30 November 2012
One of the interesting things about Jim was his love of beauty. In anything. In anyone. A love not of simple beauty alone, for the pretty face or fine art are easy to appreciate. Jim loved that beauty which appears only to those who strive to perceive it. Right at this moment, it was not the wondrous blue eyes of the pretty girl which beguiled him, but the smiling audacity with which she was robbing him.
"I'm really very sorry to have to do this," she whispered softly in his ear as she held the cold blade at his neck, "you seem like such a genuine guy, and real good looking too. If we'd met under other circumstances…" she paused for effect while she relieved him of wallet, phone and car keys, "well, I might have persuaded you to give me gladly what I now take by force." "I'm sure you would," Jim breathed. As she backed away from him, still keeping the knife between them, her lips widened in a mischievous grin, "We would both have liked that I think. I imagine we really would. Yes I do. I can imagine that very, very clearly," she tossed her dark hair with a quick shake of her head. "If you like, you could pretend we had done it that way instead and this would have been no robbery at all. You would have wined me and dined me, and spent all this money on me. You can think of it like that, if you like. Just imagine what fun we would have had together." Then, with surprising swiftness, she moved backwards into his car, shut the door and sped away leaving Jim standing alone, in the dark, in the rain, robbed, without transport or communication, and smiling.
Jim heaved a sigh, got off his knees, and started walking along the roadside after the disappearing lights of his stolen car.
A short walk brought him to the lane way of a country cottage, and Jim made his way along it thankful for the full moon's light. What, he wondered to himself as he picked his way along the lane, what on earth had possessed him to come to this bizarre little island for a holiday. In his first day here he had got lost, then picked up a stranger who promised to show him the way who had now robbed him. “I will get to this house, phone the police and then get out of here” he promised himself.
In the white moonlight the little cottage appealed to Jim's sense of beauty. A tidy little garden in front, a low picket fence glowing silver under the moon. A warm yellow light flickered at one of the windows, smoke curling up from the chimney vanished like a magic trick into the clear night. Well, he thought, if he had not been robbed he would not have found this little treasure. And then as he got close to the cottage, Jim stopped. He stopped and stared in quiet confusion. Next to the cottage, parked just in front of the pale door, was his car. The car his pretty thief had just stolen from him.
Jim stood still, his brain skipping like a bad recording. What should he do? Go to the house? Take his car back? Confront the thief? She had been so awfully pretty. But what if she was not alone? What if there was a gang in there? It didn't look like a thieves' den, but then did Jim know what a thieves den would look like?
It occurred to Jim, as he stood in the still moonlit night, in the way that stray thoughts must occur to the rabbit in the headlights, that he had wanted a writer's adventure. That is what he had come to the island for. To get away from city and sensationalism and find a new thread of adventure in a place cut off from "it all."
Jim was no longer sure about adventure. Best kept in books. Yet, drawing on his imaginative experience of heroes he had written, he thought he would go to the car and see if the keys were still in it. Maybe they would be. Maybe he could get out of here and get the police. He wasn't sure he wanted to call the police on this thief. She had been so ... intriguing. Still, the police it would be. If the car had keys.
Jim quietly walked towards his car. Reaching it, he tried the drivers door. It opened. At the very same moment the front door of the house opened, and the pretty thief stood silhouetted against welcoming light. “Hey Jim,” she said brightly, “don't run off without your wallet.”
Jim looked at her, standing holding out his wallet toward him, those lovely eyes staring comfortably back into his. “You pulled a knife on me, stole my stuff and left me on the roadside.” Jim said accusingly. “You asked me to.” “I... what?” Jim exclaimed. “You told me in the car that you came here for adventure. This is a really boring place Jim. I thought I would give you the adventure. Come get your wallet.”
Jim stood still, unable to decide what to do. There might be others in the house. He could be in very grave danger. On the other hand, he had told her about coming to the island for adventure. A moment passed, and still she stood holding out his wallet patiently. It was the way her figure silhouetted against the yellow light which finally worked on his subconscious. He had shut the car door before he realised it. Jim moved almost in a trance away from the car and toward her. She laughed lightly as he reached out and took his wallet from her hand. Then they stood, watching each other without a word. She was, Jim noticed again, really very, very pretty. "Come in," she suddenly invited, and turning, went into the cottage. Jim, with buzzing emotional confusion, but not even a little hesitation, followed her.
