Читать книгу The Clamour of Silence - Valerie Pybus - Страница 7

The iron band inside Ryan’s head tightened like a medieval torture device. He had to escape from his desk, from the office, from the building. It was Monday, but he didn’t feel rested. He had taken work home at the weekend, working non-stop bent over his computer, eating snacks accompanied by too much coffee and wine. When he’d shaved that morning the face that stared back at him was drawn.

He felt confined in his office adjoining a maze of cubicles separated by glass partitions that gave no protection whatever from the maniacal hubbub of frenetic stock brokers. The machine gun staccato of their loud voices all trying to be heard at once was overwhelming.

Ryan left the building, stepping into the hell of a city area being renovated constantly. The footpaths restricted, pedestrians were compelled to traverse a narrow walkway. Workmen stood idly in their bright yellow jackets and their impossibly small safety helmets insecurely perched on their heads, constantly waiting for concrete to dry. Big green concrete conveyers made their ponderous way through the narrow streets forcing the chaos to escalate further. Disgruntled people threaded their way recklessly between cars and buses reduced to a one lane crawl.

Street smells assaulted his nostrils, delicate mists of perfume from passersby; stale sweat from bodies not masked with cologne and the ever pervading stench of diesel and exhaust fumes.

His walk was accompanied by the raucous tattoo of jackhammers and vehicle horns, their blasts painful to the ears. Thankfully he pushed open the door of The Banyan Tree restaurant. He stepped from the strident street sounds into the subdued atmosphere of the well-ordered interior. Scarcely any outside noise penetrated and he felt the quiet ambience enfold him as a warm dry towel enfolds a frozen shivering swimmer.

The busy lunchtime rush was almost over and he observed several empty tables for him to make his choice. This restaurant was sheer bliss, an oasis of sanity and well-run efficiency. He selected a small discreet table set for two in the least crowded area. He sat on one chair with a sigh of relief and placed his briefcase on the other. It was a ploy he had used many times to prevent anyone sitting at his table when he wanted to be alone.

He loved his job, keeping up to the mark and ahead of it when he could. He revelled in the constant challenge of trying to anticipate the futures market. The triumph he felt when his predictions were proved correct more times than not. He was constantly watching unpredictable world market figures fluctuate; no two days or two weeks ever brought the same results.

As he leaned back, he felt his body start to unwind and relax as the taut muscles one by one began to ease. Making a conscious effort he unclenched his hands from the menu. Madeleine, the waitress, appeared. She knew Ryan and instinctively recognised when he was in a talking mood and if he wasn’t, kept her comments to a minimum. He ordered a drink and when it arrived he held the sides of the ice-cold glass. He felt it equalise his temperature, dissipating the feeling of being a string in a harp ready to snap if touched.

“Thanks, Madeline I needed that today,” he nodded his head at the glass. She gave him her brightest smile. “My absolute pleasure,” she trilled.

He indicated he was not in a hurry as he placed his order, a well-done steak with tossed green salad. He sat back and idly surveyed the other diners.

A sprinkling of business men; it was easy to spot those who were trying to clinch a deal. The procurer leaned forward eagerly, sometimes with arms on the table, as if by sheer will power he would pin the other person in one spot until he was able to obtain their compliance.

The client, urbane, smiling, sat well back in his chair, hands playing with his drink. He could have been sitting by the side of a pool watching the lovelies strut past. The air of subtle indifference took years to master.

Ryan’s gaze wandered further to a group of four women. Obviously high powered achievers he guessed to be able to lunch at The Banyan Tree. Two of the older women were immaculately coiffed to a tossed casual look. One of the other women, slightly younger, spent most of the time running her fingers through her hair endlessly. It was distracting, not at all restful and Ryan remembered several women he had wined and dined who had the same annoying habit. The fourth woman, not much more than a girl really, sat directly opposite him.

It was her stillness and her look of intense concentration that first made him aware of her. Her face turned away from him as she kept her gaze fixed intently upon the older woman who was speaking.

As Ryan watched she turned her head in his direction. For a moment he forgot to breathe. He literally felt a jolt in his stomach. The face he gazed upon was a vision of perfection. Her features beautifully proportioned. Smooth fine eyebrows which he thought from the distance could have been brown. Huge expressive eyes, he wished that he could see their colour. Well-defined cheekbones reminding him of lovely drapes framing a laughing mouth; Ryan could not believe that he was describing her lips to himself as “smiley lips”.

