He nodded, and Mr. Miles approached and began explaining the fastening mechanism he had crafted, so that the binding of wood and flesh would be absolute and dependable.
“It takes a bit getting used to,” he went on, as Caleum sat down and allowed the man to affix the wood to his gnarled stump with greater care than any doctor he ever encountered. When he stood, Mr. Miles handed to him a cane made of the same wood as the leg, and it was just as well-fashioned and polished.
“You might want to keep with the crutches for a while, but in time this will give you a little better mobility,” he explained, while Caleum walked from one end of the room to the other.
“I have seldom seen such craftsmanship, Mr. Miles,” he told the other man, moved to joy by what he had made. “It is not so heavy as it seemed in the box and feels very strong.”
“Aye, your coins are the same mint, but for this, Mr. Merian, even steel could not cut it.”
“Aye, Mr. Miles, I knew the blade that could,” Caleum said, casting his eyes at his visitor, who then looked at the still living stump of Caleum’s leg above the wood, before averting his gaze.
Caleum went back and forth across the room several more times, growing used to the new appendage, until he thought he could feel not only the impact of the wood with the floor, but that he also sensed when anything was near the wood as well, even though he knew this to be an impossibility. When he was satisfied, he sat down.
“Thank you for such a fine job, Mr. Miles,” he said.
“I tried to give it my best, sir,” the man answered. “If you need anything else at all, please don’t hesitate to send for me at my workshop.”
With that he stood and began to withdraw. Caleum lifted himself again to see his visitor to the door. When the other man had gone, he went back and forth across the room again, before putting on his old coat and going out to try his new leg in the street.
Once he exited the hotel, however, he felt an immediate self-consciousness. To see a man without a leg did not seem so strange, but to see one upon a wooden leg he worried would be odd. Nevertheless, he began walking toward Bowling Green with as much confidence as he could muster, trusting this new leg beneath him would be faithful.