“I heard you scream,” Denys said as Adam pulled the door inwards. He was standing on the small brush mat outside Adam’s door, his hands behind his back and smiling benignly once more down at Adam.
He had a way of doing it that made Adam self conscious in a way that he had never been since the accident.
“I’m sorry is there a problem?” Adam fixed Denys with a a stare that he hoped was befitting of how the other man was making him feel.
“No, no it is fine. It wasn’t too loud,” Denys replied, mistaking Adam’s question. “I only heard just now in hallway. Because I was going to work and I thought to come in by and give you this.” He now displayed and held towards Adam the hem that he had been holding behind his back.
Adam didn’t move from his place behind his front door. Nor did he make any attempt to take it. He looked at it, then at Denys’ expression. The man was still smiling but there was something else there. Hope, apprehension. Fear? Adam couldn’t tell.
“What is it.” Adam made no attempt to phrase it as a question.
Denys said nothing but pushed the jar closer to Adam, the smile completely gone form his face now.
Fear.
Adam peered at it. The small jar held in the chubby fingers. He noticed that Denys’ hands were stained with earth and grass, small flecks of brown under fingernails that were bitten almost to the quick. He wondered again what Denys did for work, and thought about phrasing it as a question, but not yet.
Yet was to come. Now was this.
The jar was three quarters full of amber that glowed in the morning light.The sun was rising above the Flats behind Adam’s shoulder, promising another day of fine weather that he wasn’t bound to experience. He tried to recall the last time it rained. Or rather, the last time he could remember it raining, which wasn’t the same thing. He couldn’t. He struggled to recall the previous week. Fragments. Like pieces of mirror in an empty room. If he picked them up and tried to piece them all together, he was sure that they wouldn’t make a whole. There would be holes. There were always
“Holes,” he muttered.
“You not want?” Denys said, still proffering the jar.
“I asked what it was.” Adam said.
“Did you?” The fear gave way to puzzlement, his oversized and unkempt eyebrows arcing over his flat grey eyes.
“Yes.” Adam said, moving his chair back slightly, giving himself room to shut the door.
“I misunderstand. Here.” He stepped forward until he was across the threshold, pushing the jar in Adam’s face. It was so close that he actually found himself wheeling back further, now out of reach of the door. Denys was blocking it anyway, and there was no way that Adam would be able to manhandle him out of the way from where he was. Even if he was standing on two legs, Denys must have had twenty or thirty pounds on him. For all his bulk, Adam wasn’t convinced it was loose weight either. There was some strength there. He could see it in Denys’ shoulders and the way he moved. Slow, deliberate, not laboured or clumsy. Nevertheless, Adam’s blood was getting up, and not in a good way. In a bad way.
“Denys, step back from my door, I have work to do.”
Despite his size, he moved quickly back, chastened by either Adam’s tone or expression. Perhaps both. He was suddenly back in the hallway, his large dirty black boots on the welcome mat outside Adam’s apartment (a novelty one Adam had brought with him from the family home, with the words CLEAR OFF rendered on the brown coir in large stencilled type - it didn’t seem to have the desired effect back then either).
“I leave for you. It’s sweet. I don’t know how you say. Sweet. From bees? They make the sweet and we spread on bread.” He placed the jar down squarely on the welcome mat, over the large R, before miming him spreading something on bread in an incredibly elaborate fashion, as though he was entertaining a group of children.
“Honey.” Adam remarked almost imperceptibly.
Denys laughed and continued his ridiculous action. “Yes! That is it. It is the Honey. I have brought you the honey, for your bread and you enjoy!”
“I don’t eat honey and I have to get back to work,” Adam moved forward in one well practiced movement, pushing down hard on the rim of each wheel until he could reach the door. He grabbed hold of the doorframe and swung it towards him as he used his other hand to push himself back. The chair tilted dangerously and for one panicked moment he thought he had pushed too hard, and he would end up sprawled on the floor. Shifting his weight sharply and pulling tighter on the door frame and he remained upright, the door swinging shut and slamming harder than he had meant it to. He had no time for Denys, but he didn’t dislike the man. He just didn’t know him, and didn’t frankly see the point in getting to know him. Nevertheless, the door slammed shut with a finality that couldn’t be misconstrued any other way.
