Chapter Three
"Well, Mr. Dawson? Do you have any pages for me to look at?"
Stephen smiled as he heard the familiar voice of his mentor asking the familiar question that had opened many a dissertation meeting for five years of both their lives, and he made his way across the small airport lobby to where Barrett stood wearing one of his trademark brown suits and leaning on what he at first took to be a support cane. However, as he got closer, he realized that the cane's top was carved in the shape of a serpent's head and that a serpent's body coiled its way down the length of the shaft.
"Well, Dr. B., I think you're the one who has something for me this time."
"Indeed so. Come. I'll drive you to the hotel so you can check in, and then you and I will talk."
Stephen followed Barrett to his beat-up old pickup truck and soon, they were weaving in and out of a curious assortment of morning traffic on their way into town. There were donkey-carts, mopeds, bicycles and other pickups, as well as the ubiquitous sight of kerchief-sporting women walking to market with baskets of fruits and vegetables on their heads. Soon, however, these colourful curiosities decreased and the town proper came into view with its post-office, court house and marina, and overlooking the frothing waves of the great channel stood the Port French Leave Hotel.
After checking in for an indefinite stay, Stephen stowed his suitcase in his room, had a quick shower, and joined Barrett on the patio of the cafe.
"You look tired, Dawson. I've ordered you some coffee."
"Thanks, and thanks for the lift."
"The cabs in this town are death-machines and their drivers pride themselves on the stunts they perform." Barrett smiled broadly and it was then that Stephen noticed how thin his face had become. He had always had very angular features, but there was now a hollowing of the cheeks and a brightness in the black eyes that he didn't like.
"Still, it was good of you to make the trip, but what's with the cane? It's no mere drug-store purchase, that's for sure!"
"You'll learn about it in time I have no doubt," Barrett said, "but for now, all you need to know is that it's a prop for me. I'm getting old, Stephen, and all my years of sleeping in tents and strenuous hiking are catching up to me. But cheer up and stop staring! I'm not dead yet!"
"Alright then. You went to a lot of trouble to get me here, so now you need to tell me why!"
"I can't say much here, and indeed, there's not much for me to tell you anyway. In fact, I don't know anything specific at all."
Stephen wanted to get up and walk away right then, but he decided to give Barrett a piece of his mind before he left.
"I don't believe you! I spent several hours on planes and in uncomfortable airports, not to mention leaving my classes and my research on your insistence, and now you tell me that you have nothing to tell me? What kind of game are you playing?"
"Wait a minute," said Barrett calmly. "You were always too quick to jump to conclusions. I thought I had cured you of that habit. What I mean is that the person I want you to meet feels very strongly that the information you need to hear is for your ears only."
"Well, when do I meet this person?"
"I can't give you a specific time, but it'll be at night. I'll come to your hotel room and take you where we need to go."
"It's all a little bit cloak-and-daggerish, isn't it? Why all the secrecy?"
"Because that's the way this person wishes it. When you know more, you'll understand why."
"Well, what do I do in the meantime?"
"Enjoy yourself! Look around! Get some colour into that pale face of yours!"
"You're one to talk! You were always so tanned and sun-beaten. Now, well--"
"Well nothing. I just spend too much time at my desk pouring over notes for the new book I'm writing."
"You're still writing books? What's the topic?"
"Maljardin." Stephen dropped the fork he had been using to eat his eggs.
"What? You're really going to write about the garden of evil?"
"Well, it's a curious place. Did you know that up until three-hundred years ago there was a thriving native population on that island?"
"So? What of it? Wasn't it conquered three-hundred years ago by Europeans?"
"Yes, but so were other islands and the natives never left them. No, this island's different. It was conquered by an ancestor of the Desmonds as you know, and for some time the natives continued plying their trades and crafts. Then, all at once, they stopped fishing and weaving and began to die of mysterious illnesses, and soon there were none left, and none have ever lived there since. Now, strange plants grow where the huts once stood and strange legends have come down through the centuries. I intend to find out what happened."
"I think you intend to do more than that," said Stephen. "Why else did you ask me to bring my priest stuff with me?"
"You never know when it might be needed. You would have brought it anyway, wouldn't you?"
"Well, I'm not so sure about that. Sometimes I think that it's all useless. I could be married by now if I weren't a priest, you know."
"Well, marriage isn't all that it's cracked up to be. I should know. I tried it three times and failed each time."
"The call of the jungle was just too strong?"
"Something like that, I suppose. At any rate, you should be privileged to hold the rank you do."
"It seems to mean less and less over time, but I know what you mean."
"Well, perhaps you'll find refreshment in this land of golden sunsets and moonlit nights."
"Right now, it seems to be a land of suddenly-occurring storms!"
"Yes. The trade winds do bring the storms upon us." As Barrett spoke, the clouds that had rolled in during their conversation spawned a loud clap of thunder, and the two of them managed to move to an indoor table just as the rain began to fall.
