Other paintings are far later in the period, most notably a rendition of a white-haired King George the 3rd of England standing statuesque in golden robes.
There are sculptures as well, religious figures mostly, saints and angels. There are vases and porcelain flasks, mostly white, decorated with blue dragons, birds, and scrolling waves.
At the end of the hall there’s a painting I’ve never seen, but boasting a face I could never forget. It’s Aiden as a young boy, maybe ten or eleven, standing at the side of a man I assume is his father. The king sits on a red throne, his golden crown settled on a head of dark hair, he has a beard and mustache, impeccably groomed and betraying a hint of a smile, and wears a red sash across his torso. Behind the boys stands a slender woman, her eyes narrow, her neck long. She, too wears a golden crown, one hand draping on Aiden’s shoulder. She looks beautiful, but stern.
I try to imagine Aiden as a boy. Forced to stand for his painting for who knows how long, all the while just wanting to go outside and play. Even at that young age, his expression is stoic—resigned.
I remember being that age. My family’s house was a lot of things, but never stoic. It was always loud. Always messy. And always filled with love.
My heart breaks for him just a little.
From that room I move to the next, a large, mostly empty space with a few chairs around the edges of the room, a grand piano at its heart. Walking up to it I touch a key gently, and the sound it makes fills the room. I haven’t played in years—not since moving to the city—though it was something I’d been forced to learn as a child.
I continue wandering until the scent of baking cake wafts across my nose. Following the smell, I wind up outside the kitchen. There’s no guard, so I push one half of the double doors open gently.
“Hello?” I call.
“Shh,” a sharp voice comes from the back of the room. I follow it and see a dozen or so people in white aprons gathered around a small television set.
One of them turns, seeing me. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you need something?”
I shake my head, “Can I watch with you?”
“Shh,” the older woman says again, waving at us over her shoulder.
He bobs his head yes and I squeeze in beside him.
Liam is kneeling at the altar, a green robe around his shoulders, a golden palm frond on one hand, a sword in the other, crossing his chest.
The presiding bishop holds the crown in his hands, hovering it above Aiden’s head.
"God crown you with a crown of glory and righteousness, that having a right faith and manifold fruit of good works, you may obtain the crown of an everlasting kingdom by the gift of him whose kingdom endureth forever.”
“Amen,” the people around me whisper.
Laying the crown on his head, the bishop says a few more words, though I can’t quite make them out. Aiden stands, turning to the assembled guests.
“I present to you and to all nations the sovereign King of Onah-Napor, His Majesty King Aiden Alexander Saito Takahashi.”
The image quakes as cheers erupt through the church. Bells ring, echoing through the palace. Around me the kitchen staff cheer and clap.
“Alright, alright,” the older woman declares, switching off the television. “Back to work.”
Noticing me for the first time, she frowns. “Did you need something, dear?”
I shake my head, “No, I was just watching. Got bored of being alone in my room.”
“Ah, you must be Liam’s guest. Would you like something to eat?” she asks, motioning for me to follow her.
“Ah, I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“Not at all, not at all,” she says, flapping her hands. “What would you like? I have some pastries or a nice bowl of fruit?”
“Fruit would be wonderful, thank you.”
She opens one of the massive refrigerators and begins pulling our ingredients.
“Have you ever had a Hopa Fruit?” she asks, holding up a hand of what look like nuts.
“No,” I say. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.”
“Try one,” she says, holding them out to me.
Taking one, I roll it between my fingers. It doesn’t feel like a fruit, rather like a very small coconut.
“Like this,” she says, taking one for herself. She cracks it in the edge of the counter, exposing a soft center.
I do the same, peeling away the bark-like exterior until I have something larger than, but the consistency of, a grape.
“Be careful, it has a pit, like a cherry,” she warns, popping it in her mouth. Leaning over the sink, she spits the seed away.
I put it in my mouth and roll it with my tongue before biting down. The burst surprises me, sweet and bitter at the same time. I feel the pit and move it aside with my tongue so I can swallow the soft bits. Then I spit the seed into the sink.
“That’s so weird,” I marvel, taking another. “It’s like a bitter cherry and a grape had a baby.”
“They grow here only. In the mountains. When they get overripe and fall from the trees, the natives collect them and make wine. It’s very strong.”
“Wow, I’d like to try that sometime.”
She grins, “I’ll send some to your room tonight. Perhaps you will have a special occasion to drink it?” she winks at me and for a moment I think she’s talking about Aiden, but then I realize the truth. She thinks I’m here with Liam.
“Maybe,” I say, not pointing out the error of her assumption. “I’m Haven.”
She lays a hand on her chest, “Marta. I’m the head chef.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Marta.”
She just smiles and continues gutting fruit and tossing it into my bowl, dropping a few Hopa on top for good measure.
“Thank you so much,” I say when she hands it to me. “I will get out of your hair. I’m sure you’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”
“I do,” she grins. “But what a day it is.”
I make it back to my room before the entourage returns, forcing myself not to stare out the window like a deranged stalker.
When Liam finally comes in, I’m skimming over a book I grabbed from the library.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hey. How was it?”
He wipes his face with one hand. “Long. How was it here?”
