Man on Fire (22 page)

That night Creasy lay in bed listening to Johnny Cash and reviewing his situation-physical and mental.

He was satisfied with his progress. His body was responding well, the slackness going. In another month or so, it would be well-tuned and responsive. He had been fortunate in finding George Zammit and in being allowed to train with his squad. By the time he left Malta, he would be fully prepared for the task ahead. Mentally also. He recognized the fundamental change in himself. He looked on life with greater clarity. With compassion, even. Before, in his life, the people around him had seemed incidental. He did not consider them on a personal or emotional basis. His interest had always been remote and clinical. Pinta had changed that.

Everything she saw had affected her. He imagined her in Gozo-how delighted she would have been with old Salvu. How she would have reacted to the people he had met, seeing in them the angles and facets of life.

He saw now through her eyes. A year ago Salvu would have been an uninteresting old man who kept a bird and chased grasshoppers for it and therefore was a bit simple in the head. But now Creasy looked forward to having dinner with him and talking to him and learning more about him. Pinta had done that, had made it possible that he could come to Gozo and be accepted by the introverted community. And also enjoy being accepted. He reflected on the unjust twist of fate that had ended her short life. No, not fate. Nothing was fated. Every incident, every event involving people, was the result of actions by themselves or others. Luck was not a random phenomenon. Destiny was predetermined by the destined.

His thoughts turned to Nadia. He knew what was happening, could feel the magnetic force. He would fight it. There were just too many complications-too little time-too much planned.

But then, surely, that was fate. A meeting at a different time and place could have resulted in a different ending. How often had that happened, he wondered.

How many people had come together on the wrong occasion? But that too wasn't fate. That was a melding of separate experiences, the contact and recognition of similar hopes and expectations.

Well. His own expectations were clear and simple, his future, or lack of it, projected.

In another part of the house, in her own room, Nadia's thoughts ran parallel. Experience had made her cynical. Her future was also limited. Within her community, a woman, once married, was just that, no matter what the circumstances. Even if the Vatican eventually annulled her marriage, she could not expect to start again with fresh hopes. Mothers would not want their sons to marry a woman so scarred, and those sons would look at her only as a woman. Desirable, certainly, but not a potential wife.

This did not add to her cynicism. It left no extra bitterness. She would seek her own corner and put her back to it and face outward.

But there was something she wanted. She would not be denied everything. Others could have their husbands and their positions and their reputations and their communal security, but she at least would have something. People could talk and even criticize. She didn't care. Her own family would understand. That was important-vital. With that understanding, she would face out confidently from her corner.

There was little time. Four to six weeks, she had heard him say on the phone. It would have to be soon.

In the morning Paul and Joey were in the fields, and Creasy was swimming. Nadia could see the small dot of his head approaching Comino. Her mother was in Nadur at the market. She went downstairs and phoned Guido. She had always been close to her brother-in-law. She asked him about Creasy, about the future. What it held for Creasy. Where he was going and why.

Guido realized immediately what had happened. He felt a great sadness for her. Tried to explain that it was useless-had no future. But he would not answer her questions. She must ask Creasy.

By his tone and his sympathy and his refusal, he had, in effect, answered the question. But his conclusions had not been entirely accurate. She needed to know that Creasy's future was marginal. That confirmed the futile dimension, but it didn't alter her plans-only increased her determination.

In the early evening she walked down the fields to where her father and Creasy were finishing the last few meters of a terrace wall. She knew Creasy would go for a quick swim before he came back up to the house. She sat on the wall watching the two men, her father small and wiry and dwarfed by the huge American. She noted the change in Creasy, the deep brown tan, solid muscles, hands calloused from weeks of hard work.

"You have no work to do?" her father asked gruffly, but unable to keep the affection from his voice.

"I'm finished," she answered. "I'm going for a swim. I'll wait for Creasy."

Creasy lifted a large stone up onto the wall.

"Still worried I'll drown?" he asked mockingly.

She shook her head.

"No. I want to talk to you."

"What about?"

"I'll tell you after we swim."

"You go on, Creasy," Paul said. "Swim while it's still light. I'll finish the last bit in a few minutes."

They swam out a little way into the channel. Comino was bathed copper in the lowering sun. The water was flat calm, broken only by the occasional ripple of a fish. She turned and swam back, but he moved out farther, conscious of the tension in her. Disturbed by it.

When he returned to the cove she was lying on a towel, stretched out on the flat rock. He lay down wet beside her, letting the last of the sun dry him. Several minutes passed before she spoke.

"Creasy, I'm in love with you." She held up her hand.

"Please don't interrupt." She picked her words carefully.

"I know you also feel something, but don't want to get involved. I know that you're at least twenty years older than me. I know you're leaving in about a month and probably won't come back."

She turned her head to look at him and said very quietly, "But for sure I love you, and while you are here I will be your woman."

He stared up at the sky, immobile, and then slowly shook his head.

"Nadia, you're crazy. All the things you said are true, especially that I'm not coming back. There's no future in it. As for being in love with me-that's a word too easily used."

"I know," she answered. "But I've only used it once before in my life and that turned out to be a joke-a sick joke." She told him about her marriage and her husband. He grimaced and got to his feet and looked down at her.

"So you should know better than to walk into hopeless situations."

She lay with her hands behind her head, olive skin against the black swimsuit, looking up at him impassively.

"Don't you like me?"

