Hope (2 page)

I even managed to get a job of sorts.  When I was cursed I guess Sylvester didn’t foresee such things as the internet.  With a laptop and an internet connection I was able to both stay mobile and allow prospective clients to reach me so I began to offer my services translating Medieval Latin documents.  With no formal degree to advertise I did have to do a few free translations before any customers took me seriously but I soon had several regulars.  My knowledge of the intricacies of Medieval Latin as a
living
rather than dead language was obviously a rare asset.

When I drove to yet another small town after choosing a rental property within my price range at random on the internet I didn’t think I was about to meet the biggest turning point in my life in a millennia.  Like so many things before, I was wrong.

Riverfield was so much like all the others, eight in the past year alone, but it also had a great community feel about it.  I could tell just by the number of families playing in the park.  Swarms of kids chased balls, kites and pets while adults barbequed and stood around talking.  It was heart-warming.  I hoped I didn’t ruin everything.

I found my new accommodation easily, keys hidden just where the landlady said they would be.  It was humble, but for the next several weeks it was mine.  I carried my few possessions inside and set up shop.  I had two things I needed to do, check to see if I had any translation work and find out about local single men.

*****

I’d been in Riverfield about a week when I was busily writing an email to a client who was arguing about one of my translations.  They’d had a second opinion about one of the documents I’d worked on and said I was wrong.  Of course I wasn’t, the other translator was arguing on a literal word for word translation but I knew the phrase used was slang and a direct translation would not convey the original meaning.  I couldn’t just tell them that I’d heard the phrase used countless times, I had to show how it made more sense in context.  It wasn’t straightforward and I was struggling when a knock came at the door.

My heart sank, this was how it always started.  On the other side of the door would, most likely, be a man who had ‘seen me around’ and had been ‘thinking about me’.  I’d already found several single men for sex.  Even a family-oriented town like Riverfield had them.  Widowers, men who lacked confidence to approach women, men who were not, shall we say, conventionally attractive.  I was sometimes able to convince myself that I was providing a much needed service to society, spreading happiness and hope as opposed to the misery and destruction my curse normally dictated.  I was surprised my cursed allure had already hooked some poor man, given the steps I had taken.

I opened the door to the exact sight I expected.  A man who appeared to be in his early thirties was on my doorstep, hat in one hand and a gift basket of some kind in the other.  He looked nervous and was unable to stop his eyes from dipping downwards and surveying my body, which redoubled his nervous demeanour when he noticed I had seen what he did.  I smiled to try to put him at ease, there was no sense in making this any more awkward than it had to be.

“Hello there.” I prompted.

“Er… Hi.  I noticed you move in last week, I live next door over that side.  Thought I’d give you a bit of time to settle in before introducing myself.  I’m Clinton.  Clinton Waters.”

“Nice to meet you, Clinton, I’m Mary.  Is that for me?”  I nodded at the gift basket.

“Yeah.  Hope you don’t think it’s too weird or anything, it’s a really functional gift basket!  It’s got some household cleaners, sponges, er… toilet paper, trash bags, light bulbs.  All kinds of things to help you move in, I know it can be a hassle stocking up a new place with all the essentials and stuff gets forgotten.”

I frowned in mild confusion.  It was rare that a man arrived at my doorstep thinking he needed to seduce me but when they did they usually went with more cliché items like Champagne, chocolates and flowers.  Clinton must have mistaken my frown for disapproval because his hopeful smile fell from his face.

“It is weird, and stupid, I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean…”

“No, no… it’s actually very thoughtful, I’m just a bit surprised is all.  The landlady didn’t do a great job of tidying the place up before I moved in, so this will actually be very useful.  Thank you, really.”

I was glad to see the smile return to Clinton’s face, it lit him up like a sunrise and was contagious.  He was adorable, truth be told.  Here, clearly, was a man fighting against my invisible web of lust, trying to do things ‘the right way’ whatever that may be.  I’d seen it before, more often since the end of the nineteenth century, but men who were fighting a losing battle and tried to fight the good fight anyway were exceedingly rare in my experience.

