Mister Nobody – Part 1 | So blow, winter wind

Peterhead, Scotland, October 2016

The neighbor appeared for the first time about a month after Lisa moved into the house near the cliff, wondering if she would ever have to go back to the US.

She had left Los Angeles after finally finding the perfect environment abroad: quiet, peaceful, solitary. Those were the keywords that made the new tenant’s appearance so bizarre and unexpected. Lisa didn’t think someone would want to spend their lives near a dramatic cliff over a stormy sea, chilly weather and all. Only damaged people – or damaged goods, like she was – would probably accept such a remote accommodation, so far away from the comforts that life in a city entailed, so wholly immersed in the nothing and everything that nature was about.

As paradoxical as it seemed, the remoteness of that place had been the reason why Lisa had chosen it. She needed that, after her separation and the bitter divorce that had followed it – and an ex-husband who still plagued her existence. She needed shelter, after the disaster that had dramatically loomed over her little girls, after her stint in rehab, and especially after that loss that seemed to have no solution. An absence that still felt like a presence in her heart, despite all the work that she had been doing for seven years to learn to deal with it. At least from a rational point of view. Her mind had formally accepted that Michael was gone. Her soul, her heart, hadn’t, and they still screamed, bled, and longed for him.

It was a permanent loss, an endless aching, an eternal longing that she had never really had the possibility to share with anyone, for so many reasons. Mainly, those reasons were wrong. The endgame didn’t change: she was alone and lost in the void that Michael had left. Deprived of his touch, deprived of his presence, even her life had been chipped, and Lisa knew that it was never going to be the same.

That was probably the reason why the dreams kept coming. Lisa couldn’t stop them and maybe, even if she had that power, she wouldn’t use it. In perfect, unreasonable contrast with what real life was supposed to be, the dreams somehow kept her anchored to sanity. They made her feel less lonely, even though she craved solitude and long remote interludes. Even if she tended to avoid people with a passion.

That was the reason why she had moved to that remote area in Scotland, and that was why, when the neighbor made his first appearance in the Sahara desert of her field of vision, she was annoyed and hoped he would just go away.

At first, Lisa didn’t even see the man. She only saw a team of house movers going back and forth from the small house to their truck. They were bringing pieces of furniture – elegant, albeit simple – and some boxes into the house. Nothing really noteworthy, except maybe for what looked like an extensive collection of old records and some vintage clocks.

The new tenant had chosen a house that Lisa had eyed before renting the property nearby, but he was nowhere to be seen. The invisible man. Lisa’s curiosity piqued a bit: it wasn’t easy to fly under the radar in Peterhead, a small town at the easternmost point in mainland Scotland. Less than twenty thousand inhabitants. Yet, at the same time, that was a place where you could quickly disappear if you really wanted to. If you wanted to be alone or to be left alone.

Then one morning, while she sat on the patio sipping her coffee, buried in a heavy sweatshirt and covered with an exaggeratedly large blanket, she detected a movement out of the corner of her eye. And there he was, the man. The invisible tenant suddenly was not so invisible anymore.

The morning was chilly, although autumn had just started. The air was windy and clean. The breeze was sent from the sea to purge and purify everything and everyone on its path. The man didn’t seem to mind.

Wrapped in a long black coat that almost reached his ankles, a grey newsboy hat pushed down on his head, hands buried in his pockets, his body stiff and bent forward, fighting against the chilly wind, he moved around the large garden surrounding the small house on all sides. Lisa watched him as she kept sipping her boiling hot coffee and squinted her eyes. What was this guy doing?

She wasn’t looking for company and was not really interested in getting to know her neighbor, yet she was slightly intrigued. Why, of all places, had he moved right there, so close to another house but in such a secluded area? If he wanted to be alone, then Lisa would be nothing but a nuisance to him. On the other hand, if he looked for some company, he could have opted for a cozy apartment downtown.

The man crouched down. A gloved hand appeared from his pocket and brushed the ground as if he was caressing the skin of a beautiful woman. His fist closed into the soil, assessing its conditions. Then he stood up and absent-mindedly cleaned his hand on his coat as he resumed walking. His back was turned to Lisa, and she observed him through her hooded eyes, the warm cup close to her lips, inhaling the pungent scent of coffee.

The man stood still for a moment, then turned around, directly facing Lisa from afar. She couldn’t really make out his face because he was about a hundred feet away from where she was. She could only see that he sported a full dark beard, streaked with grey, and that he wore a pair of rectangle-rimless photochromic glasses, the type that darkened in brightness and lightened in low light. He was quite tall, but not lanky. It was hard to say, since he was wearing a coat and possibly something heavy or layers of garments underneath, but he looked… thick. Not necessarily burly, but solid. A few pounds overweight, maybe. Again, it was hard to say from afar. The lenses of his glasses were a light blue color and the reflection of the morning light didn’t make his eyes visible. Lisa couldn’t tell if the man was looking at her, even though he was facing her direction.

