by J. S. Bailey
I stop beneath the boughs of a towering tree I don’t know the name of and take a small sip from my canteen. Only a few droplets remain inside. I glance up at the sun as it reaches its zenith above my head. I can feel its heat beating down upon me. Not a cloud can be seen. I do not believe it will rain today.
My stomach rumbles, but I choose to ignore it. If I continue now without stopping I will reach a town within the next two or three hours. A town where there are stores and restaurants and places to sleep. I know this because I thoroughly studied my route before departing. If only I had thought to bring more water!
I let my canteen fall back to my side, and I check my compass so I will not go astray, which is so easy to do when a path has not been marked through hills that, to me, all look the same. I must continue going southwest, where I will encounter the highway that will lead me to town. When I get there, I may stay. There is nothing for me where I came from, and I can only hope that my destination will be as satisfying as I imagine it to be.
I urge my weary feet onward, reluctant as they are to keep moving. I can feel sweat trickling down my neck and forehead. My back and legs cramp in protest, but I keep going.
After a time my stride falls into an easy rhythm; baby steps so I will not overexert myself. Mile after wooded mile go by, and if I didn’t know any better I would think I have been traveling in circles, for all the lack of change in scenery I’ve seen. Trees and brambles in all directions. Glimpse of sky above, crunch of sticks below. And, as always, the song of birds.
There is a sense I have often gotten when alone in the woods far from the chaos of civilization, and I feel it again now. It is as if the rest of the world has passed away and only I and the sun and trees remain. The thought gives me more comfort than loneliness. I consider stopping and curling up in nature’s bosom to sleep off my exhaustion. My eyelids grow as heavy as my feet.
Suddenly I stumble and find myself on my hands and knees. I try to stand but cannot because I am so weak. My tongue feels gritty as if I have eaten sand. I manage to unscrew the cap on my canteen and splash the scant water into my mouth with the hope it will hold me over until I reach town. Now I’m not so sure it will.
Colorful spots dance before my eyes, and I close them, knowing full well they may not open again.
I awaken to a soft rain falling on my skin. I am alive? So it would seem. I’m glad I was wrong about the weather today. I pull myself into sitting position and cup my hands together so I may collect some of the precious liquid. It takes a long time, but eventually I have enough to take one small drink. I tilt my head back to catch droplets on my tongue just as I did long ago as a child. I note that the sky has faded into twilight, though I can’t see any stars yet. I estimate that somewhere not so far away, it is dinnertime.
I pull my pack off of my back and withdraw a granola bar from an outer pocket. I need to eat more, but it is all I have. As I tear open the wrapper, I look up and realize that a large house I did not notice before stands no more than a dozen yards in front of me. It has three floors and a wraparound porch, and its wooden siding is a freshly-painted shade of slate gray. The windows all have white trim. A one-lane blacktopped driveway leads away from the house into the distance for as far as I can see—but one thing I don’t see is a car.
I stand up and brush dirt off my clothing, praying that someone might be home despite the lack of a vehicle. My quick sip of rainwater will not sustain me for long. I hope they will let me inside to get a drink, and maybe eat a slice of bread or an apple. Anything to help me regain my strength.
Three short steps lead up to the porch, and I take them one at a time on my shaking legs. The many-paned windows stare out from the wall like eyes, and I can’t help but feel they are scrutinizing me like one of the elderly might gaze upon a teenager with a face full of piercings.
The boards of the porch—slate gray like the walls—creak as I walk across them looking for the door. Though all the paint appears to be new, I can tell that the house is quite old. Houses just aren’t built like this anymore, and haven’t been for decades. I wonder who lives here, and if they are friendly.
I see a flicker of light as I pass by one of the windows, and I halt. I bring my face close to the glass and can barely make out the shape of a candle burning on a table. This gives me hope, for who would leave something burning if they had left? I am now more eager than ever to find the door and be permitted inside.
