by Peter Spokes
He showed me some of his old manuscripts about ghosts and reincarnations – much he had learned on his many trips to Egypt. He was particularly fascinated with my telling him that he had warned us about the Titanic’s ill-fated voyage. He said that it had not been him warning us but believed it to be what he had read about and referred to as a ‘messenger’, a ‘conduit’ or an ‘emissary’.
He had always had leanings towards the occult.”
I looked over at the drunk for a moment.
“Leanings?” I said, before returning my somewhat confused gaze to Alex. “Did you not speak to April – your mother about this?” I asked.
“No,” she suddenly said with fire. “Linus was always telling her things were in her head and she was mentally sick and so after a while she started to believe it. She’s better now that Dermot – my step-father – is here. Her mind has become… free.” She paused for several moments.
“Something in particular my grandad told me, which I remember well, was regarding what the hieroglyphs called a ‘messenger’, ‘conduit’ or ‘emissary’. He said that nobody can know the future except those that have been there. He told me that he had seen hieroglyphs and read Coptic parchments suggesting that the entity could be sent to warn of the future. It would resemble the one who sent it. But the sender needed to be… dead. Also, there were ‘spoken words of energy’ that needed to be spoken.”
I stared at her, “The kalimat alttaqa?”
She stared at me. “Yes, he called it that. You will understand I have researched much of my grandfather’s work. I have read his papers, manuscripts and diaries.”
She paused before continuing, “Grandfather figured therefore that in another ‘existence’ he died. That was the only way that the emissary could be summoned.”
“The ‘emissary’? I’m sorry, Alex, I’m finding this so very difficult to follow,” I said.
She stared at me with profound sympathy. “I… believe that you are the ‘emissary’ created by my grandfather. He created you and then sacrificed himself for you to… be… so that you could warn us.”
She paused for several moments and looked up, sad.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Grandad said to me that he and the emissary would be close… it may be possible that since you are here then he too might be here… in spirit…”
I looked over at the drunk and our eyes locked for several moments.
“Also bearing in mind where my grandmother’s ashes are…” she said looking over at the old oak.
This was a lot to take in. I had so wanted answers but now they were falling over themselves in their eagerness to be heard – unfortunately not so much their understanding.
I looked over again at the drunk who looked happier than I had ever seen him – and smiled.
So, I did have a reason and objective but… I was some… messenger or emissary somehow created or otherwise conjured up, by a dead man to serve a cause – for however long it took.
I remembered how I had first seen the drunk lying on his back as he drank copiously from numerous bottles and realised an empathy with him.
I understood now why he did what he did, who he was and why I identified with him.
I reached up and felt the rough hair on my chin and baldness at the front of my head.
I was made in his image.
“You like to meet Grandad?” she said smiling and looking towards the gate.
I followed her gaze and saw an elderly couple standing at the entrance to the graveyard.
Despite her age I recognised April, but not the man holding her hand.
April smiled at me and I smiled back, my eyes wet.
I felt an arm around my shoulder. “We’ve done it!” the drunk said positively beaming.
“But… but…” I started, “… you are… dead and I’m apparently some… emissary,” I said slowly, “and what about the ‘words of power’?”
“They were spoken; I don’t know when… or how… or what they were… but they must have been spoken.”
I stared at him for a long while.
I was so focussed on the drunk’s happy demeanour that I missed an old man behind them enter the gates and delicately – and with immense care – make his way towards my seat under the oak.
He wore a fedora and I recognised him as the gentleman I had often seen taking up my seat under the oak. He wore a generous smile and I noticed his eyes constantly looking over to April.
Though he appeared a little confused, I could see that he was simply ‘going with it’ with an acceptance that goes with age and one all out of alternatives.
I looked between him and the drunk; with his trimmed beard and generally well-groomed appearance, he looked a far better representation of the drunk – and therefore quite possibly myself.
Alex noticed my stare and smiled although there appeared an underlying sadness in her expression.
“I would really like to introduce you,” she said.
I nodded.
Scene 6: Reasons and Answers
I wandered over and sat down beside the old man.
I was about to utter ‘Good Morning,’ still a little unsure as to whether I might get a response, when he spoke.
“How do you know my granddaughter?”
I looked at Alex for help.
“An old friend of the family…” she said.
The old man nodded. “I see; odd that I’ve never been introduced to you before…”
Alex looked over at him. “Grandad’s always been a worrier when it comes to us… his family.”
He shrugged, “Of course; you’re all important to me.”
“I can understand that,” I said feeling a little as if I were reciting a rehearsed script in a play.
“Have you… a family?” he asked.
“Erm… certainly… not unlike your own; a beautiful daughter and granddaughter,” I said.
I received a broad smile.
