I have to admit, I am weak at short stories. So I am working on getting better at them. I don't have a lot of time so I have set myself a rather low goal. A page a day on a short story.
Envy first point out this problem to me. I had never thought of it before that. Well, I mean, no one likes to think of ones self becoming outdated. Envy of course had to point it out in the harshest way possible, it’s in his nature. We were seated in my apartment, I had just handed him a slice of cake but I could see him eyeing mine with jealousy. I had known him long enough to know that he was contemplating making a fuss about some imagined superiority of my slice. He didn’t say anything though, which I was thankful for. Of course I wouldn’t have given up my slice of cake anyway, even though the two were exactly the same, it’s a matter of principle.
“People don’t care about Pride anymore you know. Look at the rest of us, people still live in fear of Lust for example, and Greed is still shunned and avoided. These days’ people go so far as to ask one another if they have no pride. If you don’t watch out older brother you might even become one of the virtues. Hard to imagine that I used to be jealous of your greatness,” most of what Envy says I ignore, after all most of it is said for pure petty reasons. Still this was a direct attack on my honor so of course I had to respond.
“That isn’t what pride means in my name and you know it,” I snapped. “I am hubris and vanity, that’s still something to be feared no matter how many years pass.”
“So maybe I know it,” Envy admitted. “But do they?” he motioned with a hand to my picture window. Below was a busy city street, filled with the people my brothers and sisters and I had considered our play toys for centuries. We like cities, not because people are any more corrupt there then anywhere else but because we can be so much more efficient in our games with people all packed together. There used to be a time when we had to be constantly on the move or we would only affect a few thousand per generation. These days we hardly have to move anyway, people cram themselves together so much that they come to us, and in large numbers.
“What have you been doing that is so much better then my work,” I asked. I used to be considered the most deadly of all of the sins. To have that position challenged by some man who only sowed the seeds of jealousy was a bit much.
“I ruined a marriage on my way here, the wife happened to see her husband kissing his mistress, which was fun. I caused a murder, a man grew angry to see his neighbor get everything he had ever wanted and went over there with a gun. I think he was a bit unbalanced already though, to be honest. A good day’s work I thought. I would have done more but I thought I would visit you instead. We haven’t seen in such a long time after all.”
“I ruined a man’s career because he told a boss that he thought he could do better then his boss did. I caused a civil war because a king insulted his second in command and treated him like a dog. I had a businessman arrested for embezzlement because he had thought that he was to smart to ever get caught,” I bragged. Envy gave me a black look.
“I come to visit you after not seeing for such a long time and all you can do is brag of your own achievements,” he complained.
“Have you seen any of the others recently?” I asked.
“No, they’re all busy.”
“As am I, admit it, the only reason you came to see me was an attempt to make me jealous of the others. Well while you are here we ought to make it a reunion, I haven’t seen the others in a long time either. I am by far the most suited of all of us to play host, so I’ll call them.”
It didn’t take any verbal shout or touching objects, as humans have to call one another. All I had to do was desire the others to be standing in my living room and they were a strange group, my bothers and sisters. All of them looked at me questioningly but Envy decided to take over, jealous lest I get the spotlight.
“Hello everyone, we were just talking about how we should all get together, so we thought we would.”
“There better be something in it for me,” complained Greed. I gave him a nod; we had just worked together on the man who had gotten arrested for embezzling. It is fairly common for some of us to work together on a job, but family reunions aren’t very common. If nothing else it’s very unusual to find a human who is guilty of all of us, which is the only thing that would make such a meeting compulsory.
“And I don’t see any food,” added Gluttony. I already could tell that this was going to go poorly. Lust wasn’t even wearing clothing and I hated to think where she had been before I had called her. She was the only one that I would never ask how her work was going, or what she had done to her victims recently. I knew that she sometimes worked part time at a prestigious strip club somewhere but that didn’t account for the rest of her time.
“I hadn’t really intended to have guests at all today, so I don’t have money or food to give you at the moment,” I said, before they could start insulting my host skills. I think I am a very good host, but it helps when it’s a planed event. “I can order some take out up her, and run down to the ATM if you’d like,” I offered. I didn’t like waiting on my guests, it was below me, but it was better then them considering me poor and stingy.
I had had to use a pay phone to order the food since I usually don’t have any use for a phone so I don’t have one in my rooms. An ATM was just down the street so at least that wasn’t a long trip. When I returned to my rooms everyone had made themselves at least somewhat comfortable, though Wrath was yelling at Sloth to move out of his way and Envy was complaining that Lust had stretched herself out so she was taking up the entire couch. These were always like this when they got together.
“You’re behaving like I would expect Greed to,” Envy was complaining. “You don’t deserve an entire couch to yourself.”
“You’re just jealous because I got here before you did. Sit down on the floor like Glutton is,” Lust told him, completely unmoved. I was happy to note that at least someone had found her a sheet to wrap herself in. Though of course it meant that one of them had been going through my closet, depending on who it was I might have problems. If it was Greed some of my things would probably be missing, if it was Wrath my stuff was probably torn apart. Well if I brought up the subject everyone would get mad at me probably, so I didn’t. Because old things don’t look as nice anyway I usually get new stuff every few weeks. I can’t be seen in old clothing, I want to look amazing at all times or there is no point in living. Not that, as a sin, I really live as humans would consider it anyway.
“We are never having anything to do with Richard again,” she told her husband in a whisper, as the crowd broke into spontaneous song. “This is his idea of a calm crowd where Rashie won’t get hurt?”
“I think that’s only one of our worries at the moment,” said her husband, staring in horror at the door of the warehouse. Mrs. Milton turned to look to see what he was staring at. The doorway had somehow become filled with police officers while they had been distracted by Rashie’s plight. Of course now they had a larger problem involving Rashie, if she was arrested how would they explain it to her parents? Her parents didn’t even realize the company their daughter had involved herself with. Mrs. Milton jumped from the stage and tried to push her way through the crowed, which was slowly starting to realize something was wrong. When the crowd realized about the police there was going to be mass panic and Rashie wouldn’t be able to protect herself from the likely stampede.
“It’s the police!” a woman near the door screamed. Mr. Milton swore and jumped off of the stage to try and help his wife push through the crowed towards where they had been forced to leave Rashie. People were muttering around them, a couple of them were crying, some others were looking around desperately for an exit. The old warehouse didn’t have any other rooms or windows, Mr. Milton had long since grown used to checking anywhere for an escape route as soon as he entered, and could tell them there weren’t any other then the front door. They were like so many fish in a barrel, to be scooped up at the police’s whim. The Miltons had enough experience to know that there was no point in fighting against the inevitable, they would be arrested, but at least they would see to it that Rashie wouldn’t get hurt while it was happening.
“Rashie,” Mrs. Milton shouted.
