by Aaron D. Key
“I thought you were dead,” he said cheerfully.
“’Fraid not,” I replied with the idea that I had spoiled a fascinating discovery by being alive.
“Don’t be silly. I didn’t want you to be dead. Daddy would be really cross. Anyway, we are supposed to be doing the specirations. You know how to do them, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, reluctant to commit.
“The prissmus specirations,” he further elaborated.
“The Christmas decorations?” I asked pedantically.
“That’s right. Mum said you would be an expert. Come on. I’ll show you where they are.”
I followed slightly bewildered that anyone would consider me an expert in Christmas decorations but decided the child was not a reliable witness to anyone’s opinions.
I had always avoided young children as much as possible. They were too noisy, too irrational and unsteady for my slow brain to feel comfortable with. The only thing was, when I looked into the dark, uncomprehending eyes of this small child, it was like reaching back into history and seeing myself as I might have been; it gave me a strange feeling of remoteness from the flesh that was my own.
“So, what did you do last Christmas? Can you remember?” I asked, desperately wondering whether a child of three could remember anything that happened to them.
“We didn’t have Christmas last year,” Yan said cheerfully. “This is the first one we have had. I’m really excited.”
Probably not then, I answered my own silent question. We made our way into the main living area, which was now dotted with several large boxes and three adults, two looking into the boxes and Maone on a sofa reading a book.
Peter turned around and smiled first at Yan and then at me. I was introduced to Aileen: a striking woman who didn’t live up to my expectation of a scornful dragon. Firstly, she seemed to be genuinely fond of Peter, although the impression he had given was of someone who barely tolerated him. Secondly, it was obvious that Yan loved her completely with no reservation, and I trusted the intuition of children as I trusted that of dogs. Wryly, I realised this was not a compliment.
We spent a pleasant afternoon decorating the room and discussing ideas for the garden. After tea I played backgammon with the nearly mute Maone and a few games of chess with Peter, enough to know that I would never beat him. I was happy enough to retire to bed early. The effort of being in company continually had worn me out.
* * *
It was dark as I made my way across the room. After feeling the wall in vain for the main light switch, I used the moonlight to make my way across to the table lamp. Before I reached it, I heard a voice and saw a dark shadow move.
“I wondered if you would find me.”
I did not know what to answer and so I stayed quiet.
“I wanted to come and find you but I was in shock from what Elena told me. Everything I thought I knew, was nothing. The whole world was just fakery. I couldn’t face you not knowing who I was or what the point of me was.”
Now I knew that I must be dreaming, but of what was I dreaming? I could not see him but I thought I was talking to Koa. Would he help me understand what happened next in my story?
“What did Elena tell you?” I asked. I was curious.
“She told me that one day Aeth was bored. He had the power to do anything he wanted but the motivation to do nothing. In his boredom he found himself watching a city of people living out their lives as best they could. There was an old man in charge called Glant, Herai’s father and soon to die. Aeth stole the city away from the world it belonged to and brought it to your world. He coated himself in the form of Glant and took his place as ruler. He messed around with time. He undid everything that had been done. Our lives were his playthings.”
He still sounded in shock. His explanation unravelled a few puzzles and explained Koa’s disappearance on the last night, but it didn’t really explain what he was doing in my dream.
“He waited for you,” I said, “until he fell asleep.”
“Who waited for me?” he said, sounding puzzled.
“Damon Ich waited for you.”
“Why are you talking like that? I don’t understand.”
“I’m not Damon Ich,” I said and wondered why I couldn’t even pretend in a dream. Did it matter who anyone thought I was?
“Do you think you can fool me?” He sounded annoyed.
I finally found the light switch and saw the face of a complete stranger looking at me. I thought that there would be some tug of recognition but there was none. Koa was a figure I had had in my mind a long time but without ever really visualising his form. All I knew was that Damon Ich found him perfect and I could appreciate his taste, in spite of the fact that Koa looked physically defeated and diminished by worry.
I could see the same lack of recognition in his eyes; anger, bafflement.
“You have aged and changed your form. I can see that you have forgotten me. This relationship is going to take patience and hard work, a lot of hard work,” he said, making an obvious effort to speak calmly.
I thought to myself, This relationship is going to end for you tomorrow, but I didn’t think it would comfort him to know it. I wondered whether it was right or of any use for me to let him know the secrets of tomorrow. Was this any more than a dream? But how could it be?
“Perhaps you should go back and try to find Damon Ich,” I said, unsure. “You could tell him that Aeth is not dead and will try to kill him tomorrow. Perhaps if Damon Ich is prepared, he could do something to stop it?”
“Is this what happens? I will tell him straight away.”
