THE WINDSCREEN WIPERS fought valiantly against the driving rain as the car sped through the lush green countryside. The fan heater, its hot air pungent and comforting, provided the interior with a cosy sanctuary from the elements outside. Lechaim drove automatically, oblivious to the short sharp shower beyond the windscreen as his mind sought answers. What did the letter mean and what were its implications? Was it just a coincidence, his dream being the same as his mother's? Could such coincidences occur? Should he heed what his mother had written or disregard it? It was all so unreal, so fantastic, so unbelievable.
It took less than an hour for him to arrive at the entrance to the lane down which he had been carried weeks before. However, when he did arrive lost in thought, he almost missed it. The battered wooden road sign being strangled by thickets off to the right didn't help. Only the lettering 'TARTH' remained on it but it was enough to tell him that he had located Clontarth Lane where the Cronins lived.
Turning down the lane, he quickly spotted a row of terraced houses off to the left. Then he saw it, the number “five” displayed crookedly on one of the pebbledash facades. Pulling up before the double-storied home, he sat surveying it for some seconds before he switched off the engine and got out. As he walked towards the house, he observed a movement at the curtains of an upstairs window. Strolling up the path to the heavy front door, he knew someone was watching him from above. The buzzer was loud and shrill as it echoed in the hallway beyond. Waiting there, he looked around and noted his surroundings. The falling rain had eased to a persistent drizzle, and the lane and its island of homes seemed, all at once, drab and bleak.
Sinead had seen him coming from her bedroom window. In fact, she had been waiting there for some time to witness his arrival. She studied him closely as he got out of the car and walked up the path to the front door. The sound of the buzzer stirred her into action and she skipped down the stairs in eager anticipation.
“Sinead, for goodness sake!” Maureen gently admonished as she and Sinead nearly collided in the hallway. Sinead gave a nervous little laugh as she apologised, “Sorry, mum!”
“Well, answer the door then!” Maureen said.
“No, you do it mum!” and before her mother could protest, Sinead had disappeared into the kitchen.
“Well, I never!” Maureen declared and started down the passage. “What's coming over the girl?”
Just as Lechaim had begun to wonder whether this had been such a good idea, he heard movement behind the solid timber. The door swung open and a middle-aged, attractive, plumpish woman with dark hair streaked with minute strands of grey, held in a bun at the back, appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Cronin?” he inquired.
She didn't answer his question immediately but stood looking at him for a time.
“Captain Lewis?” she asked uncertainly. This handsome young man with his closely cropped head of blond hair now confronting her looked so different from the one that had been carried into her kitchen that night. His height, however, gave him away.
“Yes, I'm Captain Lewis” he replied. “I phoned earlier.”
“Please come in, Captain. My husband is expecting you” she said warmly and showed him through the narrow hallway to the back of the house.
The house was much larger than its outside appearance had let him to believe. The bedrooms being above, the ground floor consisted of a large front room, a parlour at the rear, and a kitchen adjoining the parlour in which, judging from the smell, something quite delicious was cooking. It was the kitchen into which he was now ushered, where he found a ruddy, short, red-headed man, stocky in build waiting to greet him with hand outstretched.
“Welcome, Captain, Shaun Cronin!”
Lechaim gripped Shaun's hand and tried to recall the man but could not. “Mr. Cronin. I'm very pleased to meet you at long last. “All of you!” he declared turning his eyes to the girl and her mother. As his eyes met the girl's, he found himself bewitched by her. Her features were finely chiselled in soft delicate skin and her hair was a flaming Irish red like her father's but softer in texture, with green eyes, sensual, and inviting.
“Hello!” she said shyly in a voice, lilting, delightful, melodious, and very Emerald Isle.
“Shaun! Call me Shaun!” he heard Shaun say. “This is my daughter, Sinead, and this” he announced gesturing to the woman that had greeted Lechaim at the door, “is Maureen, my wife!” Shaun then waved him over to the kitchen table that had been set for a meal. “Have you eaten Captain?” he inquired.
Lechaim immediately sensed the warmth in this family as he answered. “No, I haven't. I was going to grab something to eat when I leave here.”
“You'll do no such thing” Maureen interjected. “We're just about to eat. You're very welcome to eat with us, Captain - nothing fancy mind!”