“Here,” said a quiet voice right behind her, she turned around at Rashie was standing there, surrounded by the sea of legs and looking kind of frightened.
“Mrs. Milton?” she asked in a quivering voice. “What’s the matter? You told me to stay where I was but some man shoved me out of the way.” This time Mrs. Milton did sweep the little girl up in her arms and then handed her to Mr. Milton, who put her on his shoulders, well away from the increasingly dangerous crowd. The police were shouting something about everyone surrendering and some of the members of the audience weren’t taking it well. Some things were being thrown and the police had already given a few people taps on the head with their night sticks. Mr. and Mrs. Milton pushed back into a corner where they would be safe and could quietly wait for the fuss to either die down or be cut short.
The crushing of the riot of the North Street Warehouse, as it was called later, got a lot of coverage. Even though a lot of people couldn’t read it was passed by word of mouth and grew with each telling. What the people who told the story failed to mention was that the so called ring leaders hadn’t resisted arrest at all, and had been carrying a little girl who they had insisted be well treated. The police had listened to this request and Mr. and Mrs. Milton had allowed their hands to be cuffed without further comment.
The organization, headed by Richard, paid the bail for Mr. and Mrs. Milton eventually. Most of the organizations of their sort had some sort of fund for medical bills and bails for people who had been arrested while at meetings or one missions for the organization. There was also a clause in most such documents detailing these provisions which allowed for money for the family of people killed for the cause, but happily no money had been paid out under those conditions for a very long time. Mr. and Mrs. Milton, having been arrested while speaking at one of the meetings for the organization, had their bail paid even though they didn’t belong to any one organization.
The day after Mr. and Mrs. Milton returned home a knock came on their door. That instantly ruled out Rashie who had become familiar enough with them that she no longer knocked at all. Mr. Milton answered the door and then shuddered. He had known that this visit would come and had been dreading it, but it had come sooner then he had expected.
“Come in,” he told Rashie’s mother, stepping out of the way. “We have a guest,” he shouted towards the kitchen where his wife was making bread.
Once they were all installed in easy chairs awkward silence descended. They all knew what needed to be talked about but none of them knew how to start the conversation that was going to be unpleasant for sure. In the end Rashie’s mother realized that she was going to have to start, as the person who had come over. She was a meek woman, and only slightly more outgoing then her husband, this was not a situation she felt comfortable in.
“Rashie was brought home by the police the other day,” she began and then seemed at a loss how to continue. She had opened the conversation however, and therefore Mr. and Mrs. Milton felt more comfortable in continuing it.
“We are very sorry about that; it was never our intention to put your daughter in the path of danger,” Mrs. Milton said. “However we understand that no matter how accidental, it still happened and I expect that you no longer wish your daughter to spend time with us.” There was only a slight pleading note in her voice. She really didn’t want to hear those words; she had grown too looked at Rashie as her own daughter.
“My husband and I did talk about that,” Rashie’s mother admitted, and both Mr. and Mrs. Milton felt their stomachs sink. “However,” Rashie’s mother continued. “When we told Rashie that we no longer wanted her to come over to your house she told us that she would run away and live with you if we didn’t. She continued that she would hate us forever, that we had no idea what we were talking about, that you had never let her get hurt, that you protected her. My husband and I have decided that on the condition that you never allow something like that to happen again, Rashieka can continue to come over to your house. After all, apparently you make her happy, and she seems to love you and that means that you can’t be bad people.
So Rashie grew up, and got older. She got to think that she was simply the daughter of two sets of families, and though her families had nothing to do with one another, they both loved her dearly. She liked to think that she took a little from both sets of parents. She got her love and the way that she cared for people from her biological family. They always supported her, no matter what she did, and told her to do her best. They would always believe that she was in the right.
Her adopted family gave her knowledge and something to pit her energy towards. When Rashieka gained power over the underground cities and united them, with very little bloodshed, everyone said she was a chip off of the block. She would merely smile slightly, amused that they never said which block she had come from.
Very sorry I haven't posted in so long. I have been writing this everyday, but in the back of my school notebook during breaks and am having trouble finding time to type it all up. Here are two pages and when I find the time I will type up the rest. Thanks for you patience.
It was only natural, as they started looking at Rashie as more and more part of their family that they start taking her places. At first it was only to the market to go shopping and chores of that sort but it soon escalated. Soon she was accompanying Mr. Milton to meetings, sitting as a silent observer as the adults spoke. Mr. Milton had expected her to grow bored and not want to go to these meetings after the first one but instead she had listened with close attention. Serious as always and not showing a sign of boredom, though he watched her so they could leave the moment she looked as if she didn’t want to be there. Of course Rashie was still a little girl, so she didn’t really understand a lot of what was being said but she was eager to learn. After these meetings Mr. Milton would be flooded with her questions almost before they were out of the room.
“What does production mean?” she asked him one day, after one of these meetings.
“I should really get you a dictionary so you can look up words while we talk,” Mr. Milton told her.
“I don’t know how to read, and I don’t want to learn.” Mr. Milton looked at the girl in surprise. Rashie usually didn’t speak so firmly about anything, and she really didn’t usually refuse something that involved learning.
“Why not?” asked Mr. Milton. “It’s an important skill to have, that way you can gather your own information without my wife and Is’ help. Doesn’t that sound like a good thing?”
“I don’t want to learn how to read,” Rashie repeated. She wouldn’t say anything else on the subject no matter how much Mr. Milton pressed her and in the end he gave up. It was a new side of Rashie that he had never seen before but he quickly learned that when she was in this mood there was nothing he could do about it. No amount of bribery, cajoling, or threatening would change her mind. If anything it made her more endearing to him then ever however. He could picture someday as some great leader of the people, fighting for equality and justice with just as much stubbornness.
Well he could hope that was the way she would turn out anyway. She could go for justice, but he had noticed that she listened to the bloodthirsty revolutionists that he knew with as much seriousness as she listened to the peaceful protest groups he went to go lecture at. It got the point where he wouldn’t take her to meetings where he knew that the bloodthirsty leaders were going to be at, even when she asked. It was hard to say no to her, in particular since she didn’t seem to understand why he wouldn’t want her with, but it was even more painful to think of her becoming one of those vengeance seeking maniacs that he sometimes was forced to work with.
There were other times where Mrs. Milton would take Rashie to marches and protests, though only the peaceful ones where they were sure to not run into the police. Even on those occasions she would bundle Rashie up enough that no one could recognize her, just in case. They didn’t have Rashie’s parents’ permission for these outings and both Mr. and Mrs. Milton lived in fear of the day that they would find out where their daughter was going with the neighbors.
