The passage of time does have mysterious healing powers. Winter thawed into spring methodically at the same speed as the numbness inside him. For Oliver, the arrival of warmer temperatures would help shake the cargo off his shoulders. He could almost claim that yesterday’s names have all been shed, and even the most memorable name, the one that used to roast at his heart, was beginning to fade.
As in all angles of life, there are elements of happiness, sadness, successes, and failures. He kept reminding himself that what happened in all those yesterdays was already passed; there was no point to dwell in past failures and sadness. Winning was not crucial for him anymore; he was just grateful he had his health. For him, what was important was to have friends and teammates that cared about him. To his relief, after discussions with his Quidditch team, he was able to reinstate himself for next season, and he would depart as soon as summer would roll in. Life was calmly simple now, at least by day, just like the way he preferred it to be. Making no room for other aspects of life, his mind could now be focused absolutely on the thing that defined him, Quidditch.
At night however, his dreams would take over, painting the darkness of his room with shapes of his undisciplined imagination. He could never see these visions clearly enough; for some reason, the rain chains and wind chime dangling by his window would always wake him up in time before he could explore further.
Tonight was not unlike other evenings. Rainy springs obviously like to repeat themselves, just like Prudence’s mother, who had made it a habit to invite Oliver over for dinner. For him, her mother definitely had shades of Mrs. Weasley inside her, minus the shrieking voice. He didn’t care though. He was just grateful he didn’t have to eat alone, something he despised. On the other hand, she was possibly feeling sorry for him living alone, or perhaps she had other intentions for the lonesome bachelor.
“Oliver, do you have plans for tonight?” Prudence’s mother succulently dapped her lips with her napkin.
“No. Why… Mrs. Anderson?” garbled Oliver from across the dinner table.
Mrs. Anderson smiled waggishly, “Good. In that case, can I delegate my responsibility to baby sit my granddaughter onto you?”
Sitting between them, Prudence tightened her chewing teeth to keep the fiery wrath from unleashing, but the glare in her eyes was not to be overlooked. An explanation was in order.
Mrs. Anderson wiped her lips again, “Pru, I made plans tonight.”
“Let me guess,” Prudence plucked at her potatoes stiffly. “Gambling always comes first with you!”
“That’s not true,” whisked Mrs. Anderson with authority.
“Mum, you promised yesterday you will be available tonight!” Prudence condemned her with a hard alto voice. “You know I have to head to the gallery. You know I can’t take Zoe with me!”
“You can’t paint here?” asked Oliver between two bites of chicken.
Prudence shook her head and eyed Zoe helplessly, “It’s hard to concentrate here. And I… still don’t have a theme for my…”
Oliver laughed, hoping to lighten up the tense air, “Why don’t I give you an idea now?”
He suddenly drifted into a poetic story mode, but his breath was clearly that of a comedian, “You see… I had this strange dream last night. I saw… a vision… a huge magnificent crystal white gate as tall as a building… constructed somewhat like an archway, sitting atop… a mountain…”
“What’s behind it?” Zoe cut in.
He shrugged his shoulders and glimpsed at the girl menacingly, “I don’t know… It’s probably… a doorway… to another dimension… maybe a place where they lock up all the children to feed the… night stalker.
“But do not fear. As I see it, the backdrop is very nice.”
He scratched his head and glanced across the dinner table, “The place is sort of… decorated by… a deep effervescent horizon, the color of… cream tomato soup…
“The mountain… like dark chocolate pudding… cotton clouds shaped like… a potato...
“And as for the sun…” he forked into the bowl, “it’s shaped like… the egg in this salad…
“To get the desired effect on your canvas, Prudence, you might want to mix the color red with…”
He paused after catching Prudence staring at him strangely.
“What’s the shock? It’s the only way I can describe it!” he flirted with a joking pitch. Sadly, no one was laughing.
“Oliver, you have no idea how difficult it is to be a single parent… the sacrifices along the way…” Mrs. Anderson steered the conversation back to the adult level. “I had ambitions too when I was young, but of course I had to put them aside.”
Her subsequent cough preceded a trailing hint of disappointment in her words, “But I never imagined my own Prudence would follow my footsteps with such precision.”
Oliver said nothing, but he could feel Prudence’s eyes piloting a look of pure resentment, a look that appeared to have surfaced many times before.
Mrs. Anderson darted a furtive eye at Oliver, “Am I crazy to automatically assume that having two parents raise a child…” she turned to Prudence, “will always be… easier?”
Oliver wanted to prevent the discussion from escalating into an argument. He patted Zoe’s head, “Pru, she is a good kid. It’s no trouble, honest!”
Mrs. Anderson removed herself from the table and headed to the door with a tired sigh, “Oliver teaches children overseas. I’m sure he will do fine.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Prudence asked Oliver worriedly, tapping the table and watching a sneering Zoe.
“You watch my place all summer long, and I eat here almost all the time. I can certainly do this for you.”