He was aware of his own mouth softening as he felt absurdly like laughing. From where he sat her mouth seemed to be forever beginning a smile.

He wished he had chosen a table nearer to the women, wished he had spotted them earlier. If he moved now he would look ridiculous. The restaurant was discreetly but adequately lit for dining. It was not helpful if one wanted to know the colour of the young woman’s hair. It looked dark and thick. Lustrous was the word that leapt into his mind. He smiled; he was beginning to think like a television commercial for shampoo. Her hair was caught up on one side with a kind of comb. Quite an old fashioned style, simple in a way compared to the other women seated at the table.

It suited her, as did her lace blouse. Her hair shone with good health and Ryan wondered how it smelt. He was sure it would be something like cinnamon or apples, he was equally sure it would not be highly perfumed.

There was something about her that drew his gaze again and again. The words inner beauty came to mind. But it was more than that; it was her complete absence of contrivance.

Madeleine came with his lunch; he was not aware of it until the aroma from the steak drifted up toward his face and reminded him that he was hungry.

He had brought some notes to check whilst he was waiting for lunch to be served and he propped them up against the small vase in the centre of the table. That way he could observe the girl over the top of the notes without being blatantly obvious.

She didn’t appear to talk a great deal, more of a listener he concluded. She gazed intently at her companions as they continued to speak and wave their hands to give meaning to their conversations.

Unexpectedly she looked between the women and met his gaze fully. Ryan knew he should have looked away, dropped his gaze as in a diner’s discretion.

A piercing shaft of connection shot between them. It was as if they were the only two people in the room. Ryan sat mesmerized unable to look away, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. His hand poised in the air with a cube of steak speared onto his fork. It felt as if minutes passed, he was saved as the food fell with a splash into the remnants of his drink. It distracted him and was glad she had not seen the incident happen behind the propped up notes.

He spent the rest of his lunchtime wondering how he could approach the other table. Ryan hadn’t had this problem before; he could usually come up with an appropriate pick –up line. He just didn’t want to be inappropriate; contacting the young woman had become paramount. He mulled over. “Would you like a drink?”

That was so bad it made him smile.

What about, “Hello ladies, you look as if you are celebrating, enjoy a champagne on me!” Even worse.

He thought about asking Madeleine if she knew the group, but there had been enough subtle hints from the attractive waitress for him to be aware of her personal interest in him; therefore that was out of the question. Besides he liked the restaurant and didn’t want any complications.

The girl captivated him with the way she was eating spaghetti, daintily, winding the long slippery strands around her fork before placing them in her mouth. Ryan who fancied himself as somewhat of a chef, had visions of her sitting in his dining room eating spaghetti he had made.

He looked up again to find her gaze on him. He smiled at her and then her mouth curved into a smile and she looked down. Had he imagined a faint blushing? He was too far away to see properly.

Ryan looked at his watch, he had to go, couldn’t stay any longer. He made a devious exit walking as near to her table as possible. As he made to pass them he saw a white jacket had slipped from the back of the girl’s chair and was trailing on the carpet.

He picked it up and leaning slightly toward her back intending to speak to her he caught the scent from her hair; a distinctive almond smell, faint, yet somehow beguiling. “Excuse me,” he began. No response so he continued.

“I think this must be yours.” Still nothing, was she ignoring him? He began to feel foolish and uncomfortable, standing there holding the scrap of white fabric.

One of the other women touched the girl on her arm and pointed up at Ryan.

She turned and looked up at him and then at her jacket. “Thank you,” her voice warm and clear. “I did not know you were there.”

The girl put out her hand to take her jacket at the same time placed her other hand near her head. Then she put two fingers against her ear and said, “I am deaf.”

Ryan was stunned she looked so normal. Immediately the deepest feeling of shame swept over him. How dare he even think such a thing?

Why would she not be normal? She was deaf, no big deal. He still held on to the jacket a tangible connection he didn’t want to break.

One of the older women spoke. “Would you like to join us for coffee?”

Ryan nodded; he knew the girl would understand the gesture. The urge to return to the office vanished. The woman spoke again. “I’m Margot we’ll get a chair for you. Come and sit next to me.”

Ryan would have preferred to sit next to the girl, the nearness of her sent his pulse racing and he could feel sweat breaking out on his palms, but this way, he reasoned, he would be able to see her face properly. He had already worked out that she was lip-reading, and it might make it easier for her.

He had also observed that she was not wearing an engagement ring or a wedding band.

