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Sarah knows better than to talk to the "crazies" at the mall, and yet there is something almost familiar about the old man...
Fiction
Speculative
At first, I didn’t even notice the old man. He just showed up, did his thing, and left. I guess some people would have paid more attention, but to me he was just another crazy. See, I work in the plaza, and believe me; we get ‘em all. One more old man sitting on a bench and talking to himself is not the sort of thing that’s gonna grab my attention. It’s just not. I see it all day long.
Like the guy with the dust mask on his face, and the handwritten sign hanging around his neck that says “STOP POLLUTION!” He shows up every day at about eleven a.m., trots through the mall on his little mission to save the world, and then disappears. I don’t know where he comes from or where he goes, and I really don’t care. I just know that he shows up at the same time every day and parades by my jewelry cart, and it gives me a few minutes to think about something other than the fact that my feet are killing me, my bra doesn’t fit right, and my back is all tied up in knots because I’m not allowed to sit on the job. We have a stool, of course. Law requires it. But if my boss shows up and I’m sitting on it, I’m fired. Welcome to my world. That’s why I’m going to junior college. So I can get a business degree, make lots of money, and then I’ll get to be the jerk. Well, probably not. I just don’t have it in me. I think you have to be born with that special something.
Then there’s the sword guy. He’s an old man. He must be at least sixty, with a long gray beard and clothes that look like he pulled them out of somebody’s garbage. He shows up here every two weeks to cash his welfare check and buy a new sword. He flirts with all the girls, gets a cheeseburger and fries in the cafeteria, and then buys a sword in the cutlery store. Every two weeks. I’ve been working in this dump for two years now and I can’t afford a sword. I hate that guy.
But you get the idea. Those are the kind of things that catch my attention. Only the very, very special ones get my attention. And this guy wasn’t it. He was just a quiet, ordinary-looking old man. Like I said, the first few times, I didn’t even notice him. In fact, for all I knew, he could have been doing that forever.
The first time I really noticed him I’d been working at the cart for three months. I had just finished ringing up a young girl with piercings all over her face. Too young, actually. I could tell by looking at her that she should have been in school. But what did I care? I just sold her fifty-seven dollars worth of silver studs and loops to put in her face. If that was the way her momma let her use her time and money, it was fine with me. Every sale put me a little closer to having my own books next semester, and that was one step closer to getting out of shopping mall hell.
I handed the girl her receipt, and the sound of laughter caught my attention. Maybe it’s because it was real laughter, instead of the chuckles and cynical sneers you usually come across in the mall; maybe that’s why I turned around and looked. I saw the old man sitting on a bench, staring up at one of the trees as if there was something there.
I should explain that there are several trees planted in the center of the mall. In fact, there’s a whole row of them, running almost from one end to the other. It’s one of the few things I like about the mall. It gives you a sense of freshness, almost as if you were standing outside. There’s something magical about trees, something comforting about them. I guess it kind of takes the edge off of our concrete urban environment, keeping lots of trees around like that. I wonder if that makes people spend more money…
Anyway, I saw him looking up into one of those trees as if he were looking at someone, and he was laughing like he’d just heard the funniest joke in the world. I followed his gaze into the tree, but of course I only saw branches and leaves. Then I looked back at the old man, and realized he was staring at me. Suddenly I became very uncomfortable.
“Oh, it’s just a girl,” he said to no one. “She thinks I’m crazy.”
There was something about the glint in his eyes that freaked me out. Not because he was crazy, but because he wasn’t. Looking in this man’s eyes, I could see that he was just a nice old man. That, oddly enough, was terrifying. When you’re looking into a crazy’s eyes, you expect to see… crazy. I tore my gaze away, and pretended to be busy sorting the jewelry boxes on the cart.
The man stayed there for another hour or so, muttering to himself, but I kept my distance. I walked to the far side of the cart, putting it between us, and did my best to pretend he wasn’t there. Then, at some point I glanced out of the corner of my eye, and saw the bench was empty. I took a good look around, just to make sure he hadn’t moved, and then sighed deeply. He was gone. I was safe.