I shrug, “Fine. Get changed so we can do.”
He holds up his hands, “Woah, slow down. Give a guy a second to relax, will ya?”
He moves through the room, stopping at the table in the corner. Picking up one of the Hopa shells, his head snaps up.
“Where did you get these?” he demands.
“Um, the kitchen? Marta gave them to me, why?”
His head lulls backward, “Jesus Christ.”
“Why?” I demand, now sure I’ve been poisoned.
“These are Hopa fruit. They’re…” he hesitates.
“If you say poisonous, I’m gonna freak out.”
“Aphrodisiacs.”
I sit back, closing my book. “Come again?”
“Pretty much,” he says, wagging his eyebrows. “Seriously, the natives used to use these in ritual orgies.”
I narrow my eyes, “Now you’re just fucking with me.”
“I’m definitely not.” He makes a move to walk toward the closet, but pauses in mid stem and rotates back to me. “Did you tell Marta you were with me?”
“Yeah, why?” then it hits me. “Oh.”
“Yeah. That woman has been trying to convince me to settle down and get married since I turned twenty. She thinks I’m a menace.”
“She’s not wrong,” I say.
“Fair enough. Still. How many did you eat?”
I frown, “I dunno. Six or seven?”
He whistles, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You didn’t want me,” I call after him as he walks into the closet, shutting the door.
“I told you not to say that.”
Rolling my eyes, I sit
back. I don’t feel any different. Certainly not…aroused.
“He’s just screwing around,” I tell myself, going back to my book.
A few minutes later the closet doors fly open, Liam rushes toward me, bounding over the back of the sofa. “You ready?”
“Ugh, finally. What were you doing in there, a fashion show?”
He gestures to himself, “Hey, this level of perfection takes time?”
I look him over, “Jeans and a t-shirt is perfection?”
“Uh, and the hair?”
“It literally looks like you just woke up.”
“Yeah, it’s sexy that way.”
“Whatever you say.” I hesitate, setting my book on the table. “Hey, how was he today?”
Liam turns somber, “Good, actually. He seemed calm.”
“Good. I watched a few minutes of it on tv. I didn’t expect it to be so…”
“Long?”
“Heavy. I guess the weight of it never really dawned on me before. It’s such an abstract thing, I don’t think a normal person could even imagine the stress. He reminded me of Atlas, holding the whole world on his shoulders.”
“If anyone can carry it, it’s Aiden.”
Liam walks me to the garage and requests a car. While we wait, I lean over to him, “Do you know everyone in the palace?”
“Most of them,” he decides. “Why?”
“There’s just so many people, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep everyone straight.”
“Well, you’ve got to remember, I grew up here. I’ve been around these people my entire life. You’ve been here less than a day.”
I sigh. “I suppose I’m just feeling like a fish out of water.”
“It gets better,” he promises.
“Does it?” I ask. “Really?”
He shifts, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “For people like us? Not really. But you learn how to breathe through it.”
The car pulls up, a tan compact sedan.
The valet tosses the keys at Liam, who thanks him and slips behind the wheel.
I slide into the passenger seat, buckling my belt.
“What do you want to see first?” he asks, speeding down the drive.
“Food,” I decide. “All that Hopa works up an appetite.”
He snickers. “You have no idea. But that sounds good. Food it is.”
We drive for several minutes along the winding costal road. The sky is clear, no hint of clouds, the water shimmering across the choppy surface. In the distance boats cut through the water with their tall sails billowing in the wind. When he finally veers off the main road, the tires spit gravel as we make our way up a hill to a tiki looking shack jutting out from the dense foliage. Parking in the small dirt lot, he kills the engine.
“Hope you like fish,” he says with a wink.
Though not quite a shack as I’d first thought, it’s rustic to say the least. The roof is the thatched palms held up by bamboo poles. The floor is dirt, though well compacted, and the benches are squished together creating a long row of seats along each side of a central bar. What I don’t see—or smell—is an oven of any kind.
The bartender is a cute blonde woman probably in her thirties wearing a floral sundress and a crown of flowers in her hair. Seeing Liam, she beams.
“Liam,” she rounds the bar to pull him into a hug. That’s when I notice the belly. She’s easily eight months pregnant—or has the absolute worst bear gut I’ve ever seen.
“How are you?” she asks, squeezing him tightly. Releasing him, she turns to me, not waiting for an answer before she continues, “And who is your lovely friend?”
“Hi,” I offer. “I’m Haven.”
“Well, welcome to Onah-Napor, Haven. I’m Delia, and this is my Oola,” she gestures around the room.
Liam leans over, “Oola means, like, restaurant. It literally translates to, to be well fed.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Delia.”
There’s only one other group of people in the Oola, two girthy men who look like they have been very well fed indeed.
One of them raises their hand in the air, “Delia, can we get another plate please?”
“No,” she shouts. “You’ve had enough. Go back to work.”
“They work for me,” she explains in hushed tones before raising her volume again on the last sentence. “They’re supposed to be fishing for me but they just sit here all day eating all my profits.”
“Slow day?” Liam asks as Delia leads us to a seat.