Margot, who appeared to be the spokesperson for the group beckoned the waitress looking after their table and within seconds Ryan was seated between the two older women.

Margot spoke again. “Now tell us about yourself? You were so gallant to pick up Julia’s jacket.”

She patted him on the hand and leaned toward him. As she introduced the women at the table, all Ryan could think was that Julia’s name suited her, feminine, but unfussy.

Looking directly at Julia’s face he spoke, “Ryan Cameron and I work in an office a block from here.” Suzanne, the woman nearer to Julia’s age, was celebrating a recent engagement, and self-consciously did everything she could with her left hand. Julia caught his eye as they watched the display and exchanged a secret smile at the wearer’s behaviour.

“What do you do Julia?” As Ryan spoke to her he was very conscious of her eyes concentrating on his lips.

“I work with computers.”

Her voice and the words she chose were efficient, but not clipped, as if she chose to say only what was really important.

He was enchanted, and wished that they were at the table by themselves. There was so much he wanted to ask and tell her. The group chatted over their coffee, commiserating with each other about the commotion happening in the streets outside. The minutes quickly ticked past and Ryan was wondering how he could speak to Julia on a one to one basis. However, unexpectedly his problem was solved as Margot touched his arm, her body language obvious; subtly trying to get his attention.

“Ryan I am having a small dinner party next Saturday, would love you to come if you’re free?”

He hesitated not sure how to ask if Julia was also invited. Margot saw the hesitation and added. “Naturally if you have a wife or partner the invitation is open!”

Both older women tensed for his answer.

“I would love to go to your evening.” The next remark addressed completely in Julia’s direction.

“Are all you lovely ladies going to be there?”

Margot purred, “Yes we meet several times a year.” She produced a small card giving details of an address in a salubrious suburb in Sydney’s south.

Pleasantries were exchanged, the two older women dominating the conversation.

Julia said very little, seemingly content to watch the others. She was restful, that was the overwhelming feeling Ryan observed.

He finished his coffee and took his leave gazing into Julia’s smiling face.

His parting remark was addressed to the group. “I look forward to seeing you all again on Saturday.”

He left the restaurant, walking taller and feeling lighter, almost raising his hands above his head in a victory salute, “Yes, yes,” he muttered under his breath.

“Four more days until I see her again!”

The hubbub outside the restaurant once again assaulted his ears and for a moment the benefits of being deaf occurred to him. As he retraced his steps back to his office Ryan’s mind went back to his father, Charles Cameron.

Many years previously Charles had been a casualty in a mining disaster. The left side of his face was deeply scarred and he sustained a lasting legacy of permanent deafness. Ryan’s memory of him was of a tall quiet man who said very little. His father had not known the sign language of the deaf, and Ryan realised what a boon it could have become if Charles had studied it. He had observed the deaf woman’s composure, the way she blended her presence in with the others.

Ryan’s mother Delma had never reconciled herself to her husband’s injuries. She became impatient with him and threw herself into her social whirl excluding him entirely. Ryan had been six years old and spent as much time as he could with the remnants of the shattered man. Charles built a wonderful bond with his small son, read to him endlessly as Ryan curled up in bed next to his father listening to that deep resonating voice.

Delma, possessively jealous of the relationship between the two arranged for Ryan to be sent to boarding school. The boy became withdrawn by the prolonged absences from his father.

A letter from Charles arrived at the boy’s school several years later, informing Ryan that Charles had decided to live overseas. He had met a gentle caring woman, Liani, from the Philippines. He hoped that Ryan would visit them when the opportunity arose.

It was eight years before Ryan, at fourteen, was able to make his way to see his father and spend some time with him.

He met Liani for the first time and saw her wonderful capacity for compassion; her fortitude and her acceptance of life.

Ryan was surprised to find his father very frail; his lungs had been affected by the explosion.

But Liani kept Charles buoyant, her conversations were always positive. She constantly held his father’s hands, touched him, and stroked his face. Ryan had never experienced any such physical display of affection between his parents.

He returned to Sydney content that his father had found happiness at last. Ryan wrote regularly to Charles and noticed that his father’s handwriting was deteriorating.

Eventually it was Liani who wrote letters for Charles and told Ryan about his father’s life and friends. Charles’ deafness had never been a barrier in her society. Her letters prepared him for his father’s death and he travelled to see Charles laid to rest. Liani still kept in touch with him and he valued her warm and loving correspondence. Without warning Julia’s voice seemed to be in his head, and his pace lightened at the prospect of seeing her again.