I had completely forgotten about the old man, until he returned a month later. My mind was filled with more important issues, like how I was going to pay the rent, and what I was going to have to do to get my books in the fall.
Those were my thoughts as I turned around, and saw him sitting on that same bench, smiling and talking into thin air. After a moment, I guess he felt me staring. He turned towards me and smiled that friendly, grandpa smile. “I’m really not crazy,” he said. For some reason I replied.
“Who have you been talking to?” I said. I wasn’t afraid this time, just amused. Maybe that was because there was a security guard walking past us, and two cops eating lunch in the food court just a few yards away.
“My wife,” he said.
Ahh, now that made sense. He really was crazy. He was talking to his dead wife. “I see,” I said, trying to find a way to disengage from the conversation. Maybe if I just started ignoring him…
“What’s your name?” he said.
I cringed. Never get personal with the crazies. That’s what my boss told me the day I started. Then she told me about the girl who used to work at the toy store. She had been stalked by a homeless guy for weeks. Then he finally killed her in the parking garage and threw the body in a dumpster. I took the story to heart, or at least I thought I had. I sure didn’t want to end up in a dumpster. “Lisa,” I said. It was a lie, of course. My real name is Sarah, but there was no way I was going to tell him.
“That’s a nice name,” he said. “My name is Alexander.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said. I glanced around, and a thought occurred to me. “Is your wife still here?”
“She’s not here, dear,” he said. “Do you see anyone here?”
I almost lost it. The old man was playing some kind of joke on me. “Uh, no,” I said. “But I can’t see invisible people.”
He laughed again, that deep-chested belly laugh that reminded me of a kind old grandfather. The man was far too easy to like. “She’s not invisible, Lisa. She’s just very, very far away.”
I looked him over, wondering if he was talking through some sort of cellular device. No earpiece, no wires, and nothing on his collar. “Is this one of those Candid Camera shows?” I asked. “Am I being filmed?”
He laughed again, and rose from the bench. “I think it’s time for me to go, Lisa. It’s been very nice to meet you.”
After that, I waited for him to return. The old man might have been crazy, but he was interesting, and there are worse ways to spend eight hours at the mall. Of course, I had no way of knowing that it would be another month. So, as the days turned into weeks, I started to forget. And again, by the time he returned, I’d almost forgotten about him.
He arrived at ten a.m., and spent the next two hours idly conversing with no one. Our eyes met at one point, and he smiled and nodded. I smiled back, and then went to count the money in the register.
I was waiting for my boss to arrive and cover my lunch break, when he got up from the bench and headed for the exit. He passed next to the cart and said, “Hello, Lisa.”
“Hello,” I replied. Then, on a whim, I asked, “How is your wife?” He stopped, and regarded me quizzically.
“Quite well, actually,” he said. “Although I do believe she’s developing some arthritis.”
“You should tell her to take fish oil,” I said. “I hear it works for that. Helps, anyway.”
He thanked me. “I’ll be sure to let her know,” he said, and disappeared out the front entrance. I watched him go, half wondering if we’d really just had that conversation. Did I really tell his invisible wife to eat some fish oil?
I marked my calendar that time, and I watched it and waited every day. I knew it would be a while, but it wasn’t until the next visit that I finally made sense of it. When he arrived, I went over to my calendar and marked the date. Then I glanced back, and instantly saw the full moon symbol in the top right corner of the square. It had been exactly a month. A lunar month. Was the full moon significant? Under normal circumstances I would have assumed it was coincidence. But nothing is coincidence with the crazies…and the full moon is never insignificant.
I tried to appear disinterested as he sat on the bench and began communing with the invisible presence, though I was doing my best to eavesdrop the whole time. I crossed from one side of the cart to the other, making a large loop. Every time I got near enough to hear him speaking, I lingered. Of course, I never caught more than a few words. There was always a screaming baby or passing conversation that drowned out his voice, and I had to move back to the cart before he realized what I was doing. Then, just before lunch, I turned around and he was there. I gasped.