Shaun smiled to himself when he heard her words. She had been fussing all afternoon to make the place tidy and prepare a meal for their visitor.
“That's very kind of you, Mrs Cronin” he said.
“Maureen!” she insisted.
“Okay, Maureen! My name’s Le CHIME!”
“That’s a most peculiar name!” she replied. “Where does it come from?”
He thought for a moment before responding, “I have no idea!” and he was being totally honest when he said it. In truth, he had never really given much thought to his name before, but he did seem to have a rather unique name now that she mentioned it.
“Sit down! Sit down, Lechaim!” Shaun urged and Lechaim duly sat down on the chair that Shaun had pulled out for him at the table.
“I really do want to thank you all for helping me that night!” he said when he was seated. His eyes met the girl's once more as he spoke and they lingered there until she glanced away self-consciously.
Shaun felt a trifle embarrassed by the captain's words. They had only done what any Christian family would have done. Still, it was nice of him to say it. Looking at the soldier, who, thank God, was not in uniform, Shaun found it hard to believe that it was the same man they had carried in that night. There was something altogether different about him now. Masking his embarrassment, Shaun replied, “We were glad to help. How are you feeling now?”
“They tell me I am well enough. Everything appears to be healing although I still look a little grotesque” he joked as he ran his fingers along the welt on his cheek and rubbed a hand over his cropped head.
Hardly that, Sinead thought as she stared at this blond Adonis with the bluest and most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. The wound to his cheek was just a scar now and it did not distract in any way from his good looks.
“I can’t remember anything about that night, I’m afraid!” Then, turning to Sinead, he asked, “Were you here that night?”
It was Shaun that laughingly responded, “It was Sinead that pronounced you dead. It gave us quite a turn when you came back to life, I can tell you!”
Sinead reddened under his gaze. “Dah!” she exclaimed throwing her father daggers with her eyes. Hastily, she sought to change the subject. “When do you expect to return to duty, Captain?” She did not feel comfortable enough yet to call him Lechaim.
“Lechaim!” he reminded her. “In about seven or eight weeks, all being well. I'm returning to England to stay with my mother. I’ll spend Christmas there and then” he paused for a moment, “and then back to the grindstone.” He had deliberately avoided any mention of his returning to duty as he suspected that anything to do with the British Army was abhorrent to them.
Maureen liked the man very much, she decided as she listened to him talking. He had obviously been well educated but didn't appear awkward or affected in their company. Fussing over her cooking on the stove, she was struck by the power the man seemed to emanate. His very presence made her pulse rate jump. Sinead’s interest in the man had been obvious enough and Maureen was a little envious. She, for her part, had never experienced the depths of passion that a lucky few are fortunate to know. Shaun and she had met when she was eighteen and before she really knew much about life. Ignorance led to pregnancy, which led to marriage. In Ireland, it was a national trait. Sinead had been conceived in a field one warm August evening. Shaun's haste and ignorance of a woman's anatomy had not aroused any ardour in her. His efforts at lovemaking were clumsy as they coupled on the grassy bank. His entry had been painful for her, and his hasty climax came as a welcome rather than a passionate relief from his laborious efforts. Over the years, she had grown to love Shaun in her own way, but he had never sexually satisfied her fully. Like most women in her circumstances, she sometimes longed for the sexual fulfilment a worldly man could give. Not that Shaun was an unkind man in any way. It was just that he had been brought up with the notion that women in marriage were there to simply give pleasure to their husbands. It would never occur to him that she, being a woman, also needed sexual release. However, she never thought to broach the subject with him. It was the Irish way and she accepted it. However, when a man like Lechaim came along, she was reminded of what she had missed.
Now, as she looked at him, she knew that if she were young again. Lechaim would be the man for her. His natural charm, manner and looks were truly magnetic. She also understood what Sinead meant now about the man's eyes. They were truly beautiful! Maureen could not but help notice how Sinead and the captain looked at each other. Whilst Maureen might begrudge, in some small way, Sinead’s youth, she loved her daughter very much. It had always been her fondest hope that Sinead would find in a man the passion she had not. The man that had just come into their home would make a perfect son-in-law, Maureen decided and she intended to pursue the possibilities for all they were worth. But was he available and was he Catholic?
