He had a thick Cornish accent when he spoke. "Merry Christmas, little lady. What might yew be doing out in the wet, on a day like this day?"
"You would not believe me," I said.
"Oh, I hear a lot of things."
"Today was supposed to be my wedding day and someone stole all my clothes, and I'm lost, and I was supposed to meet some friends at the docks in the village, but that was this morning, and they may have left——-"
He looked at my face, which was probably all tearstained and red-eyed; at my clothes, which obviously were not mine; and at my bird, which was wrapped in a bloodstained handkerchief. The collar or choker made of green glass was still around my neck, and the matching bracelets shimmered and twinkled on my wrists. Maybe he thought they were real jewelry.
The pipe, as if by itself, slid from one corner of his mouth to the other. He pushed the door wider. "Get in. I can give yew a ride to the dock. 'Tis nought but five minutes awa'."
I climbed in gratefully. The cab was so high that I had to climb a little ladder thing set along the wheel guard.
It was hot to the point of stifling in the cab, and I coughed on the smoke.
He reached across me to grab the handle and rolled down my window. I must have had a worse morning than I thought, because when he reached out his arm, I fully expected him to grab me and tie me to the seat, or something.
He leaned back, giving me a cocked eye. "Jumpy, are we, missy? Yew've had a bad time, no doubt." He pronounced it doowt.
I said, "I can't believe you believe my story."
He shrugged. "Yew dinnae know me. Why would y' lie? If yew are to lie, why not say something like to be believed, such as yer car broke down? Or that yer a travel-ing bird salesman who carries a big black bearskin rug around on her head? Besides, it's Christmas Day, it is. So I'll pretend to believe yer tale, and yull pretend yew fooled me, and 'twill be our little Christmas gifties to each other, hnn? Tis a day of faith, ye know."
The truck trundled over the rise and came down again into the village. The lanes narrowed, and he began maneuvering the massive lorry down crooked little cobblestone streets to the dock area.
I looked in relief at the red and green traffic lights.
I said, "Ever had one of those days where you are not sure what year you are in?"
He grunted. "Every Saturday morning, if my Friday night goes as big as planned. If I remember not a thing, I know I had a real damn fine good time."
Then he extended one big hand in my direction, not taking his eyes from the lanes. "Name's Sam."
"I am Miss Windrose." I shifted the eagle to one hand and took his handshake gingerly.
"Howdjadoo." (He pronounced it as one word.) "Yer thinking 'tis unchancy that there is no one about?"
("aboowt") "They're all at church. Driving on holy days…" (This was two words) "… 'tis always quiet and graveyardlike, hn? But they give me triple wages, any hauling I do today. How's that for a life? But I won't tell you my base wage, either. It's a pretty penny, too. We got the whole country by the throat, and they pay what we say. It's grand."
I looked at him sidelong. There he sat, working his clutch and gearshift with unselfconscious grace, puffing away like six chimneys, half-hidden in clouds of tobacco, boasting of the highway robbery he enjoyed. Was this what real human beings were like?
I said, "What would you do if you had magic powers?"
"Hn? Join the circus, I guess. Do tricks."
"No, I mean real magic powers. If you could grant wishes… ?"
"Travel the countryside on holy days, disguised as a beautiful motion picture star in baggy clothes, wearing a rug and carrying a bird. Then I would ask folks strange questions. What would you do, missy?"
"I'm serious!"
"Of course you are. Anyone who carries around a hawk covered with blood on her wedding day is serious."
He slowed the truck, stopped, engaged the brake. We were on Waterside Street. I could see the boardwalk and the piers. Empty. I could see the slip where Lily Lilac's boat used to be. Empty.
5.
Sam was looking at my face. He said, "You need some food in you?"
I stirred. I said, "What… ?"
He pointed at a little shop across the way. "I always eat there. The owner is a Hindoo, and he is only closed on Hindoo holy days. Ramandan, or something."
"Ramadan is Islam," I said.
"Well, whatever may be. He's open now, and the first cup of coffee is always free."
"I don't have any money," I said.
"I'd throw it back in yer face if yew did. Christmas gift. Coming?" And he opened his door and began striking his pipe against his boot to throw hot ashes out into the snow.
Not five minutes later we were both eating potato bread and butter pancakes and breakfast ham; not what I expected a Hindu to serve. (I had never seen pancakes before; I thought only Americans ate them.) Of course, the place was called "Jerry's Fine Cafe," and Jerry (whose name was probably Ramarjuna or Sajeeve) was a dark-skinned man who came out and exchanged pleasantries with Sam.
Jerry looked disapprovingly at my eagle, but Sam told him the bird was my Seeing Eye bird and the law required
i
shop owners to allow him on the premises. Sam and I were the only customers in the place, so Jerry let the matter rest
I leaned and whispered, "Is it okay to take these boots off? My feet are all wet and sore."
Sam leaned and whispered back, "Go on. Jerry comes back, I'll tell him yer Japanese."
He stared, not without curiosity, at my beaded slippers, glittering with translucent green beads and lines of crystal. I dried my feet off with a paper napkin, and put my feet back into the slippers, but left the boots on the seat of the chair next to me.
"Yew need something warm in you," he said.
I sipped my first ever cup of coffee. Bleh. Did people actually drink this stuff?
We ate without speaking for a time. I was very hungry.
Then, with no preamble, Sam pointed at me with a fork, which had a piece of pancake on it, dripping syrup. "I been thinking! Here are my wishes. First, I got a nephew who's wrong in the head. They have him in this place near Edgestow. He's fifteen, but he thinks he's five. Bright, for a five-year-old, but…
Well, I'd wish his head back straight. I'd wish my wife, second wife, be up in heaven with the angels. She died of tuberculosis, oh, four years back. About this time of year. First wife, I'd wish her straight to hell, her and her lawyers, too. That's three. Course, Annie probably didn't need any help from me getting to heaven, so let me change my second wish to curing everyone who's got tuberculosis. Filthy disease.
Aside from that, I don't have much I need. Wouldn't wish for money, though. Ruins people. How 'bout yew?"
"Well, I actually have magic powers, and I am trying to decide how to use them."
"Hn. Use 'em for good rather than for evil, I'd say. Create world peace, that'd be a good one. So they let yew out of the institution on Christmas, do they? I don't suppose yew know my nephew. Mortie Finklestein."
I goggled at him. "Your name is Finklestein?"
"My sis, she married a Jew. What's so bad about that! Is it a crime to marry out of the faith? Benjamin Disraeli was a Jew, and he was the finest PM this island ever had, says I, bar none. Einstein was a Jew and smartest man ever lived, wasn't he?" He waved the bit of pancake to make his point, and chomped into it aggressively.
He poured himself another cup of coffee, and poured some more in my cup, even though I didn't ask. I felt I had to try another sip, since he had poured for me. I stirred in five little plastic containers of cream, to make it as white as possible, and endless spoonfuls of sugar. Bleh. Who invented this stuff?
I looked at him, and said in an accusing voice, "You stopped because you saw my hair, didn't you? Had I been a man, you would have kept going."