I hated myself at that moment, looking out at yet another innocent man whose life was about to be torn apart.  Was he a family man like so many others in this town?  Probably not for much longer but each of us would be as powerless as the king who commanded the tide not to come in when Clinton’s lust overwhelmed his morals.  Sometimes it’s best to concede defeat rather than go through the pain of fighting.  I relieved him of his gift basket.

“Would you like to come inside?” I asked, knowing the answer before the words were out of my mouth.

“No thanks, maybe some other time.  There’s some place I’ve got to be this afternoon.  See you around, Mary!”

He walked away.  If I was a cartoon I would have had a big question mark over my head as I watched him go.  Was he gay?  They were often able to resist me for longer but I didn’t get that vibe from him.  I shook it off and looked more closely at the contents of the basket.  It certainly was functional, he was right about that.  And thoughtful.  The house
was
a bit on the grimy side, it would be nice to clean it up a bit while I was there.

*****

I waited for the inevitable.  Clinton would knock on my door again later that day, I was sure of it.  I waited… and waited.  Three days went by.  Was he dead?  No.  Looking out of my window at night I saw the lights in his house turn on and off.  Not many men were able to get into my head, the throngs of them had turned into a hazy blur in my mind.  I couldn’t help but wonder about Clinton though and that’s how I found myself in front of the oven with the grim determination to make a banana cake.

I didn’t need to eat very often so my cooking skills had somewhat stagnated since the dark ages.  I watched as the cake rose in its tin with a doubtful look on my face.  It smelled good though, it had that going for it.  When it was done I took it out of the oven and let it cool while I went to my laptop and left the website with the banana cake recipe to search for how to make icing.  I wondered if I was the first succubus to bake anything.

It was so strange to stand outside Clinton’s door and feel as nervous as he had looked three days previous.  I knocked but when the door didn’t open immediately I managed to convince myself to leave.  I’d taken two steps away when I heard the door open behind me.  I turned back to the house, holding the banana cake in front of me almost as if it was a shield.

“Mary?  Nice to see you!”

“Hi, just thought I’d return the favour.  Now that my house is clean the local council has posted me a certificate that says I’m allowed to produce food for human consumption.  I wondered if you like cake?”

“I like very little else!  Want to come do a taste test with some coffee?”

“Sounds great.”

Clinton led me into a house similarly humble to the one I was renting but with a much more lived in feel due to all the furniture and various wall decorations.

“You own this place, or are you a renter like me?”

“I own most of it, the bank owns some but they don’t stay here very often.  Come through this way, I think the living room is best at this time of day, the sun should be shining in.”

The living room was small but pleasant, furnished with old but comfortable looking chairs and a couch around a coffee table.

“Just put the cake down there, I’ll get the coffee and some plates.  What kind of coffee do you like?  I’ve got every flavour you could dream of as long as you can only dream of bog standard instant coffee.”

“That’s my favourite, thanks.”

“Milk?  Sugar?”

“Yes and yes please.”

“Make yourself at home, I won’t be long.”

I placed the cake on the coffee table and sat on the couch, looking around the room at the pictures on the wall while he rattled around in the kitchen.  Sure enough, amongst the various pieces of abstract art there was a wedding photo of Clinton with a pretty blonde woman.  I sighed, thinking I never should have come over.

Clinton returned with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cup of coffee, a knife and two forks balanced on two small plates in the other.  We made pleasant small talk about the weather, some of the art on the wall and the crazy family that had rented my place before me before turning to the baked goods on the table.

“Let’s not waste any more time trying that cake, it smells great!”

Clinton cut two equal wedges out of the cake and transferred them to the plates, handing me one with a fork before lifting his own and sitting back in his chair.

“I don’t see this lasting very long!” He said with an enthusiastic smile as we raised a forkful each in unison.