“Mum, Grandma, I’m old enough to be alone. I’m a solid seven years old,” squealed Zoe. “Why do I need a sitter?”
“Zoe, you may be too young to understand but… please don’t wish to be alone,” Mrs. Anderson lectured philosophically from the doorway. “But then again, there are people three four times your age and still can’t grasp the concept.
“All I want you to remember is… don’t become like them, Zoe… people who proudly and happily convince themselves and others they have a habit of living alone and need no one in their lives to grow old with."
She glanced at Prudence, “Truly, these are the people who are kidding themselves. These are the people who are really lonely and empty inside.”
Fed up with Mrs. Anderson’s endless allusions in front of Oliver, Prudence got up from the table and tailed her out the door.
“Zoe! Be good. Don’t give Oliver trouble!” Prudence called from outside. “Oliver, you just have to hang around the house. Leave the table as is. I’ll clean up when I get back. Send her to bed at nine. You don’t have to stay after that.”
As soon as the door was shut, Oliver could hear Prudence’s alto argumentative voice against her mother’s, gradually dissipating as they walked away.
Lounging on the sofa with a complaining smirk, Zoe positioned herself to occupy all the seats she could with her little body.
“Oliver, I’m fine. You don’t have to stay with me,” she yawned.
Oliver didn’t reply; his eyes were curiously feeding on a small book lying casually on the coffee table. He was wondering instantly if this was the book Zoe pried out of Yuriko’s hands. He squeezed himself against her stretched toes to sit as the book cover attracted his eyes. The illustration was one of a recognizable Japanese style, but the sketch was eerily similar to the vision he had just described at dinner earlier, except for one standout detail. Under the capitalized title, “Angel Ame,” was a minimal drawing of a girl with long black hair underneath an archway.
“It’s supposed to be a fairy tale,” booed Zoe boringly. “But there are no pictures… too many words... I’m sure you’ll have trouble too.”
Oliver narrowed his eyes and retrieved the book. He was not about to let a child insult his intelligence.
“We’ll see about that.”
Zoe snuggled herself generously into a small fetal position to give more sitting room for Oliver, who flipped open the pages and began to read out loud:
”Prologue “ Once upon a time, farmers and villagers diligently worshipped a mysterious goddess every time it rained, thanking her for keeping their healthy crops well nourished. She was known simply as Angel Ame, a term in reference to her gift of rain. Legend has it that the rain showers were really her tears in disguise. They all knew her story, and the story of a handsome young man with a ghostly white umbrella, both in love with each other but separated sadly by a thin line that were the skies, because they came from different worlds…”
Oliver turned to the first page of the fairy tale:
“Theirs was a household like everyone else, a middle class young educated couple that was perhaps slightly more detached from their heritage and culture than their parents. Nothing extraordinary was expected when the lady of the house gave birth to an otherwise normal baby girl. As anticipated, the entire experience was without complications. She was the first and only child for the couple, and they gave her a fitting name, Keiko, the loved one.
“A peaceful week had passed, and it was time to bring little Keiko home. It was a rainy day, the rain so heavy it partially blocked the couple’s vision as they approached their door. It was as if she just appeared out of thin air, but hovering by their doorstep stood an old woman slouching over her cane. Her image was blurry and brittle, except her solid eyes. The young father was wary of her presence”“
“What does wary mean?” Zoe interrupted.
“It means to be watchful and careful… feelings of unease over something unusual or bad. I am like that every time I see you within range.”
Zoe spiked his knee with her toe. After he threatened to tickle her feet, she stopped and he continued reading:
“All the old woman did was point at the baby and recite some kind of foreign language. Then she stated forcefully with a hoarse alerting voice, ‘Young couple, your child will turn eighteen and surrender herself to the heavenly forces of nature. The day will come when a messenger from the magic skies will visit and accompany her to her destiny…to fulfill her duties, and… become the next Angel Ame.’
“Of course the young couple thought they were listening to words of insanity, coming probably from a homeless woman pretending to be a seer, and requesting money to break the alleged curse she just concocted. However, without further confrontation, the old woman gave them a pitiful look and strolled away. All they could do was to shake their heads perplexedly before quickly stepping inside to avoid getting wet.
“Obviously, the father thought nothing further of the bizarre exchange. Like other children, Keiko would grow up and developed her own personality. It was not markedly clear whether she was different from the others. She had her little oddities, but then all children were unique in their own ways so he was not concerned.
“Keiko had little interest in toys and in things other children were interested in. She did react strangely every time it rained outside, such as stopping whatever she was doing, so she could find the closest window. She would gaze outside obsessively and reached out frantically with her arms on days when she was strong enough to open the window herself.
“Thinking she loved to admire flowing water, the father decorated the roof with all kinds of rain chains. It never occurred to him she was simply fixated with rain. He didn’t understand why one day she ran outside and just stood in the open downpour, while the logical response from other children would be to hide inside to stay dry.