It was inevitable that one day Rashie would accompany them to an actual rally, and that day came faster then either Mr. or Mrs. Milton had imagined. They had after all only intended to go shopping so they had considered it safe for Rashie to come with them. It was only by accident that they stumbled across an old friend who had suggested that they go together to a rally that was being held in an old abandoned warehouse. They were reluctant to go since Rashie was with them, but their friend assured them it wasn’t going to be anything dangerous.
“Don’t worry, the little girl will be safe, none of the hotheads will be there,” he assured them. We get together every month, though in a different place each time, so I know the people who will be there pretty well by now. But you two are celebrities; it would do no end of good for the cause for you two to start attending our meetings. By the way, when did you adopt a little girl?”
“We haven’t,” Mrs. Milton said. Then she realized that they had in a manner of speaking and corrected herself. “Well not legally anyway, she’s the neighbors daughter, she’s just decided that she likes us.”
“I would never have thought that you too would risk anything so distracting from your work,” the man said. Both Mr. and Mrs. Milton bristled; it was a horrible thing to say in front of Rashie. Rashie didn’t seem to mind though.
“I don’t bother them, they like me,” she said confidently, putting her hand in Mrs. Milton’s. If they hadn’t been in the middle of the street Mrs. Milton would have swept Rashie up in a big hug, but public displays of affection, even to children, were frowned upon. Instead she just patted Rashie’s head with her free hand.
“That’s right, you’re no bother at all,” she assured the little girl.
“Well anyway, bring her along, we’ll see nothing happens to her,” the man seemed exasperated. “You don’t even have to stay the entire rally, only long enough for people to know that you’re there. Maybe say a few words, lead a few songs, and then you can leave if you like. It will add no end of prestige to the event and it’s very close by.”
“Okay but we really will only stay for a short time,” Mr. Milton said with a sigh.
“That’s alright,” said the man, cheering up considerably. They had worked with him in the past, several times. Mr. Milton wasn’t overly fond of the man but he had earned his way into their esteem still for all of the events and rallies he organized for political groups, usually the revolutionary or extremist ones.
The warehouse that the rally was housed in was in great disrepair but at least it wasn’t going to fall down around their heads, making it better then some of the venues the couple had spoken at over the years. Mr. Milton was almost immediately shoved onto the stage and a speech was demanded. He hadn’t had time to prepare one, since he hadn’t known he was going to end up at such an event, but over the years he had grown used to this sort of thing and had grown a lot better at improvisation then he would have credited himself with in his youth. That wasn’t a problem. The problem was when the crowd, who were now getting excited and restless, dragged Mrs. Milton up onto the stage as well. Which of course left Rashie, who was small and unable to defend herself, in the middle of a mob scene. Mrs. Milton attempted to get back off of the stage and find her but the crowd wouldn’t allow her to, not matter what she and Mr. Milton said.
“We are never having anything to do with Richard again,” she told her husband in a whisper, as the crowd broke into spontaneous song. “This is his idea of a calm crowd where Rashie won’t get hurt?”
Almost as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Milton moved into their new house the little girl next door was there. The couple had been forced to move from their former home, in a different city-state, for political reasons. Their name wasn’t even Milton, but they had enough papers that said it was that no one argued with them. They couldn’t live under their original name anymore; they were already wanted in several city-states for political crimes. All they wanted to do was unite the city-states into one nation but talk like that was considered treasonous and made the couple like hunted animals.
Because of the nature of their business the couple had decided that they wouldn’t get close to anyone in their new home if they could help it. Sooner or later their friends would either betray them to the authorities or get dragged into danger. It was better, and hurt less, to keep apart. The little girl standing in front of them, with a basket of cookies from her mother in her arms, didn’t look very threatening. It helped that she was all of six and therefore couldn’t be knowledgeable about politics.
“Mama said to bring you these cookies,” the little girl said, looking up at Mrs. Milton innocently. Mrs. Milton had gotten used to the idea that children were supposed to be at least a little shy or scared of adults but the little girl in front of her showed signs of neither. “Are you going to live here?” The girl strained her neck around, obviously trying to look inside the house. Mrs. Milton thought for a minuet and finally surrendered.
“If your mother isn’t expecting you right home you can come in if you like. I think I have some lemonade if you would like some,” she said, taking the basket of cookies from the little girl’s unresisting hands.
“Mama won’t mind,” the girl told her confidently.
After that day the little girl was over almost every day. Her name was a bit of a mystery, she told them her name was Rashie, which it was assumed was short for something. Mrs. Milton had been afraid that her husband wouldn’t approve of the strange friendship she had developed with the little girl but he didn’t mind at all. Actually if anything he practically adopted Rashie as the daughter he had never had. They never really saw her parents or her older brother, but Rashie became a permanent fixture in their lives.
Just because they were in a new city didn’t mean that they stopped their political work. Once he became comfortable with Rashie, and knew that she could keep a secret, Mr. Milton would even practice his speeches on her. He had thought that he would bore the small child with ideas she couldn’t understand but she seem entranced by the ideas he expounded. She would even clap at particularly rousing parts. Mrs. Milton wrote protest songs, which she would then teach the little girl. Rashie knew the latest songs of rebellion even before the rebels did. All of this of course was taught to her on the strict condition that she never speak, nor sing, what she heard anywhere but Mr. and Mrs. Milton’s house.
While the other children of the neighborhood played in the street Rashie was helping Mr. Milton ink his small press to print fliers. When he asked her if she didn’t ever want to go play with the other children her age she told him that his house was a lot more fun. Besides, the other children weren’t very nice to her. He could understand why. She was such a serious young girl.
“Don’t bother to wash your cup, just put it down in the sink. Robert got me a dishwasher for Christmas last year. I think it’s the nicest present he ever got me.
“Yes, well anyway, about the letter I got today. It was from my granddaughter, can you imagine. I didn’t even know I had a granddaughter and now I find out that I not only have one that is old enough to write in a lovely hand, but also to know her own mind.
“She wrote to me that she had always wondered why it was that she never went to go see her other grandparents. They went to see Maria’s parents but never her father’s. When she had asked she had been told that it was because her father didn’t get along with his parents. She had thought about this for several years and finally decided that her father’s argument with his parents wasn’t hers. Like I said, she’s old enough to know her own mind. So she wrote to us. Robert isn’t here, he’s away on business. We’re buying a car we saw for sale in an ad a couple hundred miles from here and he won’t be back until tomorrow night. I just had to talk to someone, with Robert not here, so I called you.
“I knew you’d understand. It’s true I didn’t approve of Maria but they still could have invited me to the wedding. I am not as angry with George as I am hurt. He is my only child, he’s important to me. Did he not understand that no matter how angry I was with him I didn’t want him out of my life forever? Didn’t he know I would be willing to forgive him for anything for the ability to hold my granddaughter? Well I suppose he didn’t.
