The Professor and the Vagrant Ch. 01

Chapter 1 - My Proposition for Him

The storm that night was one which stayed with me till today. It was not that I consciously willed myself to remember the sights, sounds and scents of what I had borne witness to, but it rather had its own way with me, especially each time the sky of dusk brings forth rain. The memory comes unnoticed; in fact it somewhat comforts me that it slowly creeps upon me without awareness of thoughts. Suddenly I feel it in its entirety; as fresh as dew like it all happened yesterday. I see him look at me with a perceptible gaze in his eyes; and I see myself as he sees me. Then I unwittingly awaken to profound sensations as unbridled as the storm which kept on raging on that night.

The storm unraveled into something which changed my life completely the same way he had been a force of nature himself. He was like the wind which blew formless; frenzied in intensity from mild pleasantry to torridly unpalatable. He pulled me towards him in aloofness. Yet he was like the breeze which pacified me into languid awareness; his warm breath against my skin was deeply soothing. Leaning against him, I had been thinking as I always had been; yet my thoughts were splinted into fragments of what was and what was not. I had felt so much that I could not possibly been thinking straight. All I knew was that he was going to be the undoing of me if I failed to see the wood for the trees.

Although I had borne witness to many storms after this, this one storm was one which I replayed on nights when the sudden saturated feeling of everything before and after grips me; it was as if the spark of life had re-entered me for the second time. It ignited me with a frenzy and a fervour so desirous that it must have come from the divine. My senses, bearing no volition of its own, become more acute than they ever were before. I remember the sequence of events that uneventful night vividly. It now unfurls before me and I see him again in my memories.

I had been so sure of my motives yet unable to hold back his effect on me. I had never been in such close proximity to a stranger before. Therefore I had been alert. Perhaps in spite of it, I was able to let myself go off-guard as I had thoroughly reasoned out that I had nothing more to lose. Not an ounce of professionalism or scrambling to adhere to what was considered proper behaviour. I justified my actions as a matter of urgency in the spur of the moment. I pacified myself that it was the time constraints which dictated my actions for I was due to leave the continent soon. My flight was in three days and if I wanted something in my life to change, it would have to be done now. No more procrastinations because I was afraid of the consequences of my actions yet mostly I had been afraid of his reaction.

I saw hailstones pelt through all sides of the pavilion hazardously and mercilessly. I was quite sure that we both had our fair share of nasty bruises. The roof of the pavilion initially afforded some protection by vertically shielding our heads. I thought that it must have been quite some miracle that throughout my travels here, I had been fortunate enough never to be caught in the middle of a hailstorm. Except today, when I had gone out of nature's course to engage him for a lie which we would both lead. It was perhaps a sign from above that this was going against all that I had stood for and if I possessed so much as a coherent thought, I had better turn back before it was too late.

It had been too late. Just then, the angle of the wind started to breach into our personal space. Thereupon hailstones hit us from all angles. The rain had ceased to matter when all I felt were the invasion of blunt and sharp fragments of hailstones on my body. Although I had tried my best to tolerate the numbing pain; it was not easy to keep still like that with pelting stones all over. My body winced and shook at the haphazard pelting. Every time I winced, I felt his arms move around my back tighter. He adjusted his movements to mirror mine.

"Do not be afraid." He said as he bent down, in barely a whisper into my ear.

His unusually large palms had started stroking my back, as if to comfort me but I was sure it had been more an attempt to keep me still in his grasp. I wondered how he felt and mostly I wondered if he was indeed afraid despite telling me not to be.

I was not sure what to do in this situation. The nearest building was at least a kilometer away, and that meant going through the oak tree lane and the narrow alleys before reaching the historic old town again. I was not even sure if there were street lights paving the straight path, but I took comfort in the fact that I knew it was straight so I need not have relied on sight but rather by instinct.

We were both fortunate that we had coats on. My face was buried in his chest and was spared most of the pelting but any fool would know that that the hailstones had hit his face much harder as he towered above me and because he shielded me in his iron-grip embrace. I had ceased to support myself on my wobbly legs. He took my weight against his body. Alas I thought I was stronger than that.