I round a corner—my, how huge this porch is!—and at last spot the front door. It is not on the same side of the house as the driveway, which I find somewhat odd. Though I suppose that since this house was likely built before the invention of the automobile, the driveway could have been added in at a later date.
The door is painted a deep gray even darker than the walls. Three wedge-shaped panes of glass form a half-circle at the top of the door. I think I can hear someone laughing on the other side (at me?), and I raise my hand and knock.
I wait for half a minute or more. They must not have heard me. I knock again. Now I hear footsteps growing closer. The door swings open with a squeal of hinges, and before me stands an elegant man with dark hair and dark clothes and skin nearly as white as the trim.
He welcomes me with a smile, and laughter dances in his eyes. “Kelly!” he booms. “We’ve been expecting you!”
I am silent for a beat, confused. I start to tell him that my name is not Kelly when I realize that I cannot remember what I am supposed to be called. This fact should worry me more than it does, but right now my health is more important than my memory. “I’m sorry, but…” My voice cracks from lack of use, dehydration, or both. “Could you please let me have a drink?”
“But of course!” He ushers me inside with a wave of his hand. “You’ve had a long journey, have you not? I’m sure you will find it quite comfortable during your stay.”
My mind is half numb as he leads me into a dim kitchen lit only by white taper candles in delicate glass holders sitting on the central table. The walls are a dark blue-gray, the cabinets and floor white. A faint peal of laughter echoes in from another room. I start to wobble, and the strange man catches me under the armpits before I fall.
“You should get some rest before dining, my dear,” he breathes in my ear, sending unpleasant chills down my neck. “It would not do to have your strength fail you during our meal.”
I start to protest but suddenly do not know what to say. The man is right. I really do need to get some rest. Surely waiting just a little bit longer for a drink will do me no harm.
He leads me out of the kitchen, through a room too dark for me to make out the details, and up a flight of stairs carpeted in the bluish-gray color of the kitchen. I don’t know why, but I begin to relax. “When you said you were expecting me…” I leave the question unfinished. Speaking is using up too much of my energy.
The man laughs. “We’re always expecting you, Diana. You just haven’t shown up until now.”
My forehead scrunches in further confusion, because I know my name is not Diana, either. “What are you expecting me for?”
We have arrived in front of a mahogany door carved with elegant patterns I can’t find a way to describe. He turns a brass knob and makes a gesture telling me to enter. I don’t want to go in, but my feet carry me forward anyway.
He continues to smile. It occurs to me that he has not introduced himself. Maybe he mistakenly believes that I already know him. “A visit, no more. You’ll find that the bath has already been prepared for you.”
He closes the door behind me. The room I find myself in is heavily perfumed and I sneeze once, now twice. The scent befuddles my senses like a drug. At least the smell is bearable.
This room, too, is lit with candles mounted in sconces on the walls. A four-poster bed covered in a thick burgundy blanket takes up one side of the room. I see more flickering light coming from an open doorway off to my right. I decide that must be the bathroom. I lay my empty pack and canteen down in a plush red armchair and g
o to see if I am right.
It would seem that I am. The bathroom is one of the largest I have ever seen, with a claw foot bathtub filled nearly to the rim with bubbles. A white terrycloth bathrobe is draped over a chair in the corner. Before I can stop myself, I am stripping out of my sweaty garments and climbing into the bathtub. The water comes up to my neck and is so warm that I begin to feel dizzy. I would drink some of the water if it wasn’t full of bubbles. It occurs to my tired mind that I should climb out of the tub and get some water from the bathroom sink, which I can see from where I soak, but my limbs have all turned to rubber from exhaustion.
I close my eyes and imagine that this is how it was long ago. I have walked out of the present and into the past where electric lights don’t exist and gentlemen order their servants to prepare the bath for weary travelers who pass through their midst.