“It is neighbour gift,” he could hear Denys say from beyond the door, his voice still jovial despite the fact that he was speaking to painted wood. Something else muttered that Adam couldn’t perceive. Something in his native language. He rested his ear against the door, angling his chair in the small entrance alcove awkwardly to allow him to do so. He was well versed in this technique now, seeing as how he had done it twice in the recent past. More mutterings, most definitely not English. Some more muttering then nothing, save for some odd scraping sounds that almost sounded as though he was doing something to the other side of the door. Silence, and Adam began to manoeuvre his chair back around so he could go inside, before a voice rang out.
“I leave here for you!”
Adam jolted in his seat, heart palpitating. He thought Denys had gone, so the sudden outburst shocked him. He paused. Denys must have thought he had gone back away from the door, so had wanted to make sure that he was heard. Adam heard a few of his heavy footsteps move back across the hall, towards the exit elevator, past his door. There were two apartments on this floor, like each of the five floors in the building. His and Denys’ made up apartments five and six respectively. Third floor, with an “impressive view across the expansive park towards the stunning brutalist development heralded in the 1960’s as heralding a stunning new era of architectural design and expensive living”. He still recalled the description in the advert for the apartment. It wasn’t wrong. The view, even from the third floor, was the only thing that it had going for it. Every part of the building was in sore need of repair, with the electrics not being replaced since this particular block was built in - he guessed - the thirties, or even before. In contrast to the Flats that forever jutted like teeth sprouting from the green mossy gums of the park, his building was a brownstone relic, but that was the other part of the appeal. It was literally falling apart, hence the rent was so low. The letting agency was some group that didn’t seem to be an affiliate or subsidiary to any of the more notable ones he might have heard of, and seemed to still be just content to send him the odd letter, which he was fine with. Of course there was a very real possibility that they were a front for some low dealing types that may well appear at Adam’s door in lieu of a further letter, but like most things, he would cross that particular bridge when he got to it. He couldn’t care one way or the other.
Beyond Adam’s front door, the hall lead straight out towards the elevator at the far end, the narrow metal doors forever in his line of sight. Denys door was on the right hadn’t side, about halfway down, and Adam could hear as the other man opened it before shutting it firmly, shouting something imperceptible to - Adam presumed - his wife Yana. A goodbye? Sure. Why not. More heat footsteps diminishing towards the life. A few moments later there was a muted bing and the sound of the lift doors sliding open, and then closed.
He sat at a obtuse angle in the small alcove that separated his living area and front door, and required to readjust himself in order to get his chair facing the right direction. That was the only reason he moved to pick up the small pile of unopened mail that his chair wheel was resting upon. He couldn’t quite manoeuvre properly until he awkwardly bend and pulled out each letter and circular from under the wheel one at a time. He managed to rip a takeaway menu in two (a Chinese takeaway that apparently was about twenty feet from the building’s front door and he never even knew of it’s existence until now). That one he was a bit miffed at due tot he fact that he thought he would probably want to make use of it sooner rather than later. A few other miscellaneous items and something that looked as though it had been lying there for quite some time, if the date on it was any indication. There as always the likelihood that he was a last minute addition to bulk up a lack of interest of course, he couldn’t see how otherwise. He also wondered just who invited him.
10 Year Anniversary Retrospective, it read. The date printed on it was the following day, at a gallery on the other side of town. He knew it, or rather knew of it. The Raschold Gallery was small, devoted only to a handful of artists at any one time. The artists themselves tended to be lower tier, just one up from amateurs most of them, and in all the time in his past that Adam had either passed it by, or learned through association of any exhibitions, he never recognised one single name that exhibited there. It prided itself on “undiscovered talent”, and hoped that one of it’s artists would be the next big name. The next Volviere or Franstomer. It was of course, never going to happen from a gallery such as that, and especially not one owned and curated by Lon Raschold.
Adam had, back when he was an aspiring artist, had one or two encounters with Raschold, and none of them had resulted in anything amicable between the two men. Adam wondered dimly if Lon would remember him, if there would be an issue should Adam show face there the following day. Irrelevant of course, as he had absolutely zero intention of attending.
He held the invitation along with the rest of the post as he had a sudden notion, and wheeled himself across to the table that stood beneath the largest living room window. The blinds were still up from him not shutting them the previous evening, so he pulled himself straight up to the side of the table until he could see below. The window was a large bay window with a low sill, something he was thankful for as it allowed him to see as far down to the pavement below without any issue. It would have been awkward and cumbersome to try and stretch himself up enough to see down otherwise.
