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
He had scars. Some were visible, some were buried a little deeper. His life was partly fictional — he’d erased a good bit of his past, denied the trauma of his childhood. It was a long time ago, he said to himself. I’ve moved on.
Daniel was a solitary man who said he was not lonely. He’d always preferred the anodyne of his own quiet company, but lately his life was beginning to feel slightly askew — too much work, too much isolation, a feeling of growing claustrophobia. The uncomplicated routine he’d designed for himself made life so easy. Until it didn’t any more.
On this particular night, he stood in the silent kitchen washing his dishes, looking out at the dark, wet street. His reflection in the window looked back at him. Suddenly, without any provocation, he ran out the front door, leaving it standing open. He just stood on the sidewalk for a while, breathing in the rain. He looked up the street to the right, and down the street to the left. No one was around. Feeling a kind of panic tighten the back of his neck and shoulders, he turned and crossed through the hedge to his neighbor’s house. He didn’t even know her, really. They’d 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 answered his knock wearing a large knitted shawl. Her legs and feet were bare. The scent of sandalwood drifted out of the dark hall and into the wet night air, along with the soft echo of jazz.
“Hello, Daniel,” she said.
“Gatibel … I …”
“Yes?”
“I think I need your help,” he whispered, rain dripping down his face and into his open collar.
“Well, then,” she said, “you’d better come in.”
She noticed he needed a shave, his shoes were untied, and his shirt looked like it had been ironed by a steamroller. He smelled lightly of dish-soap.
“You’re really wet,” she said, leading him into her small front room.
“Yes, sorry.”
A small wood stove was radiating heat in the darkness, and flinging shadows on the wall. He was shivering, maybe because of his rain-soaked clothes, and maybe because of her. She pulled off her shawl and wrapped it around him. “Stand by the stove,” she said. “I’ll go put on some tea.” He watched her as she walked down the hall. “I won’t be long,” she called over her shoulder.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness. A flowery sofa was next to the stove, a paisley blanket thrown across an old wooden chair. A soft spiral of smoke rose from a cone of incense in the window. He stood with his back to the stove, dripping on the carpet. An orange cat slipped into the room, rubbed against his jeans, then jumped up on the sofa. A table held a pottery bowl of ripe persimmons, a lighted candle, a deck of cards.
Gatibel returned in a few minutes, with a pot of mu tea and honey and told him to remove his soaked shirt and pants. He didn’t protest. She handed him a long wool djellaba that smelled faintly of sheep, and he put it on.
She draped his wet clothes over the back of a chair by the stove, and sat down next to him on the sofa, throwing the blanket over their knees. “Thanks for letting me come in,” he smiled. “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 warm now?”
“I am.”
“You thought I could help you?”
“Yes.”
“All right.” She waited for him to explain, but he said nothing. “What, exactly, can I do for you, Daniel?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Sorry, I don’t even know why I came here. 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 sat quietly. His heart rate slowed.
“Well, let’s see what the cards have to tell us, Daniel, shall we? Just a quick look?” Gatibel lay three random cards face up on the table.
“The Hanged Man,” she said. “He portends a major change in your life, a surrendering of your illusions of control, accepting that you have been overcome by your own self-imposed limitations. I wonder what would happen if you’d stop resisting your circumstances?”
Daniel listened.
“The Chariot,” she said. “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,” she said. “They want to know what obstacles are working against you. Why the inner chaos? What is your passion, and what would you fight for even when you're discouraged?”
“That’s a lot to think about,“ he said. “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 drank their tea quietly.
After a few long minutes of silence, she kissed him, and he kissed her back. Then she rose and started down the hall. Daniel followed her. He was hoping for just about anything.
Beautiful! You are the master of the beginnings. You turn on imagination and leave me wanting another chapter, a book, a series.
I sure like the way you write, Sharron!