Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner

The wheels of bureaucracy in Wendigo Lakes move slowly. I called back to the hotel there, and then to city hall today to check on the progress of my business licence application, and all they could say was that it is in progress.  I am reminded of a clock I once read about, which has a dial that turns once every 25,000 years or so – something to do with the precession of the equinoxes or something, if I recall correctly.  I do hope that the wheels of city hall don’t move that slowly.  It’s a rather scary idea that I could, potentially, be around to see it.

So, instead, I found myself sitting in the lounge at the Chateau Royale, contemplating exploring the town some more; or possibly just sitting around and reading. Fionnuala joined me after a while, and we also talked about the possibility of joining a bowling league.  Neither of us had much experience of bowling, at least, not in the sense of highly automated mechanisms, plastic balls and ten pins.  I have, on occasions, played variations of skittles in the local pubs, but that is a different thing entirely, other than both involve rolling a ball to knock down some pins.

We ordered a pot of tea while we thought about it. Fionnuala asked me to tell her more about myself, which I was happy to do, but didn’t really know where to start. So, recalling our conversation at the snack-bar outside the hospital, I said that she could ask me questions until we had finished our tea, and then we would go for a walk.

She started off with something straightforward – why did I wear my hair so long?  She complained that it was awfully hot down here and she was very tempted to cut hers short, and would have done so if she hadn’t been able to tie it into a ponytail.  I had to chuckle at that question, because it was a very old one in a way. I explained how I had been teased at school, and called names because of my red hair. I omitted the fact that I had also been called names because of being bookish, smarter than average, and having no interest in sports, as that would only confuse the issue. I told her how I had come home in tears one day, begging Mother to cut it all off, and how she had persuaded me that rather I should be proud of my lovely hair, and the decision, way back then, against all the requirements of fashion, to keep it long, and only cut it when absolutely necessary, in defiance of all those who teased me about it.

She seemed to understand that, but it was a little outside her experience, since so many more people are red-headed where she comes from, although she did admit to having been teased, even if she barely remembers it. Her next question was a little trickier. Referring back to my bit of Whitman recitation in the bookshop, she asked who my favourite poet was.

Now that was a stumper. I’ve never really thought about that.  Yes, “O Captain” is one of my favourite poems, mostly because of its associations with my dear Catt, and Walt Whitman is among my favourite poets, but I don’t think I have ever really identified any one poet as my favourite. I mentioned Whitman, Poe, Blake, of course, Houseman, and Eliot as examples, pointing out that they were all deceased, just like that film I had once seen.  For herself, she admitted to Yeats, naturally, given where she came from, and so far as living poets, well, recently deceased anyway, Seamus Heaney.  We chatted a bit about the immortality of poets versus the immortality of their works.

While we were doing so, Alina joined us, flopping down in one of the other armchairs.  She looked cheerful enough, even if we both had to chide her for using unnecessary titles in addressing us.

Fionnuala’s next question concerned which century would we have liked to live in, other than the current one, and she included Alina in the question, if she wanted to.

The answer was easy enough for me – the 19^th century. For all of its faults, my century was an exciting one, with advances in science and engineering, as well as some social advances.  My second choice was the 14^th, so I could converse with the likes of Chaucer, albeit after brushing up on my Middle English. Alina wasn’t keen at all, especially when it came to the idea of dentistry in the 17^th. I guess I probably wouldn’t like that either, but then, I’ve never been keen on the dentist. I wonder if there are dentists who cater to those of us with pointy teeth. I shall have to ask Brigitte. She wasn’t keen on the 14^th century either, claiming that she would have been burned as a witch.

We were joined by another lady and gentleman. He introduced himself as Ralph Bergman and “the lovely young creature at his feet” (his words) was introduced as Lylah.  There was something strange about the relationship. She seemed content to sit on the floor, snuggled against his leg, affecting more the manner of a favoured pet than a companion. Indeed, he referred to her most often as my pet.  They had apparently arrived from New York the previous day. I think I had seen them the previous evening, talking to Brigitte, so I suspected that they might be of my kind, or at least, he was.

While they were settling down, another arrived.  Anna, we found out later.  She didn’t so much arrive as collide with the wall, on the way to who knows where, and was clearly in a hurry. We managed to persuade her to join us, despite her apparent desire to not be noticed.

Ralph commented on how the town seemed to be growing and how most people seemed be friendly, like the charming owner of the hotel. For some reason, Fionnuala blushed at the mention of Brigitte, and I wondered if something more had passed the previous lunchtime when Brigitte had abandoned Willow, Alina and I to talk to her. She covered her apparent embarrassment quickly, posing a new question – if you could relive any day from your past, what would it be?  There, Ralph and I appeared to be in agreement, seeing no point in reliving the past. Lylah deigned to join in the game, preferring to sit quietly at her master’s feet and play with her hair. Ralph claimed that she was not used to being around others, despite having been somewhat of a social butterfly before they met. Despite agreeing on reliving the past, I was not warming to him, or the dynamic between him and Lylah.  She looked contented enough, and I am sure she was, but I still found it irritating. I was no stranger to such relationships, but I could never quite understand them.  I guess I am just too much the egalitarian.