She could see that the two men were engaged in easy conversation. Leaving her cooking for a moment, Maureen walked across to the table and stood behind Shaun who was sitting opposite Lechaim at the table. Placing her hands on Shaun's shoulders, she listened to the men for a while until an opportunity presented itself. “Are you married Lechaim?” she then asked.
Sinead found herself blushing again, this time at her mother's boldness. He paused for two or three seconds and then looked up at her. “No, I am not, Maureen! In the circumstances, it's probably just as well.”
“Oh! how so?” Shaun asked.
“Unfortunately, it seems that the injury has resulted in some brain damage. It could take a while before all is well again. I wouldn't want to burden a woman with my troubles.”
“How little you know about women, Lechaim?” Maureen exclaimed. “We're at our best when our men folk are in trouble!” As she spoke, she gave Shaun's neck an affectionate squeeze. “Isn’t that so, Shaun?”
Sinead’s feelings for the man that made her heart race were suddenly maternal and she wanted to hold him in her arms. Yet, his obvious strength suggested that he was more than capable of overcoming any adversity that life had to throw up, such was his assuredness and self-confidence. Her mother's next question broke in on her thoughts.
“And what religion are you, Lechaim?”
Sinead who was now helping her mother prepare the table was mortified. What was her mother thinking? She would spoil everything.
Lechaim was somewhat taken aback by the question, but he gave her the answer he knew she wanted to hear.
“I'm Catholic, Maureen!” He felt it prudent to omit that the last time he had been inside a church was when he had been baptised nearly thirty years ago.
Maureen, seemingly satisfied, returned to her stove, content to let the others make conversation while she listened. Stirring the vegetables, she felt Sinead, who was standing beside her, give her a nudge. Maureen turned and winked at her and Sinead coloured once again. That girl’s in love, Maureen thought and who could blame her?
Before long the table was becoming crowded with homemade jams, huge slices of oven-baked bread, a rum cake and other delights as both Maureen and Sinead laboured. The aroma of the freshly baked bread and the smell of the roast wafted in the air, reminding Lechaim of how hungry he was. The main course, when it arrived on the table was simple but wholesome. A mountain of roast lamb, circled by roast potatoes, peas and dumplings.
“You get that inside you, Lechaim” Shaun insisted as Maureen laid a generous plate of the meat and vegetables before him.
“Thank you!” he replied to Shaun and smiled his thanks to Maureen as she fussed around him. “It looks delicious!”
As they ate the talk continued unabated. Lechaim felt very much at home with these people who until a short while before had been strangers. Maybe, even his enemy. They, too responded to Lechaim in kind, and Shaun's earlier ploy to “get rid of the man as soon as possible” did not even cross their minds. Therefore, what was to have been a brief visit lasted well into the evening. Finally, when Lechaim suggested that he should be leaving, Shaun would have none of it.
“Nonsense, Lechaim. You must stay the night! It's dangerous driving around here after dark.”
“I can vouch for that!” Lechaim agreed and they all laughed.
It was a kind offer and Lechaim was pleased to accept. It was late and there was danger on the roads, but most of all he wanted to be with Sinead for as long as possible. Lechaim had known the instant he saw her that this young woman would play a very important role in his life from then on. Love, at first sight, is illogical, he had reasoned, but then love is illogical anyway. In Lechaim's case, desire did not predominate his thinking despite Sinead’s beauty. It was something more ethereal than that. Something so ineffable that he could not put it into words, even if he had wanted to. He was caught up in a tide of emotions that only a person that has known love can truly appreciate or understand. The sensual is a by-product rather than the driving force that governs such; the other person’s needs being more important than your own.
The evening was spent sitting around an open fire in the parlour drinking from a bottomless teapot. Sinead had positioned herself beside Lechaim on the sofa with a photo album perched on her knees. Maureen was busy knitting while Shaun was puffing away on his pipe. As she flicked the pages, Sinead was conscious of Lechaim's body against hers. The physical tension between them cried for release, and she found it difficult to concentrate on the photographs before her; ones she knew so well.
“This is my Uncle Michael” she said pointing to one of the colour photographs showing a priest standing before St. Peters in Rome.”
The name, Michael, jolted Lechaim’s memory “..when he joins with Michael, the guardian of Israel..”