He left the room quickly and I sat down on the bed with a long drawn-out breath of amazement. It was not often that a dream came to life. Perhaps it was a clue that I was not as sane as I should be. Knowing a story in the way I did was probably one form of mild insanity but having it come to life in front of you was a much more severe symptom. I waited, wondering whether that was the end of my episode or if there was more to come. After a few more minutes I decided it had all ended and began to get ready for bed. I considered with a smile whether I had changed the end of my story. Perhaps everything would go back to rights and the story would now carry on. I would find out if it ever reached a happily ever after.
Then my door opened again and the same wretched stranger slipped back through like an intruder or someone who felt deeply out of place.
“He is not there. There are other people there I don’t know. Everything is different. I don’t recognise where I am.”
I did not know how he had come to this place and so I offered him comfort the only way I knew how. I made him a cup of tea with the kettle and supplies Aileen had provided me with earlier.
“So if you are not Damon Ich, who are you?” Koa said as he sat on the edge of my bed, cradling his teacup.
“I am no one important,” I said. “I came here to look at the gardens. Although I haven’t yet been hired officially, I suppose you would say I’m the gardener.”
“So how do you know what will happen tomorrow? Are you from the future?”
“Not strictly speaking,” I admitted, wondering how I had the confidence to assume that I knew anything when I knew nothing, not even that I was sane, but of course it was all a dream, I reminded myself, just a dream. I had forgotten, begun to think it might be real. Even sane people could imagine ridiculous things in their dreams and not be held responsible for their pretence at knowledge in those dreams. This reassured me. I relaxed a little.
I could tell that Koa really thought that I was Damon Ich – not lying but confused. I could see his brain trying to work out how such a thing had come about and knew that he was not scared because I was there and he expected I would sort it all out. I still stayed calm and unflustered because I knew it was only a dream.
So I wasn’t surprised when I awoke
alone, even though he had stayed the night. There did not seem to be anywhere else for him to go, so after a few moments of embarrassment natural between strangers forced into such close proximity, we had made the best out of it. We exchanged life stories. I learned all sort of things I had never known about Koa before and about the way Glant’s city had been organised. I was amazed, and begrudgingly began to appreciate Glant or Elena’s organisational skills. There was much that was not perfect but lots that made use of what they had in an ingenious and thoughtful way; it did not sound like the work of a madman like Aeth. I liked Koa. I had been prepared to find him lightweight, even fickle, but he had integrity and strength enough to make me wish he was not just a character out of a dream.
In turn I told him about my life and how I had come to this place. I could tell by the expression on his face that some of it made no sense to him at all, but then the whole experience made no sense.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Christmas and a Decision
The experience had enlivened my evening, so I woke the next morning with a light heart ready and willing to start working. Then I remembered that it was Christmas Day. I was supposed to be going swimming today. My expectation was that it would be freezing cold, so I was surprised when I looked upstairs to find Peter in a pair of light swimming trunks. He passed a similar pair to me.
“Happy Christmas!” I said, as if remembering this was expected.
“Still up for it?” he asked with a look of mild derision.
“Yes,” I said cautiously. “I thought it was probably wetsuit weather, though.”
“Southern softy! I’ll meet you at the entrance to the tower.”
A few minutes later we were walking down one of the mown paths to the lake. We stood outside a small but attractive building that looked like a Native American boat-shaped hut from the outside, built with a pale wood in planked sections.
“I’ll start the fire,” Peter said and disappeared inside.
At least we would not be cold for long, I thought, eying the grey water of the lake with some suspicion. Peter was probably right. I was soft and had been pampered by my life, which until now had been mostly spent in a comfortable and predictable environment. Once the fire was crackling away nicely, we headed for the shore.
“I’ve never really been that fond of swimming,” Peter said as he waded deeper beside me, “but you like it, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “How did you know?”
“I think you mentioned it once,” he said without blinking.
I knew that I had never mentioned it. It was something I did not discuss at work or to anyone socially because I believed that my regular and unchanging form of exercise was a clue to the nature of my mind and character that I did not want analysed.
The water was, to my greatest surprise, not cold, beyond the initial shock of immersion. Once in and covered there was a pleasant coolness, no more. As I swam, the comfortable well-known movement of muscle against water reassured me that all was well with the world. I began to feel alive again, more like myself. The puzzling activity of the night before had begun to make me question my own sanity, my ability to fit in with any normal social situation. For a moment I had been convinced that Peter had been spying on me and I could think of no good reason for this. I was not that good a gardener. There were probably thousands of people who could do the job better than me. What was I to think of a man who had established that I was virtually alone in the world with no one to miss me before inviting me to a place that was as far to the edge of civilisation as I had ever been to? What should I expect next?
This was how my paranoid thoughts had been running but I tried to rein them in, considering that there was always a reasonable explanation for things that seemed inexplicable if only you could find it. Perhaps one of the other people working at my previous workplace had seen me swimming and happened to mention it in passing. No conspiracies, no plotting: just the normal way of small talk. I found it hard to imagine Peter as an evil genius. He was a puzzling character, it was true, and unlike anyone I had ever met before, but I could not imagine him being unkind to anyone.
