Stromness Dragon

Olivia looked up from her papers. The wooden sash window rattled in its frame and outside a rook flew from one pinnacle to another. A blast of air rushed down the chimney and sent a plume of ash and smoke into Olivia’s room. She chewed the end of her pen and surveyed the mass of books and papers and ink on her desk – what time was it? Indeed, what day was it? Had she eaten? Casting around for clues she saw a paper bag from a nearby bakery, but judging from the layer of dust on it, she concluded that it had been there for some time.

She stood up, arched her back and stretched, hearing her joints crack. The window rattled again and looking out, she saw a swirl of leaves eddying around the courtyard. There was no-one about, but then she wasn’t looking for anyone – her days here were in the main untroubled by human contact. Every now and again she sought out the silent old woman who looked after her rooms, gave her a crumpled note and asked her to get toiletries and food – nothing fancy – Olivia’s taste buds had long been dulled by invalid food. A bag of bread, sausage, ground coffee and occasionally apples, would appear silently at her door, along with the coins, which were stacked up neatly in order of size. On her two-ring gas stove she brewed coffee and drank it thick and dark – her one vice, as she saw it.

Every month or so Olivia climbed the broad stone steps to the college department where Professor Schmidt held court. The Professor always looked surprised to see her, but once she had drawn forth the handful of notes and papers from her leather satchel (once her father’s), he was happy to discuss her work and ideas. Sometimes he would reach into the dark varnished cupboard and take out a bottle of sherry and two sticky glasses, and they would sit, one either side of the fireplace, talking until the college housekeeper came to turn down the lamps. She felt happiest there – if the satisfaction of philosophical grappling and a sense of not wanting to be anywhere else could be described as happiness. The feeling lasted until she got back to her own room, heated up the dregs of the morning’s coffee and climbed under her quilt for warmth. Using a pile of books as a bedside table, she would lie there for hours, thinking about life in the abstract and sometimes hearing her sisters’ voices of pity. They had both sent letters over the last year, but Olivia had stopped opening them after a while – they seemed to have nothing to say except things of a domestic nature – children, garden, troublesome housemaids. Three or four unopened envelopes lay strewn under her desk.

Watching the trees being stripped of their foliage, Olivia decided that perhaps it was time to go home for a visit. There were documents and things to do with her parents’ house that she had to attend to, and she supposed she should visit her growing and uninteresting collection of nephews and nieces. Wrapping herself in a thick woollen coat (her mother’s best and too good to throw out) and pulling on a sturdy pair of boots, she headed down the street to the railway station. How much was a passage back to Britain? She couldn’t remember how much it had cost to get here – she just knew that you could buy a ticket that got you from one place to another: a ticket including train travel at both ends, and a boat trip in the middle.

The streets were quiet, but then it was still early morning. She berated herself: what if the station didn’t open till later? She didn’t know if she had the mental strength to make the journey again. The wooden gate creaked and she saw the smoke from the station guard’s pipe through the hatchway. Relieved, Olivia pulled off her mittens and in her crisp, clear voice asked for a passage to London. The station guard took his pipe from his lips and gave her a strange look. She repeated her request.

‘London. London, in England.’

He smiled and leaned forward.

‘Fraulein, it is not possible to go to England’ he said.

‘Whyever not? Is there a problem with the train?’ she frowned. This was most inconvenient.

‘No, Fraulein. You cannot go to England because we are at war with England’.

To be continued…….

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