A Gothic Lesson in Love

by Curtis Bennett

  “Ahhh, now that’s an answer worth noting and appreciating,” he said, his voice resonating, his face poised just inches from hers. “It is a response any philosopher would take to heart; even welcome with a smile for the world of knowledge and wisdom is what motivates them as well Irene. So, allow me to give you my answer. Yes, I will teach you. Now, follow me.”

  Irene followed the professor, more out of curiosity than blind obedience. The situation she found herself in was peculiar and her interest was piqued. She wanted to know exactly who the professor was, where he had come from, and why his face was cloaked in a mesh of silver. Whatever the transgression, it must have been dire, perhaps even hideous, she reasoned to warrant such a reclusive life and ungodly punishment.

  Tagging along, she glared at the back of his hooded form as he led her through the kitchen and out the back door and into the most beautiful and enchanting garden that she had ever saw basking under a bright morning sun. Unlike the drab and haunting frontal acreage, the property behind the cottage was rich with colorful summer blossoms, orchids, bright wildflowers, and trees. His wonderland encompassed at least fifteen acres. Beyond this in the distance stood majestic and grand, rocky peaks, some capped in white. This was a view she had not seen on her prior visits.

  Once in the light of day, she could see two openings from which two olive green eyes peered through and a small dark fabric which covered the area of his mouth, no doubt there so that he could eat through the mesh covering. He appeared content to wear his hood continuously, that is, whenever she was around. And for the first time, she noticed that he wore dark gloves, as well.

  Standing at his side, the two took in the splendor of a well-cared for garden which was home to a variety of plants and colorful blossoms, as well as the running brook that snaked its way through tall shaded trees and lush green foliage. The various fragrances from the summer blossoms invaded her sense of smell in a way that was intoxicating. Looking to her right, she could make out small and medium size fish swimming downstream and crawfish feeding off of algae covered pebbles in the shallower parts of the stream. Large mushrooms were evident in some areas.

  Up above, in tall pines, cypress, cedar, maple, and oak trees; robins and cardinals and blue jays and bluebirds perched and chirped loudly, as if in a chorus. Several others had gathered at two separate feeding stations. Another two stood atop a birdbath full of rainwater, sipping, then looking about, then sipping again. If that wasn’t enough, two rare Peregrine falcons swooped by low.

  At the base of one tree sat a Chinese Water Dragon. The Iguana looking reptile was nearly three feet long. Irene spotted two more resting near the streamlet. Turning, she looked towards the professor, waiting anxiously for him to begin her lesson.

  It had been nearly eight years since he last served as a tutor. He usually gave music lessons but this was a unique client who employed the services of both of the professor’s disciplines, music and philosophy. His charge was two unscrupulous, spoiled and pampered, teenage cousins who disdained music and could care less about philosophy. And now he found himself about to plunge into the private tutor role again. Though his last commission ended in controversy and had left him bitter and against ever teaching again, the years had soften his heart and had alleviated most of the pain and anguish he had suffered as a result of what happened and what haunted him back then. As the saying goes, time will soften even the most hardened of hearts. But all of that was behind him now, or at least he had convinced himself that it was.

  Just the same, there was something about this young American that moved him to the point he not only wanted to help her, but felt compelled to. There was something about her sweet innocence and her rare honesty. Even more than that, there was something about her plead, her desperate cry for help the day before. And there she stood beside him, ready to absorb all that he had to share with her. One must not keep a young curious mind waiting, he quipped to himself.

  “What do you see out there, Irene?” he asked, without turning his gaze away from the garden.

  “I see beauty and the magnificence of what only nature could offer mankind,” she answered, staring ahead, as well.

  “I’m impressed,” the professor replied, tilting his head towards her.

  Irene smiled.

  “I’ll add on to that, if I may,” he said. “I see beauty and magnificence, as well, and all that is good and just. But I also see art; and geometry and science. I also see poetry and dance out there. And I can hear the song of the wild, as well. I see law and order in all that I am a witness to. Most of all, I see harmony and those things associated with love in play.”

  “Yes, everything appears harmonious out here,” Irene said, taking in as much of the beautiful garden as possible with her eyes.

  “Not just harmony in appearance but harmony in the type of soil; whether it should be acidic or alkaline in nature, the amount of water needed, and the amount of shade and sunlight that’s needed. All must be in complete harmony for any plant or tree out here to thrive.”

  “I see,” Irene said. “And I see how this could relate to life, as well.”

  “Remember, harmony and love is the key to living a balanced and happy and just life.”

  “I will make a mental note of your astute observation, professor,” she replied as she brushed a strand of hair aside from her eye.

  “Ooh, if only I had more time, Irene. Being a philosopher, I’d love to dwell into the arena of ideas and metaphysics with you, as well as matters of an empirical and political nature,” he said, as his obsidian gaze lingered over the garden. “But we’re here for matters of the heart and things esoteric in nature.”

  Amused, he watched as she pulled out a notebook and pen and jotted something down.

  She glanced upward at him and said, “I am allowed to take notes, am I not?”