Shaun chimed in, “My brother is the star in this family. He is a monsignor and holds a high position in the Vatican. Something to do with finance or the like.” His brother, Monsignor Michael Cronin, had tried to explain the workings of the Vatican's finances to Shaun but it had not really sunk in.
“He's coming to Ireland shortly, isn't he dah?” Sinead added.
Lechaim wasn't listening, however. Even while the words, “.. when he joins with Michael, the guardian of Israel..” were sending out alarm bells, his eyes caught the markings at the bottom of her Uncle's photograph. Some letters and numbers in very small faded print resulting, no doubt, from a double exposure when the photograph was being developed were making his blood run cold. In normal circumstances, he would hardly have given the markings any heed and nor would anyone else looking at the print. These markings, however, were different.
“Are you all right?” Sinead asked anxiously noticing that Lechaim's face had drained of colour.
“Yes, just a little tired!” he lied as he tried to mask his concern.
“Of course you are!” Maureen declared. “Come on!” she said to everyone, “time for bed! It's been a long day for all of us!”
Sinead made a bed up for him on the sofa in the room the others were now vacating and they said their “Goodnights”. When they had gone, Lechaim switched the light off and settled down on the sofa as best he could, for the sofa was a little small for his large frame. As he lay there, the markings he had seen at the bottom of the photograph were swirling around in his head. They consisted of the letters “YWHM” and the numbers “6724 78 374.” It was easy enough for him to recall the letters and numbers because he already knew them by heart. They were the same as those branded on his right thigh. It suddenly seemed that his life was turning into a nightmare. Was this really happening? Everything that had happened so far seemed such an improbable coincidence. The contents of the letter were once more foremost on his mind. For some hours he turned restlessly, unable to sleep until he finally succumbed.
.... The rider reined his horse before him, and Lechaim looked into his friend's eyes. They appeared to him like orbs of fire mounted in a face of alabaster. A gentle puff of wind billowed through the mounted man's cape; its hem of golden friezes dancing in the ebb and flow of the gentle breeze, exposing the rider's thigh. The letters “YWHM” were emblazoned there and the numbers “6724 78 374” stood out clearly on the ivory skin....
He awoke with a start to find her bending over him. The nightie she wore beneath the dressing gown had fallen away to reveal her taut breasts; the nipples of which had hardened in the cold night air. At any other time, the sight would have aroused him, however, his thoughts were too full to dwell on the pleasures that her body offered
“You were having a bad dream!” she said. Conscious of where his eyes had lingered, she straightened up and tightened the belt of her robe precluding any further visual forays on his part. Not that his interest displeased her, quite the contrary as evidenced by the moistness of the vestibule between her legs.
He hid a smile as he noted her show of virtue. Not like some of the girls he had known, he thought. He found her modesty rather appealing, in fact.
“Did I wake your parents?”
“No, I don't think so,” she replied as she listened for any movement in the house.
“Sorry about that. Just a dream I keep having. It doesn't seem to go away.”
“It's probably something to do with that head wound of yours!”
“So the doctors tell me.” He was tempted to tell her about the bizarre happenings in his life, but he was still unsure of her. She might be too young or naive to handle such matters. Besides, she might think that he was crazy. He wouldn't blame her. No, he would establish a relationship with her first and then, if he still felt the need later, he would tell her. They soon found themselves deep in conversation about the mundane things of life; things that people talk about when they are in love. The morning was edging through the windows when she went to leave.
“I would like to see you again, Sinead.”
“And I you!”
Her kiss when their lips met was inexperienced, and it aroused in him a shock of desire because it was laced with such innocence. Somehow, her naivety stirred his carnal instincts threatening to nullify his nobler intentions. His love for her, however, gave him the strength to resist and be patient.
She too felt an unbearable need to submit to her desires totally as the warmth of his lips coursed through hers. The sexual tension between them was palpable as they held each other tightly. Finally, but reluctantly, she pulled away.
“I had better go before my parents get up. Give me your address in England and I'll write to you!”
His life, which until a few hours before had been so confused, had suddenly taken on a new meaning and purpose. He was now in love with all the intensity and passion that such implies. A future, full of promise, beckoned and his earlier fears, subjugated by emotions too powerful to ignore or rebuff, retreated into the deep recesses of his subconscious where they would lie dormant until they were reawakened.