Men of Winter

Chapter VII

'It was I who rescued him from the sea god's cruel clasp.' —Odyssey 5

I was sound asleep face down in the covers when I realized that the tapping I was hearing was not simply my racing heartbeat against my pillow. Someone was at my door. There was still some daylight leaking into my room. I guessed that it was around three or four o'clock. "Just a moment," I called to my visitor but my throat was thick. My head ached and I rested for a moment at the table, feeling that I might fall down. My visitor lost patience and slipped a piece of paper under the door. I heard footsteps retreat in the hall.

In a moment I picked up the paper and discovered it was a crudely printed handbill. I took it over to the window to read it without lighting the foul smelling lamp. It was advertising a meeting of the Society of Forensics and Poetics, featuring a reading of classical verse by Doctor Wittinski. The meeting was that very evening at six-thirty, at a place called the Luminarium. I had not heard of it, or the Society for that matter. It was difficult to believe some shred of culture remained in this corrupted city. On the one hand, attending the meeting was quite attractive but on the other I did not feel well. In addition to my sore head, my stomach was queasy, perhaps from the consistent pain or from the foul vodka I drank when I finally reached my room. I carefully touched the bump on my head. Maybe the swelling was somewhat less, but it was very tender.

I wondered who might have brought the handbill to my attention. It had to be my landlady for she was the only one in the pension who knew of my interest in poetry. She would probably like to attend the meeting; her husband, of course, did not seem the type. They were as mismatched in that way as Tasha and I. I often attended readings at the local debate club. I had even read some of my own work from time to time. Tasha had never heard me. I found her lack of interest in my writing something of a relief. It left me free to explore our relationship truthfully without fear of offending or upsetting her. She would not understand the artist's need to probe under the surface, to press on the sore tooth to see just how great the pain could be.

I knew that my landlady would be in the kitchen by now preparing the evening's meal. It was to be flatbread with some sort of bean soup. I pulled myself together, knowing that I still looked very rough. I had not shaved since arriving in Iiloskova but I did not have a beard yet – I merely looked like a madman. I was certain my skin was ashen and my eyes sunken from the headache and the sour stomach.

I put my vest on over my white shirt but not my jacket. I left the vest undone and did not button the collar of my shirt. I had pulled my collar together but it seemed to constrict my throat and intensify my urge to vomit. I went downstairs and as I approached the kitchen I heard the sound of work. I opened the door and there was my landlady preparing the flatbread at the butcher-block. A large stockpot was beginning to steam on the stove behind her. Her husband was not in sight.

"Hello, madam," I said, trying my best to smile. "I am not feeling well – I slipped on some ice and struck my head – could you prepare a pot of tea and provide me with a slice of bread or two? It is all my stomach can take I am afraid." I leaned against the frame of the door, truly feeling a bit faint.

She came forward wiping the flour from her hands on her apron. She took me by the arm and directed me to a chair in the corner of the kitchen near the stove. "Rest here," she said. "Just a moment and I will fix your tea." She completed the pan of flatbread she had been preparing when I entered the kitchen, then she slid the pan into the oven and immediately filled the kettle from a bucket of water she had no doubt pumped earlier. I did not realize how chilled I had been until I sat next to the stove for a few minutes and it began to warm my bones. The pains in my head and stomach eased a bit. I found that closing my eyes helped too, so I dozed in the chair while my landlady went about filling my request. I was glad my landlord stayed away; I would be embarrassed to be found in such a sickly state and would feel obligated to act well.