  “By all means,” he answered with a nod. “And while we are on the subject of what is and what is not allowed, know above all things, we will remain respectful and courteous of one the other. You may disagree with me, which is quite all right, but be prepared to express your disagreement with brevity. Your responses must also be factual and logical in context. We will not bore ourselves with opinions and suppositions. Ours is a search for knowledge and enlightenment. As for questions about me, know that I am a very private man. Some may call me an enigma. No harm though, since I already consider myself one and probably will remain one. So, do not bother to inquire about my private life. Understood?”

  “Yes, I understand professor,” she answered, still jotting away.

  “Any questions of your own?”

  “Once we begin my lessons, will you remain patient with me if I am unable to keep up with you? I mean, I had philosophy in high school and in college but because I fell ill and missed a few sessions towards the end of the semester, I barely got out of that class with an ‘A-‘. I was slightly disappointed because I love philosophy and I was a solid straight A student as well.”

  “You’ll do just fine, Irene,” he assured her. “Besides, today’s lesson has already begun. The garden you see before you is the lab that holds almost all of the answers you have about life and love, as well as virtue and all that is just and good.”

  “Here?” Irene quipped, her gaze fused with his. For a split second, she thought she saw his eyes soften, a tall-tale sign when one’s smile crinkles one’s stern features, even behind a veil. It was a brief but powerful connection.

  “Yes, here,” he said firmly, walking away.

  She placed the small notepad in her back pocket and followed him into the garden. The two stopped beside a large pile of mulch and an empty wheelbarrow.

  “I am glad you remembered to wear an old pair of shoes,” he said, grabbing one of two shovels and lifting a generous amount of mulch into the wheelbarrow.

  “I’m glad I wore them, too,” she beamed.

  Handing her the shovel, he said, “Please do me the honor of filling the remainder of the wheelbarrow with mulch. We’re
going to replace whatever mulch the storm blew away that I had around my avenue of young dogwoods I planted under a year ago. Mulch helps to keep the ground around the trees moist and nourished, you know, especially in the hot summer sun.”

  Without complaint, she filled the wheelbarrow with mulch.

  “We have a couple of mature dogwood trees on our property back home,” she said as she lifted the wheelbarrow with both hands. “What color variety are your dogwoods? Pink or white or red?”

  “When it comes to the tri-color Cornus species, I prefer the combination of pink and white,” he answered as he grabbed his cane.

  “God, I’d love to see them in full bloom,” she said as she tagged along with him along the gravel path until they arrived at sixteen young and evenly spaced dogwood trees, eight on either side of the walkway. As she set the wheelbarrow down several imported hummingbirds buzzed by her, some stopping in mid-flight, then whirling off again.

  “You take this side and I’ll take the other side,” he said as he propped his cane against a nearby oak.

  She handed him a shovel and took one for herself.

  “Would you say that the people around you, and I’m talking family and friends, are virtuous in nature?” he asked.

  “It depends on what your meaning of virtuous is,” she replied, heaving a shovel full of mulch at the base of one of the dogwoods.

  “Would you agree that virtue is best explained as one who displays good moral character and integrity?”

  Pausing, with one hand resting on her hip, she said, “I would have no problem with that assumption.”

  “Ahh, no opinions and no assumptions, only facts I provide for you,” he reminded her.

  “Then I must say that I am in agreement with your definition,” she said with a broad smile.

  “And in what way or manner do you agree with my definition?” he asked as he tossed another shovel full of mulch towards the dogwood before him.

  “Well, I consider my mother a virtuous woman and my younger sister Margo is virtuous and so are all of my friends.”

  “All of them?” he asked incredulously.

  “Maybe not all of them but they’re pretty close.”

  “And your aunt, here in England…is she a virtuous woman?”

  “I would say that she is more worldly than virtuous.”

  “In what manner or way?”

  “My aunt knows a lot about life and men and love and sex,” she replied. “And in ways that might not sit well with the Roman Catholic Church.”

  “Then why did you come to me if she is such an expert in these matters?”

  “She is always on the go,” Irene explained. “And my aunt is still as crazy about men as she was before she got married.”

  “I gather she is no longer married.”

  “Divorced…twice.”

  “Perhaps she could teach you a thing or two having had such experience to reflect on.”

  “I would say so,” Irene chuckled, moving onto the next tree.

  “And your mother, she is not as interested in other men.”

  “Not before or since my father’s untimely death,” she answered, pausing to wipe her forehead with a small towel that hung from her back pocket. “She devoted her time and energy into raising me and my sister so that we could be better prepared for life than most of the friends we grew up with.”

  “You and your friends ever get into any trouble?”

  “Not really,” she replied. “But we did pull a few pranks when I was in junior high school.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, one night a few friends of mine, and me, gathered outside of a local store, one that kept a pile of honey melons and watermelons and cantaloupes stacked outside of the store all night. We came up with the idea of rearranging them on the other side of the store so that when the store owner drove up the following morning, he would have to wonder if he was going out of his mind,” she said. “We did that for three days straight before he figured out it was a prank. That’s about as bad as it gets with me and my friends.”

