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Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue.

Sorry this took a bit longer than I thought it was going to. I really got into the two other stories I’m writing and the impetus for this one just kind of dropped off for a while. But, alas, it’s back. The plot is sorted, so hopefully I’ll be a bit quicker with updates in future! M’ikosan7, xx

P.S. Thanks to all those who reviewed in the meantime.



Chapter.9.


By now the night was pitch black making it difficult to distinguish road from the embankments that lined it. The large fur trees had long since disappeared, about thirty miles back and all around was mainly fields with the odd cluster of oaks or furs here and there between the occasional farmhouse; but they’d only past three of those at most. Other than that the landscape had become fairly desolate; a thin layer of crisp white frost cloaking it like a pie crust as the night time temperatures plummeted. Ororo still dozed contentedly on Logan’s shoulder; every now and then she’d shift and rub her noise, uttering a little whimper each time before snuggling to him once more. As he kept a steady speed along the highway Logan found he was no longer all that tired, having gone past that stage and gone firmly into that twilight zone of being neither awake or asleep. A thin line of red rimmed the bottom edge of his hazel eyes that had ceased to sting now the initial tiredness had passed but felt like solid glass in his sockets. The radio was tuned in to no station in particular, picking up whatever local frequencies were in its range. Right now, the soft voices of three French-Canadian’s having a debate were flowing through the badly scratched and dented mesh grill that was fixed to the dashboard underneath the tuner dials and display panel. Logan couldn’t understand a word, though if Ororo were awake, she could have translated, having exhibited an expertly fluent knowledge of the language during their quick stop-over in Montréal. But it was of no consequence, all he really needed was some background noise to keep his mind alert.


The road started on a small incline that suddenly became a rather steep one as the hither to flat fields sloped upwards too and the isolated clusters of trees became dense again. As the truck neared the top of the hill it began to curve around as the ground to the right of the road just seemed to drop away into a sheer cliff face. Logan rounded the corner and was greeted by the sight, way down below, in what appeared to be a valley, of a small group of twinkling orange lights. A small township nestled at the base of the valley. The road they were currently on wound its way down to run straight through the little pocket of civilisation. So he drove down towards it, hoping they’d find somewhere that was still open to stop at as the night drew on.


*


Ororo woke up with a start as Logan switched off the engine; in response to which the old and worn piece of machinery spluttered and growled angrily, resisting until the last of its power had drained away. She sat up and wiped at her eyes, her pretty face baring the slightly perplexed and clammy complexion that usually follows sleep. She tried to gaze out of the window to orientate herself but was only met with the reflection of the interior of the cabin against a wall of black. It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust and refocus. Only then, as she attempted to stifle a yawn, did she notice that they were parked outside an all-night bar.


“What time is it?” She asked as she stretched her arms above her head, straightened out her aching back and yawned yet again.


Logan reached over to her and as he gently wiped away some sleep from the outside corner of her left eye, he said, “Three.”


Ororo looked outside again at the front of the bar that was made to look like a log cabin and had a huge neon blue sign in jagged, naive writing that read ‘Lumberjack’s’. Next to it was a crudely drawn man, melded from the same lighting tubes as the name, made out to look like the namesake of the tavern with a rolled at the rim woollen hat, plaid shirt and high workmen’s boots that came up to the knees. “A bar? This is your idea of a rest?” She asked as she turned to him; her eyebrow raised in a sardonic fashion.


He gave a brief shrug of his shoulders and laughed his short, low-key laugh; his mouth barely twitching as he looked out of the window up at the harsh lighting of the sign. Then he turned to her as he draped one arm across the steering wheel. “You said we should stop,” he gave a short flick of his hand that hung off the other side of the wheel in the direction of the bar as he glanced at it quickly, “This is the first place we’ve come across since you fell asleep.”


“Surely not?” She said rhetorically as she looked out the window again, trying to calculate how long she must have slept for. It must have been at least six hours, perhaps even seven. Not a single other motel or hamlet in all that time? Absently she cupped her hands to her mouth and blew in them, only just becoming aware that they felt like ice. Vigorously she then rubbed them together. “I suppose it’s as good a place as any.” Her breath hung visibly in the air as she spoke.


“Yep,” he concurred before leaning over to give her a quick sly kiss, “an’ it gives me the perfect excuse ta grab a whiskey.” He was up and out of the truck before Ororo could say anything, leaving her to shake her head in mock dismay. Then she too opened her door, swinging her legs over the side, dangling them of the edge as she zipped up her jacket. She dropped down to the ground where on the frost covered gravel crunched even more so than usual, the quiet of the night making the sound echo even further making it sound as if she were walking on dry, crisp leaves. A couple of sharp cramp pains ran up her legs intermittently and she did her best to try and shake them off but they were persistent, ripping through her limbs like a particularly vicious bout of pins and needles.


