The Saffron Gate (19 page)

^{I thought about the ruddiness of his cheeks, and the smoothness of his forehead.}

^{The next day I used the Barlows' telephone, making an appointment to consult with Dr Duverger about the surgery. When I met with him a week later I wore my best dress — a soft green silk with a wide fabric belt — and took special attention with my hair. I told myself I was being ridiculous. It was only my scar he was interested in, and all he would notice. I was simply one of his many patients; surely he had the same manner with all of them. But no matter what I told myself, my fingers were damp with nervousness when he shook my hand, and my lips trembled the slightest as I smiled. I hoped he didn't notice.}

^{'So. You have change the mind?' he said, returning my smile and gesturing for me to sit.}

^{'Yes,' I said. 'I needed time, I suppose. To think about it.'}

^{He didn't respond.}

^{'Unless . . . it's not too late, is it? Have I waited too long?'.}

^{He shook his head. 'No. But it requires more work now, I'm afraid, because you leave it longer,' he said. 'And you must understand, Miss O'Shea, you will always have a scar. But as I first tell you, it can be much finer, and in some time more smooth and without such . . . the colour. Discoloration.' He started to talk about the procedure, but I stopped him.}

^{'I don't care to hear about it,' I said, with a small, apologetic smile. 'Just do what you can to minimise it.'}

^{He scheduled me for the operation in three weeks’ time, and on a muggy, late June day, it was done. I hardly remembered anything about the operation itself, or Dr Duverger, due to the ether I was given to put me to sleep.}

^{When I awoke I had a thick bandage on my cheek, and Dr Duverger told me that I must return within ten days to have the stitches removed.}

^{'This time I will definitely be back,' I said, my tongue still thick from the ether, as he stood by my bed once I'd woken. He smiled, and I attempted to smile back, but the numbness from the medication was wearing off, and the new stitching throbbed.}

^{Ten days later I was at the hospital, again wearing my best dress, again asking myself why I was acting like a silly schoolgirl. Mr Barlow insisted on driving me. 'You go on home,' I told him, as he dropped me off. 'I'd like to walk back. It's a beautiful day.'}

^{'You sure? It's a good hike,' he said.}

^{'Yes,' I said, and waved my thanks as he drove off.}

^{While I waited for Dr Duverger, I took out the pencil and small sketchpad I always carried in my bag, and worked on my rendition of the Karner Blue butterfly. They lived in Pine Bush, and were an endangered species, difficult to spot. And yet I had finally caught a glimpse of one last summer; it was a stunningly beautiful little butterfly with a wingspan of only an inch. It was a male, as the topside of its wings was the clearest azure blue. I knew the females were a darker, greyish hue. Their lives depended on the wild lupin, also blue, with pea-like flowers. My goal was to paint the Karner Blue perched on the wild lupin, both butterfly and flower in different and yet powerful shades of blue, but I couldn't get the sketch quite right. When Dr Duverger entered I put the pad and pencil on the chair beside me.}

^{'Now, Miss O'Shea,' he said, 'we will see the result.'}

^{I nodded, licking my lips.}

^{'Don't be worry. I think you will be happy.'}

^{He gently pulled off the gauze covering, and leaned close to remove the stitches. I didn't know where to look with his face so close to mine. He had put on his glasses, and I could see myself reflected in them. Once he glanced from my cheek to my eyes, and I immediately looked down, embarrassed that he might think I was staring at him. And yet where was there to look with our faces so close together? This time I didn't smell disinfectant or tobacco, but only the faint clean scent of his crisp shirt and stiff collar.}

^{Suddenly I realised he might be married.}

^{As Dr Duverger removed the stitches there were tiny clipping noises and a slightly painful jerk with each one, making, me wince occasionally. Each time I did, he murmured
pardon
in an unconscious way. And then, with the last stitch removed, he sat back and studied my face, moving my chin from side to side with his fingers. They were dry and warm.}

^{'Oui. C'est bien,’
he said, nodding, and I noticed his unconscious use of French.}

^{'It's good?' I repeated.}

^{'Yes,' he said, and again nodded, looking into my eyes this time. 'It was success, Miss O'Shea. Good success. And it will continue to heal with time, and within one year it will be less; it will fade. And you can cover it with . . .' he hesitated, 'the powder, or what the woman wears on the face. Look. You see.'}

^{He handed me the round mirror.}

^{'Thank you very much,’ I said, looking at myself for a moment, then giving the mirror back. 'For the surgery. And for . . . for suggesting it. You were right.'}

^{'I'm happy you agree to it,' he said, standing. I also rose, and we faced each other. He stared at me then, not just at my cheek, but somehow more deeply. It was only a moment, but it was somehow awkward, and suddenly my stomach clenched. But it wasn't the sick spasm I had experienced over initially coming back to the hospital. This was different.}