“Alex,” he said quietly, “show him the locket I gave your mother. I feel he might appreciate it.”
I watched Alex remove a locket and slender chain from her neck and carefully pass it to me.
I took it gently and then opened it. There was a note inside which I carefully opened, and read the words:
“On your first day, I held you,
And with no doubt at all,
I swore no harm would come your way.
I would catch you should you fall.
I make this promise,
To love and protect you.
I will always be at your side
There’s nothing I won’t do.
I will stand beside you,
With each and every breath
Beyond sickness and ill,
Beyond life, beyond death.”
I smiled though felt my eyes welling up. On the note were the words that I had heard April speak to Alex a long, long time ago to console her.
I looked up at the drunk and he nodded. The kalimat alttaqa, the words of power; a promise made by a father to his daughter.
It was April.
It was always April.
I wondered about the power of words. Though Alex’s grandad was apparently well versed in the occult, maybe it was all down to a promise. Perhaps the strength of feeling behind it made it a corporeal pledge and stronger than any questionable hokum.
I passed the locket back to Alex and smiled finally appreciating the connection of the month I was locked to.
The old man suggested that perhaps we should ‘get together sometime’ when I saw the drunk look behind me at the old oak and smile.
“It is done. It is time for us to go,” he said.
I looked behind me and there was the woman I had ‘imagined’ with the laughing eyes.
I stood up a
nd looked at the old man, Alex and then April.
I smiled.
Alex and April looked with watery eyes at me.
I nodded at Alex and then walked to April.
“You were the key all along,” I said. “Always April,” I said smiling as she reached up to touch my arm but I felt nothing as her fingers fell through me.
I felt so unbearably tired as I raised my hand to her cheek before turning to the drunk and meeting him at the oak.
Scene 7: Epilogue: Reality and Consequence
I felt a sudden, violent headache and stopped, putting my fingers to my brow.
For a moment, I supported myself more so on my stick. April suddenly caught my arm and steadied my ancient frame. I was of an age where a stroke could crop up at any time but after several moments the world – and I within it – appeared to continue in its normal way.
From the churchyard gates, I watched my granddaughter disappear into the graveyard. I wasn’t sure why Alex was so keen to bring me here but I had gone with it as I found myself often doing nowadays.
I looked over at my daughter, April, and her husband.
Alex – my granddaughter – had gone on ahead saying there was something very important that she needed to do.
I had visited the graveyard many times to sit at a bench behind which the ashes of my dear departed wife lay – just beside an old oak. Oddly I felt I was looking at it in a different way. But then I have come to accept that age has its confusing moments.
At times, I would sit on the bench under the oak and speak to my Helen though the conversations were obviously a bit one-sided… pity ghosts don’t exist.
I smiled at the thought.
I was now of an age that I no longer questioned things – certainly not the seemingly spurious needs of someone fifty years my junior. It’s got to be said that in recent days I’ve been feeling a little paranoid as if April and Alex were keeping something from me, but again, maybe that was just an age thing.
We seemed to be waiting on my granddaughter… Alex.
I squinted in the bright sunlight. I could just make her out; she appeared to be talking to an old man. Unfortunately, despite my best glasses, I still could not see the details of his features clearly.
But I did wonder who he was; he seemed close to my own antediluvian age group.
I looked over at April; she appeared unconcerned and simply smiled at me putting her hand on mine.
Finally, curiosity and a sense of protectiveness got the better of me and slowly I extricated my hand from April’s and left the gates to walk slowly into the graveyard and sit at my usual seat under the old oak.
The sun was overhead and quite warm and so I felt some relief when I sat down beside the old man.
I looked over at Alex and was a little taken aback at the depth of intimacy and the apparent familiarity with this stranger.
I looked back at my daughter, April, still by the gates; she simply smiled again at me increasing my mild paranoia.
I regarded the old man sitting beside me.
Although his smile was pleasant I had no real interest in being sociable; but then I noticed the ring on his finger; a wedding ring that was identical to the one on my own finger.
After an awkward few seconds I asked as friendly as I was able, “So… how do you know my granddaughter?”
He looked a little surprised but said nothing.
Alex spoke up. “An old friend of the family,” she said.
I nodded. “I see; odd that I’ve never been introduced to you before…”
Alex looked over at him. “Grandad’s always been a worrier when it comes to us… his family.”
I shrugged, “Of course; you’re important to me.”
“I can understand that,” the old man said smiling.
“Have you… a family?” I asked.
“Oh yes; not unlike your own; a beautiful daughter and granddaughter,” he said.
I found myself warming to this fellow. I wasn’t sure how he knew I had a daughter and granddaughter, but still, he seemed pleasant enough and certainly saying the right things. He was clearly a ‘family’ person.