Logan came around to her side of the truck, taking a cigar out of the pocket of the denim jacket that he wore beneath his leather one. Lighting it under cover of cupped hands he took an ‘inhale’, immediately letting the smoke below back out and then parked the stogie in the corner of his mouth. “You alright?”


Ororo was still shaking her legs one at a time on and off. She nodded, “Cramp.” Then she winced.


“Come on, let’s get ya inside.” He put his arm around her, tucking it under her left arm that was furthest from him and closing his hand around the side of her waist as they walked together towards the pub. “Maybe you should have a little whiskey as well, warm ya up.”


“I don’t think so,” she scoffed, “I can not stand the stuff!” She laughed as she looked up at him, giving him that beautiful full smile of hers; intoxicating enough to induce him to lean in and quickly kiss her as they came up to the double wooden doors of Lumberjack’s.


*


Ororo settled into the shaded corner of the bar as she waited for Logan to return with the drinks. Her eyes fell over the room which was in fact two, separated by a stone-clad archway, like an old-fashioned fireplace and chimney breast, of which there was one very large one near to the bar. The whole place was styled to look like a log-cabin, homey and earthy, but it had a curious smell; the aroma of old damp wood from the beer soaked floorboards permeated through-out the building. There was something distinctly comforting about that and it made Ororo want to snuggle up in her cosily dark corner and drop back to sleep. But she was jolted from her docile contemplations, her head tipping up slightly to take in the sight of her lover returning to the table, a rather large whiskey in one hand, a mug of something steaming and hot in the other.


“Ya should o’ seen the look the bar keep gave me.” He said as he slid her coffee over to her and set his short whiskey glass down in front of him. She smiled as she folded her half covered hands around the hot tan coloured porcelain mug.


“Why?” She asked with a small note of amusement, lifting the cup with both hands to her lips, adding with a hint of sarcasm, “Do people not drink coffee in Canada?”


He raised an eyebrow at her as he picked up his glass, the ice clinking against the sides, “Not in joints like this they don’t darlin’.” Casting a quick eye around the cliental, he turned to her with a little wink.


Looking around again, Ororo could appreciate his point. The place looked like a working man’s club; groups of tired and haggard-looking men, in loose groups or sat alone after twelve hour shifts, pouring over the comforting presence of hard liquor amongst the rickety tables and plaque mounted animal heads on the walls. This certainly didn’t look like the type of place in which one drank coffee. She smiled as she cupped the mug with both hand again and took a careful sip. “Whereabouts are we now?” She inquired casually for it didn’t really matter.


Logan took a sip of his drink as his eyes became vacant as if he were trying to work the answer to the question out in his head. When he put the class back down, half of its strong contents gone in that one gulp, he said, “We’re probably about a days drive from Ontario.”


“And when we get there, what happens then?”


He shrugged, trying not to think about it, “I guess we’ll find out when we get there.” Quickly he finished the remaining amount of whisky, throwing his head back and letting gravity do the rest. The amber liquid hardly touched the sides and no sooner had he finished than he was getting up from his chair and heading back to the bar behind him. “Put another one in there would’ya.” He dropped the glass back down onto the wooden bar with a high-pitched clack and then pulled out a ten dollar bill, throwing it down at side.


“Sure thing ‘Mac’.” The bar tender said absently as he pushed off the low down shelf he was leaning on, placed the glass he was cleaning back on the rack. Logan paid no attention to the man as he went about his task, instead taking a quick look around at how was near by. There was a lone man on a stool further down the bar, staring into his pint glass with glazed red rimmed eyes, just behind him sat a group of four older men, all conversing amiably in Canadian dialect French. But then a conversation to his left caught his ear.


“...yeah, ya should o’ seen the size o’ this guy.” The men that sat around the one holding court all laughed dismissively, to which the exasperated speaker tried to plead his case. “No, no, I’m tellin’ ya---this guy was huge, an’ I mean fuckin’ enormous.” He waved his hand fleetingly in order to keep their attention.


“Whatever ya say Jonny,” The man to his left said as he chewed on a match parked in the corner of his mouth and chuckled towards the rest of the group, “Just like ya said the guy at the roadhouse was big---.”


“He was!” He interrupted in protest.