“My apologies,” he said politely. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “You just caught me off guard.”
“My wife wants me to tell you that she’s been eating fish instead of meat, and that she does in fact, feel better.”
“Wonderful,” I said. I wasn’t sure at that point if I was playing along with the old man, or if I really believed him. I guess I believed that he believed she was there.
“I hope it wouldn’t be too forward to ask you to join me for lunch?” he said.
I glanced around nervously. Don’t get close with the crazies, I reminded myself. “I don’t know,” I said. “I shouldn’t.”
He nodded, and smiled in his friendly way. “I understand. Tell you what: I’m going to get a table in the café over there. If you feel like joining me, just come on over. We’ll have some food and I’ll tell you all about my wife. If not, no hard feelings.”
“All right,” I said. “Thanks.”
Then he was gone, and I was left standing there with a net full of butterflies in my stomach. I knew I shouldn’t, but I did want to hear about his wife. I was mystified by his faith in this invisible person. What could it hurt? I asked myself. After all, he was just an old man. And there were dozens of people around, so it’s not like he could do anything. I just needed to keep my personal information to myself. After all, he didn’t even know my name. He still thought I was Lisa.
By the time my boss arrived to cover my lunch break, I had myself talked into it. I went to the café and found Alexander waiting there, just as he’d promised. He rose to pull out my seat. It was the first time in my life that anyone had ever done that. It was flattering, of course, but more than that. It was an unexpected glimpse into his world. There was a time when men always did that sort of thing for women. What happened to that world?
“I haven’t ordered yet,” he said after I’d taken my seat. “I told the waiter I was waiting for someone.” He handed me a menu and I glanced over it. My eyes went straight to the prices, and I groaned inwardly. What was I thinking? I couldn’t afford restaurant food. I couldn’t afford a loaf of bread.
When the waiter arrived a few moments later, I was a wreck. I was going to have to use my credit card, and hope it didn’t go over. It was dangerously close. “I think I’ll have a bowl of soup,” I said. “Bean soup.”
“Any salad with that?”
“No.”
Alexander smiled as the waiter turned to him. “I’ll have the steak and crab plate, and a glass of Cabernet… And why don’t you bring the same for my lady-friend? Along with the bean soup, of course.” I tried to protest, but Alexander waved his hand. “My apologies for being so forward. I wouldn’t feel right, buying you a lunch so paltry. Please, allow me this much?”
I was in no way attracted to that man, but I can tell you that for a moment, my heart leapt. In one simple, smooth sentence he had taken control of the situation, calmed my fears, and placed me up on a pedestal. The altitude was making me giddy. “Thank you,” I said. “You’re very kind.” He did have a nice smile, I’ll give him that much.
We discussed little things for a few minutes, the weather, the news, that sort of thing. Then the wine came. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of it. “I’m almost there,” he said. “A field, next to a row of trees and an irrigation ditch. There are mountains in the background. Somewhere, up on the hill, there is a fire. Not a big one, but enough to fill the valley with the scent of burning wood.
“Winter came that year, and never left. Just as soon as the ground thawed enough to plant, the frost returned. The grapes were small, delicate things, and they had to be harvested early. This affected the wine, imbued all the bitterness and cold of that season into its flavor.”
I waited and listened as he finished his description, and then he opened his eyes. “Forgive me, I have a passion for wine. There is nothing else in this world like it. Wine captures the moment, the essence of the time in which it is born. When I taste it, it returns me to that time. I taste the bitterness of the earth and the sweetness of the water. I feel the baking sun and the autumn breeze; and the chill of cool morning mist.”
“I don’t usually drink wine,” I said apologetically. I felt foolish, listening to his poetic rambling; I felt inarticulate and stupid. Strange, because in the back of my mind I still didn’t know if he was even sane. I didn’t know if he was making it all up, or if the place he described was even real. Was it possible, this thing he did? “Is it all true?” I asked. “Did all that really happen?”
“Of course. I remember the year. The wine sparks the memory. But the place I have never seen.”
