Divisions - James Gerard (english love story books TXT) 📗

and muttered, “Hello.”

 

“Doctor Hatford?”

 

A moment’s pause did nothing to jog the memory as to who was the caller.  Pressed to say something, he just responded “yes.”

 

“My name is Augustine Florentine.  I am Jeffrey’s associate.  I believe he talked with you last night about a certain project that you might be interested in.”

 

“Jeffrey?”

 

“Yes, Jeffrey McKay.  He is one of your benefactors.”

 

“Of course.  My apologies Mister...Mister….”

 

“Florentine.  Augustine Florentine.”

 

“I am lucky,” laughed Paul, “to remember my own name in my old age.  Yes, I do remember him mentioning something about a project, but I cannot quite remember the details.”

 

“He may have mentioned something about refreshing the mind?”

 

“Yes…of course.  Now I recall.  He spoke of an advisory position I believe.”

 

“Would you be interested?”

 

“Well, I suppose out of appreciation for everything he has done in the past, I feel I at least owe it to him to take a look at the project.”

 

“Good Doctor Hatford, good.  If you do not mind, I can arrange transportation for you.  I can have a vehicle there at…let’s say, eleven o’clock.”

 

“Let me think,” said Jeffrey.  He then laughed allowed.

 

“Is there a problem Doctor Hatford?”

 

“Problem?  No.  I was in the process of mentally checking my day’s agenda when I realized I am retired.  Eleven o’clock would be fine Mister….”

 

“Please Doctor Hatford, just call me Augustine.”

 

“Of course Augustine.  Eleven o’clock is fine.”

 

“I look forward to meeting you Doctor Hatford.”

 

“I as well Augustine.”

 

Moans accompanied the cracking joints of elbow and shoulder and back as Paul struggled to set the receiver back in place.  He caught a quick glance at the alarm clock reading eight thirty-eight in the morning.  The very sound of its silence produced an odd chuckle.  Paul could not recall exactly when he had first relied on the device to provide a wakeup call, but he found it funny that for the first time in what had to be seventy-five to eighty years, the alarm did not sound for a rude awakening.

 

The body began to quiver in reaction to the coldness of the bedroom.  He pushed the tuxedo off the end of the bed and onto a pile of soiled clothes sitting on the carpet just below.   A terry cloth robe laying underneath the tuxedo was found.  He put in on then immediately hobbled to the hallway.

 

Forgetting the prescription glasses in the bedroom, he squinted at the thermostat and noticed it had been turned off allowing the temperature to dip to thirty-five degrees during the night.  Paul struggled to remember when he had turned it off and why, but the memory of doing so was vacant.  A shrug of the shoulders and a poke of a finger and the air came swooshing out of the vents.

 

Paul managed to navigate the cluttered path to the kitchen without stubbing a toe and flipped the light on.  Not wasting a moment, he walked directly to the sink and rinsed out a dirty mug sitting on top a rack of dirty dishes, pots, and pans.  On the way to the stove to retrieve a water kettle, Paul gave a glaring glance at the coffee maker sitting abandoned in a corner.  He never had figured out how to program its timer or even how to activate it.

 

The water kettle was filled and set upon the range.  Waiting for it to come to a whistling boil, his hands struggled to open the lid of a fresh jar of instant coffee.  Mustering every bit of might left in muscles that had seen better days, the lid finally turned free.   Squinting, he carefully eyed the granules as they poured into the mug.  The kettle whistled.  The steaming water was poured into the mug.  He sat down and stirred the cup.   Hoping it would quickly lessen the sting of the wintery-like cold until the heat kicked in, Paul slowly sipped the hot coffee.

 

As the mug came to near empty, the thought of eating came to mind.  But as he scanned the cupboards in an effort to remember if there was yet a clean pan left to cook the bacon and eggs he had been accustomed to, the answer to the query lay in the stack of dirty utensils at the sink.

 

Just thinking about how Joyce would react to the foods he chose to eat in her absence sent a smile to his face.  Such foods had been taboos while she controlled the kitchen and were never worthy of a second thought while grocery shopping.

 

“I know Joyce,” he laughed while looking up, “it was I that asked we eat a healthy diet so we could live a long and healthy life.”

 

But the smile melted away and was replaced with a frown.  He found the situation ironic in that he was the one that insisted on the healthy diet yet she was the one that died far too early in life.

 

“Do you think it is my way to try and join you my dear?” whispered Paul.  “You know, eat all the wrong foods to quicken my death?  Maybe it is my fault Joyce that it has not worked.  I hate to admit it sweetheart, but the food we ate was rather bland.  I really enjoy the foods I am eating now.  Do you suppose the mental pleasure I receive has counteracted all the fatty acids that should have clogged my arteries long ago?  Do you think my life has been prolonged because I enjoy them?”

 

Paul sat there hoping to hear a response but was instead hit by the cool air that sent shivers throughout the body.  Unwilling to withstand the cold a minute longer, he forced himself to a standing position and hobbled back into the hallway to crank up the heat.  Moments passed before a draught of heated air flowed upon the neck.  Feeling the warmth, Paul ambled into the bedroom.

