The Icelandic Canadian - 01.08.2001, Side 26

108
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
Vol. 56 #3
about it,” I said.
“So you study mermaids.”
“No, law, actually.”
She smirked. “What a surprise. Is it
interesting?”
“Well, yes, I think so, but it’s hard to
explain to somebody else. Most people
don’t really want to know.”
She thought for a moment. “If you
could put what you love about it into one
sentence, what would you say?”
Nobody had ever asked me that before.
I considered it. ‘“With laws shall our land
be built up but with lawlessness laid waste’
. . . that about hits it on the head.”
“You’re really passionate about it, aren’t
you?” she said. My ears grew hot. She did-
n’t seem to notice.
“Yes, I am,” I said.
“Were you quoting something just
now?”
“The introduction to one of my text-
books. I don’t remember what it was quot-
ing, though.” We were silent for a moment.
Then I said, “So what do you do?”
“Me? I write,” she said, smiling.
“Really?” I said, “What do you write?”
“Oh . . . ‘Words, words, words.’”
I licked my lips. “I see.”
She laughed. “Sorry. That’s
Shakespeare. From Hamlet. I write every-
thing I can ... the only thing it all has in
common is words. But if you really want to
know, I write more short stories than any-
thing else.”
“What do you like about them?”
“Well . . . sometimes I can understand
something better by working it into a
story. Sometimes when I’m up against
something I can’t handle, I try to write a
way out of it.”
“Hm. Does it work?”
She sighed. “Occasionally.”
“What does Shakespeare say about
lawyers?”
She snickered. “Actually, Bill advises us
to kill them all first.”
“Nice.”
“Don’t take it personally,” she said,
putting her hand on mine. That startled me,
for some reason. “You know what, Neil?”
she said, after a pause.
“What, Robyn?” I said.
“You’re really . . . neat.”
I laughed uncomfortably. “I was about
to say the same thing about you.” There
was another pause.
“Could I see that book?” she asked.
“My—why do you want to see a law
book?”
“No,” she smiled, “the one about the
mermaids.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Ha. Would you like to
borrow it?” Her smile widened, exposing
her teeth. At that moment, I would have
given it to her.
Her skirt was dry by seven o’clock, but
it wasn’t until nine that she said, “Well, I’d
better get going.”
“Do you live far? I could walk you
home.”
“Only if you have a leash,” she said,
putting on her shoes.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I just hate that phrase.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
She finished tying up her laces and stood
up. “But ... if you’d like to walk with me
to where I live . . . let’s go.”
The streetlights shone through the
leaves in the trees, their stark, pale light
illuminating patches of yellow and orange
over our heads. The wind sent rustling
waves through the upper branches. Down
where we were, it scuttled papers past our
feet and invited us to take in its wild, dry,
autumn smell. We talked all the way there,
as if we’d known each other for years. She
nestled her arm around mine . . . and it felt
like the most natural thing in the world.
It had cooled off quickly; the clouds
were gone and the stars were out, and I felt
a nip in the air. I think she did, too.
“That’s my building,” she said, pointing
to an old brick building.
“Well, that’s not too far,” I said out
loud, without meaning to.
She turned to me. “No . . . it’s nearby.”
We stopped as she pulled her keys from
her purse.
“Well, thanks for the tea, Neil,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” We stood there. “It
was nice to meet you, Robyn.” She nod-
ded. Niether of us moved. I realized that
our arms weren’t touching any more, so I
guess I put my hand on her bicep, and then