“And,” the other man continued, raising his voice for emphasis, “Ya got us ta lay out good fer him. An’ what happened?” He turned to the man named Jonny with look of mock accusation and with a slightly drunken slur, added, “The puny little bastard got pasted Jonny, that’s what!” The whole group erupted into riotous laughter, “I lost a hundred goddamn bucks that night!” That simply made the four other men laugh harder. All except the poor beleaguered Jonny.


Logan would have picked up his now ready and waiting drink and gone back to his table had it not been for the next sentence that held his attention. “No, he’s right.” One of the other men, who’d watched all the exchanges fairly silently until now spoke up, “I saw him too---one of the best I’ve seen in a long while.” His voice was thoughtful and deliberate, though whether that was through the wisdom of age or liquor was anyone’s guess. “But he don’t travel, he ain’t on the circuit---he just happened ta be local to the area.”


“Oh yeah, where?”


“Alberta---this place called Zama City, up in the North.” Logan looked over, all pretence at subtly of over listening in on there conversation gone. “Yeah,” The man continued as if musing over things, “Toughest bastard I’ve ever seen an’ no mistake.” All the other men made thoughtful nodding motions then as if the words of this particular drinking partner were gospel.


There was a brief hush before the conversation moved to something else. The ‘sage’ didn’t join in with the younger men, instead taking a slow sip from his bottle of beer, letting his eyes wonder. It was only a matter of time before they found Logan. He took another swig of his Bud before placing it down on the table in front of him, letting his hand slip down the wet, brown bottle. His eyes regarded Logan for a long while before he spoke. “Somethin’ the matter buddy?”


Logan stayed silent, his face set with his habitual darkness of expression. Slowly he turned back to the bar and took up his glass. In one swift movement he downed the entire drink, slammed the glass back down and then scooped up his change and shoved it back into his pocket. Ororo watched him as he came back over, her smile dropping as she noticed the sudden change in him. “C’mon---we’re goin’.”


“But we’ve only just got---.”


“We’re goin’.” There was a certain amount of finality in the way he said it. Not threatening just...final. She gave him a look that made it clear that she wasn’t at all happy and then slipped her jacket back on, only having shrugged out of it a moment of two ago. Without a word or so much as an exchanged glance, they left the bar. Half of a hot cup of coffee steaming away on the empty table sat by itself---abandoned.



* * *


Logan awoke with a start, his elbow banging into the side door as he suddenly realised that he was in the cramped front cabin of the pick-up. He automatically effected the position most people do when they wake up and can’t remember where precisely they are; that of a Mere-cat on watch, looking this way and that with sharp, sudden movements of the head. As he got a clue to his surroundings he let out a sighing grumble in lieu of a yawn as he stretched his body as best he could. He squinted at the light that poured through the windows at all four sides of him. It was bright, moreover stark. He glanced at his watch, the brown leather strap and large silver set face clamped around his left wrist. It was five o’clock---he could only presume that was five pm the next day not am. The sky indicated that it could very well have been either, with its pre-or-post dawn ambiguity. The truck had been parked next to yet another lake, the Canadian landscape being full of them, although Logan had no idea which one, as after they’d left Lumberjack’s Ororo had gotten into the drivers seat without a word and had drove whilst he took his turn to sleep.


He shoved himself into a sitting position with some difficulty, trying to circumnavigate the hand-break and gear stick. As he sat upright he put his hand to the back of his neck, easing it to the left and right to rid it of the momentary crick born of leaning his head at an awkward angle against the door as he slept.


A splashing sound from outside took his weary attention to the lake but there was nothing there that he could immediately make out. It appeared to be as peaceful and calm as it had been when he first looked out at its glassy surface. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of laughter...Ororo’s laughter. It was only at that point that he became aware of the fact that she wasn’t there. He’d been on his own for so long that it always took him a few moments to register when she wasn’t by his side. Then the splash came again accompanied by an unself-conscious reel of laughter that almost made the ‘old dog’ smile. Running his hand over his face in a scrubbing motion to force off the last of the tiredness he got out of the car; grabbing his leather jacket with the three stripes, on the way out. Dropping down to the ground he slammed the door shut behind him and then pulled on the tattered old leather over his denim jacket, breathing in deep so that the fresh cool air woke him completely.