Then the guy removed his newsboy hat, revealing a head of shortish curly hair, dark on the top of his head, streaked with white on his temples. His hair swooped in the wind, showing a slightly receding hairline. Nothing major, really. The tenant waved his hat in the air, saluting Lisa from afar.

Lisa caught her breath for a split second, for no reason at all. Perhaps she was just surprised that she had gotten his attention – even from afar, even without doing nothing – and that he was saying hi. Almost automatically, she raised her coffee cup in his direction.

“Hello, neighbor.”

Nothing but mumbled words, spoken almost under her breath.

As if he had heard her, the man smirked – ever so slightly. The faint smile was revealed by the movement of his beard. It was a smile so imperceptible that it didn’t even show his teeth.

Lisa didn’t know what to do with it.

The newsboy-hat-waving-in-the-air thing continued for a couple of weeks. It almost became a habit, for Lisa, a routine, and at one point, even something to look forward to.

Such a simple act could make such a difference in her long, solitary days in the small house by the cliff. Lisa wondered if her neighbor was as lonely as she was, if he ever felt lost and hopeless as she did, if he ever spoke to anyone. There was a touch of melancholy about him, a quiet sorrowfulness – something that she could almost see working as a physical barrier separating him from everything and everyone. He looked caught in his bubble. But in a way, he would still reach out – to her at least, he did. In his own way.

By just waving hello, without even needing to use his voice, only through that universally comprehensible gesture, the bearded guy next door had been building an invisible, ethereal bridge connecting his existence to Lisa’s.

Lisa began to call him “Mister Nobody” because he looked as if his most significant goal in life was to become part of the background.

At first, Lisa had expected him to be joined by a wife, a girlfriend – hell, even a boyfriend. Someone, anyone, during his morning strolls around the garden, but the man seemed a loner. Nobody ever came visiting him, and only rarely would he take his car – a Jeep – and drive off, staying away for an hour or two. Lisa was pretty sure that one of the few destinations was the local mall, where he shopped for food – at least judging by the brown paper bags he would unload and bring into the house regularly.

Whenever he saw her, Mr. Nobody would always greet Lisa with his trademark gesture. He would remove the newsboy hat from his head and wave it in the air – with that subtle smile on his lips, those dark eyes hidden behind the ever-shimmering lenses of his glasses.

After a few days, Lisa found herself smiling back at him, just a tiny bit.

Sometimes habits could be a good thing. Especially if they were harmless. Lisa didn’t know her neighbor – in fact, she didn’t even know his name – but she didn’t perceive him as a threat. He was just a middle-aged guy who was probably more interested in his garden than anything else in the world, a polite, old-style gentleman who had been taught that ladies should never be ignored. That was why he would salute her every day in his unique way. That was what Lisa thought – and the idea was, somehow, endearing.

In the last seven years sleeping had become increasingly problematic for her, more than it had ever been, and Lisa felt comforted every time she noticed that the lights in the neighbor’s house were still on, even late at night. Although she didn’t feel any need for company, those lights would always make her feel less lonely. Once again, she wondered if Mr. Nobody had trouble sleeping just like she did.

It was November when they spoke for the first time.

Lisa had decided to finally move from the patio to her own deserted garden – which she had never explored since the day she had moved into the house. She had no interest in taking care of her outdoors but started walking around the garden just to try to savor the feeling her neighbor felt each day, during his usual walks outside. Honest to God, Lisa could not detect any fascination in his habit of just examining the barren soil and suddenly felt very silly. Why was she imitating the guy’s actions? Did she think that she was going to find the meaning of life buried in the ground somewhere? What a fool she was. She always had been.

That day, she was about to go back into the house when she spotted him. He had opened the front door and now stood on his patio, his long coat on, his hat pushed on his head, wearing his usual glasses, the lapels of his coat flapping in the wind. He saw Lisa, smirked, and then waved at her, ever so slightly.

Freezing in the late afternoon wind, she just tilted her head in his direction. He looked hesitant for a second, then climbed down the three small steps that led to the garden and started walking toward the fence that separated their properties. His faint smile had not disappeared, but his lips looked sealed. Mister Nobody had a smile that shone mainly in the eyes, and never reached his mouth thoroughly.

Lisa slowly walked in his direction, unsure if she was acting out of habit or just good manners. A man and a woman, ambling toward one another in the chilly Scottish autumn. They stopped near the fence, each of them securely rooted in their respective property.

He spoke first.

“Good afternoon.”

His voice sounded semi-muffled by the whistling wind swirling over the cliff. It was deep, but not too thick. Controlled, polite, gentle.

Lisa detected something familiar, but couldn’t really put her finger on it.

“Good evening to you, sir.”

The man narrowed his eyes behind his glasses and glanced up at the darkening sky, squinting. Then smirked again, faintly.

“That’s right. It’s already evening, indeed… Time does fly when you’re having fun.”

Lisa stepped closer to the fence and took a better look at him. The guy was pale, but not in an unhealthy way. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be in pretty good shape. He reminded her a bit of Michael, but Lisa didn’t really pay attention to that. After all, everything and everyone, in one way or another, made her think of Michael anyway. That was nothing new, and through the years she had accepted it as the inevitable recoil of her trauma. She had gotten used to it, as if hers was some kind of mental deficit. She just couldn’t help it. Something inside of her was broken and couldn’t be fixed anymore. It was too late.

