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of masculinity had vanished. "How do you do, Mr. Wages." His greeting was soft, almost musical. "Am I correct in assuming that you're here to talk about Battle Harbor?" |
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The question surprised me. Obviously I wasn't the first one to follow this path. "How did you know?" |
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The man sighed, laid his book aside and wheeled his chair over to the window overlooking the churning waters of the strait. "Because that's the way of things; it's my destiny. You see, Mr. Wages, I hope I don't offend you, but every so often, someone, usually a writer, uncovers that sordid little piece of provincial history. That discovery is usually followed by a visit to Saint Anthony to see what else they can learn." |
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My ego had been abruptly deflated. |
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"You see, Mr. Wages, it s really quite a shame that I'm remembered for being a part of one of our darker hours, because the truth is, I have so much more to offer. I'm really a quite knowledgeable Biblical scholar. I have had a great deal of time to study the holy word. There is much I could tell you of things far more important than the tragedy at Battle Harbor." |
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I was disarmed. Hostility or senility I was prepared for and could have handled, but I wasn't prepared for this lucid, gentle soul that had survived a tragedy and was forced to relive it each time someone paging |
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