The wet gravel crunched under foot as he made his way down to the edge of the lake. As the clear water lapped at the shingle of the shore, creating a noise like the waves of the ocean he stood at its boundary, watching with a certain sense of wander as Ororo cavorted in the still lake, without a care in the world. Her long, pale hair was slicked back, clinging to her body as she emerged from the water for breath; spurting out a fountain of clear liquid like a statue of antiquity. For a brief moment she bobbed up and down as she tried to sustain her buoyancy, creating a gentle movement of ripples to disturb the tranquil of the flat surface. As Logan watched her pitch up and dive back down again, her naked supple form cutting through to submerge itself like a playful nymph, a thought came to him of how it looked like she was swimming in the clouds. The fluffy white and grey forms reflected with such mirror perfection on the lake that it really did look like she were playing amongst the feathery vacant masses that dotted the sky. An indescribable feeling rose in his chest as he observed her---one which he couldn’t help but think himself foolish for acknowledging, being the type of man that he was. And it scared him; scared him in the same way that it scared him every time he thought about that last night in his apartment. He’d meant every last word he’d said on that cathartic night; a heavy weight had been lifted from his heart and his mind but in the cold light of day his words still had the power to...frighten him almost. Whilst he gazed upon her now she looked so free, so at peace with herself---it only served to remind him of the demons that haunted his soul, demons that would never allow him a respite from their torment. Especially after last night...Maybe it was a sign that it was time to stop running.


“Come and join me!” Ororo had finally emerged long enough to notice that Logan was stood on the lake edge.


“Are you crazy?” He called, his voice reverberating across the entire expanse. “It’s damn cold out here---ya wanna catch yer death?”


She laughed at him as she splayed her arms in rhythmic circles horizontally just beneath the waters surface to keep her self afloat. “It is wonderful in here!” She exclaimed joyfully, “Don’t be such a coward!” At that he cocked an eyebrow at her and then with a lopsided grin thought,# Ta hell with it.# and began to inch off his leather and denim jackets at the same time.


*


With a loving care Ororo filled her handful of water and spilled it over his shoulder before laying her hand on his skin and brushing it all the way down his muscular arm. As she sat behind him in the shallows of the water, her long legs wrapped around his midriff, her shapely calves tucked over his thighs so that her feet rested together between them, she repeated the motion. Scooping up another generous amount of vaguely chilly water, some of it seeped through the tiny gaps that were left as she poured it this time over his hair. It didn’t saturate its thick mass immediately, most droplets running straight off like oil resisting water, but then she did it again and this time the liquid took. She slicked his hair down, letting her hands run right down the back of his head and then move onto his back;, flowing them over it like she were modelling a sculpture, her deep doe eyes holding a air of fascinated concentration.


Logan closed his eyes to the fading light and the distant snow capped mountains as he gave himself to the sensations of her hands ‘washing’ his body. With the delicate but unknown song that she hummed melodiously yet absently, what she was doing had a certain sense of ritual about it. He was feeling much more relaxed; all thought that had previously began to trouble him again melting away into the ether at the simple caress of her hands. The humming slowly became more purposeful until it morphed into a true tune, soon after its soothing strength was followed by the addition of words. They were words he had utterly no comprehension of, but the way she sang them, with a soft yet powerful dipping lilt in a lullaby tempo, somehow made sense of them.


Malaika, nakupenda Malaika

Malaika, nakupenda Malaika

Nami nifanyeje, kijana mwenzio,

Nashindwa na mali sina, we,

As she sung the words in a tender and wistful voice she too closed her eyes, her head inclined to the side and tipped back slightly; her hands continuing to collect up the clear cool liquid and bathe her lover with measured, graceful caresses...


Ningekuoa Malaika

Nashindwa na mali sina, we,

Ningekuoa Malaika


Pesa zasumbua roho yangu

Pesa zasumbua roho yangu

Nami nifanyeje, kijana mwenzio,

Ningekuoa Malaika

Nashindwa na mali sina, we,

Ningekuoa Malaika


Kidege, hukuwaza kidege

Kidege, hukuwaza kidege

Nami nifanyeje, kijana mwenzio,

Nashindwa na mali sina, we,

Ningkuoa kidege

Nashindwa na mali sina, we

Ningekuoa kidege....


The last words trailed off quietly, morphing back into the gentle lull of her former humming. It was a while before he was roused to ask, having been pulled into the same kind of vague trance by the song that she seemed to have fallen into singing it. But eventually he asked, his voice sounding alien and soft in his ears after such a stretch of ‘silence’, “What was that?”


The humming broke off and he could tell she was smiling from the sound of her voice. “It is a song from Kenya.”


“What---some kinda traditional song?”


“No,” she shook her head as she ran her hands over each of his arms, tracing flaccidly at his tattoos before stretching so that she reached all the way down to his thick wrists, “it is quite old, but it’s not tribal. I am not sure who it is from.”


