by Steve Berman
“Rowrrr,” Bear said in an almost conversational manner this time, poking with his paw at something on the ground.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is it now?” Auren said. “Get in the house before you get us both killed.”
He bent down cautiously, hoping to seize Bear before he could flee. Something glinted under the cat’s paw. A big key, old-fashioned in shape, its brass dark with patina.
“Huh. Someone probably didn’t mean to throw this away.” Auren picked it up and stuck it in his pocket. “Now will you come here?”
The cat scrambled into Auren’s arms as if he had always had that in mind.
Auren’s legs shook as he hurried inside, and slammed and locked the door, good and tight this time.
In the morning, when the frightening encounter seemed far away and even kind of funny, he examined the key.
It was substantial and old, and looked like a real key, not some decorative imitation. He wondered if it might belong to the new neighbors, perhaps thrown out accidentally with the trash, or dropped in the confusion of the moving. Maybe someone in the house would recognize it, and be grateful to get it back. And giving the key back might gain Auren a look inside the place he found so intriguing.
He checked the view at his window frequently, hoping for a glimpse of the new tenants. Around suppertime, two cars appeared in the driveway—an intimidating black Navigator and a sporty crossover. He waited a decent time after the supper hour, and then, in the early evening, knocked on the front door.
The man who answered was not much taller than Auren, but he was an impressive presence, his chest broad and his belly substantial. His shining dark hair was combed in luxuriant waves, and his black beard curled magnificently. He wore a fine cotton sweater, a procession of bears knitted into the pattern, and elegant leather slippers. He bore the air of someone ready for well-deserved relaxation after a productive day.
“Hello, I hope I’m not intruding,” Auren said. “I’m your next-door neighbor, and—”
“How delightful,” the man said. “Please, come in. So kind of you to make a visit so early in our stay here. Very courteous! And welcome!”
Auren looked around with interest. The kitchen was cozy, but rather small. The house must have been renovated. He imagined this might once have been a front sitting room. It didn’t seem large enough to be the original dining area for such an expansive residence.
Auren perched on the chair the man offered. It didn’t seem quite wide enough, or tall enough. He had to sit up straight to keep his balance.
“I was just making a cup of tea for myself,” the man said. “Will you have tea? Do you like chai?”
“Sure, thank you.”
“But I am remiss! I haven’t introduced myself! I am Chandrakant Asvala. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Auren Capelli.”
They shook hands. Mr. Asvala’s hand was warm and plump, but firm.
The man turned to put the kettle on, and Auren resumed staring around the room. Even in the dining area, one whole wall was filled with bookshelves. Mr. Asvala had literary tastes. Tastefully bound classics. Auren noticed a well-worn copy of Goedel, Escher, Bach, and a shelf full of newer volumes about artificial intelligence.
“I see you have a lot of books about AI,” Auren said. “If you don’t mind my asking, is that a professional interest?”
“Yes, indeed. I work in design for a robotics firm. And you, Auren—if I may call you that?”
“Oh, sure.”
“And you must say Chandra. It means “the moon.” My full name is Chandrakant—beloved of the moon is the meaning, but it is just a name in these modern times.”
Interesting, Auren thought. But he had trouble thinking of this impressive person as anything other than Mr. Asvala.
“Are you a student? What are your interests?”
“I’m just a business major at State right now. I’m doing a minor in history, though.”
“Really?” Mr. Asvala brought a tea-tray to the table and sat, regarding Auren with an expression that seemed interested and sympathetic. “What period is your specialty?”
“It’s really just a hobby.” Auren focused on his mug of spiced, milky tea. “More of a fantasy, really. I just like to read about other places, other times. Times when people weren’t so—so confined, I guess. So wrapped up in little cubicles, and tied down to some little group of friends who all think alike. Just when there was more room in the world.” He laughed and shook his head. “I suppose it’s just a form of escapism. A friend once told me history was dead.”
“No, I can’t agree at all,” Mr. Asvala said. “I think you are very wise to know yourself this early in life. You understand that you were meant for a larger world. This is wisdom.”