“I still haven’t decided what to write to my granddaughter yet. Really I would like to see her but I am afraid it is too early to suggest something like that. I want to make it so that she keeps writing off course. What would you write to a fourteen year old girl who is going against her parents by writing to you?
“You don’t think that would be too discouraging for future correspondence? I really don’t want to scare her away. Her name is Felicity. Such a lovely name, I wonder who chose it, her mother or her father? I suppose that would be a strange question to ask her in my first letter. Oh dear, I really don’t know what to write, I think of things to write in my head but I just throw out the ideas as soon as I come up with them. I can’t count how many times I have written that letter in my head already.
“Do you have to go so soon? Well I suppose I can’t make you late to work. I am sorry for calling you over on such short notice. I will be sure to keep you posted with everything. I’m going to try to write that letter tonight so it’s in the post by tomorrow. The sooner the better I suppose. If I put it off she might not think that I want to have anything to do with her. I'll see you to the door.”
Hello, come in. So kind of you to come at such short notice. I just needed someone to talk to. Oh, your coat? Just hang it up on the hook there. Do you like the coat stand? It’s an antique you know, only bought it last month.
“Come on into the kitchen and have a cup of tea, I have a pot onto boil already. I put it on right after I called you. I felt like I needed something to help me relax. You can’t imagine how shocked I was when I got the letter.
“I see you’ve noticed the picture on the mantle. That was taken at George’s graduation. He was so happy just to be able to graduate; they weren’t going to let him you know. He was such a troublemaker, always doing something. When he swung on the chandelier at prom it was the last straw really. Robert and I had a very hard time convincing the principle to allow George to participate in the graduation ceremony after that.
“Have a seat, what kind of tea would you like? I have mint, earl gray, and green. Of course before the chandelier incident he was already constantly getting into trouble. The school just didn’t know what to do with him. He punched a senior his freshman year, later that year he was caught smoking in the boys’ bathroom. He skipped a whole month of gym classes his sophomore year and made out with a girl in math class, while class was in session. It only got worse you know, as he got older. The chandelier was only a small stunt but it was the one that pushed the school over the edge.
“Your tea should be cool enough to drink now. You know the picture of him at graduation is the last picture I have of George. It wasn’t long after that that he met Maria and we had that big fight. That was so many years ago but he hasn’t talked to Robert and I since.
“Did I ever tell you about him bringing Maria home to meet us? It was just as summer had started and George had surprised Robert and me by getting a full time job. We hadn’t thought he had any plans at all since he hadn’t applied to any colleges. As soon as he graduated he went out and found himself a full time job though. That’s when he told us that he’d met a girl and was moving out. Of course we insisted on meeting her.
“Maria was the same age and George; I do know that, little as I know about her. I only met her that once, when George brought her for dinner. Tall, pretty, with long black hair, she looked like a model. Maybe that’s why I instantly disliked her, she was too perfect to be interested in my son. There had to be something wrong with her, and there was, her personality left a lot to be desired.
“She would make the most outrageous and rude comments and George would just laugh about them, as if she was joking. She wasn’t joking, you could tell by her expression. During the hour we were at the table she managed to insult Robert and me, as well as George, repeatedly. Like I said, George acted as if she was the funniest person in the world; needless to say I was not amused.
“After George came back from taking Maria home we told him that we didn’t approve of her. That’s how our big fight started, us against George. Oh, it had been building for a long time but that is when it all came to a head. Grievances from five years before were brought into it even. It lasted into the wee hours of the morning. When Robert and I woke up the next morning George and all of his belongings were gone. I cried a lot at the time but he was eighteen, and adult, there was nothing we could do. I don’t eve know where he went. I haven’t talked to him since.
I know that I am a disappointment to Papa; jobs at a lighthouse often go from father to son, or even daughter. He has no children of his own so really I should be his heir but I don’t think that is going to happen. Even now that I have agreed to see to the light house tonight I don’t intend to follow in his footsteps. It must be hard on him to know it but he is still so kind that I can’t refuse him when he asks for my help just this once.
I was shaking as I climbed the stairs with those heavy pails. I had to make two trips and I thought I was going to collapse at the end. Even so my work wasn’t over. I had to wined the device that makes the lamp go around. Then I had to trim all of the wicks. I tried to remember everything that Papa had told me to do; I didn’t have the energy to go back down the stairs and ask him to repeat his instructions. With shaking hands I finally lit the wick and you can’t imagine my relief when everything worked. I had been slow to work everything, my hands unused to the work, and it was already dark.
I finished up dating the log, writing about father’s injury and everything as well as about what I had done. I am afraid they looked more like the diary of a young girl then the record keeping of a man responsible for people’s lives. I looked at a few of Papa’s entries to see how he wrote everything and I realized I had forgotten to look out and see if there were any ships sailing. Papa was very careful to report any ships that he saw. I looked out into the night, my face pressed to the glass, feeling the cold through it. In the light of the lantern I could indeed see a ship, changing its course away from me and I don’t think I have ever felt so glorious. Papa is right; it’s a good feeling to save lives. I carefully wrote about this ship, though not my feelings for it and I think I nearly skipped down the steps to report to Papa. I don’t know if I will become a lighthouse keeper myself yet, but at least until Papa’s leg heals I’ll be sure to keep the light alive. The buckets aren’t as heavy as they can be held up to a human life.
The island doesn’t have anything on it much worth noticing, no trees, nor plants at all. It’s just a rock in the sea but Papa says it still must have a lighthouse because ships can hit an unvegetated island just as one with vegetation. I suppose that’s true but I don’t like it anymore for that. This is going to be very dull for me, I just know it.
I have found the lighthouse tower scares me, it didn’t bother me so much the first day when everything was new but now that I am used to it I don’t like it much. I can’t believe I actually climbed it that first day. Yesterday Mother sent me up to help Papa carry the lamp oil. The stairs go on forever and there are gaps between them, and no proper railing one can hold while carrying buckets of oil. When I reached the top Papa called me a brave girl but I never want to repeat the experience. Especially since it was dark and you can’t carry a light and the oil at the same time. You can’t imagine my terror, it isn’t so bad during the day but at night it is unbearable.
I think Papa knows that I don’t like the lighthouse tower, and that I am bored. He pays a lot of attentions to me and plays cards with me every day before going to tend to the light. I go to bed early here, there isn’t much better to do at night after all. No shops, nor theaters, nor neighbors. I hate it more by the day but there is nothing I can do about it now.
I thought that I didn’t enjoy living on this desolate island but I think Mother likes it even less. Papa has stopped playing cards with me so he can dedicate more time to her. I think she’s going crazy. She just sits at the piano when he isn’t distracting her, and she plays the same song over and over. My piano lessons have ended, Papa said it would probably best if she didn’t get reminded of the piano if I could help it. It’s hard though, as soon as I stop finding something for her to do she is back there, playing the same song.