Abruptly and with enormous effort, I unlatched myself from his iron-grip; feeling a multitude of emotions. Perhaps he should not have shielded me. I had sworn to myself that I would never be a nuisance to anyone. Even the slightest inconvenience and reliance on others made me feel uneasy.

My sudden change of movement caused him to react swiftly. He roughly cupped my face with both his calloused palms. I shook in fear. Amber eyes dark against my brown ones, I stared at him; terrified.

"I'm not going to stand here like nothing has happened." He said, looking straight into my eyes and speaking a little louder now.

I was becoming a burden he did not want.

The sound of hailstones hitting all surfaces was too loud for normal conversation. It took a while for me to literally grasp his words. Still I could not comprehend what he meant by those words.

Was he talking about the storm or about me invading his personal space? Should I thank him for having shielded me from the hailstones?

I tried to say something but I could only manage a hushed yes. My voice had failed me. He observed me tentatively but he did not wait for my answer.

Instead I watched incredulously with my mouth agape as his fingers deftly unbuttoned his coat again. When he was done, he glared at me for a second. Hard amber eyes struck mine. His lips parted to say something but upon noticing my bewilderment, he decided against it, for in the swiftest of moves he calculatedly flung the coat over me.

My surroundings immediately became pitch black. Darkness and emptiness engulfed me. For a split-second, I panicked. Was this some form of assault? If this was an assault, perhaps it was just as well that I do not see what he was going to do to me. Ignorance was bliss.

I dared not breathe and make so much a movement as a wriggle under his coat. The next minute was an excruciatingly long one before he finally spoke; or rather yelled at me.

"Stay here while I try to break into this goddamned church." He yelled; pausing between breaths.

His breathing was unsteady and there was a tense notch in his voice.

Stay here, he said. So he must have needed me conscious and alive. He was not going to hurt me then, at least not until we broke into the goddamned church, in his own words. I hoped that if the all-encompassing God was listening, his not so subtle choice of words would be forgiven.

As my mind worked ninety to the dozen about what was happening, I suddenly understood what he was trying to do for me with his bulky coat. A heavy realization dawned upon me and my spirit, long dormant, awakened from its slumber. I felt touched.

The hailstones were no longer pelting my face and head. I had been sheltered even more, and he, even less.

I lifted the bulkiness of the coat which covered me; grabbing his calloused and scarred hands towards me.

"No, I want to help you break in." I yelled.

Yet I did not know what help I could provide. I hardly thought myself useful when it came to committing acts of vandalism but I did want to do something. It was justified by virtue of necessity, I told myself.

The amber and gold streaks in his eyes shone tenfold as he nodded. With his hand grasped in mine, he led the way and together we ran out of the pavilion. He made a quick grab of my long forgotten briefcase which was on the ground. Instantaneously it prompted me to remember his worn backpack, and I momentarily released my grasp on his to retrieve it from the bench. All throughout, his coat functioned as a sort of makeshift roof, protecting and shielding me from the hailstones.

When I turned towards him, I saw that he was already beckoning me towards to the ribbed vaults of the church. We ran together to one of the wooden side doors at the end of the long passageway. The huge uneven stone tiles were slippery with ice; causing us to trip over each other a few times. Fortunately we were able to hold each other up right up to the side doors.

Through my blurred vision, I saw that there was an old rusty lock on the high wooden doors. No windows; just doors. Handing over my briefcase to me, he pulled at the old lock with all the strength he could muster.

"I have a paperclip." I said.

My voice came out husky from the cold and the running. I shoved the bulky coat back into his arms.

I rummaged into my briefcase and found a metal paperclip right at the bottom. Because it was so dark, I was not able to see what I was doing. I went by feel as I straightened the clip. I nudged him aside and tried to pick the lock with the clip I had. While I was bending down with this task, I was aware that he shielded me with his coat because the hailstones barely hit me. I wondered at the amount of hailstones he had to endure and I tried to hurry up as much as I could. However it backfired as I grew more nervous by the second.