"You know I do. But it's not right. There's no future in it." He bent down to pick up his clothes. "You're very young. Compared to me, still a child. In spite of what's happened, you have a whole life in front of you. You'll find a good man to share it with."

He tried to sound matter-of-fact. Dismissing her declaration as an irrational outburst. She stood and picked up her towel.

"That's possible," she said evenly. "Who knows? But in the meantime I'll share it with you." Now her voice was matter-of-fact.

He became exasperated.

"Nadia, it's ridiculous. How can you just come out with it so calmly, as though you're inviting me to the cinema?"

A thought struck him. "Besides, what about your parents? I'm a guest in their house. It would be a great insult."

"They'll understand," she said. "I'll talk to them tonight." He looked at her in astonishment.

"You will what!"

She smiled.

"Creasy, although my parents are old-fashioned Gozitan farmers, they are still my parents, and I understand them. I know exactly how to talk to them and explain. As long as we are not indiscreet, it will be alright."

She picked up her dress and slipped it on, while Creasy stood speechless. Then she started up the path.

"Wait a minute," Creasy called. "Just wait a minute!"

She turned and looked down at him, at his expression of puzzlement and rising consternation.

"What the hell is this? A damned cattle market?"

He waved his clothes at her, trying to find the words.

"Don't I have any say about it? You can forget the whole thing. I want no part of it. You understand!"

She smiled. A slow, enigmatic smile.

"But you said you liked me."

"Exactly," he said, as if discovering a sudden truth.

"I said 'like you,' not 'love you.' It's not the same, you know."

"It's good enough for the moment," she replied over her shoulder and continued on up the path, leaving Creasy standing on the rock, disgruntled and disconcerted.

There was no lock on his door. He had considered wedging a chair under the knob, but that seemed silly.

But she didn't come, and he lay in bed wondering whether she would really discuss such a thing with her parents. He considered leaving and finding some other place to finish his preparations, or talking to Paul himself, man to man. Explain the position and ask him to talk to Nadia. But how to tell a man that his daughter was throwing herself at him? He cursed the girl for a distracting nuisance and drifted into a troubled sleep.

In the morning, very early, he set off for a run. As he skirted below Nadur, he saw Laura coming down the path from early Mass. She waved at him and he waved back, running on. Probably a good sign, he thought. At least she didn't throw a rock at me. The clear light of morning diffused his problem. He saw it in perspective. Nadia had been flying a kite-testing his reaction. His obvious lack of enthusiasm would have turned her right off. As he jogged along he had to admit that he had been tempted. A young, desirable woman, offering herself like that. He was old enough to be her father. Still, getting fit must have added something.

He slapped his flat stomach. Only one man in a hundred his age could be as fit, maybe one in a thousand. He preened himself gently.

He had worked his way down to Ramla Bay, and a voice interrupted his reverie, calling his nickname-Uomo. He looked up to see Salvu working in his fields and he stopped for a chat.

"I don't see you on Comino the last couple of days," said the old man.

"Tomorrow," Creasy answered. "I'll swim over tomorrow. No fish yet?"

Salvu shook his head.

"But soon, Uomo. I'm due for one-I'll leave word."

Creasy went back to his running.

By the time he reached the cove, sweat glistened on his face. He pulled off his track suit and dived gratefully into the cool water.

Afterward, lying on the flat rock, he thought again about Nadia. She would probably be embarrassed when she saw him. He hoped the easy atmosphere in the house would not be changed. It would be a damned nuisance if he had to move at this stage. He would try to be relaxed with her. Treat the whole thing as a bit of a joke. That would make it easier. He knew she was sensitive. Who wouldn't be; after that mess of a marriage?

Perhaps that's what made her irrational. If she tried it again he would be gentle, but firm. There was no place in his life for such a relationship.

He stood up, dried from the sun, and pulled on his track suit and walked up the rocky path to the house.

Nadia was nowhere to be seen, but Laura was in the kitchen.

He looked at her closely.

"Breakfast, Creasy?" she asked brightly. "You were up extra early this morning."

In spite of being mentally preconditioned, he felt relief. Laura was her normal self, nothing had been said the night before. He sat down, suddenly hungry, and Laura cracked four eggs into a skillet and slid a wedge of ham alongside them.

"Is it true that Americans eat pancakes for breakfast?" she asked over her shoulder.

He nodded. "With syrup. But I haven't eaten pancakes since I was a kid."

She put the plate in front of him and another piled high with warm bread. Then she poured him a big mug of black coffee and shoveled in three heaped spoonfuls of sugar. She poured herself a coffee and sat down opposite, watching with satisfaction as he ate hungrily. It made cooking worthwhile when a man could really eat. She was conscious of the change in him. Good food and exercise had done that.

She spoke conversationally:

"Nadia talked to Paul and me last night."

Creasy choked on the food.

"Don't be embarrassed," she said. "We are a very close family, and Nadia would not do anything behind our backs. She is an honest girl."

"She's a silly girl!" Creasy burst out, angry in his discomfort. "The whole thing is crazy."

Laura smiled.

"Love is always crazy. Such a drama is made of it; but it's a natural thing, don't you think?"

"Love!" he snorted. "I'm told it's good when it's mutual. How can she talk of love? I never gave her any encouragement. I don't know why she talks of it."

Laura nodded solemnly.

"I know you didn't, so does Paul. That's why I brought up the subject. I want you to know that we don't blame you for anything."