I know Papa is worried. He says that it was selfish of him to bring us with him, that he should have left us in town. I know that he loves us so he wants to be with us but it is obvious that Mother is not suited to this life. I am very worried, they were so happy together until we came here. Mother has never lived away from the city before, I don’t think she knows how adjust.
Sometimes I hate Papa for leaving me alone in the house with Mother to go take care of the light, it seems like he should be there at all times to watch her and distract her. She might be dangerous, she hasn’t shown any sign of it yet, but I have read stories in the dime novels. Papa says he can’t leave the lighthouse to its own devices though, that lives depend on it. He takes his job very seriously and I know that I am being selfish when I tell him that I would rather he stays with me then that the poor sailors not know where the island is. He is patient with me though, and just tells me again just how important the job is.
Papa has fallen down the lighthouse stairs. Not all the way down, he would be dead then, but he did break his leg. I could hardly get him into bed, I am but a slight girl and he is a large man. In the end I half dragged him and then he had to pull himself into bed. I got mother to help me splint the leg, and she even showed some sympathy and concern. That’s good, she has been harder and harder to distract from the piano recently and I think I’ll go crazy next from listening to that same song repeatedly.
Tonight father called to me, though he is weak from pain he was sitting. He told me that I had to take care of the light, that it must be lit so that ships wouldn’t crash on the rocks. I cried, I dread climbing those stairs with the oil in the dark, and I don’t even know how to work the light. He stroked my hair and told me it was alright. Then he told me step by step what to do and once again how important the job is. He told me that he knew it was a large burden to bear for a little girl, but that the lives of many men depended on me. He described shipwrecks in horrible detail, and grieving widows, until finally I could no longer stand it. I agreed to light the lantern in the lighthouse.
Mother has remarried, I’m very happy for her. I like the man, Mr. Walker. He treats me like the daughter he never had, and has told me to call him Papa. I don’t remember father, since he died when I was two, so I don’t mind giving Mr. Walker that name. It feels nice to be Mr. and Mrs. Walker’s girl rather then Widow Gilbert’s daughter. Almost as if everyone looks at me differently, and I think they do now that Mother and I no longer need their charity. It is a very good feeling.
Papa is a lighthouse keeper and we will be going with him to his post this winter. I don’t look forward to leaving the city, and missing school, to go to the middle of Lake Superior all winter but I guess it is a small price to pay for Mother’s happiness. She wouldn’t like it if I stayed behind in the city while they left, and I’m not really old enough to live alone without getting into trouble. Just imagine how the neighbors would whisper. We will return in the spring to the city though, Papa promised. He also told me he would buy me school books and help me study so I don’t fall behind in my studies.
We have already packed everything away, and are renting the house for the winter. We already sold the house that Mother and were living in before she married, I feel like our little family is rich. I have new dresses, and so does mother, and Papa has a couple of new suits that he looks very good in. Also for the first time in my life I have books that aren’t only for school or for my betterment, but simply for my entertainment. Papa bought them for me because he had noticed how I loved to read.
The boat that brought us to this island has left already. They had other lighthouse keepers and their families to take to other islands and isolated coasts. The island we will spend this winter is even more lonely then I had imagined and we are cut off for the next five months. It isn’t a pleasing prospect though I try to look cheerful in front of Mother and Papa. Papa says this job is why he had never married before but that he loved Mother so much that he couldn’t help himself. He says he knows how hard this job is on everyone and I don’t want to make him feel guiltier then he already does. All he says we must do is care for the light at all times, no matter what the weather, and the rest of our time is our own.
I have already been in the lighthouse tower; I went up almost as soon as we arrived, though I got scolded later because Mother was looking for me to help her unpack our household stuff. The house for the lighthouse keeper is a nice little cottage, attached to the lighthouse tower. It’s nicer even then Papa’s house in town, he says he didn’t look for a nice house since he only lives in it part of the year. The lighthouse even came with a piano and mother is teaching me how to play. I have never learned since we couldn’t afford lessons but Mother learned when she was a girl. Papa says that when we are in the city he will find me a real teacher. Maybe I will grow up to become a proper young lady, I would like that. I am already dressing the part now.
“I have sent you money all of these years haven’t I? What more do you want?” The man’s gun was no longer on Lena, who had shuffled back to press herself into a corner, it was now pointed at the table where the family was still seated. The old woman still stood, but the gun wasn’t pointed at her.
“I don’t want your money, I want the world to know about you, and that’s what’s going to happen. Police have been called; they’ll come and arrest a man saying he’s your son. Journalists will come and investigate, like they so inconveniently do, and find a birth certificate and then the world will know it’s true. I have been waiting all of these years for you eightieth birthday, waiting because I thought that maybe when you were about to die you would finally admit that I existed. Then I get your letter and all it tells me is that you won’t write me in your will because then people would wonder who I was. You think that I care about the stupid money?!” the man’s voice had risen to a higher and higher volume as he had spoken. People were looking in through the glass sections of the doors that separated us from the main restaurant and I knew that they could hear what was being said if they were close enough to the doors.
“Is he serious mother, is he really related to us?” Henrietta asked.
“These must be my dear brother and sister, though they never knew it. Greetings siblings, I’m Noah, mother’s embarrassment, her shame.”
“Shut up,” snapped the old woman, some force coming back into her voice for a second but now the man with the gun was grinning like a mad man. I was starting to suspect that was exactly what he was.
“I don’t think so, my dear mother. You see I think I’m going to talk until the police get here and all of these people will hear everything. Then the police will show up and arrest me and there will be a trial, where I will say everything again there. Then, since I haven’t fired this gun, I won’t even be in jail that long and I will continue talking. I’ll just talk and talk and talk. You won’t be there to enjoy my speech but I will be sure to be very eloquent. So will the press I’m sure. Armed man holds up restaurant his mother is holding a party at with a gun, high society shocked. Oh, and they will be once I start talking.” The old woman turned pale as her seated son and daughter looked at her in askance.
The man with the gun, Noah, walked slowly around the table, patting a grandchild on the head, touching the adults on the shoulder, until he was face to face with his mother. They stared at each other for a moment, and then he put his arm around her shoulders, the arm that wasn’t still holding the gun.
“Such a touching family reunion isn’t it. You’ve told me about all of them in your letters. Why, this must be the first time you hugged me since I was one, I think I might cry,” he didn’t look like it. Especially not when you watched the gun, which was pointed right at his mother’s head, it didn’t seem a very emotional moment. “Let’s see here, that’s my younger brother, Edward, I always wanted to meet you. When I was younger I daydreamed about playing with you, you look nothing like I imagined. And you would be my younger sister Henrietta, horrible name, no wonder you ended up so pinch faced.” The gun went to point at each of them as he talked, while his arm remained around his mother’s frail shoulders.