They went on talking about Auren’s plans, and he found himself saying things he had never acknowledged even to himself. Chandra seemed to find everything he said interesting and worthwhile. At times, Auren wondered if Chandra was flirting with him, but dismissed the idea. The man was just naturally charming, he thought.
Suddenly he realized that it was dark, and had been for a while. Fearful of overstaying his welcome, he was about to make his excuses and leave, but Chandra leaned toward him with one more question.
“Forgive my curiosity, but you have spoken of friends, but not of one special friend. Is there no one with whom you share such intriguing conversations as we have had tonight?”
Auren stared at the tabletop for several moments. “Not at the moment. Someone I thought was just that decided we had little in common.” It hurt to get the words out, but it also felt surprisingly good to articulate what happened. “He was probably right. He was the kind of guy who always had a goal in mind. I guess I’m not like that. I like doing things just because, you know, I like doing them.”
“Doing things for their own sake,” Chandra said.
“Something like that. Or maybe I’m just lazy. I don’t know why he wanted to be with me anyway.” Auren laughed, trying to shrug the topic off and retreat to safer ground.
“Perhaps he was drawn to you for that very reason,” Chandra said.
He looked kindly at Auren, and Auren felt his cheeks redden. “Because you enjoyed his company without judging him. But people who judge themselves harshly can never stop for long. So he became uncomfortable and had to leave. Perhaps it was his failure, and not yours.”
Auren didn’t know what to say. His silence felt uncomforable, although Chandra seemed perfectly at ease with the pause. “I’ve imposed on you too long. I should go. I’m sorry—I just go off on tangents. That’s what my roommates say, at least. Story of my life.” He sighed.
Mr. Asvala stood up, and Auren thought he was standing to usher his guest out. Mr. Asvala was beside his chair, so close it became awkward for Auren to get up.
“I cannot agree with your friends,” he said. “You seem to me a young man of great potential, who perhaps needs just a bit of guidance to find his way. Perhaps I might be of assistance in that regard. Allow me?”
Auren took his hand, stood, and found himself chest-to-chest with the other man, the dark curls of the magnificent beard tickling his cheek.
Mr. Asvala bent toward him. Auren felt his warm, spicy breath, and the full, parted lips inches away. There was no doubt of what was happening. Auren almost panicked.
A chubby but surprisingly powerful arm slipped around his waist. He leaned into Mr. Asvala’s robust warmth with a surge of desire that took him by surprise. It was like hot cocoa with a shot, comforting and intoxicating at once. He managed to stammer some word of assent as Mr. Asvala guided him not toward the front door, but to an open, welcoming inner door.
When Auren opened his eyes, the room was filled with light. He was alone in a strange bed. Disoriented, he tried to sit up, and found himself tangled in quilts, sheets, embroidered pillows and coverlets. He tried to thrash his legs free and hit his head on an elaborately carved headboard. The bed seemed too cramped for him to s
tretch out his arms and throw off the covers. He tried to roll over, and fell over the side. He landed hard, still swathed in blankets.
The room felt like a cave, with a coved ceiling and narrow windows. The bed stood high off the floor on claw-footed legs of highly polished old wood. The room was crowded full of curios—antique chests, porcelain objects displayed on shelves—all things he might like to explore, if he wasn’t so abuzz with anxiety. He was naked. He looked around wildly for his clothes. They lay folded neatly on a footstool at the foot of the bed. Auren dragged them on hastily and escaped the claustrophobic bedroom to find himself in the kitchen.
Chandrakant Asvala sat at the table, drinking tea and reading a newspaper. The table held scones, a teapot, a jug of milk, and a pot of honey. An extra place was set for Auren.
“My dear boy, how delightful to see you this morning,” Chandra said.
Auren didn’t feel delightful. His teeth were not brushed, and neither was his hair.
Chandra smiled broadly, waving Auren toward the table. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable. I’ve prepared some breakfast for you—spiced porridge, my favorite dish. My mother used to make it for me on Saturdays.”