 

“Why have you let me go on without her?  Why have I continued to live a long, productive life long after her death?  Is it because I have my appointed time?”  He stood at the foot of the bed and looked up.  “When will you take me?”

 

Paul stood silent waiting for a voice or a feeling beating its way into the heart, but that voice was silent and the touch absent.  Realizing the need to put away the sadness and prepare for the day, he shuffled over to the closet.

 

A quick assessment of the closet revealed a scant selection of clean clothes to wear.  The focus turned to the pile of clothes lying at the foot of the bed.  There, was the pair of pants and shirt and socks worn from a couple of days ago.  They had to do.  Noticing the mild yet rancid smell emanating from the shirt while it was buttoned up brought up second thoughts about the selection of the day’s wardrobe, but the thought was quickly removed knowing many of those he had encountered in the near past had demonstrated understanding and toleration of his aged condition and choices.

 

Just as he finished dressing, Paul pulled the false teeth from a cup and gave them a quick rinse at the bathroom sink.  He then retrieved the glasses off the nightstand for a clearer view of the obstructions cluttering the hallway.  His intentions were to head back to the kitchen for a second cup of morning coffee, but just as he entered the living room there was a knock on the door.  A look at a clock sitting on the mantle of the fireplace showed eleven o’clock.

 

“Doctor Hatford?” was heard from the other side of the closed door.

 

“Yes,” he shouted as loud as he could, “I will be there in a minute.”  He noticed the hooks next to the front door were bare.  “Oh what did I do with them?”

 

Another knocking at the door sounded.   The voice from behind was louder, “Doctor Hatford?” 

 

“Just give me one second,” he screamed at the top of his lungs.  Entering the bedroom, Paul immediately went to the pile of clothes and dug out the overcoat, scarf, and hat that he had unknowingly buried first thing in the morning.

 

Prepared for the chilly morning, Paul opened the door and saw the impatient look of a man standing on the porch.  “We are running a little bit late,” the driver stated.

 

“Yes, yes, I apologize.  But understand I am not as young as I used to be.”

 

Paul could feel the cold stare of the driver as he carefully stepped down the frosty steps.  He also heard the impatience through his incisive groaning.  Worse, he could not help but notice how the young man immediately jumped into the driver seat without offering to usher him into the backseat.  But considering how his reactions had slowed to a crawl over the years, Paul could not be too miffed at the young man who was probably under a tight schedule.

 

The driver ignored the campus’ posted speed limits as the limousine sped through the quiet streets to the main avenue.  The road skirted the perimeter of the university’s grounds.  Without much interest to the passing scene that he had seen over and over through the years, Paul thought about what he was about to encounter.  If both Jeffrey and Augustine were truthful as to the objective of their so-called research, then the morning had the potential of being a stunning breakthrough from an area of research that had eluded him all these years.

 

“We are almost there,” the driver blurted out.

 

As the limousine came to a stop at an intersection, Paul looked up ahead at something familiar.  He was sure he was staring at the same abandoned warehouse seen the night before, but something looked startling different in the light of the day.  That is it, he thought, they finished the work on the street.

 

The driver drove slowly past the pathetic façade giving him ample time to not only question why would it just be used for an alternative entrance, but because of its deteriorated state, why it was even still standing.

 

Coming around the corner, the adjoining building that was surely their research facility lay in stark contrast to the shell of the empty warehouse.   Its façade was void of brick.  From end to end and from top to bottom it appeared to be a single pane of glass with the sun glinting off its reflective surface.

 

The car stopped.  Instead of waiting for the driver to lend a helping hand, Paul opened the door and struggled to step out onto the sidewalk.

 

The driver came around the front of the limousine and said, “Right through that door Doctor Hatford.”

 

Paul smiled in appreciation for the ride and nodded in affirmation that the directions were correctly understood.  Without hesitation, he approached the door and immediately entered what appeared to be a lobby.  But if it were a lobby, he thought, it was not much of one.  A lone padded bench sat by itself against a wall near an elevator.  He found it odd that there were neither reading materials available to pass the time or a receptionist or security personnel to greet him.

 

As he wentt to sit down and wait, the elevator doors opened.  A man was revealed.   By his refined attire and pleasant smile Paul assumed the man was Augustine but could not be sure.  Before he could ask, the man walked up to him, held out his hand, and smiled.

 

“It is an honor to meet you Doctor Hatford.”

 

Paul shook the man’s hand.  “You have me at a disadvantage sir.  Augustine?”

 

“Yes Doctor Hatford, I am he.”

 

“Of course.  I apologize.  I suppose you would have told me if someone other than yourself would be greeting me.”

 

“Quite understandable Doctor. “  Augustine turned and stepped back onto the elevator.

 

Paul just stood there not knowing what to do.

 

“Well,” said Augustine, “are you joining me or not?”

 

Paul wanted to engage Augustine in polite conversation, but within seconds the elevator doors opened.  Stepping out on the second floor he noticed the long and empty hallway.  Its white walls and doors and drab white floor strongly reminded him of an antiseptic setting.  They passed many a door to the left and right as they walked down the hallway.  He could not help but notice that