She shrugs, “It’s coronation day. We listened to it on the radio.” Placing a hand over her heart, she continues. “I felt like a proud mama. I wonder if he’ll still come in and see me now that he’s so big.”
“You know he will,” Liam says with a twinkle in his eyes. “And speaking of big,” he gestures to her belly. She slaps his hands.
“You never call a pregnant woman big,” she chastises. “We are radiant.”
“You are that,” he agrees. “When is he due?”
“Not soon enough,” she says. “Probably another month at least. Maybe more.”
“Is this your first?” I ask.
She waves, “Oh no. I have three others. I hear after three you don’t give birth anymore, they just walk out.”
I laugh and Liam makes a choking sound.
“And there goes my appetite,” he mutters.
“Sit, I’ll get you some plates,” she instructs, waddling back to the bar.
“I’d ask if you come here often, but I think I know the answer,” I say as we take seats across from each other.
“Yeah, Aiden and I used to come here all the time. It was sort of his sanctuary when things at the palace got a little overwhelming. This, this is quiet. Nobody out here ever made a big deal about him being the prince or treated him any different. Here, everyone’s family.”
“I’m sure that was nice for you too. To be able to be around him without feeling so overshadowed by his title.”
“It was, actually. Plus the food’s amazing. You know what they say about the way to a man’s heart.”
“That it’s quickest to go through the fourth and fifth rib?”
He snorts. “You scare me sometimes, Haven. I mean I like it. But you scare me.”
“Hey, a girls’ gotta know how to defend herself.”
“Like what you did to the guy in the bar the night we met?” he asks. “What was that?”
“Ju Jitsu. I took self-defense classes a couple years ago.”
“What made you decide to do that?” he presses.
I suck in a breath, releasing it slowly. “There’s only two reasons anyone learns self-defense. To keep bad things from happening, or to keep bad things from happening again.”
“And which are you?”
“The latter,” I say flatly. “And before you ask, no, I don’t want to talk about it.”
He holds up his hands, “Sorry. I really don’t mean to pry. I guess I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“I’m really not that complicated. Just a girl who makes questionable life choices.”
He leans forward, lowering his voice. “You’re a waitress who somehow managed to get the prince of a small country to fall madly in love with her in less than twenty-four hours.”
“Not a waitress anymore, actually. I got fired. So now I’m just unemployed. And in my defense, I didn’t know he was a prince at the time.”
He shakes his head, “You’re a goddamn unicorn, that’s what you are.”
“Maybe I should put that on my house crest,” I suggest. “The motto can be, we’re not real, just a figment of your imagination.”
“I like it. It’s catchy,” he quips just as Delia walks over with a plate in one hand and two pints of beer in the other.
Setting the food between us, she passes out the glasses.
“Please, sit with us,” I say, motioning for her to join.
“I have to go cut bait for the boys. But you just holler if you need anyth
ing. Help yourselves to more beer.”
“Thanks, Delia.”
Examining the plate, I see that it’s a bed of green leaves covered in neat rows of cut fish.
Raw, cut fish.
Reaching out, I pick up a pink slice of what I suspect will be salmon and take a bite. It’s cold and fresh and melts like butter on my tongue.
“Oh,” I moan. “That’s good.”
Liam selects a hunk of white meat and eats it in one bite, widening his eyes and nodding as he chews.
“Yeah?” I ask.
He nods again.
I take a slice and it’s almost dry, flakey in my mouth, with an almost bread-like flavor.
Exploring my way through the rainbow of fresh sashimi, I stop only long enough to wash a particular strong bite of eel down with a gulp of beer. Liam keeps up, bite for bite, drink for drink. When the food’s gone he gets up and refills our mugs from the tap before rejoining me at the table.
“That was amazing,” I say honestly.
“Most girls I know can’t work their way past the urchin,” he says, taking a drink.
“The urchin was the best part.”
“Or the blowfish.”
“That was a new one for me, but I liked it.”
“You do know it can be toxic if it’s not prepared correctly.”
“Liam, if drinking beer and eating sashimi is how I go, then that’s how I go. I’m fine with that. Tell my family I died doing what I loved,” I say dramatically. “Getting day drunk and eating toxic fish.”
He laughs and I join him. It feels good to laugh, like releasing a weight I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“I’ll put it on your tombstone.”
Sitting back, I take a drink. “Oh no, I’m not being buried.”
“No?”
“No. I’m thinking Viking funeral. Put me on a boat, float me off and shoot flaming arrows at me.”
“That’s very dramatic. Why not just buried? It’s certainly easier.”
Leaning forward, I whisper, “Can you keep a secret?”
He leans forward too. “Probably not.”
“I’m afraid of the dark.”
He sits back, “Whatever.”
“No, it’s true. I have this memory form when I was little. I think it was before my parents died. But I remember I was looking for something in their closet. The door swung shut on me and locked somehow. I don’t know where they were or what was happening, but I was too little to reach the light switch. Man, I clawed at the wall until my fingers bled. I remember screaming and screaming until I lost my voice. I don’t remember how I got out or how long it took. I just remember that it felt like forever.”
Once Upon A New York Minute: Part 1 Page 9