I slipped the baked goods past my full lips and into my mouth, pulling the fork out so I could chew.  I stopped chewing immediately.  The cake was utterly awful.  It was an affront to human dignity.  My eyes darted over to Clinton.  He was staring straight ahead, trying to look casual, but his eyes were open slightly too wide to fool me.  Still, he chewed and swallowed with dogged determination before putting his plate down.

“Mmmm, that’s good.  Think I’ll save it for a bit later.  So, what brings you to Riverfield, Mary?”

I unhappily swallowed the cake-based horror in my mouth before answering.

“I’m a bit of a drifter really, just thought it looked like a nice place to be for a while.”

“Ah, looking for somewhere to settle down?”

“No, not really.  Looking to keep drifting for the foreseeable future.”

“That must be an exciting way of life, not knowing where you’re going to be in a year, or whatever.  You could find yourself on any adventure I guess.”

“It has its moments, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I bet.  So what is it you do for a crust while you’re off adventuring?”

“I work freelance jobs doing translations of old Latin documents.  Customers can scan and email them to me, the internet follows me wherever I go, so it kind of suits the lifestyle.”

“Wow, that’s pretty interesting.  There enough work in that field to make ends meet then?”

“Meh, it’s kind of feast or famine sometimes but the ends are more or less meeting so far.  What is it you do?”

“I’m a teacher at the local high school, history mostly but somehow I end up filling in on a lot of different classes.”

“And your wife?”

The change of expression on Clinton’s face was enough to almost make me drop my coffee in surprise.  The shift from happy and engaging to grief was swift.

“She… uh… doesn’t really do much of anything anymore.  She passed a few years back.  In childbirth.  Our daughter didn’t make it either.”

“Oh, god, I’m sorry Clinton.  I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No… it’s not your fault.  I shouldn’t burden you with my problems.”

Clinton paused awkwardly as if struggling for words before blurting it out.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, absolutely.”

“It’s just… I don’t want to come across as a weirdo or anything… you’re the first visitor I’ve had here in a long time.”

“It’s ok, you can ask me.  I’m nigh on impossible to offend these days.”

“Well… do you believe in, you know, spirits, the afterlife and stuff?”

“It’s not a matter of belief for me.  I
know
there’s something more out there, I’m just not sure the details of exactly what it is.  Or if I like it.”

Clinton raised an eyebrow at my odd statement but forged ahead with his train of thought anyway.

“After I saw you the other day I went to visit my wife and daughter… uh… their grave.  I go most days, in the morning or afternoons.  I just tell them about my day, let her know when her favourite band releases a new song… try to sing the new songs so she can hear them, tell her what her family has been up to.  Read a story to my daughter.  That kind of thing.”

I nodded as a lump formed in my throat, listening to his voice become husky with emotion.

“Well, after I saw you I went there and it was such a nice day, just enough clouds to stop it getting too hot, I actually fell asleep on the grass.  I had a really strange dream.”

I squirmed and felt myself blush despite the seriousness of his previous statements.  I knew the kind of dreams men had after seeing me.

“Was the dream about me?” I asked.

Clinton seemed surprised by the question.

“No.  It was my wife.  It wasn’t like any other dream I’ve ever had, it was so clear.  I could see her, hear her… smell her.  In the dream we walked through the park in the centre of town, there was nobody else around.  It’s never like that in real life, it’s chaos down there.  A nice chaos though.”

“I saw that park when I arrived, I know what you mean.”

“We didn’t say anything, we were just… together.  Sharing a comfortable silence the way good friends can.  We got to the side of the lake where we used to watch the sun set every now and then and the dream started to fade.  I faced her and took her hands in mine.  I asked her what I was supposed to do without her.”

Clinton paused and blinked away a rising wetness in his eyes while he looked out the window before turning back to me.

“She smiled her wonderful smile and said ‘Marry Diana’.  Everything was getting dark, I couldn’t see the lake or the park anymore and she was fading fast.  I never got the chance to say goodbye before she died… so I said it then.  She winked at me and then I was awake again.”

He was quiet for a minute as the last of our coffee slowly cooled in our mugs before continuing.  I dared not break the silence myself.