8.
My property in Cape Town was not selling, and I ran out of time on the offer that left me bitterly despondent. I still had no idea what I was going to do here on this paradise island. Weeks went by and still my apartment was not sold. I was getting worried that my money was going to run out, and besides, the boredom was beginning to kick in.
Markl and his father Estaban invited me to lunch after church one Sunday. While sitting on their porch sipping tea and admiring the beautiful view over the harbour, Estaban told me fascinating stories of his many years at sea. He spoke of his late wife with such passion I felt like I knew her, and he talked admiringly of his son who had clearly inherited his mother's looks. Estaban was a rough diamond but a placid man with a gruff voice, who chewed his pipe that never got lit. I liked him. He enquired about the offer for the house and listened as I gave him the disappointing news.
He cleared his throat with a cough, 'I have a possible solution for you.'
'I'm listening.'
'The house next door is available to rent. I know the owners well, they live in the south of the island, and I can ask them to lease it to you like a B&B.'
'You'd do that for me?'
'Well yes, but all I can do is ask; the rest you will have to do.'
I jumped from my seat and hugged him surprising myself with my reaction. Estaban blushed and stuck his pipe back into his mouth. Suddenly I remembered, almost having forgotten how I looked.
'Do you think I can do it? I mean with, you know, my scars?'
Markl and Estaban replied in unison, 'Of course!'
Estaban went inside the house and picked up his mobile phone, dialled a number on his way out and was greeting the person at the end of the line by the time he was back in his rocking chair. He ended the call after giving an up-to-date news flash on the local fishing industry, then put his phone down on the table and rested back in his chair, rocking forwards and backwards in a calming motion.
'He wants to meet you this weekend, Saturday.'
Since Estaban had a spare set of keys for the house – in the case of emergencies – we spontaneously took a tour of the house. The men were full of ideas of what needed to be done to turn it into a comfortable and pleasant B&B. Listening to them the excitement rubbed off, and although I had no idea how to run a guesthouse, it was a challenge I was keen to take on. The house had the same beautiful view of the harbour that Estaban and Markl's had, it had so much potential.
***
The following Saturday I met with the owner. It was simply a formality as Estaban had pretty much sealed the deal with his first phone call. The lease got signed with a few addendums, and there it was – my future in Mauritius. Financially it was not a solid plan as I still had to renovate and get paying guests. I needed my property in South Africa to sell soon.
The men were working long hours at sea as it was peak fishing season but Markl had organised one of his friends that had a construction company to do the main renovating and painting. I spent every day doing whatever I was capable of, my weak lungs prevented me from doing as much as I wanted to and by the end of each day, I was completely exhausted. However, it was satisfied exhaustion. I stood back and inspected the wall I had just finished painting and decided a break was in order. I took a doughnut from the plate in the kitchen and with a glass of orange juice, I sauntered off to the porch. Once I had placed the juice on the table, I sat on the little balcony railing and leant against the pillar slowly eating the delicious doughnut. Where were the days when anything with bread or starch did not cross my lips at all? I grinned as I savoured every bite. The sun shone gently on my face, and I relaxed completely, my mind clear of any thoughts of the past. Nothing filled my mind for several minutes until Markl's lovely face appeared in my thoughts.
If you would be my kiss, I would be your hug.
I opened my eyes in shock. Did I just think that? Why would I think that and why was Markl occupying my mind in that way? Flustered, I got off the balcony railing and sat down in an old worn-out chair I had found in the house and moved to the porch. I gulped down my juice hoping to wash away the image of Markl and those crazy ideas of him. But he kept creeping back, smiling at me with his sparkling eyes and sun-stained wrinkles. Could it be that I was in love with him? No, I never fell in love, well not before the accident in any case! I contemplated this for a very long time and simply had to draw the conclusion that yes I was. I was in love with Markl. I had never felt this way before. I had never felt my heart flutter when my eyes met another man's the way they did when I looked at Markl.
I was finally in love.
But what was the point of being in love now when I was so much less than perfect? And in any case, why would Markl want to fall in love with me when he could do so much better than a woman with scars and wispy hair?
Back in the house, varnishing the window frames of a guest room, I managed to get Markl out of mind, but not for long. Every time I stopped to check my work I envisaged Markl standing next to me pointing out the spots I had missed. In my mind, I, in fact, had a conversation with him about my handiwork. I envisioned his smile, and I smiled back at him. What was I going to do when he was around, now that I was aware of my new revelation?