So Jim found himself by a warm fire, in an old leather chair. He was awaiting this surprising woman, Jennifer, bringing him hot chocolate. The situation was bizarre. Yet… The room was cosy. Jim thought it was the kind of room that should be stuffed full of nicknacks. It had shelves, and was furnished, but surprisingly bare of pictures or personal items. Yet the fire glowed and flickered with a wonderful light which seemed to draw the room tight around him and Jim felt curiously at home. “Here we go,” the pretty thief said brightly as she carried a tray into the room, “chocolate, marshmallows, and hot buttered toast.” She set down the tray on a little table in front of the fire, “And one more time,” she continued, as she sat on the floor at his feet, “I really do apologise for leaving you stranded.” “Yes, well, I still can’t believe you did that.” Jennifer handed him a mug and dropped a marshmallow into it. “I can’t really explain it.” She said. “Please don’t think I’m a mad person. You picked me up on the road, and well, I guess I liked you. You were twittering on about being a writer and coming here for a bit of an adventure. Suddenly I wanted to have an adventure with you. I just, acted on impulse. Sorry. Again. But I knew you would come here - there is nowhere else for miles. Please forgive me. It was quite a crazy thing to do.” “Yes. It was. Still it worked, I had an adventure. Just don’t give me any more.” Jennifer smiled and Jim noticed the firelight play on her red lips. He seemed to notice everything about her. Every little detail. He could stop looking at her. Just not for very long. Her hair fell like black satin across bare shoulders. Her blue eyes almost seemed to have their own light. Her voice at once charmed and calmed. She seemed to him almost other worldly. “So, tell me about you Jennifer. You have heard enough of my twittering.” “Ok. That’s fair,” she replied, “what do you want to know?” “Well, ah, what do you do? Have you family? How long have you lived here? Jennifer lifted her own mug of chocolate and sipped it, then took a marshmallow between finger and thumb and popped it in her mouth. Jim watched her quietly, every movement of her body drew his eye, and everything she did stirred strong emotion in him. “I work at the shop in the town, nothing very exciting there. I do have a brother, he lives in Cork. He is a solicitor. I have really only lived here for four years. I mean I used to come here a lot before that. My gran owned this house and when she died she left it to me. This was where we came in the summer. Always to grans’. So I know the island pretty well, and its… Well, it is home really.” Jennifer was looking around the room and for a moment her thoughts seemed elsewhere. Then she looked back up at Jim and continued, “But what you truly want to know is, who is this weird woman really?” Jim could not suppress the grin. He nodded. “Ok. Come with me and I will show you the heart of me,” she said, “and I will be interested to see if you understand. Come on.” She put her hand on his leg and raised herself to her feet, then held out her hand to him. Jim took it and she led him through a doorway next to the fireplace. Jennifer flicked a switch and the little room they entered lit up brightly. Jim’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. The room had a bench with carefully sorted tools and bits of wood lying on it. But around the walls of the room were shelves, and on the shelves were an astonishing range of wooden sculptures and carvings. At a glance Jim could tell they were all carved from bits of driftwood. Some large, a horse’s head and shoulders leapt up from an old tree in one corner. Some were tiny, a woman carved delicately on a piece of bleached wood no bigger than a finger. Jim walked round the room like Aladdin in the cave. “Jennifer! This is amazing. You do all this?” Jennifer was beaming. “Yes. I sell some, but mostly I do it for the pleasure. A lot of wood washes up along the shore behind the house and all round the island.” Jim suddenly had an insight, “That’s why you had the knife.” “Oh, yes. Always prepared.” Jim picked up a sculpture that caught his eye. A seahorse, about as big as his hand. “You know, I don’t think I’ve seen detail like this before. It could be alive. You are very talented.” “Thank you.” “How do you decide what to make a piece of wood into?” Jennifer did not reply and Jim looked over at her. Her blue eyes regarded him eagerly. “I don’t decide. Have you ever…? I mean when you are writing, do you ever feel the story is there already? I feel that way when I com
The Pretty Thief • Opuss № I