There was probably even some reasonable explanation for the water being so warm. Perhaps there was a nuclear power station cooling vent nearby or some other sort of water-based electricity generation, or perhaps just a natural warm spring. I decided it was not necessary to know, just enough to enjoy the benefit.
Even so, it was pleasant after leaving the water and walking briefly with a brusque wind upon my damp skin to enter the now warmed-up sauna. I relaxed, as if the heat were pulling at my muscles one by one and stretching them back to normality.
“Well, we’ve started Christmas Day traditionally,” Peter said with a tone of satisfaction. “The sauna was a good idea, though. It was my Christmas present to myself and you can share it if you end up staying here.”
I smiled without replying. I had never really considered that I would stay here for long. A few weeks or perhaps a month was the most I had considered until now. I still could not imagine myself living here for a long time. It was so remote, so far away from centres of diversion, and yet there was something about the place that made me feel at home.
“I was going to ask you something,” Peter suddenly said. “We had an intruder last night. A man burst into our bedroom as if he was drunk, muttered something, and then ran off. We looked for him but he had disappeared. I just wondered whether you heard or saw anything strange?”
“No,” I began to reply. “Well, I did have what I thought was a dream of someone coming into my room, but it couldn’t have been real. The character was someone I knew out of a story and we talked just as they would have spoken if they’d been the character I thought they were.”
“Well, perhaps you saw something when you were half asleep and then wove it into a dream. I’m sorry you were disturbed but hopefully they’ve left us now. I think he was harmless, probably, but keep your eyes open.”
After a while, the heat became unbearable and we left the sauna to lie outside on the half-damp grass. We rested, listening to the sound of insects and the wind in the reeds. I had never been so relaxed and yet my mind was gently mulling over what Peter had said. Was he right and I had dreamed of something with just a slight basis in truth? Or had it been that what I thought was a dream was real? But how could that be?
“You might think I’m mad to ask but was the character in your dream a friendly one, or not?” Peter said unexpectedly.
I paused for a moment before answering, expecting perhaps some sort of joke to be revealed.
“It’s just, Maone and Aileen are nervous and they pay attention to the meaning of dreams. I thought it might reassure them if I could tell them it was a friendly visit.”
“It was,” I said, thinking his explanation was a bit lame, although it was apparent the answer mattered to him and he had visibly relaxed on hearing my answer. It was incomprehensible but I was so relaxed it didn’t appear as significant as it might have done. Sometimes he seemed so young and immature that he could almost have been my son, if I had ever had one, and yet at other times he made me feel like an apprentice standing next to his master – a strange mixture of a man.
The rest of the day I spent in a whirl of activity that I was half convinced was a play put on for my benefit, though with no idea of the motive. I laughed at my own paranoia while enjoying myself. We ate well in a large hall with a mixed group of people. It was a party in which many people had contributed towards food. They brought their contributions in to the sound of appreciation and then joined the table. There was the sound of many happy conversations and laughter. I was sat next to Maone, and even she managed a smile or two in response to some of the more extreme attempts at humour. I felt detached, despite trying not to be, as if there was a veil between me and the rest of the world. I put it down to a mental weariness: the journey, the sudden break from rou
tine catching up with me.
Afterwards, we went for a walk. This was a tradition from my Christmas childhoods, I had shared with Maone earlier. We covered gorges and rocky plateau; walked by waterfalls and stone-filled streams. The distance was stretching enough to be enjoyable even though Yan had accompanied us. As we walked, I saw more of the land that could become part of Peter’s garden, or perhaps become wood or farmland, or just remain wild. The beauty of this garden would not be limited by space; possibly by money or manpower, but most likely by my lack of imagination. I realised with a jolt that I was seriously considering taking this job on and remaining in this place for a good while.
Even Maone appeared to enjoy this walk. She became more animated as we continued and had energy enough to share the carrying of Yan when he started to flag. I was walking by her side, letting my mind drift, imagining an informal avenue of silver birch, almost hearing the dry rustle of the autumnal leaves, and then another part of the story arrived in my head most unexpectedly.
* * *
We kneeled on Rael’s Hill, the child and me. It was an overcast day with vivid clarity in the air. I kneeled because it seemed right to do so, and the child copied me with some trepidation in his dark pupils.
“What is the purpose of your life, Damon Ich?” I asked, and I spoke rather to the radiant crown above of eight stars and a crescent moon, avoiding his face as he sought mine with embarrassing candour.
“I didn’t think there was any purpose?” the child said in a serious tone. His reply was surprising and I looked down at his face to see his expression. There was a look of troubled concentration there, so I took his hand.
“It was not a metaphorical question. I just wondered how you’d like to spend your time and to what end?”
He did not answer me straight away but sat for a while staring over the walls of Herron.
“If it was my decision,” he answered me at last. “I should like to be a gardener here. The end would be to make Herron beautiful.”