I can feel myself floating and wonder if this is how it was in the womb; warm and content without a care in the world. Suddenly I don’t want to go to the town anymore. I just want to stay here and relax in this tub forever and ever. If the gentleman of the house had the foresight to ready this room for me, then surely he will let me stay and meet my every need!
I hear the laughter again somewhere below me. It holds no malice, so I am not concerned. Whoever lives here with the man must be happy. I can be happy, too. Certainly much happier than I was before I left on my journey.
Now I hear the knob turning on the bedroom door. I stiffen. Someone will come in and see me undressed! Footsteps cross the carpeted floor and stop in the bathroom doorway. “Excuse me, milady.”
I crane my neck around to see a woman not much younger than myself dressed in a plain gray servant’s dress. Her light brown hair is mostly hidden beneath a bonnet. She holds a tray in front of her.
“Yes?” I ask in that same cracking voice.
“The master asked me if I would bring you some chocolates.” She tilts the tray forward so I can see an assortment of candies that have been individually wrapped in gold foil.
“Thank you,” I say, “but I would much rather have something to drink first.”
The servant bows her head. “Very well.” She sets the tray on the seat of the chair where the bathrobe awaits its use and leaves.
She is gone for a long time. “Hello?” I call when I begin to suspect she has forgotten my request. I am answered with silence. Perhaps she mistook my request for a statement and assumes I will get a drink on my own.
I finish my bath and let out the water. I want to rinse off, but there is no showerhead and I have to squeeze my body under the faucet to get the remaining suds off of me. When I’m finished I turn the cold water knob so I can finally quench my thirst, but the water is just as hot as if I had used the other knob. I cup my hands under the stream of water anyway, for hot water is a greater beverage than no water.
But alas! The water is bitter, and as soon as it touches my tongue my stomach turns sour and I begin to retch. I have never tasted water this terrible before. Has it been poisoned? No, of course not. A house like this would have cistern water, and it might be that their purification system is out of order.
I climb out of the tub, towel off, and slip the robe over my naked body; my stomach still in knots. I go over to the sink to try its cold water knob (I must force myself to drink even if I cannot stand the taste), but when I turn it, nothing comes out. I try the other side. Nothing. I will have to get water from the kitchen, instead.
I remember that the servant left me candy, and I unwrap one and pop it into my mouth. The dark chocolate melts on my tongue. I make an involuntary moan of pleasure, for it is the best I have ever tasted. When it is gone, I eat another. And another. I am so famished that soon I devour them all. As I lay the last wrapper back on the tray, the sound of laughter rises from beneath the floorboards. I decide it is time to join the owners of the voices and see who they are.
A clean outfit has been laid out at the foot of the bed. I know it was not there when I first arrived, so the servant must have brought it at the same time as the chocolate. The outfit consists of a burgundy scoop-neck dress and underclothes. I do not like dresses but I put it on anyway because my own clothes are so dirty. I check myself in a full-length mirror hanging on the back of the bedroom door. A hollow-eyed stranger who might be a ghost stares back at me. The room seems to ripple for a moment as if I am viewing it through a tank of water, then all returns to normal—as if anything about this house was normal in the first place!
I pull open the door and step out into the hallway. The carpet feels lush between my toes, and now I feel like I could stand here for hours just enjoying the soft sensation. But now I hear the laughter again, and I am drawn toward it much in the same way that a moth is drawn to the light of the moon. I move down the staircase. Flame-cast shadows dance like fairies upon the walls. My feet touch cold tile. I have arrived on the ground floor. I do not see the gentleman or the servant anywhere. They must have joined their comrades in a room I have not yet seen.
I turn right at the bottom of the stairs, and my feet find carpet again. Vague forms lurk in the shadows where the light of the candles does not reach. The house is as silent as an undiscovered cavern and for a moment I fear I am alone. My heart beats faster. “Hello?” I call out in my increasingly feeble voice. “Is anyone here?”
My question is answered by faint, murmuring voices and a sharp bark of amusement, only this time the sounds originate from the second floor; the one I was just on. Was I mistaken before, or am I mistaken now? My, how I need something cool to drink!
