Village Squire, 1978-11, Page 30of a gorilla or a chimpanzee. animals that at the best of times 1
find distracting. The skin had that bluish cast that goes with a
heavy black beard. The lips that now parted in a smile displayed
a mouthful of heavy squarish, oversized teeth. while above the
mouth was a broad flat nose with flared nostrels. Large ears were
set forward in a listening attitude. Craggy brow ridges
emphasized the thick black brows. Only the big blue eyes and
heavy chin relieved the face from being wholey ape -like. And as
he smiled 1 felt like a mouse staring into the face of a prowling
cat.
"I see you are reading Graham Greene. He's one of my wife's
favourites."
The man's voice was in startling contrast to his face. One
would have as little expected a striking cobra to trill like a hermit
thrush. It was deep as the great chest from which it issued. rich
and well moduated. I noted, too, that the man was impecably
dressed. My father was a tailor, so I've learned to assess cloth
and cut at a glance.
Commenting briefly on my own fondness for Greene I returned
to my lunch and he to his. I read on, but the print before me
registered little as I tried to conjur up a wife that could bring
herself to mate with such a man. Later in the day I began to
wonder whether or not my imagination was playing tricks on nie
and letting me magnify Whitaker's sad lack of good looks.
A week past and on return from an assignment in Windsor 1
ran into the ugly man again in the same small restaurant, a
favourite one of mine when on home base. Willie also seemed to
drop in at my accustomed hour so we formed the habit of
exchanging bits of random conversation. He was head of a small
team of industrial designers, had his own business. His home. he
said was a modest place at King City where he and his wife and
son resided. As a hobby he painted and was bit by bit working
some of his ideas into paid murals. Thanks to his fine voice he
also did the odd radio commercial. This I could readily accept but
with the passing of time I began to suspect that the family at
King City might well be a polite fantacy. How could any sensitive
woman accept this fellow on a day by day basis?
It must have been about the time of our third or fourth meeting
that I came up with the plan of securing the opinion of the distaff
side. First I solicited the aid of Midge Carol a big homely girl of
30 odd years. From her vantage post where I posted her in
Malcolm's she would have a clear view of the little booth we were
accustomed to occupy. Her comment was brief, "Marriage 1
dream of, but never that."
Others I invited to have a peek at Willie offered similar
comments. Finally I invited Kay McDonald. Kay was a
free -wheeling lass with a penchant for men from many molds.
Fun -loving and tolerant of a wide range of male shortcomings,
she if anyone might be able to see behind the ugly exterior and
sense the man beneath. After she had studied Whitaker secretly
her comment was the most charitable of the lot. "I'd feel sorry
enough for the poor devil to go out on a date with him now and
again, but to bed, never."
"He tells me he is married although I have never met his
wife.":
"If that's so, then what they say about love being blind is
surely true," was her response.
Occasionally in the months that followed I invited Willie over
to my bachelor apartment overlooking Allan Gardens, if we were
both working on into the evening. He was a delightful and
interesting companion despite his ugliness. Our acquaintance
also gave me more time to note the casual reaction of passersby
on the street. I was interested in his sketches and he in my
photographic abstracts which now and again he begged my
permission to use in an occasional mural.
From time to time he refered to his wife and son. As I reviewed
them they seemed fragmentary, and I began to wonder whether
lb. they might be a coverup for a lonely man who had no real hope of
present or future married bliss.
My beat now shifted exclusively to the Metro area and it was
not uncommon for Willie and 1 to lunch together as often as twice
28 The Village Squire November 1978
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