“I’m afraid you have the advantage on us, we’ve never heard of you,” Edward said, gathering his courage.
“Of course you didn’t, imagine that. You see mother, here, dear, dear mother, didn’t want people to know of me. You’re father was always a stickler on moral things and our mother, our mother who thinks that money is everything, knew that he wouldn’t marry her if he knew she had had a baby born out of wedlock. A baby I might add she didn’t even know the father of. She knew she had a chance, if only he didn’t find out about me. So I was shipped off to her parents, and never spoken of. The only news I only heard of her was the letters she wrote her parents and enclosed with the money they demanded for my care every month. When I got older and moved out I kept getting money from her, to keep quiet and out of sight, and never, ever say who my mother was. Disgusting isn’t it?”
“Mother?” asked Edward. “Is he really my brother?” his tone was accusing. The old woman looked as if she was about to say something but couldn’t decide what to say. It was the first time I had seen her lost for words the whole night.
“You don’t have to worry, I have a job, I haven’t spent a penny of the money mother has sent me all these years. Since I have announced our kinship I haven’t earned it. I’ll give it to you and Henrietta since our poor mother doesn’t have the time left to enjoy it.” Noah reached into his trench coat and pulled out a large stack of bills which he threw on the table. It was more money then I had seen in my whole life. Instantly every eye at the table was attracted to it. Henrietta looked like she was about to reach for it, but then her hand pulled back. Edward looked at it greedily but even he didn’t reach out for it. It was as if the old woman, their mother, wasn’t even there. Now it was between the three siblings and they looked at each other carefully.
“You are a good and honest man to be willing to give up all the money but even if you’ve come here, you deserve the money,” Henrietta finally said, though she still looked wistfully in the direction of the money. “After all, we always got a lot of money from Mother, far more then that over the years I’m sure. We’ve never had to work a day in our lives.”
“And you didn’t speak for all of these years about her, which should earn you something,” Edward added. “You are our older brother; we don’t deny you our mother’s money though we didn’t know you existed before.”
Noah’s face was something to behold at that moment, as was the old woman’s. Noah’s face was one of bafflement at being accepted even though he had never been before. His mother’s was the face of shock that her children would team up in a united front against her wishes. It was a touching moment to see Edward walk over and hug Noah, something that made Noah so shocked he dropped his gun. Edward kicked it under the table cloth and for an instant I thought that was the whole reason why he had shown Noah affection, but no, he continued to hug Noah even then. Henrietta stood and she joined them, touching both of them on the shoulders, a big happy family. Their mother looked perfectly outraged but I was far more concerned with the men in police uniforms I could see pushing through the crowd when I looked through the glass panels on the door.
“The cops are coming,” I announced, looking at Noah. He reluctantly let go of his brother and sister and stepped away from them.
“It’s been fun,” he said, going back into his cut, precise voice. I was starting to realize the voice was a sign he was under stress and scared rather then to hide anything.
“What are you talking about?” Henrietta asked. “You are staying right here. Members of our family don’t go to prison if we can help it. Edward, you talk to them. Mother has treated you pretty shabbily Noah, so of course you wouldn’t know but with money you can get out of anything short of murder in this world.”
Edward motioned for Lena and I to step away from the doors and he opened them wide to the public. I had thought that the crowd would come running forward but they hung back, even the police, everyone had seen the gun. Now one of the hostages was throwing open the doors and another one was standing in front of the attacker in a very protective way.
“I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding,” Edward announced. I would have sunk into the floor from embarrassment to address such a crowd, and in such a situation. Edward however was full of confidence. You could tell by his voice. “This man is our brother; he was simply playing a practical joke on us. He went overboard but I’m sure all of this can be sorted out.” I looked over and couldn’t help but liking the look on Noah’s face when Edward called him brother.
“Hello, and what can I get for you tonight?” I asked. My formal black and white uniform was tight and uncomfortable but I made an effort to make my smile look sincere. The woman I was asked was part of a party who had rented the banquette hall and I had been assigned to serve their needs. I knew why I had been told to wear my nice clothing, it was a very fancy dress party, and all of the guests were dressed in their best.
“Bring us, oh, let’s say twenty bottles of the most expensive wine you have in the house,” the old lady told me, her frail voice trembled slightly with age but she was grinning.
“And to eat?” I asked. I couldn’t help but think it would be nice to be rich.
“One of everything I think dear. We’re having a party after all and I’m only spending my children’s inheritance,” the old woman laughed to herself quietly. A couple of people who looked like her children laughed as well but they didn’t look like they found it as funny at all. In fact they looked more like they were angry about the comment. “I’m turning eighty tomorrow you know,” the old woman continued and suddenly everything became clear to me.
“I congratulate you,” I said, giving the formal response, though I was shuddering on the inside to be talking to someone who would die the next day. The old lady was sharp though, because she looked at me and laughed, and I knew that she could read the fear in my eyes.
“My husband has been undead for the last twenty years and he always looks so peaceful. I figure it can’t be so bad if he looks so happy lying there,” the woman said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I shuddered, this time obviously.
I had always hated the word undead to refer to people who were dead but couldn’t die. People who had been killed, people who had been terminally sick for some reason or another but weren’t yet eighty. “Dying” before you were eighty amounted to losing the use of everything but your eyes and mind, leading to the term undead. My grandmother is undead and I dread visiting her. It was the years of chain smoking that did it to her, lung cancer, when I was two, did her in. My parents used to say it was wonderful that she could meet her granddaughter even though she was “dead”, I thought it was creepy. I still do, sometimes I think it would have been a mercy if she was able to die, I mean really die, before she turned eighty. I can’t imagine an enjoyable continued existence being unable to consume food, or speak, or hear, or move. On the other side of the coin however I could see, if our bodies didn’t simply turn off at eighty and stop working, how someone could live longer then that while in great pain. I shook off my morbid thoughts when I saw the boss looking my way.
“I will come back shortly with your drinks,” I told the old woman and she took her hand off of my arm. As soon as I had walked away I could hear her and her son arguing about something, but I couldn’t hear what it was. Her daughter then chimed in, her voice was shrill enough that it carried.
“Mother, you shouldn’t spend so much you know. We are going to have to pay the bills after you pass on you know.”
“Don’t worry about that Henrietta Parker; your mother hasn’t become a total fool in her own age. I’ve already paid for everything; you won’t be getting any debt. Though you will get your greedy little hands on less money” said the old woman loud enough so that the whole restaurant could hear and the daughter turned bright red with embarrassment.
“Who’s the old spite fire in the corner?” my boss asked me as I gathered wine glasses at the bar.
“She’s celebrating her eightieth birthday,” I explained.
“Another one,” groaned my boss.
“Sir?” I asked, confused.