Finally the lock unlatched. I could not believe my eyes. Who knew that it would actually work? I was all about theory mostly and not practical applications. That was what professors do best. I was apt to justify myself based on my profession, overlooking the part my very own character played.

I stumbled forward as the wooden doors flung open. He caught me before I fell on all fours. In another situation, it might have been hilarious, but here we were both desperate for refuge from the storm.

He slammed the doors close. We were now in the church. Darkness crept in once again. I inhaled the muskiness of grey slabs of stones everywhere which constituted the church's structure. Perhaps the Archangel of the Church had let us in. I could not have been that good with my paperclip.

Sanctuary from the storm finally but not from each other. When I stood on both feet, he left me for a second. I heard a switch flick and instantaneously the huge ornate chandelier lit up. The whole church awoke to a subdued hue of flickering orange and grey. Warm orange from the artificial candle lights bounced upon the grey of the stone walls and flooring. The ceiling was a massive arch of biblical paintings of angels.

I heaved a sigh of relief. It was then we both looked at each other in understanding, or so I would think that was his expression. We were both soaked and bruised, and relieved to have sought refuge in the church, even if it meant breaking in. Our sense of morality was way off-tangent of law-abiding behaviour, I was quite sure of that.

It was so much warmer inside the church. The heating must have been set to a bare minimum but it was a great contrast to the freezing temperatures outside. Standing still, I barely looked at the intricate interior of the church. It was familiar sight and it had not changed in the past ten years except for restoration work which made the interior seem even more beautiful and newer every passing year. It was as though time moved backwards into the past.

The past; there was no escaping it, was there?

I fished out some on-the-go tissue packs from my briefcase and handed them to him. He wiped his face and hands dry. I watched him from the corner of my eyes while I progressed to do the same.

"Shall we make ourselves comfortable there?" He asked me.

His voice was not as ragged as it was, and he looked calmer; if not wholly calm. I nodded, pursing my lips into a tight smile. Nothing but the truth, I told myself. Easier for him; but mostly easier for the both of us.

He pointed not to the narrow pew benches, but to some wooden chairs at the corner of the north transept of the church. We walked to the front of the church, passing by the long nave. The stained glass murals of the Archangel Gabriel looming above the altar were strikingly haunting. There was something about the angel's eyes which did not quite look in place.

The chairs he mentioned were nondescriptly placed at the sides of the bricked walls, in a little cosy corner. This partially hidden corner looked warmer than the rest of the church and I wanted to believe that it was so.

"If someone were to come in, they would not find us so quickly." He said.

"I see." I said.

I wondered if the Archangel of the Church was watching us; at the same time I wondered if religion was all psychology. I could see the rationale in two opposing schools of thought. How confusing enough the basic beliefs of life were.

I took a chair by the wall while he pulled his chair directly opposite mine so that he could face me.

"Why do you seek me?" He asked.

Before I could answer, I sneezed and when I tried to cover it up, I started to cough idiotically.

"You have caught a cold." He said.

His voice was suddenly sharp. It caused an echo to reverberate through the church.

I shuddered and shook my head vehemently.

"I'm sensitive to changes in temperature. It causes me to sneeze." I said.

He did not look convinced. He got up from his seat and walked away from me.

"It's not infectious. It's only an allergy." I said, under my breath.

I did not feel good as I watched him walking to the chancel. He appeared to be rummaging for something at the choir section. Bending down with his back against me, I could not see what he was up to in the dimmed lighting.

When he finally turned towards me, I saw that he had bundles of plaids. He flung them to me as he took the seat opposite me.

"I am not to be blamed if something happens to you." He said, in a harsh voice.

I hurriedly bundled myself in the plaids, wary of his dark mood. I did feel substantially warmer with the dry material covering my body. I thought of asking him why he did not cover himself too and whether there were enough plaids to go round but I was afraid of those piercing eyes. Civil conversation had already failed me today. Therefore I disentangled a plaid from myself and proceeded to drape it around both his shoulders and torso like a long shawl.