“But you can see it when you drink the wine? You can see this place you’ve never been?”
He smiled. “You’re young. Some day you will understand.” Our food arrived, and I’m embarrassed to admit I was a little less than lady-like. I hadn’t eaten a meal like that since high school graduation. Fortunately, Alexander seemed quite thrilled that I was enjoying it.
As the meal wound down, he pushed his plate forward, and leaned back in his chair. “I’m going to tell you a story,” he said. “I had a childhood that was at best, unfortunate. My mother was a drunk and my father was an abuser. He beat us both, until cancer finally killed him. I was fourteen at the time. That was 1952.
“My life did not change dramatically after that. My mother continued drinking and smoking herself to death, and I continued trying to find creative ways not to be home. Usually that resulted in trouble. I had been arrested numerous times for petty crimes like vandalism and shoplifting, and I’m sure everyone in town believed I was going to be in prison by the time I came of age.
“What no one understood, was that I was dying inside. I’d been beaten, abused, and neglected for my entire life. In some ways I just wanted attention, while in others I just wanted to be left alone. I had a hole inside of me, and no idea how to fill it. Then, on a dry August afternoon, something special happened.
“I had my .22 rifle with me, which wasn’t unusual in those days. I was roaming through the walnut groves on the west side of town. The owner of the property had a standing offer: he paid five cents each to anyone that brought him corpses of rodents killed on his property. That included squirrels, gophers, and rats, but not birds. Just the obnoxious critters, the ones that tore up his soil and ate up his profits. I don’t think anyone ever made more than a quarter, though. The old man’s field was very well-tended by the community. I personally only killed two gophers in all the years I walked that grove. Still, it was a nice, quiet place. It was cool and shady in the summer, and on weekdays it was always empty.
“It was almost a year after my father’s death, and I had pretty much accepted how things were. I was going to keep getting into trouble until I wound up dead or in prison, and in the meanwhile my mother was going to drink herself to death. That’s what everyone else believed, so it wasn’t hard to believe it myself. It didn’t bother me, the fact that I was going to end up alone and probably dead. When you have a life like that, death isn’t something you fear.
“But on this day, as I was passing through the center of the grove, something caught my eye. I saw a pale light, shimmering out in the trees. I knew it could have been something dangerous, but that didn’t mean much. I didn’t have much to live for. So I walked right towards that light. The strange glow seemed to fade as I approached, and I realized that I was staring at a beautiful young woman wearing a white summer dress. She was sitting on a bench, and staring off into space. I walked right up next to her, and she didn’t even seem to see me. Then, her eyes seemed to focus, and she almost jumped.
“Lord, her eyes were beautiful. She was the most stunning creature I’d ever seen. I apologized for scaring her, and she graciously offered the seat next to her. I plopped down, leaning my rifle up against the bench, and acted as if it were all perfectly normal. It wasn’t, of course. My mind was skipping like rocks across a creek, trying to make sense of it. I’d never seen a bench out there. Where could it have come from? Did the old man put it out there, as a place to rest while gathering walnuts? And who was this beautiful girl? I’d never seen her in town before. I wouldn’t have forgotten a face like that.
“I watched her out of the corner of my eyes, but I pretended to be watching the trees. I was too nervous to speak, I couldn’t think of a sensible thing to say. Eventually she must have tired of waiting for me to talk, because she mentioned how beautiful the forest was that day. I agreed. I turned and smiled at her, and realized that I was absolutely stricken. Somehow, I could feel my soul reaching out to this girl. It felt like she was part of me.
“We sat there in relative silence for more than an hour, until she said that she had to go. I asked if she’d come back the next day, and she said she would. Then she rose from the bench, and she disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” I echoed. “You mean she vanished out in the trees?”
“No, I mean she vanished right in front of my eyes, like a ghost. As if she’d never been there at all.”
I digested that for a minute. “So what happened the next day?”
“She wasn’t there,” he said. “Nor the day after, or the day after that. But for some reason I kept going back there. I knew, somehow, that she would reappear. And I was right. Twenty-nine days later, the day of the full moon, she was back.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “What was this girl, some sort of ghost? And the full moon? What does it all mean?”