“Watching Keiko grow up added a lot of joy in the couple’s lives. She was poetic and lyrical, and had an intense fascination with random things regarding nature. She impressed her teachers and parents with her explanations for everything, like falling leaves, how every snowflake has a symbolic purpose, and every raindrop has a lingering strand before it falls…
“The father no longer thought much of her special interests with the rain, which appeared to have subsided when she became a teenager, but the memory of what happened with the old woman that rainy day did not fade away like his hair. It did not help that his dreams would fill in the details of the woman’s message, getting more vivid as Keiko grew older. The complete haunting vision was one with a powerful man emerging from the rainy clouds and steal Keiko away.
“It was not like him to believe in folklore tales, but he couldn’t help but be extra protective of her. He was especially worried as her eighteenth year birthday approached, at the same time becoming more fearful of the rain. The idea of losing Keiko was unimaginable, and the eyes of the old woman still haunted him. Therefore, the day she reached eighteen, he kept a watchful eye on her. To add to his torment or perhaps it was mere coincidence, it was raining on that birthday, although it arrived in erratic squirts and sputters, like a water tap that was about to die. He didn’t tell her why she couldn’t leave the house on her birthday, but she complied without question, and to his delight, nothing happened.
“From that day on, he wanted her to have as normal a life as possible. Whatever she requested, he would grant her. He was simply thankful to not lose her and have her as a daughter. Perhaps as a reward to him, the subsequent years passed without incident too. Keiko turned nineteen, and then twenty...
”The only thing that was abnormal was the rain. The squirts and sputters, as well as the frequent occurrences of virga were well reported by weather watchers, but the only people that were worried were farmers. Other than that, clearly nothing astronomical was about to happen, and the old woman’s conversation was finally discredited, until…
“One day the daughter brought a towering young man home. Judging from his appearance, he was obviously a foreigner from a faraway land. To the father, it was evident they were in love, and the visit could be that the handsome man was about to ask for her hand in marriage, but all he did was smile boyishly at every question the father posed. The inexperience in him was thicker than the rice pudding. He asked him what he did for a living, to which he didn’t reply. Instead, the young couple exchanged timid stares with each other.”
”Father, Sen… he… he’s not from our world,’ the daughter blurted away the out of place silence.
”Keiko, I can see Sen hails from a foreign land. He has hazel eyes and brown hair,’ her father replied with a soothing smile, sensing her daughter’s apprehension. ‘Keiko, I want you to know… as long as you are happy, your mother and I are happy too. Now tell me what Sen does for a living.’
Oliver’s gut twisted slightly. He was not certain why he was able to guess the next line of conversation as he was reading, until to his surprise, he quickly realized he had witnessed this conversation before, because he was once a part of it. He was once asked by Yuriko’s father what he did for a living.
”Father, you don’t understand,” inserted Keiko with tears swelling under her eyes. ‘Sen… he’s not from our world. He… he’s a wizard.’
”What is it?’ asked her mother worriedly.
”Keiko pulled out what looked like a wooden staff from Sen’s pocket. Staring at Sen, she seemingly was communicating a plan with him with her watery eyes. After a prolonged pause, Sen picked up the staff, gave it a wave, and all the contents in the room started to float effortlessly in the air.
”The father could do nothing but gape in horror. Sitting next to his daughter was not a normal man. Could he be the one… the messenger sent from afar to take his daughter away…”
The book slipped out of Oliver’s hands because of the heavy layer of sweat. He could not pick it up; his mind was short-circuited by the recollection of the fearful stare from Yuriko’s father when he revealed to him he was a wizard and a professional Quidditch player. Sitting motionlessly, all he could do was replay the day he was in Yuriko’s house. The memories rushed back with no mercy, burning open the wounds that had just healed.
“Yuriko… How… could it… be…” he retrieved the faulty Amoré from his pocket and muttered uncertainly, as his mind began to draw lines of connection, aligning elements of Yuriko’s characteristics with the Keiko girl in the story, as well as his with those of Sen. Once again, the locket was not giving him his needed answers. All he could do was staring in anguish at the spinning needle that failed him so miserably back in Japan. The buildup of hate for the useless amulet exploded into his legs.
After the strength in his arms returned, he shakily picked up the book. Wanting to find out the ending of the story alone, he slowly headed to the door with it when…
“Where are you going with my book?” squeaked Zoe.
Oliver turned around and spotted a pair of eyes blinking playfully at him. He had forgotten about Zoe.
“It seems you like the book. I’ll make a trade with you. I’ll give you the book in exchange for the shiny locket.”
It was an easy agreement. He quickly placed the hated amulet in her palm and exited, hoping he could find the page he was at so he could continue reading the story that mirrored so much of his life.
Moongate Beckons When The Canvas Sleeps by gossipweaver
Chapter Notes: When a children's fairy tale begins to play itself out in real life with uncanny similarities, such is fantasy crisscrossing with reality, and the ending will matter more than ever...