I smiled, “Alex, show him the locket I gave your mother. I feel he might appreciate it.”
Alex removed the locket that I had given to April a long time ago. Carefully he lifted the shining chain and opened up the locket. He carefully picked out the note and I watched him closely as he read the words I had written down so many years ago.
Oddly he seemed quite emotional as he passed the locket back to my granddaughter. But then I looked up to see that April had joined us. The stranger looked up and smiled.
He must know her too, I thought, but how?
Then the oddest thing happened.
I was suggesting – with all sincerity – that perhaps we should ‘get together sometime’ when he looked behind me at the old oak and he positively beamed.
I looked behind me but there was no one there.
Then, oddly, the man stood up and walked towards April. I know my eyesight is not what it once was but as he reached her, she appeared to reach for his arm, but to my poor vision her hand appeared to move through him and grasp nothing.
He then turned and walked towards the old oak tree behind us.
I looked back but perhaps due to some spurious double vision I would swear I saw two identical persons moving close together; they appeared so similar that I guessed I must be seeing an afterimage or reflection from my glasses.
Alex wandered over to me; she sat down and tightly held my arm, clearly distressed. I put my arm around her. Though tears ran down her cheeks she smiled at me before looking over behind me where the man had walked.
She clearly felt close to this old man though I could not understand why.
I stood and turned around but the old man had gone.
“Come now,” I said smiling, “it’s such a lovely day.”
‘i líonta Dé go gcastar sinn’
(‘In God’s nets, may we be caught’)
From the Titanic memorial
The Gift
Scene 1: The King
The King stood on the balcony of his tower and listened to the sounds of the night; his long red hair blew around from under his crown.
The townsfolk lived just beyond the woods and though he was blind to them, he could hear them – or at least some of them.
His commands were being carried out.
There was the intermittent thud of axe on wood.
His expectation was that before hitting wood, the axe was slicing through flesh – a neck to be more accurate – in accordance with his edict.
However, this was of no real import to him. From the safety of his vaulted tower, he watched wisps of dark smoke drifting into the sky. The hovels of those he deemed needed to die were being torched.
The guards were following his regal impositions and the executions were being exacted accordingly.
He smiled at the town’s acquiescence and then the smile faded.
He was angry and bitter. How was it that fate had enabled his older brothers to be given kingdoms of worth, while his dominion – it certainly could not be called a kingdom – was lowly, common and base?
The township had not changed or developed in the 700 years or so that it had existed.
It was stagnant; it was idle. Although the inhabitants seemed quite content with their miserable lives, the King felt it had never really disassociated itself from its pagan past.
Christianity was the new religion and it was here to stay but as usual there were some dissenting voices. In this case from those calling themselves witches, healers and prognosticators. Whispered words of discord and malcontent were heard throughout the hovels.
And they needed to be silenced.
Some lessons needed to be learnt and the le
aders of the deviant and arcane ways needed to be removed. The tolerance and love of the new religion and true faith needed to be demonstrated and embraced – or they must suffer the consequences.
He would admit to anyone willing to listen that he had little love of his ‘people’; where was their adoration? Where was their respect? He was their ruler after all. He held power; why did they possess such a lackadaisical attitude to his importance and breeding?
The only respect that he had been shown had been quite recently but as it occurred after certain dictates of punishment had been ordered, he took it to be a simple fawning and ingratiating sentiment.
A young girl – perhaps fourteen or fifteen years of age – had appeared late one evening offering ‘a gift’.
Initially he had smiled as his base desires manifested in his mind.
He had looked at her long legs and sylphlike figure; her raven hair blacker than the darkest night surrounding a heart-shaped face. Strangely, her emerald eyes appeared to flicker brightly – despite the lack of any light.
The King was one never to be intimidated, but the girl’s strange stare seemed oddly disturbing.
She passed to him a flat package, smiled, and uttered two words. “A gift,” she whispered, and turned to go.
His lust, however, was too much to ignore and so he lay the package beside the doorway and turned back towards her with every intention to force himself onto her; after all, he was the King.
But he looked up and she was gone. He looked across the vast empty lawn; there was nowhere to hide… but she had disappeared.
Distracted, he picked up the ‘gift’ and walked up the steps to the top of his tower and his bedrooms. Then he absently unwrapped it while his mind revisited the departed hips.
Removing the surrounding cloth, he revealed… a painting.
It depicted his keep. But there was so much more to it. The keep stood dark and formidable – the red clouds drifting above the shadowed towers appeared almost to be moving.
He hung the picture opposite to the tower window. Then he examined it intensely. To the lower left was displayed the edge of the woods that divided his keep from the rest of the town; then the lawns and then the edifice itself. He was astounded by its realism; there was even a light in the tower window as there was now by which he was viewing the painting.