This one was ten inches tall, and supported a slender, miserable Christ plated in bronze.
That was the only decoration aside from a number of framed photo collages of the owner and his family taken over the years.
Most often it was deserted, so, aside from a few short trips up the coast for supplies, Hugh stayed put during our week on Maui. My only accomplishment was to sign my name to five thousand blank sheets of paper sent by my publisher. A month or two down the line, they’d be bound into copies of the book I had just about finished.
If he wasn’t on the deck overlooking the water, he was in the water looking back at the deck. There were still another few weeks to make changes, but they could be only minor grammatical things.
”He’d hit it squarely on the nose, especially the dark part.
The wood on the interior walls had been rigorously stained, and was almost the color of fudge, a stark contrast to the world outside, which was relentlessly, almost oppressively bright.
It might have been designed by a ten-year-old with a ruler, that’s how basic it is: walls, roof, windows, deck.
It’s easy to imagine the architect putting down his crayon and shouting into the next room, “I’m done. ”Whenever I denigrate the place, Hugh reminds me that it’s the view that counts: the ocean we look out at. From the outside, our cottage in England resembles something you’d find in a storybook—a home for potbellied trolls, benevolent ones that smoke pipes.
I especially love being there in the winter, so it bothered me when I had to spend most of January and February working in the United States.
Hugh came along, and toward the end we found ourselves on Maui, where I had a reading.