“I can’t—really, I don’t want to take any more of your time,” Auren said. He felt he was babbling.
“Nonsense! Sit down.”
Auren sat, but he could not make himself comfortable. The narrow, rush-bottomed chair creaked under his precariously balanced weight.
Chandra poured tea for them and served porridge with a flourish.
Reluctantly, Auren picked up the heavy silver spoon. His mind had gone blank. He did not know what people said in these situations. He popped a full spoon of porridge into his mouth to cover his confusion. Thermal heat burned his tongue. Chilies and curry fumed up his nose. Tears sprang from his eyes. He sneezed uncontrollably and recoiled, grasping for a drink, a napkin, anything to smother the explosion he felt rising in his throat. The chair tipped backwards and splintered apart, throwing him to the floor for the second time that morning.
Chandra reached out to help him up, but Auren scrambled to his feet and bolted for the door.
Too embarrassed and confused to form complete sentences, he couldn’t even offer an apology.
“Stay—have some tea!” Chandra called after him. “Let me get you water. I did not realize I had prepared this too spicy for you.”
“I’m sorry—I can’t—I just remembered—my cat—”
Auren jumped over the threshold and didn’t stop until he reached his own door. Panting, he flung himself into the safety of the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind him. After the opulence of Mr. Asvala’s rooms, the place looked extra shabby, a wasteland of half-filled cartons and dust bunnies, but Auren didn’t care. He poured a glass of cold water to soothe his stinging throat. Bear darted toward him, yowling displeasure at this extended absence.
“Oh, Bear, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be away so long. I won’t do it again, I promise. Are you all right?”
He sat down. Bear jumped into his lap. He diligently sniffed Auren, as if trying to determine what he’d been up to, then settled down, purring. Auren was surprised to be forgiven so quickly. Usually Bear snubbed him for an hour after such a dereliction. Auren calmed himself, stroking Bear’s plushy fur and telling him about his adventures. Bear blinked wisely, as if he knew all about them.
“Now, I really have to do something about finding a new apartment,” Auren said. Standing up to get his laptop, he felt something hard in his back pocket. The key.
“I’m such an idiot. I never even asked him about it.”
Later that afternoon, after more packing, he made a few calls. The most promising places were already filled, and his second choices didn’t pick up, or said they would call back, but didn’t. Worry burned in his chest.
As twilight dimmed the windows, he felt more and more restless. He couldn’t sit still and focus on ads and listings. He paced around the room. In the absence of roommates, with no one to ask for an explanation, old habits called to him. Out in the dark, he didn’t need an identity. No one would expect an apology. Bear followed him to the door, but he pushed the cat back.
“No, Bear, you stay here. You know what happened last time you were out.”
“Mmmph,” Bear said disapprovingly.
Stepping out into the night, Auren felt the familiar excitement. He slipped like a wild thing through the overgrown bushes that separated the condo from the house next door, the branches brushing his face, the breeze toying with his hair. He meant to veer toward the alley on the far side of the block, but the dark bulk of the house looming against evening clouds brought him to a standstill.
The key still weighted his pocket. There was a faint glow of light behind the curtains on the first floor. The upper stories were dark and still.
With only a few steps, Auren could find himself climbing those tempting back stairs to the mysterious third floor.
Knowing just how stupid this might turn out to be, he felt for the key in his pocket and set foot softly on the first tread.
He moved stealthily. At the landing he paused. The moon stared at him, seeming almost level with his eyes. He saw over roofs and empty streets. The sense of height was exhilarating. It would be fun to live up here, he thought, and enjoy this commanding view.
The darkened windows showed no sign of life. He continued to the top. He didn’t see any signs warning of security measures, and when he looked in the windows, he saw nothing, no little lights blinking. He tried the doorknob, cautiously, wondering how fast he could get back down the stairs if a warning sounded. To his amazement, the latch clicked, and the door swung open. He needn’t even try the key.
His heart pounding, Auren knocked softly on the edge of the door. “Hello? Anybody home?”
