Gatibel
His shoes were untied, his tie was loose and his shirt looked like it had been ironed with a steamroller. “I need your help," he said. A FIVE-MINUTE story
This little romance is a revision from the 🌿Leaves archive of December 2023. If you have already read it, thanks so much! If not, I hope it awakens a few wistful memories.
He had scars. Some were visible, some were buried a little deeper. His life was partly self-edited; he’d deleted a good bit of his past, denied the trauma of his childhood. It was a long time ago, he thought. I’m over it.
Daniel was a solitary man who told himself he was not lonely; he’d always preferred the anodyne of his own quiet company. Lately, though, his life was beginning to feel slightly askew — too much work, too much isolation, a growing feeling of claustrophobia. The uncomplicated routine he’d designed for himself made life easier, until it didn’t any more.
~~~~
On this particular night, Daniel stands in the silent kitchen washing his dishes, looking out at the dark, wet street. His reflection in the window looks back at him. Suddenly, without any provocation, he runs out the front door, and slams it behind him. He just stands on the sidewalk for a while, breathing in the rain. He looks up the street to the right, and down the street to the left. No one’s around. Feeling a kind of panic grab him by his neck, he turns and crosses through the hedge to his neighbor’s house. He doesn’t even know her, really. They’ve only met a couple of times – once, when they were rolling the bins out to the sidewalk for the Tuesday collection, and once at the mailboxes.
She answers his knock wearing a large knitted shawl. Her legs and feet are bare. The scent of sandalwood drifts out of the dark hall and into the wet night air.
“Hello, Daniel,” she says.
“Gatibel … I …um…”
“Yes?”
“I think I need your help,” he whispers. Rain drips down his face and into his open collar.
“Well, then, you’d better come in.”
She notices he needs a shave, his shoes are untied, and his shirt looks like it was ironed with a steamroller. He smells lightly of lemon dish soap.
“You’re really wet,” she says, leading him into her small front room.
“Yes, I…I’m sorry…”
A small wood stove radiates comfort, its flames fling shadows on the wall. He’s shivering. She pulls off her shawl and wraps it around him. “Stand by the stove,” she says. “I’ll go put on some tea.” He watches her walk down the hall. “I won’t be long,” she calls over her shoulder.
His eyes adjust to the dim room. A flowery sofa is next to the stove, a paisley blanket thrown across an old wooden chest. A soft spiral of smoke rises from a cone of incense in the window. He stands with his back to the stove, dripping on the carpet. An orange cat slips into the room, rubs against his shins, then disappears. On a low table is a lighted candle, a pottery bowl of fresh persimmons, and a deck of illustrated cards.
Gatibel returns in a few minutes, with a pot of mu tea and honey and tells him to take off his soaked shirt and pants. He doesn’t protest. She hands him a long wool djellaba that smells faintly of sheep, and he puts it on.
She drapes his wet clothes over the back of a chair by the stove, and sits next to him on the sofa. She pulls the blanket over their knees.
“Thanks for letting me come in,” he smiles. “I am sorry — I got a little crazy out there in the rain for a few minutes, I don’t know what happened to me.”
“Are you okay now?”
“I am.”
“So… you thought I could help you?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” She waits for him to explain, but he doesn’t say anything. “What, exactly, can I do for you, Daniel?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why I came here, but I started to feel like my house was closing in on me, so I went outside to breathe, and then I just ran over here.” They sit quietly. His heart rate slows.
“Well, let’s see what the cards have to tell us, shall we? Just a quick look.” Gatibel lays three random cards face up on the table.
“Ah. The Hanged Man,” she says. “He predicts a major change in your life, a surrendering of your illusions of control. He says that you’ve been overcome by your own self-imposed boundaries. I wonder what would happen if you’d stop resisting your circumstances?”
Daniel listens.
“Oh yes. The Chariot,” she says. “The Chariot asks who are you and who do you want to be? His advice is to be receptive to new people, to travel light and stay open to fresh experiences.”
“Five of Wands. Hmmm. They want to know what obstacles are working against you. Why the inner chaos? What’s your passion, and what would you fight for even when you're discouraged?”
“That’s a lot to think about,“ Daniel says. “I don’t know the answers to any of those questions.”
“No, not yet, but you will, there is no hurry. We’ll come back to them if you want and find out what’s next for you. In the meantime, we’ll just wait and watch.” They drink their tea.
After a while of companionable silence, Gatibel kisses him, and he kisses her back. When she rises and starts down the hall, he follows her. He’s hoping for …well, just about anything.
A fortune teller. Time to pick some stocks or head to the track. I think she put a spell on him, Sharron. You certainly created a romantic setting and a vulnerable male to place in it. It has been interesting to follow your treck through various genres. You have a wide-ranging talent.
Gatibel is a pretty name. I remember this story, Sharron. It must be pheromones, two available adults in close proximity, why else would he be standing out in the rain?? : ) “I think I need your help,” - a good pickup line? Gatibel has things well in hand. You've described such a warm setting for them.