  “I see,” he murmured as he watched her dab at her moist forehead with the edge of the towel a third time. “Care for something cool to drink?”

  “Are we scheduled for a break at this time, professor?” she asked.

  “As soon as we finish putting mulch on the next couple of trees,” he answered.

  “Then I’ll wait until we finish,” she replied spiritedly.

  Before the professor could respond, there was a sudden and loud thud, as if something had fallen, in addition to hushed chatter coming from the far side of the cottage. It was barely audible but the professor felt it significant enough to stop what they were doing and investigate. Setting her shovel aside, Irene followed him.

  Chapter 6

  Rounding the corner of the cottage, the professor stopped abruptly. He could barely make out three youthful figures making their way frantically around the tall thick brush at the bend in the walkway and towards the front of the property and onto the public road. They disappeared from view seconds after he spotted them. Still panting, he looked to his left and then to his right. His eyes singled out a concrete birdbath that had been tipped over. Fortunately, it had fallen on soft dirt and had not been broken. One of the youths must have overturned it accidentally, he concluded.

  “Blimey young runts,” he said angrily as he walked over to the birdbath and returned the top section back to its rightful place on the pedestal, then added, “This is the third time this month that bloody bunch has trespassed on my property.”

  “What do they want? What could they be after?” Irene asked, walking towards him.

  “Adventure and excitement…mischief even, that’s what they’re after,” he answered, his back towards her, his gloves off, as he used a nearby water hose to wash the dirt from his hands. He dried them with a clean cloth he carried with him.

  “Do you think they mean you any harm?”

  “Naah, I don’t think so,” he replied, tossing the cloth aside and putting the gloves back on. He faced her.

  “I’d have to say that they are surely lacking in character and good judgment.”

  “I cannot agree with you more,” he uttered.

  “Well, I believe we have work that needs to be completed,” she said, turning to lead the way.

  The professor glanced at her sideways but said nothing. Content with her on point, the two returned to their laborious task at the Avenue of Dogwoods.

  By midday the two gathered around the faucet at the rear of the cottage to wash their hands under the shade of several tall callery pear trees. A bar of soap sat on a tray next to the faucet. He waited quietly as she washed and dried her hands. She assumed that he would wash his hands as well, but he did not. His hands remained gloved. Odd, she thought. Very odd.

  Afterwards, he led her into the house and into the dimly lit kitchen where a wooden table was set for one.

  “Boy, something smells really good in here,” she said looking around.

  The professor motioned for her to take a seat then he left the room and entered an adjoining bathroom. She heard the faucet running and was certain that he had gone there to wash his hands. When he returned, he was wearing a clean pair of black cotton gloves. She wondered if he had serious burns on his hands or if they were deformed in any way. Her imagination conjured up all sorts of things that might have happened to him.

  Going over to the refrigerator, he withdrew two plates. It was one of those refrigerators with the round condenser coils on the top. He sat the plates on the table and returned to the refrigerator to take out a bottle of grape juice.

  “I took the liberty this morning of preparing two sandwich fixings,” he began. “One is a chicken salad and the other corn-beef with Swiss cheese. I can toast your bread and heat up the corn beef and put sauerkraut and Hollandaise sauce on it, if you want a Reuben Rye sandwich. You pick which one you want and I’ll eat the other. If neither suits you, I will prepare something else for
you.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary,” she replied, wondering why he wore his hood inside. “I’ll have the chicken salad on toast, if I may.”

  “Good,” he said, setting the plate with the chicken salad on it in front of where she sat at the table before putting two slices of bread in the toaster.

  Returning to the refrigerator he pulled out a large bowl of Caesar salad and sat it down on the table. He handed her a wooden salad bowl and offered her some bacon bits and freshly toasted crotons in smaller bowls.

  She accepted with a courteous smile.

  “There’s a pot of vegetable soup simmering on the stove if you care for some,” he said, picking up his sandwich plate and a bowl of salad. “Your toast should be ready in another minute. If you want something other than grape juice, there’s orange juice and freshly squeezed lemonade in the refrigerator. Mildred, my housekeeper, made it yesterday evening before leaving.” On that note he departed the room with his food.

  Irene stared at the place she last saw him, debating whether to follow him. She knew he was entitled to his privacy, but there was so much she wanted to know and learn about him. She wanted to know the reason why he was resigned to living with his face and hands obscured from view and how he could sustain himself without any obvious means of income.

  After eating her sandwich, she took a sip of chilled grape juice then rose from her chair and walked out of the kitchen to the place where she was certain to find him. But he was not there. Must have gone to his study, she surmised. She returned to the kitchen table to ponder her thoughts a while longer, thoughts that continued to intrigue her.

  Having retreated to his upstairs study to eat in private, the professor was pleased at what he had seen in Irene that morning. She was sincere and quite spirited and most of all was not a complainer. And she was also punctual. Hearing the sound of a car’s engine, he stood up and walked over to the dormer window and peered out of it. It was Mildred Baines, his part time housekeeper reporting to work. After she got out of the vehicle, he watched her reached inside and pulled out two large bags. The cab pulled off. The professor entertained a thought then returned to his chair to complete his lunch.