Saint Martin's Day (MM) by Kim Fielding

Author:Kim Fielding
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2014-11-24T00:00:00+00:00

HE AWOKE in a dark room. The last wisps of alcohol still drifted through his brain, giving him a slight buzz, but he wasn’t truly intoxicated anymore. He wasn’t hungover either, which was a relief. But it still took him a moment or two to realize that Toby was sitting on the bed beside him, his back propped by pillows. Watching him.

“Your phone keeps ringing, Neno. Is someone looking for you?”

“Shit. The goose.” Neno sat up so quickly his head spun. His phone wasn’t in his pocket, which gave him a brief panic until Toby pointed at the nightstand. Without checking to see who all those missed calls were from, Neno called his mother.

“Nenad!” she yelled as soon as the call connected. “You’re not dead?”

“Not yet.”

“We waited for you for dinner. All of us. I called, your brothers called….”

“I know, Mama. I’m really sorry.”

Her voice was softer when she replied. “What happened to you?”

“I… I had too much wine. And then I ran into an old friend and… and lost track of time. I’m sorry.”

“Too much wine.” She clucked at him. “We missed you.”

“I really am—”

“Sorry. I know. You’ll be home tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Then be careful. Don’t drink too much.”

“Yes, Mama,” he said and then hung up.

“Your mother?” Toby asked, smiling. “I’m guessing mama means the same in Croatian as in English.”

“Angry mothers are probably universal.”

Toby chuckled. “I’m sorry. I guess I should have woken you up earlier.”

“No, it’s okay. She’ll forgive me. And my head’s a lot clearer now.” He looked down at his feet, then back up again. “Thank you. For….” He waved his hands vaguely.

“Sure.”

The bottle of wine was still on the desk. Neno retrieved it and stood awkwardly near the door. “I, um….”

“Have to go. I know. I’d hug you good-bye, but then I don’t think I could— Well. Be careful on the way home.”

“That’s what my mother said.”

Toby’s smile was sorrowful. “Wise woman. Good-bye, Neno.”

Silently, Neno left the room. He closed the door carefully and waited forever for the elevator. When it deposited him in the lobby, the glaring lights made him squint. He imagined the clerk was judging him as Neno walked by.

The square was even busier than it had been that afternoon, with large crowds mobbing the booths and more people arriving by tram. A big beer tent had been erected at the far end of the square. Snatches of singing escaped from the tent and made their way to him. For a moment, he considered buying more wine.

But then a gust of wind eddied around him, and he realized the temperature had dropped considerably while he was in the hotel. The air had a particular bite due to moisture that hinted at rain or even snow. He shivered in his thin jacket. Well, it was Saint Martin’s Day, after all. The official end of autumn and beginning of winter—according to tradition, if not strictly according to the calendar.

Grape must into wine, fall into winter. A day of change.

Neno spun on his heel and marched back into the hotel.

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