There was no answer. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Using his phone for light, he looked around like an explorer examining a newly-discovered cave. The large room was set up as a bedroom. The occupant had not yet finished moving in. An enormous super-king size bed took up most of the space to the right of the door, under a set of windows. On the other side, the matching window was partially blocked by stacks of boxes and an immense and complicated exercise machine whose iron arms loomed like some kind of torture device. French doors stood open into an adjoining space.
Drawn by his curiosity, Auren tiptoed into the deeper shade within. His little light showed a desk on the left, with a large adjustable desk chair. Auren sat down, and felt dwarfed. His feel barely touched the floor. The high ergonomic back stretched up above his head. He shone his light on the wall above, illuminating a gallery of framed photos, award certificates, and shadow boxes containing medals and jerseys.
The photos showed a ferocious-looking man, with a thick dark beard, grinning beside even larger men, or clasping hands with them, with a paw the size of a ham.
Auren’s mouth felt dry. If this was who lived here, maybe he should leave right now.
He peered closer at the certificates. Apparently this giant’s name was Grysz Medved. Auren didn’t even know how to pronounce that.
Even though Auren knew he should get out, he couldn’t leave without sating his curiosity. He slid down and moved to the next room, careful to tread softly and not bump into anything, finding his way around more boxes, into the kitchen. The appliances were super-sized, the counters high. He felt like a child in a giant’s kitchen. The stainless-steel refrigerator gleamed like a monument, daring him to peek inside.
Besides several six-packs of Duchy beer and a bowl, the cavernous interior was disappointingly bare. Curious, he reached for the bowl, stoneware and the size of a soup tureen, covered with plastic wrap. Auren hefted it in his arms and carried it to the counter, hoping it might be a delicious dessert. He peeled back the plastic and sniffed. Not a promising scent. The fridge’s light revealed a pale, smooth mass that could be pudding or cream. With two fingers, he scooped out a portion and popped it into his mouth
, prepared to dash to the sink and spit if necessary. Not horrible, but not the treat he had hoped for. It tasted faintly of berries and nuts, but the main flavor was some kind of bland protein powder. The temperature was cold, the texture clammy. Auren resealed the plastic and pushed the bowl back onto the shelf.
“Okay, that’s enough—now we’ll go,” he assured himself.
Then he felt the vibration of heavy footsteps coming upstairs. He froze for a moment in panic. He couldn’t tell if the footsteps were approaching by the back stairs he had climbed, or the interior stairway. He decided to flee the way he had come in rather than blunder through the interior darkness and possibly get trapped in a narrow hallway. But no sooner had he hurried into the bedroom than he realized the footsteps were indeed climbing the exterior stairs. He looked around wildly for a hiding place. There were no closets that he could see. The boxes were jammed too tightly against the wall, leaving no space for cover. With effort, he lifted the immense bed cover to see if he could hide under there, but it was a platform frame.
The steps were at the door.
Auren dove beneath the covers just as the door opened. He found himself engulfed in a vast duvet and a heap of pillows. He flattened himself into the mattress and prayed no one would ping his phone.
The door slammed shut. A light snapped on.
He dared glance from beneath the edge of the duvet, and saw a massive pair of brawny legs passing by. Footsteps thumped out into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and closed. A beer can popped open. After a brief pause, another can cracked. Water ran. A toilet flushed.
Auren was thinking about making a dash for the door, but the footsteps returned.
Clothing hit the floor. Boots landed into a corner. There was a massive sigh and yawn, and the light went out. The mattress rocked with the weight of its owner throwing himself onto the bed.
Auren’s heart was pounding so hard he was afraid it would shake the bed. He sensed those giant limbs settling themselves just inches away. Body heat radiated through the covers, and a scent came with it, a musky, powerful aroma that was not unpleasant, but tickled his nose and made him tingle with apprehension. Such wildness was unpredictable, dangerous. Terrified that he would sneeze, Auren hugged the edge of the bed and prayed the other occupant would not roll over.