^{'Well,' I said, needing to fill the silence that was both uncomfortable and exciting, and Dr Duverger said
très bien
at exactly the same time, echoing my word.}

^{We both smiled, and then Dr Duverger said, 'So. Good day, mademoiselle. Please call if you have a question, but I think it will go well now.' Almost immediately he repeated himself. 'But please, if you have a question . . . or any pain . . . you will call,
oui
?'}

^{'
Oui
,'
I agreed.}

^{I left the hospital and walked home in the warm late morning sunshine, thinking about the effect the doctor had on me. I tried to understand the sensations I had felt, standing close to him in the noisy hospital. I hadn't had a similar feeling since . . . I stopped. Had I ever felt this way? I thought back to my adolescence, and the fantasies I had entertained about Luke McCallister. But I had been a young and silly girl then, not a woman who lived a practical and quiet life, with no room for whimsical daydreams.}

^{It was all in my head. Dr Duverger hadn't looked at me a moment too long, and he hadn't felt the same strange confusion as I.}

^{It was all in my head.}

^{The next evening I opened the front door to let Cinnabar out, and saw a car slowly pull up in front of my house. It stopped, and Dr Duverger stepped out.}

^{It was so unexpected that I didn't have time to think about how I felt. As he walked towards the house, I saw that he carried my sketchpad.}

^{'You leave this,' he said, coming up the steps. 'I look at your address on the file, and see that I have to drive nearby to visit a patient, so think I will return it.' He held it out to me.}

^{'Thank you so much,' I said, taking it. 'Yes, yes, I looked for it this morning. I couldn't remember where I might have left it . . . there's a particular image I've been working on, but I can't quite get it right, and . . . ' I was speaking too quickly, perhaps babbling. 'Well. Thank you,' I said again. 'It was more than kind of you to go out of your way to return it.'}

^{'I look to your work,' he said, glancing down suddenly. Cinnabar was twining around his legs. Then he looked up at me again. 'It is good. The work.'}

^{'Thank you. But they're just line drawings,' I said, embarrassed and yet pleased at the thought of him going through the pages.}

^{'But you like this. To . . .' He stopped. 'My English,' he said, then licked his lips. 'To draw. The . . . the . . . talent to draw is obvious.'}

^{'Thank you,' I said, feeling ridiculous repeating
thank you
over and over, my mind darting about for something else to say. If he spoke about my face I would have felt more at ease. But he didn't, and I grew more and more anxious and awkward, running my fingers up and down the spine of the sketchbook.}

^{'Would you care to come in and have a cup of coffee?' I asked, when I couldn't bear the silence any longer. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I wanted to take them back. What was I doing? Now it would be more, uncomfortable when he found a reason to decline politely. Or . . . if he didn't decline.}

^{'Yes. I would like to take
le cafè. Merci
'
,
he said, and I had little recourse but to step inside.}

^{After he drove away I sat on the porch, staring at the street. I was twenty-nine, and this was the first time in my life I had been alone in my own home with a man who wasn't my father or a neighbour. As Dr Duverger had followed me through the living room into the kitchen, my heart was racing and my throat woolly. But once he sat at the kitchen table and I busied myself preparing the coffee, I realised there was something different about Dr Duverger today. It only took me a few moments to notice that while he was professional and calm in the hospital — the place where he seemed to belong — on my porch and in my kitchen he appeared slightly ill at ease, his English faltering and his face more expressive. As a doctor, with his files and stethoscope, he was in control. But away from the hospital I recognised in him an insecurity, as though he was as unsure of himself as I was when I left the safety of Juniper Road. And seeing this filled me with something I hadn't felt before, some very small confidence.}

^{He's a doctor, but he's also just a man, I told myself.}

^{He asked more questions about the sketches in my notepad, struggling with some of the words, and I told him to please speak French if he wished. 'It's very different from the French my mother and I spoke,' I told him, 'and I haven't used it since she died six years ago, so I'll answer in English, but I like to hear it.'}

^{He nodded, smiling as he sipped his coffee. 'Thank you,' he said in French. 'Even though I speak English daily, and am usually comfortable with it, sometimes . . . in some circumstances . . . it fails me,' he said, and even that small confession gave me more confidence. Did I make him nervous, as he made me, and if so, why?}

^{We talked a little about my painting. I asked where he was from in France, and he told me he'd studied medicine in Paris.}

^{He had been living in America for over five years now, he said.}

^{After half an hour and two cups of black coffee, he rose. 'Thank you for the coffee,' he said.}

^{I followed him to the front door. He opened it and stood there for a moment, looking at me. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.}

^{'I'm glad you made the decision about the operation,' he said, finally. 'Now you will again be beautiful.'}

^{Before I could respond, he went out into the deepening dusk. When he opened his car door he looked back at me.}