He threw the post - including the invitation and the torn Chinese takeaway leaflet - on to the table, scattering it across the surface, not paying any heed to any that may fall to the floor. He instead was gazing down at the empty pavement. He tried to think when Denys had left. A few minutes. Two perhaps, three at most. He wouldn’t be down yet. Adam was curious. Perhaps more than idle curiosity, but he wished to see in which direction Denys was likely to go. He had no idea where the man went every day, and what he did. It made no odds to him but the state of his fingers had Adam curious. It looked as though Denys had been gardening. Seeing as how the building had no garden, he wondered exactly where he had been gardening, and if perhaps that was was he did with his days. Again, it made no odds, but to hell with it. He wasn’t exactly busy, so he may as well start prying on his neighbours.
The sun was still low in the sky, the shadows long in Adam’s living room, yet he could already feel the heat from it. The temperature was rising steadily every day, and he began to think he would need to keep the windows open. He did exactly that as he waited for Denys, taking hold of the latch and pushing the widow out slightly, waiting for the sudden hit of cool morning air, disappointed when none came. He turned his attention to the trees of the park across the road, looking for movement, a gentle swaying of leaves, except there was nothing. There was still no movement on the pavement from Denys as he exited the building, no traffic on the narrow strip of road that separated their block from the green opposite. The whole scene was completely static. No movement, not even a bird. It was an oil painting, a still from a movie.
Not just that, but there was silence.
Adam frowned. He had hoped for some wind, and opened his window further, only to discover that it wouldn’t move. Something had caught it. Blocked it. He pushed again, unable to put much force behind it from his seating position. He tried regardless, until he felt something minor give enough for his to get it open wider. There, in the corner. Something falling from the other side of the frame. Something small and green. A leaf. The ivy he saw the day before. It had grown, and taken a small but stubborn hold of the window. He had just pulled it away from the frame and it had broken.
More minutes passed. Still no Denys. He must have missed him after all, distracted by the invitation. He would try and keep a watch for him later, if he was still up, see what direction he arrived back at the building from, if he could see him.
A thump from behind, against the wall, to the right of the door, that same dividing wall, that same thump.
Then something else, different. A scraping sound. A dragging sound. Across the surface of the wall on the other side.
Adam went to the wall, his ear against it. Again. The curious neighbour.
Curiosity killed the cat.
Yes, but satisfaction brought him back.
Did it though? Adam doubted that. He was under the impression that once you were dead, you were dead. Like a part of him already was. Pieces of him that were nothing more than ash in the ether. Smoke in the skyline. Would that make the ultimate transition easier?
Years previous.
A hospital chaplain had appeared unannounced at his bedside. He didn’t think that was a thing that happened, but he awoke one afternoon to discover a tall, beaming figure sitting close to him, his hand curled around Adam’s arm. He remembered thinking that if it hadn’t been for the fact he had just been involved in a serious accident and he was drugged up to his eyeballs, that he would have had a serious conversation with a strange man who just appeared beside him and placed a hand on him like that. As it was, it was all he could do but roll his eyes and blink slowly.
“Hello Adam,” the man said, “My name is Charlie, I’m with the chaplaincy here.” He spoke slowly, his voice a low but smooth timbre, little to no cadence. It had a soothing effect almost instantly, and Adam found himself not wishing the man take his hand away from his arm any more.
Charlie had been Reverend Forsyth, and he had been asked by the ward sister to visit Adam’s bedside to see if he could offer support. Adam had become more lucid as the time of the visit went on, and the conversation had eventually succumbed to questions of faith, after beginning fairly innocuously. Adam possessed a little faith, but he didn’t know if it was enough to steer him conclusively towards any particular afterlife. Nonetheless, he found himself happily just lying there and listening to Charlie and his discourse on faith and how it could help at traumatic times. It wasn’t until later that the anger had consumed Adam, but at that point, he had been receptive and content to listen. In hindsight, he would blame it on the morphine drip. He had said little until something had entered his mind. The medication had made him stupid and slow, and the question was childlike at best, but he asked it nonetheless.
“When I die, will I arrive like this?”
Slow to answer, his face serious, he had leaned in towards Adam conspiratorially and winked.
“You will arrive whole,” he had said. “To the thirsty I will give water without cost from the spring of the water of life. You will be your best self. Your pure self.”
“What if I don’t want to be.” Adam had replied.
THWUMP
Right above his ear. Another loud bang that reverberated across the wall. Plaster dust fell beyond the partition.
Adam decided that he would go and visit his neighbours. Enough was enough. He was internally debating whether he should stay in his chair or try his prosthetics again - thinking that the short walk across the hall would be good to continue to reacquaint himself with them - when the doorbell sounded.
No comments:
Post a Comment