I head back the way I came, passing the stairs and moving to where I know the kitchen to be. They might have milk or some kind of juice in the refrigerator. I cannot remember seeing a refrigerator when I first entered, though I was in that room for such a short length of time that I could have missed it.
An impenetrable darkness greets me as I pass through an archway—no candles remain to guide me. I slap the wall to feel for a light switch but I can find none.
Murmurs seem to whisper from the walls. They are talking about me—I know it!—yet I cannot understand the words. “Please help me!” I cry.
Distant laughter. Murmurs. Whispers. Now they are inside my head, echoing like voices in a deep, dark pit.
I whirl to turn back to the candlelight of the next room, but it has been extinguished. I am so dizzy from dehydration, and now I am completely disoriented. Where is the water? Where is the light? Where are the servant and the man who bid me welcome? Where…?
“ARE you enjoying your meal, my dear?” a voice asks.
I lift my head and see that I am seated at a long table with the master of the house, who lifts a napkin to his mouth and dabs at his lips. He is flanked by two women wearing low-cut red dresses very similar to mine. Their wavy hair is piled on top of their heads and pinned into place. They smile at me and then exchange glances with each other but say nothing. I feel that I have missed out on some important joke.
I glance down at the plate sitting in front of me. On it is a half-eaten turkey leg and a glob of mashed potatoes that I can tell has been picked through. Next to the plate sits a glass goblet of cold water; its sides glistening with condensation. It is nearly empty but I do not remember drinking any of it.
The gentleman is still waiting for me to reply. I swallow, all too aware of the stares that the trio is giving me. I notice that my throat is still parched as if I have drunk nothing.
“It’s delicious,” I lie.
The man smiles and says, “I’m so glad to hear it.”
The blonde woman on the man’s right giggles and takes a long draw from her own goblet. She sets it back on the table with a thunk, making a show of licking her lips.
I reach for my own glass, but when I pick it up I see that it has been emptied. Where could the rest of the water have gone in the past fifteen seconds? I have not touched it!
“What’s the matter, Vickie?” asks the brunette sitting on the gentleman’s left. (I do not both
er to correct her.) “Don’t you remember drinking it?”
My face heats up. “I would like some more, please.”
“Very well,” the gentleman says. Then he calls, “Jenny!”
The servant who brought me the chocolates materializes from the darkness beyond the table. “Yes, master?” she says in a timid voice.
“Bring the lady more water.”
The servant dips her head and leaves. Ever conscious of the stares the trio gives me, I take a delicate bite of the turkey. My mouth is so dry that it takes me several tries to swallow.
My hosts resume a conversation they must have been having before I joined them at the table (which I cannot remember! Am I mad?). Though they sit only feet away, their voices seem distant and I am unable to make sense of their words. I start to sway in my chair but I catch myself before I fall to the floor. I continue to nibble at the food I have been given. I begin to feel sick.
“What could be taking her so long?” I ask weakly when minutes pass without the servant returning. “If I don’t get anything to drink soon…”
“What are you talking about?’ the gentleman asks in a sharp tone. “Your drink is right in front of you.”
And to my surprise, it is. The glass is full almost to the rim. Too thirsty to ponder the impossibility of it all, I move to pick it up but my hand is shaking so badly that I knock it over. The white tablecloth darkens as the liquid seeps through the cloth.
I stare at the spreading puddle, mortified. I am never this clumsy. It is beginning to seem like something is purposely preventing me from receiving the liquid I so desperately need—which, of course, is absurd. It’s just a bad day. Bad days happen. I will get a drink sooner or later. I pray it will be sooner.
I stand the cold glass upright. Nobody seems to care that I have just saturated the tablecloth. The gentleman and his ladies are smiling at me as if they are waiting to see what I will do.
I decide I should leave, for it is clear that I will not have my thirst quenched within the walls of this house.