“There is something special about that place,” he explained. “It’s like a window between worlds. Only it requires something, gravity or light, something that comes from the full moon. That’s the only time it works.”
“So the bench, here in the mall, that’s the place?”
“Yes,” he said. “In the early 'eighties they cut down the grove and built this mall. They killed the forest, but they couldn’t kill the magic. And they just happened to leave some of the trees standing. Perhaps that’s why the magic is still here.”
“And this has gone on ever since?” I said. “You’ve met with this woman like this, once a month, for your whole life?”
“Of course. She’s my soul mate. She’s my destiny. Some day, I believe that our souls will be united. Perhaps not in this world, or in her world, but somewhere.”
“You’ve never married?”
He shook his head. “What good would that have done? Me pretending to give my heart to some poor woman whom I could never really love? I couldn’t do that.”
I felt dizzy. The old man had given his entire life over to this vision. This hallucination. That’s what I’d decided it was. I certainly didn’t believe that our mall had some sort of gateway to another world. Suddenly I realized that there was more than one good reason not to talk to the crazies. Alexander was breaking my heart.
I felt a little sick as my mind enveloped the idea. An entire life, gone. The man might have married, raised children. Instead, he’d given his entire life to a woman he’d never met. A woman who, in my opinion, didn’t really exist. I glanced at my watch. “Well, I have to get back to work. Thanks for the story, and for lunch.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “I’m afraid you still think I’m crazy, but that’s okay. I’m used to it. And the truth is, I feel much better now that I’ve told my story. Before you go, will you promise me one thing?”
I was already rising from the table, and I paused as he asked the question. “What’s that?”
He sighed deeply. “I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. It’s bad. Inoperable. I don’t have much longer, and I’m afraid I might not make it long enough to tell her…”
My expensive lunch turned over in my gut. He was going to die. And he wanted me to tell her, this fantasy woman, what had happened to him. The old man had given his entire life over to this fantasy. Could I deny him? Could I kill the fantasy now, knowing that he’d go to his death heartbroken? It pained me terribly, made me want to break down, but I steadied myself. Tears watered my eyes as I answered. “Yes, of course. I’ll tell her everything.”
He took my hand in his, and squeezed it. “Thank you, Lisa. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
I went back to the cart and worked through my shift, trying not to think about everything I’d just learned. It was the saddest story I’d ever heard. A life lost, wasted, given over to a ridiculous fantasy. The only consolation I had was the fact that I could help the old man die happy. It wasn’t much, but it was all I had.
I cried in my car, all the way home. I skipped dinner. I threw myself on my bed and cried until the shadows crept over me and the sun slid into the Pacific. Then I stared at the ceiling, and really thought about it all. I knew I had done the right thing for the old man. It was necessary. At that point, his life was already spent. Crushing his fantasy wouldn’t have served any purpose. Suddenly I felt the urge to call my father, and see how things were going. Suddenly I had the urge to get married and have children.
I waited anxiously for the old man to return on the full moon, but he didn’t. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t. Having turned his fantasy over to me, he had been relieved of the need to fight his cancer. He was able to go on, to shed this world and go on to the next.
I didn’t have the heart to go sit on that bench. I knew I should, but I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t prepared. I spent the next month trying to figure out what I would do. After all, it didn’t matter that there wouldn’t be a woman there. That wasn’t the point. The point was that I had promised to go sit on that bench, and speak. I didn’t know how I was going to do that, but in the end, I knew I had to. For the sake of my own conscience, for my promise, I had to do it.
When the time came, I carefully planned the right moment. I waited for the dust-mask guy to pass through the mall, and attract everyone’s attention. As soon as he’d passed, I crossed over to the bench and took a seat. I waited there a few minutes, watching people pass. Then, when I was sure I was alone, I opened my mouth to speak. But just as I did, a shimmering light caught my eye. It was a young man, a couple years younger than me, and he was carrying a rifle. I almost jumped as I saw him materialize. My eyes widened as he approached and stood next to the bench. Naturally, I saw the gun and started to freak out.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You just surprised me,” I said. “No harm done.” He stood there uncomfortably, and I glanced up at him. Then I saw the eyes, and I knew. It was him. It was Alexander. I realized then that I was wearing my white summer dress. The dress that he’d described in his story. The dress that his “wife” had been wearing on the day they met.