“We had a guy in here last night who didn’t leave before midnight, died sitting right here at the bar. Of course it was a big fuss, makes us look bad that sort of thing. Would you ask her to please leave before midnight?” I nodded but I was dreading the task
When I returned to the table in the banquette hall the woman, her son, and her daughter were all arguing, with various grandchildren watching. The son seemed to be trying to act as mediator and they were both verbally attacking him while they continued to spar with each other as well. I expected them to shut up when I approached the table but they didn’t.
“This is going to be the last time we’re together like this, could we please act like a happy family this once?” the son was saying when I walked up.
“Acting all self righteous isn’t an endearing trait Edward,” his mother told him. “Especially when you are as much after my money as she is. I suppose it runs in the family, after all I married your father for money.”
“Mother,” exclaimed her daughter.
“It’s true Henrietta and squealing at it won’t change that. I wouldn’t have married him at all except that he lied about his age and told me he was older. How was I to know that he was younger then me? I would have divorced him if it wasn’t for the fact that he would give me all of the money I wanted for whatever, no questions asked. I saved a lot of that money, as you two know all too well, invested it, watched it grow. Good thing I did, since he crashed into that tree and “died” his trustees wouldn’t let me touch a penny. All money and account frozen until he actually dies, I have hated that law for the last twenty years.”
I had poured everyone at the table the wine they wanted while this speech went on. The children preferring the sweet fruity stuff I watered it down like my boss told me to, and the adult went for dry red mostly. Everyone at the table had now fallen silent; I thought to myself maybe it wasn’t so bad knowing when you were going to die. You could be as open as you wanted to be, about anything, and there wouldn’t be any repercussions on you. It was a good way to get one final hit in, one final blow to people you hated, before you passed, and it was obvious the woman hated her children. It was kind of obvious that she hated everyone. I had heard of people who, the day before their eightieth birthday went on murdering sprees, after all, there was no way for the law to touch them. At least the old woman in front of me seemed willing to only strike verbal blows rather then physical ones.
“Excuse me ma’am,” I said once I had poured all of the drinks. “The management would like to request that you leave before midnight, no offense.”
“Oh, none taken dear. The night is young yet even if I’m not and I intend to spend a lot more money then I can just in this place. You can’t take it with you after all.”
I was on my way to the kitchen to see if any of the food for the party was done when I bit of stillness caught my eye. When someone isn’t moving and bustling on a Friday night then you know something is wrong. It was our hostess at the cash register and a man was standing next to her. I thought about screaming but fought it down. It would only cause panic. The man standing beside her had a gun, and it was pressed into her side. If something went wrong she would join the undead I disliked so much. I caught the boss’s eye and I could tell that he had also noticed the situation, which was good; it took the weight off of my shoulders. The whole thing wasn’t my responsibility if they boss had seen it. I went over to him to see if he wanted me to do anything.
“He says he won’t hurt any of us on the condition that we take him to the banquette hall. We can’t do that, if it gets out that I handed my customers to a gun wielding mad man I’ll be ruined,” my boss whispered to me.
“She’s going to die in a few hours anyway,” I whispered back, horrified by the words that were coming out of my mouth but somehow unable to stop them. “She won’t suffer from being undead for those few hours.”
“Do you have any proof that he’s after the old lady and not the whole party?” My boss asked. I had to admit that I didn’t. “I bet that whole party is loaded, the perfect mark for any thief, and good hostages.”
“Well so is Lena,” I pointed out with a slight head jerk at the hostess. “She has the till and is just as good as a hostage. Sooner or later he’s going to get tired of holding that gun to her without making any process and do something about it.”
“That’s the strange thing, he hasn’t asked us for any money at all, he seems only interested in the banquette hall,” my boss told me. I was getting more nervous by the second; this sounded a lot like someone with a person vendetta against the old lady or her family members. That meant that it would end in blood probably. If it was a hired killing or revenge then the killer couldn’t be bought off with the contents of our safe in the back.
“So what are we going to do? We can’t tell him where the banquette hall is, and we can’t let him just stand there or he might feel like shooting someone to get his idea across,” my voice must have shown my panic.
“Take a couple of deep breaths and go over and talk with him. He isn’t interested in us so you won’t be in any danger. I am going to the back while you distract him and call the police.”
I wished that I had just pretended that I hadn’t seen the gun in Lena’s side. The thought of putting myself next to a man with a gun wasn’t a pleasant one for me. I knew I couldn’t die yet, but I didn’t like the idea of being a human vegetable either. Sometimes I had nightmares about it, sitting there, watching the world go by without being able to participate. I never have wanted to be a hero. Still someone had to be a distraction. I took a deep breath and approached Lena and the man cautiously. I wanted to hold my hands up, on reflex, but I had to resist. That would have only drawn the customers’ attention to the situation, causing mass panic.
“Excuse me sir, but we were wondering if we gave up the money in the safe to you, you would kindly leave?” I asked. The boss and I hadn’t talked about it but I doubt he would object to it. He would spend a lot of money to protect the reputation of the restaurant.
“Not interested,” said the man. I looked at him closely, trying to memorize his features in case I had to identify him. There wasn’t much I could say about him however, except that he was tall and Caucasian. He was wearing a hat that was pulled down far enough that I couldn’t really see his face. The rest of him was covered with a large trench coat, the collar pulled up. He obviously meant to make it so that if he got away the police wouldn’t be able to find him.
“What are you interested in then?” I asked. I had to keep him talking until my boss could finish his phone call.
“Where’s the banquette room?” the man answered with a question of his own.
“I’m sorry but we can’t endanger our customers,” I told him. Lena whimpered as he pressed the gun harder into her stomach.
“Then no deal,” said the man. Lena finally cracked; I was surprised she had lasted as long as she had.
“I’ll show you where it is, just please don’t shoot me,” she begged.
“Lena, you can’t,” I said for show though I didn’t blame her at all. In her situation as soon as the gun had been pointed at me I would have caved in.
“Watch me Joanne; I don’t have to give up all my active years for some old woman who is going to die in a few hours anyway. If you take the gun away I’ll show you where the banquette room is,” Lena said, turning to the man with the gun.
“The gun stays. Show me,” the man said. I wondered if he was trying to make it so we couldn’t identify his voice either, talking in such a short, clipped manner. I still was pretty sure I could recognize it again if I had to. I was paying very close attention to every detail; the police would want them I was sure.
“How do you know he is after the old woman Lena,” I argued, desperately. The boss wasn’t back from the phone yet and I was starting to wonder if he had no intention of coming out again even after the phone call was made. Were Lena and I meant to be the sacrifices? It wasn’t a pleasant thought, I found myself imagining living in one of the many undead homes for the rest of my life. “Who are you after sir?” I asked, rushing after him and Lena. I knew that a couple of the customers had noticed what was going on and were wisely deciding to stay out of it.
