The Summer We Said Goodbye [Installment 6]

The Elephant

Our flight had touched down at Heathrow at dawn putting us into Windy Hollow by mid-morning. It was presently early evening, and Vic was just now showing us to the staff quarters. The three of us trudged in a persistent drizzle to a cottage behind the hotel, loaded down with our luggage.

Just inside the front door was a small bathroom, a “loo,” as Vic called it, or “toilet” because that’s what it was, a room with a toilet. 

It was funny to hear Vic call it a toilet. Back home, we have so many other names for it — pot, throne, bowl, porcelain god — that toilet sounds almost dirty. But toilet it was, and I couldn’t argue with that. 

Just beyond was a sink with a mirror and a tub in the corner behind a plastic curtain. No head for a shower, though.

Besides the toilet, everything was out in the open, shared by the staff bunking in rooms off a hallway running down the middle. Half-used soaps, toothpastes, and shampoos lined a shelf along the wall.

Vic guided us up a staircase, growing visibly excited as he presented a converted attic. 

“Voila!” he said, waving us in.

The eaves sloped up steeply from the edges, and I hit my head climbing the final step.

“My, you are a tall chap,” he mused while furtively guiding a bucket under a ceiling drip with his big toe.

There was a rustic charm to it. Dormer windows on either side provided views of the hotel garden and fields beyond.

But it was just the one room with a solitary bed looming like a stalking elephant. Was it a twin, a queen? It didn't look like a twin, but it wasn’t wide enough for a queen, either. Definitely not a king. 

“I reckon you’ll be snug as two bugs.”

“It’s perfect,” gushed Aris. “Thank you for making everything possible, Vic.”

Perfect? 

This was unexpected. Did he expect us to sleep together? Did she? Was no one going to mention the elephant?

Apparently not, because Vic headed for the stairs.

“Well, I’ll let you two get to it. Thanks again for pitching in today. Just splendid!  Now, you’re both on for lunch and dinner tomorrow. And Matty has Cosmo scheduled for Lates, though we’ll have to look into that. So, say, 11:00 in the pub for a quick run-through? Otherwise, brekkie’s in the kitchen whenever you fancy. But feel free to have a lie-in, it being your first day ‘on the farm’ and all,’' he winked, intoning the last bit with an eye-rolling American Southern accent. 

Aris tittered obligatorily. My smile was thin and delayed as I was still processing the sleeping arrangements.

“Cheerio, ciao, y’all come back now and all that!” He prattled on as he made his way down the stairs.

I followed Vic out to grab the last of Aris’ luggage. My lot amounted to a duffle bag and backpack. Her collection littered the floor. 

She was already unpacking by the time I got back, so I set her final two bags with the others and surveyed the room.

Other than the bed, the only places to sit were the window wells. I made my way to the one facing the Windy Arms and collapsed. 

Aris' luggage was a genuine feat of organizational infrastructure. 

One piece was nothing but shoes, a cube split down the middle, each half a tidy honeycomb of pumps, sandals, and flats.

A hatbox lay at my feet. I took turns modeling the enclosed headgear. 

“Oh, definitely that one,” she giggled, choosing a floppy straw number with a pink ribbon as her favorite for me. 

I fished my clock radio out of my duffle. T-Minus had never failed me, rousing me for pre-dawn swimming practices throughout high school, which had turned into rowing workouts when I joined the college team. So T-Minus went with me everywhere, and I uncoiled his cord with due respect. 

“That one, over there,” Aris said, pointing to a small footlocker by the bed.

I lifted its lid to a trove of electrical adaptors and pulled out a female-to-male that matched T-Minus’ American prongs to the wall’s British socket and plugged him in. 

“Voila!” I said, imitating Vic.

“BzzzzT,” T-Minus flashed on, brightly at first. Then, “ZAP!”

Sparks shot out from the socket. T-Minus rattled, fizzled, then faded to black. 

Aris shook her head. “That’s only an adapter, dummy. You need a voltage converter, too.” 

She tossed me a heavy block chocked full of holes of various sizes. 

I stared at the smoky wisps scarring the wall around the outlet where T-Minus had just made his final stand. Such an ignominious end for so reliable a friend.

I tore the murderous adapter from him and chucked it in the bucket. 

Aris could sense, if not quite understand, my loss and threw me a pillow. 

By now, she had the entire elephant shrouded in her wardrobe, so sleep was out of the question. Yet sleep was all I could think of.

I flipped off my shoes and curled into the window well, clutching T-Minus to my chest. The Windy Arms dining room was visible across the way, and I could make out figures moving about in between the raindrops trickling down the panes.

The chap who had saved me earlier was there.

He balanced a large ceramic platter on one outstretched arm while serving with the other. 

He’d present the dish to the guests, giving them time to admire its offerings, then deliver their selections using two large serving spoons like chopsticks.

It was a mesmerizing dance as he glided from table to table, not once dropping a morsel.

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