“Yeah, we both look like we’re having a ball…” She smiled and shivered. “I think I should at least introduce myself, since we… meet every morning… sorta… and we’re neighbors and all.”

Mister Nobody cocked his head to a side as if he was studying her somehow, trying to assess her mood and gauge her intentions. He looked confident, not shy at all, but a bit introverted.

“I’m Lisa.”

“Nice to meet you, Lisa. I’m Murphy.”

He held out his hand, wrapped in a faux leather glove, over the fence.

Lisa took his hand and something, in her guts, stopped functioning for a second. There was something eerily familiar in the way he had wrapped his fingers around hers, in the way they felt around her palm, in the heat they emanated. The sensation lasted just for a couple of seconds, and then it was gone. Murphy had let go of her and had pushed his hand back into his pocket.

“So… Miss Lisa… what brings you here?”

Lisa smiled, slightly taken aback by the question.

Nothing.

Everything.

“What brings me here? Well, I should ask you… I was here first, remember?” Her tone was cordial.

“Right…” Murphy scratched his temple and lowered his head for a moment, then his eyes looked up. “It’s just… It’s kinda unusual to have people living here 24/7… That’s why any living soul I spot always makes me wonder. But to answer your question… I chose this place because I love lighthouses, and there’s one right over there.”

His thumb vaguely pointed to the cliff, behind his back.

Lisa knew what he was talking about. There was indeed a lighthouse that could probably be detected even from his property. From the living room, to be specific.

“What about you? You’re here because…?”

Shivers ran through her and she crossed her arms over her chest in a protective gesture of self-comfort.

“Oh, I just like the climate. It’s lovely. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

Murphy’s eyes – big, dark eyes – sparkled behind the photochromic lenses. He snorted imperceptibly.

“I bet. Isn’t the weather the reason why everyone loves Scotland, after all?”

“That’s what they told me when I was still house hunting.”

Lisa’s reply was just as sarcastic, and he chuckled lightly. She couldn’t do anything but giggle a little bit herself. The guy seemed genuinely nice.

They talked about nothing for a handful of minutes. Normal pleasantries. Nothing deep enough to get to know each other at all, and yet enough to discover some interesting tidbits about one another.

Apparently, Murphy was an art dealer and he had decided to take a lengthy hiatus because he was sick and tired of flying all around the globe. Lisa told him that she ran a family business and could do everything from home. She didn’t go into any specifics. She just told him that the only thing she needed was a high-speed internet connection, which, against all the odds, worked pretty well even in that remote area of Peterhead.

Murphy was thinking about turning the depressing, scrawny garden around his house into a triumph of flowers of different colors, since he loved being surrounded by nature and didn’t like his backyard to look depressing and unkempt. Lisa was more about letting nature take its course and do whatever it wanted: she really didn’t give a damn about her garden. Or any other place, to be honest.

They smiled – well, Lisa smiled, while Murphy just smirked that bland smirk that she was now learning to know. She told him that she had been spending way too many hours just reading and relaxing. Murphy replied that he loved fixing broken clocks.

However, they also discovered they had something in common. A passion: photography. Before saying goodbye, they agreed to take a walk together one of those days and see what the area had to offer in that sense.

Maybe. Possibly.

They didn’t decide when or how. They just spoke about it very casually. Like two polite strangers… because that was what they were.

Later that evening, when Lisa closed the door behind her back and, still shivering, sat in front of the fireplace sipping a glass of red wine, she found herself thinking once again that somehow Murphy reminded her of Michael.

He was as tall as Michael, even though his physique looked way more massive. He had very similar eyes – soulful and very dark, almost black – and was just as pale. Of course, Murphy was older, while Michael… well, Michael would never get old. He would always remain young. Michael was eternal and untouchable, evanescent and yet present. He was impalpable as the wind whistling over the cliff.

Lisa raked her fingers through her long hair, fighting the pang of desperation rising into her soul. The usual emptiness had sharp fangs, and they would always bite hard. They would always make her bleed. It was no longer surprising… The pain, the loneliness, the longing that Michael’s absence evoked.

She tried very hard to re-focus on her neighbor. Their unexpected encounter had turned into the highlight of her day. Month, even.

Murphy seemed to also have Michael’s soft-spoken tone, although the timbre of his voice was different. In private, Lisa knew that Michael would usually speak in a deep voice, but Murphy sounded almost like a baritone. His mannerisms were nothing like Michael’s. His accent too was different – and quite recognizable. She was willing to bet that he was born in New York, or that at least he had lived there long enough.

Yet, Murphy and Michael seemed to share the same gentleness, genuine care, and attention when speaking to someone, as if they were really interested in what they were hearing. They were similar but, of course, they weren’t the same man.

More than anything else, Murphy’s face wasn’t Michael’s.

Chapter song