“None of your business,” the man snapped and I fell back a little ways, worried that the gun was going to be pointed at me. When that didn’t happen I caught back up. I could disappear, I had done what I could now, but I doubted I could live with the guilt. He was already through the banquette room doors by the time I caught up. He stopped just inside the room and I slipped through the doors after him right before he slammed them shut. He reached behind himself and locked the door; we were now all alone with a man with a gun. The fact that I couldn’t truly die yet was only a very small comfort.
“Hello mother,” the man with the gun said and the old woman stood up slowly from the table.
“I take it you got my message son,” she said, no fear in her voice. Of course I wouldn’t be scared either if I knew that I would die soon no matter what happened. Well I would be scared in general, but not any more scared then I was already if a man burst into the room with a gun. I was far more shocked by the fact that she called the man son.
“I got it,” the man said shortly and pushed his hat back so we could see his face. He looked nothing like his mother, brother or sisters. If he really was her son then I could only guess that he took after his father whoever that was.
“If you got my letter then why are you here? And in such a conspicuous manner as well, this ruins everything,” the old woman sounded angry.
“Surely it is a son’s duty to visit his dying mother,” said the man with the gun, his voice was mocking.
“Watch this,” he said. He disappeared and the next minute was sitting across the fire from me. The others burst into laughter at my expression.
“He didn’t do anything special,” the man sitting next to me told me, slapping me on the back. “He only disappeared like I did and then ran around the fire. You have to watch him, he’s a tricky one.”
“That, coming from you Robin, is indeed an honor,” Al said, giving a courtly bow. I looked around the fire again. The people who surrounded me couldn’t be human; my mind was starting to accept that, though with some difficulty. Humans couldn’t pop out of sight like that, not even trickery could explain something like this.
“So, uh, the little flying ones are your babies,” I said, trying to grasp at the straws of my sanity.
“That’s right, here, follow me,” said the man, or should I say fairy, called Robin. He led me down to the water edge and pointed. At first I didn’t even see what I was supposed to be looking at and then I noticed an old two litter soda bottle floating on the water. A part of the bottle’s side had been cut away and a lot of very tiny people were using it as a boat. As soon as they saw us they all took off in flight, to hover around us.
“Who’s this?” asked a chorus of voices. I had expected them to have high pitched voices but instead their voices were just as mature as an adult’s, just quieter. Introductions were made and we all sat on the bank. I was scared to move; in the dark the tiny figures around me in the grass couldn’t be seen. I couldn’t imagine what the repercussions would be if I accidently sat on one of them.
“I almost wish the kids did glow like they do in the pictures,” I commented. Robin smiled and snapped his fingers; suddenly every single one of the children had a glowing spot on their forehead.
“I thought all you could do was disappear and reappear,” I exclaimed.
“Well I never said that,” Robin said shrugging. He was clearly amused by my reaction. “I said we got better at magic as we got older. I can go around the world in half an hour and you’re impressed by a little light,” he chuckled but it wasn’t a mocking laugh. He was truly amused, as if I had just told a good joke. A small fairy flitted up to his shoulder and perched there, hugging his cheek.
“Yours?” I asked. Her tiny features showed some family resemblance to my cheerful guide’s.
“My niece, my sister’s daughter, her parents are dead though so I am raising her. Cute huh?” he asked and his face broke into paternal pride. The girl sat on his should, her feet swinging, and laughed.
“You’re bragging again Uncle,” she said in the soft voice of a child.
“I thought that fairies were immortal,” I commented.
“I wish,” the girl said. Her uncle put a finger on top of her head.
“You only wish that now, my girl, because you are young,” Robin told her. “Fairies are not immortal, just long living. We are born and instantly can speak like an adult but we are so small we can’t mix with humans for a long time. The same go for as we get older, only then it’s because we are too large. Fairies don’t age like you humans do; you can tell how old we are by our height. Back when I sat in the Globe Theater everyone thought that I was some nobleman’s child, that’s how big I was. I’ve grown.”
“So how long will it take until she can be around humans, I mean at a size that won’t cause alarm?” I asked. I was taken aback by how matter of fact I was becoming about all of this. I was a man of science, or at least science was what I believed in. It was my wife who believed in fairies and everything and I had always thought her a little silly for it. Now here I was asking about the relative aging of humans and fairies.
“Your great-grandchildren might think she’s about two,” Robin told me, shooing the little girl off of his shoulder. “By the time you humans have started living on mars she might be too tall to be around humans anymore. You ever heard of giants?”
“In fairytales,” I said.
“Exactly, stories about fairies, of course not many of us reach that age. Only about one in ten, our bodies stop working, just like humans, and it’s harder on our bodies as we get bigger.” It had been a long time since I had heard such calm description of death. Then I remembered Robin telling his niece that people sometimes wished for death and found myself wondering if all fairies were morbid or if it was just Robin.
“So you’ve seen a lot over the years huh?” I asked, trying to chance the subject. Robin was no long the laughing, easygoing man I had seen while he was around the others. The children were now gone, off in their boat again, and he had become more serious. He was like a court jester; now that his audience was gone he no longer made the attempt to pretend he was always happy.
“I was born in the middle ages. Fairies can’t catch human diseases, or any diseases for that matter, but I watched the Black Death. Back in those days we still lured off human children to play with us. Do you know, if a human stays with us they also can’t get sick, nor do they grow up, they die at the same age they would normally, but never having got past the age we stole them at. They are perfect playmates for the children but it got too much attention from the humans, and they die far too soon. The children still bring back one or two every once in a while, but it’s not so common.”
“Really, so all of those stories about people being spirited away by the fairy folk are true?”
“Usually only children, very few exceptions, once a human is around fairy folk for long enough you see, they can never leave them,” Robin told me. “If you would like I suppose you could stick around. The others seem to like you as well. You wouldn’t have to deal with getting old. I know you humans worry about that. Very uncomfortable I understand.”
I stood with that, Robin continued to sit there on the bank, he was smiling again but it was no longer a pleasant smile. It was threatening and I wondered if he was really threatening or if it was just how I saw him. You don’t want immortality, I told myself, you only think that you do because you are young. No, it’s because I’m old and scared by it, and he knows it. Now Robin was actually laughing.
“I knew that you were smarter then most of the other humans I’ve met. You know to listen to your fear and go with it, most people ignore it when offered youth. You want to leave now, I can tell. I’ve scared you; get going before you aren’t able to leave anymore.”
I fled, a glow showing me the way, a parting gesture from Robin I was sure. Then I was back in the motel room, covered with mud from when I had slipped on dew covered grass in my head long dash. My wife was still asleep peacefully and I thought about waking her and telling her what happened. Then I realized it wasn’t the sort of thing you told anyone, not even people who claimed to believe in fairies. Human belief was a very shallow thing, the day before I would have believed that I didn’t want to age.