"Well, Dr. Barrett! Fancy meeting you here!" Stephen watched as a smartly-dressed woman with long red hair neatly-combed came purposefully across the room toward their table.
"Miss O'Dell! Are you here to ask me more about our mutual obsession?"
"No, I think you made it clear the last time we met that you weren't going to tell me anything more."
"Ah, so he's secretive with you too?" Stephen hadn't meant to interrupt, but the woman's lilting Ulster accent and piercing green eyes had captivated him.
"And you would be?"
"Ah. Where are my manners? Miss Kathleen O'Dell, allow me to present Stephen Dawson, a former student of mine and a good friend."
"Pleased to meet you, Miss O'Dell."
"Please! Only Dr. Barrett calls me that. I'm Kathleen, or just plain Kat if you prefer."
"So you're interested in Maljardin then?"
"I don't know if interested is the right word," said Kathleen, "but I'm researching it for my boss."
"What could anyone in the business world want with that island?"
"It depends who you're talking about," said Barrett, exchanging a conspiratorial smile with Kathleen. "Her boss is--"
"looking for her prodigal assistant." Stephen turned to see who had just spoken, and for a moment, it was as though he were looking at the cover of one of those who's-who magazines at the supermarket checkout counter, for there, in all her glory, was none other than Miss Julia Desmond, wealthy business-woman and land-owner.
"We really should be leaving if we want to catch that plane!"
"Of course, Miss Desmond. I'm sorry."
"You're leaving us then, Miss O'Dell?" Barrett looked genuinely saddened by the idea.
"No no," said Miss Desmond. "We're catching a sea-plane which Kathleen says will get us to Maljardin. In this storm, I don't know if it will take off."
"Oh, it'll blow itself out in ten minutes," said Barrett. "Never fear."
As it turned out, Barrett was absolutely right about the storm, and Stephen soon watched the two women as they fairly sprinted for the marina and their waiting sea-plane.
"How do you know Miss O'Dell?" Stephen gave Barrett a sly smile. "Don't tell me that you've found an Irish lassie to love away down here in the land of rum and romance!"
"Don't be absurd! She was directed to me by some of the locals as a source of information on her employer's family and their relationship to Maljardin. That, my friend, is all. She's very intelligent and has a slightly poetic turn of mind which intrigues me. Still, I don't envy her the task in which she's currently engaged."
"And what is that?"
"She is playing, if truth be told, garbage collector. La Julia is going to build a hotel on Maljardin, and it's Miss O'Dell's job to make sure that no skeletons which may be lurking secretly in the Desmond family closet come to light and ruin the hotel's reputation."
"Are there such skeletons? I mean, I know that the conquering ancestor was a pirate, but nowadays a fact like that would only add to the romance of the place."
"Well, leaving aside the mysterious fire which took place shortly after your uncle and others ended up at the Desmond chateau, there are other stories."
"So Miss O'Dell is supposed to find these unsanitary little tidbits and then conveniently cover them up?"
"That is her job as I understand it. Still, some legends just refuse to die." Barrett's voice suddenly trailed off and Stephen watched in fascination as he stared fixedly out the window to where a cliff-crowned island could be seen in the thinning shreds of cloud which were rapidly blowing away in a fresh south wind.
"Is that the island there?"
"Yes indeed," said Barrett, coming back to himself as though waking from an impromptu doze, "and after years of being completely uninhabited, a Desmond has again come back to reside upon it. One can only wonder what will come from all the digging both literal and figurative going on there. Perhaps something that was better left to rest will be disturbed."
"Are you alright?" Stephen was alarmed by Barrett's strange talk and the way that his black eyes were becoming unfocused.
"I'm sorry, Stephen. Don't mind my talk. I find myself going off on strange tangents lately."
Still, Stephen felt that Barrett was being evasive. He had traveled on spiritual paths that few others in the world had trod, pushing himself to the very limits of his mental and bodily strength, and Stephen found himself wondering if he had finally reached the end of his journey.
"Well," he said finally, "I suppose I shouldn't keep you any longer from your painstaking work."
"Nonsense," said Barrett, now fully in possession of himself again. "I think you can help me! I have a lot of notes which need cataloguing. Could you come round to my bungalow and help me out?"
"Not today! I haven't slept since I left the university!"
"Of course! I should have thought. In that case, it is I who should not keep you longer. I'll give you a few days to rest, and perhaps the next time I see you will be when we take the road to find the answers you seek."
The two men parted with the usual pleasantries, and Stephen watched Barrett pay the bill and make his way to his truck. Once the truck was out of sight around a corner, he exited the cafe and climbed the stairs to his room. There, he attempted to unpack but suddenly felt the energy draining from him, and before long, he had no choice but to collapse gratefully on the bed and fall deeply into a dreamless sleep.
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