He flinched at the slight contact of my trembling fingers on his shoulders. Nervously I had enveloped my arms around him with the plaid. I was aware of his piercing eyes scrutinizing my actions. I dared not look at him nor would I give him the satisfaction of seeing me in fear.

"Rule number one- if you can barely take care of yourself, do not play the role of a martyr and bother about others." He said.

His voice was hard.

"I do not understand you." I said.

His words were lost to me. I could not decipher if he was chastising me or if he was chastising himself for the burden I had become to him.

But I am just fine, and so are you." I said.

I now raised my eyes to look at him. It was strange but I sensed a barrier in his eyes and I could not read his countenance except that it was now unperturbedly civil.

Belatedly, I realized that my answer was as cryptic as his rule number one. I wondered if I subconsciously answered vaguely so that I did not appear the fool I probably was.

Because I had not been able to speak from my prepared script due to the unexpected sequence of events, I fumbled magnificently.

"I have no bad intentions." I started, hoping that it would be a good opening statement and desirous to show him my good faith.

He said nothing. The cool civil expression had now given way to a blankness on his face.

I remembered I had a name card somewhere in the pockets of my long black pants. I fished it out. It was crumpled and wet from the storm. Hardly proper but I had no other means of officially identifying myself. He took the card from my hands.

"It says here that you are a professor of literature from the University of ..." He blinked his eyes as he tried to pronounce the name of the foreign university.

It came out miserably pronounced but I did not correct him. Instead I nodded animatedly.

"I am here on the annual lecture series. I spend three months in Europe every year as a guest lecturer at eight different universities. I have been doing this for the past five years." I said.

He looked at the card again and eyed me politely.

"Professor, I think you have me mistaken for someone else." He said, in a low voice.

I shook my head.

"Do you even know my name?" He asked.

I looked at him. His face was worn and mysterious against the play of light from the huge chandelier. Did names matter so much when feelings were all that encompassed my entire being? No matter what I did in the name of rationalism, I had felt the excruciating shroud of emotions. Ultimately though I knew that actions spoke louder than words. It was the only guiding light which worked in real life.

He observed my quiet state.

"Do you know what I do?" He continued, in a softer voice.

He was goading me into answers, and the fact was I knew I had to speak more if I were to convince him.

"I know what you do not do. You stare aimlessly into empty space, watching people pass you by without really looking." I answered.

My answer caused him to stare at me with some powerful emotion.

"Still, have I not singled you out from the maddening crowd?" He retorted in a hard voice.

Amber eyes, devoid of gold hints stung mine now.

I lowered my gaze.

"So you did, but credit hardly goes to your observant eye." I said.

His lips curled up into a derisive smile.

"How so?" He asked.

"For starters, not many tourists from my country are quick and eager to come and experience your cold, miserable weather in the middle of nowhere. Naturally I do stand out like a sore thumb." I said.

My eyelashes flickered to the stone floor of the church. Grey parcels of stone slabs; some with chiseled inscription came into my view. They were grave inscriptions of saints of a very long time ago.

I had tried to blend in the sea of people. I thought I was a shadow; moving unobserved. I was wallflower everywhere I went. I was a plain, unobtrusive Jane living a plain, unobtrusive life. I had lived so very well.

But for the sake of defending myself against him for having observed the unobserved, I put up my defensive shield. My sense of self was threatened and this made me feel uncomfortable.

Because he was such a strange man, he had observed me.

"You might want to add that you are not very tall." He said, in a solemn voice.

His eyes immediately pranced into mine. I reacted immediately.

"Yes, and that too." I said, glaring at him.

People made fun at my height, and I had grown tired of it. It was not like I chose to be born short. In this goddamned continent, almost everyone was taller than I was anyway. Drat! I realized that I was utilizing his scurrilous god related word in this holy place. I bit my lips in frustration.

"So what you're basically saying is that you stand out like a sore thumb." He said, employing that cool voice again.