“How did you learn it?” It was the first time he’d felt comfortable enough to begin to ask her about her past. Even after over a week on the road together they still hadn’t really talked all that much; not about each other at any rate. But this felt like the right time...a natural flow almost.


After a brief silence she replied, “My mother used to sing it to me when I was very young.” Her hands became still suddenly and her eyes held a far off look like she was reminiscing. “She used to sing it all the time,” She started again suddenly and with an obvious fondness, “when she was cooking or doing things around the house, or when we went to the lake for swimming. She....” The words faded on Ororo’s lips as she leant her cheek against his damp back; the water from Logan’s now soaked hair running down it in streams, some of it catching on her face as she pressed to him with a bitter-sweet look in her eyes. Her arms wrapped around his torso as she rested against him; feeling a sense of comfort as he took hold of her forearms with a strong and steady grip. “It’s been so long that I can not even remember what most of it means...just the sound of the words. That’s all.” She admitted regretfully.


Logan held her arms that bit tighter and kind of made to turn his head to look at her but didn’t. Instead he brought her arms up from his body and kissed her hand before laying them back down to where they were. This time he could feel her smile; her beautiful lips curving between his shoulder blades, near the top. “What words can you remember?” He encouraged with a rare quietness.


Ororo pulled her head back and thought for a moment, only one or two of the lines coming to her from distant buried memories. The sound of that pretty and familiar voice filling her ears whilst pots and dished clanked in the sink and soapy water sloshed and slopped about. “‘Angel’...” She started uncertainly, “‘Angel, I love you Angel...’”She paused again, trying to recall the next line, “‘What should I do, your lover?’ ‘I would marry you, Angel’---something---something ‘is troubling my soul’. I can’t remember the word that goes there.” She thought again for a moment as she idly let her hands rub up and down his torso slightly, dipping in and out of the water with soft splashes, but it wouldn’t come to her. “Then there is something like,” She recited the part of the song that she was trying to recall next in a silent whisper, just her lips moving in mimic of it, then continued, “It’s something like- ‘Little...bird, I always dream of you, little bird.’ The other words are a loss to me.” She conceded finally with a small shrug and then planted a kiss between his shoulder blades where her cheek had previously been resting.


A contented silence settled in which neither of them did or said anything, just held each other in the water. There was so much unsaid but so much time to say it in. It seemed strange to know someone with such an intense intimacy but in truth not know them at all. They could be together for hours without a word and still feel closer than most people---trivial facts were not needed here. They were linked by essence...a bond much more infinite. It was something they’d both come to recognise over the past week...not consciously but instinctively. But reality still had to be contended with...unfortunately.


“We should get goin’ soon.” His words didn’t seem to break the peace.


“Why?” She whispered lazily; her eyes closed and her head pressed to him once more.


“We’ve gotta get to Zama City.”


Ororo opened her eyes and pulled her head back, tilting it as if to try and look round at his face, “Why there?” She thought of last night when they’d talked about where they were going and he was so non-committal about heading up to Ontario. But something had happened in that bar; something that she had not bothered to question him about. She’d learnt fast that to push him about something was to have him clam up, and that wasn’t what she wanted. The workings of his mind were slowly starting to make sense to her. Though she asked ‘why?’ at this point because she thought it was safe to. Something had obviously past last night to make him so certain.


“I overheard some guys at the bar last night---I think there’s some good fightin’ goin’ on up there.”


Ororo fought not to grimace at the mention or betray to him how she felt about that. Memories of the night on Dock 19 coming back at a most unwelcome time. “Okay.” She said simply and then stood from the shin-deep water.


Logan turned to look up at her but he felt she was distinctly avoiding his eye as she turned toward the close shore and wading back to the shingle. He watched her closely as she picked up her heaped clothes from the ground and made her way over to the truck to put them back on. But he remained where he was for the moment--- questioning himself. He had no idea if he was doing the right thing or not and realised that he had much to lose if he was making an error of judgment. Right now she was pissed that he wanted to fight again, or that’s as much as he could tell, but his own misgivings ran much deeper than that so he could cope with that assumption.


As he turned to face the expanse of steely water again, a small current of waves lapping at his body, he tried to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. He loved Ororo whether he was scared of his ‘pillow talk’ confession or not and couldn’t be without her now, couldn’t imagine it for the life of him. He’d gone some way to giving himself over for the first time in years but he could never give wholly if he didn’t confront his past. He knew that now---always had really. The risk was great, but she was worth it. As he got up from the water and looked over to where she was stood next to the rusting pick-up truck, pulling on her loose T-shirt over still damp skin he knew she’d always be worth it, always...


-TBC-





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