Anna wanted to know if this was some sort of game, so Fionnuala explained to her what we were doing.  Her day of choice concerned a visit to the seaside at some place called Lissadell, with a second choice going to the day she met Mal in Dublin.  That again raised questions in my mind, since I was sure she had said that Mal was a married man.  I did not press the matter, being sure that she would tell me about it at some point.  She then decided she had asked enough questions and passed the baton to me. Ralph and Lylah departed for bed before I could get a question in, leaving me with the ladies.

My first question was on travel – if I could give each of them a pair of first-class plane tickets to anywhere in the world, where would they go? Alina would want to go to wherever her brothers were, but did not explain where. Fioannuala would go to Dublin, then from there to Sligo and spend a week at a place called Ben Bulben, which I suspect was a local hill or mountain. Anna, trying her best to hide her accent, said she would go to Croatia and sit on a cliff and look at the water. I opted for Japan, simply because it was far away and had lots of interesting culture.  I then indicated one of the tables for four in the restaurant area and asked; if they had a booking for that table, which three people would they choose as dinner guests, living or dead.

Alina told us a little about her brothers and then, seemingly at random, selected Hitler, Pol Pot, the man who invented radio commercials and her old landlady from Seattle. I guess these were people on her hate list, because she also added that she would bring a hand-grenade to toss at them.  Very curious, I thought. It should be very interesting if I ever actually get to talk to her in private. Fionnuala chose a young Yeats, Dylan Thomas, Mark Knopfler and me. Well, that was not totally unexpected, and I could live with her choice of other guests. Perhaps she has decided that I need some broader hints.  Anna decided on her late mother, a friend who was like a brother to her and George Carlin, the comedian. Interestingly, she was the only one who stuck to the three guests. Everybody else filled all four seats at the table with their guests, forgetting to reserve one for themselves. For myself, I decided upon Shakespeare, so I could find out if he really did write all that stuff, Chaucer, and Ghandi.

My next question was sillier – who would they like to share a hot-tub with, adding that choosing any of the people present wasn’t allowed, before Fionnuala chose me again.  Another person joined us while we were thinking about this. I remembered her as the woman we had seen in the coffee shop in Wendigo Lakes a few days before. Again, there was a strange sense of déjà vu, as though I had known her in the past, aside from the previous meeting, and again, I could not place why or where. Alina selected somebody called Taeden, but did not explain who that was. Fionnuala would have chosen myself and Yeats again, but given the restriction on people present, could not make up her mind between detective Daimon, Mal and the fellow I had eaten breakfast with on Sunday – Mace. Anna seemed distracted and could only give vague reference to some actor in a TV show, which didn’t exactly narrow it down much. Helene didn’t answer, being more interested in whether or not she could get something to eat and a room.

I had one last question – what animal would you be? Alina went for condor, because the idea of all that flying appealed. Fionnuala opted for the salmon of knowledge, which I vaguely remember from Celtic myths. Anna opted for being a cat.

Since I had passed the baton to her, she wanted to know our most embarrassing moment. That was a hard one, given my long life and numerous opportunities for embarrassment I had experienced. I opted for the first time I got arrested in a brothel on my first trip to Rotterdam. Alina told of an embarrassing interview with a newspaper in a place she had lived before called Dead End. We were joined by a darker-skinned and scantily clad lady, Michele, I learned later, who seemed to be friends with Anna and Alina. Fionnuala told of an incident in a camp shower at a music festival when a drunk stumbled into the side of the tent, collapsing it and landing on top of her.

Anna didn’t answer her own question, moving on to a two part question – what was your favourite song, and which song was your guilty secret. Again, that was a difficult one, so I opted for ones they might have heard of in their lifetimes – Bridge Over Troubled Waters and Seasons in the Sun.  Helene joined in this time with a song called Tear from the Moon by a band called Conjure One, and anything by the Backstreet Boys. Fionnuala chose Nothing Compares 2U and something called I Have a Horse Outside by the Rubberbandits. Alina was highly delighted to see her friend, who was apparently a cop. She couldn’t name a favourite song, and her embarrassing choice was anything by Metallica, claiming that everybody in the band was a prick for some reason. Michele joined in with the previous question, citing an occasion she had been undercover, and having to give a lap dance to her commanding officer while trying not to shoot him with the gun she was wearing under her outfit.  Her favourite song was I Would Walk 500 Miles, and her embarrassing one was the Peanut Butter Jelly Time one.

Anna had one last question; about the place we felt the most safe. I thought of that first time with Giada, back in London, when I felt I could let down my shields, but that wasn’t a place. I then remembered a visit to the Chalice Well Gardens in Glastonbury.  Alina mentioned her Nana’s café and Fionnuala mentioned Lough Gill.

By now, I was feeling tired, and our mysterious friend from the coffee shop was keen to book into a room, so the party more or less broke up.  I took myself to bed with a large rum and Mr Whitman. An interesting evening, during which I learned something of my fellow guests and a lot about Fionnuala. I am still uncertain what to do. Yes, I like her, but, how do I tell her what I am? She deserves to know before getting involved, but…  I will have to see how things go.

 

Not, so far as I know, related to the film – Black Uhuru