“Would you like to sit with me?” I offered. My mind raced, piecing together his story. He’d believed this woman lived in another world. But that wasn’t it, it couldn’t be. I was the woman. But if I truly was that woman, why didn’t he know me? Well he was older, for one thing. He could have forgotten just what the woman had looked like.
I lied, I realized. I told him my name was Lisa, instead of Sarah. Otherwise, he would have known. And then I knew, of course, the true nature of this magical place. It wasn’t a window between worlds. It was some sort of time loop. It was a natural, unexplained phenomenon. Kind of like those places where balls roll uphill and a broom will stand on end all by itself. That’s what this place was: some sort of mystery spot. The old man hadn’t been crazy after all. He’d simply caught a glimpse into the future. Of course, looking at him, I saw the old man differently. He was the best looking kid I’d ever seen. He may have been a couple years younger than me, but he was tall and broad-shouldered… and Lord, was he beautiful. I suddenly realized how I could have fallen into that trap. I, like the old man, could give my entire life and all of my love to a person I could never even touch. That was a frightening realization.
We only spoke a few words during the hour that we sat there. I pretended to be looking elsewhere as I watched him out the corner of my eye, and saw that he was doing the same. Oh, I realized, oh it would have been so easy...if only I could have stepped through time. If only I could have been there, right by his side.
But that, I realized, wasn’t possible. All we got was a glimpse. And though I couldn’t help but love him, I knew that it wasn’t fair to either of us.
I had to wonder if it was possible to change the past, or the future; whichever this was. Could I save this man from a lifetime of dedication to a dream? Had I, in some other life, suffered the same fate? Had I spent my entire life coming to this mall, and conversing on this bench with an invisible man from the past? Was I the “crazy woman who talks to herself” in some alternate world? I could only wonder, but that was enough to solidify the situation in my mind.
I glanced up and saw my boss approaching to relieve me for lunch. I knew that if she saw me sitting there, I’d be in trouble. “I have to go,” I quickly said. I started to rise.
“Wait! Will you be here tomorrow?”
I shook my head, and smiled grimly. “No, I will not be here tomorrow. You will never see me again. Somewhere, there is a beautiful girl waiting for you to marry her, but it’s not me. I’m just here to give you this message. Do you understand?”
He nodded sadly, and I felt my heart breaking, but I held fast. I loved him too much to let him waste his life again. I couldn’t let him become the old man that I had known. I took a deep breath, and stepped away from the bench. I made it halfway to the cart without looking back. When I did, he was gone. I started bawling.
In the year that’s passed since, my life has changed. I’m about to graduate at the top of my class. I’m planning to work for a few years, and save up enough to buy a house. Then I’m going to have children. Lots and lots of them. And the man…well, I’ve already got him picked out. He just doesn’t know it yet. For now, he just thinks I’m the smart girl from class who wants to buy him a drink tonight. The funny thing is, he looks a lot like the old man. He younger, of course, and more modern; but very much a gentleman. He must have been raised well. When we spoke in the cafeteria today, he told me his father had just died of cancer.
If this contribution met with your satisfaction, please consider making a contribution of your own so we may pay our authors and keep the magazine delivering great speculative fiction far into the future. Thank you for visiting.
Copyright 2008, J.L. Gadberry. All rights reserved. Jeramy Gadberry grew up in Montana and currently resides in Northern California. He enjoys writing, playing guitar, restoring classic cars, and spending time with his family. He has experimented with writing in numerous genres, but finds science fiction and fantasy to be the most enjoyable. He hopes to turn this passion into a career. You can learn more about Mr. Gadberry's writing at his web site: www.JLGadberry.com
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