Mid-Infinity: A short story

Today is New Kobe’s annual Jazz Festival - one of the few surviving legacies from the old world. Ever since aging stopped and humanity continued moving forward, there were lots of things lost through the passing of time. If not for the sheer tenacity and pure love for the art, the celebrated music would have been forgotten as well.

A woman of age watches the people busy themselves with the preparations in a sidewalk cafe just right across one of the many jazz clubs in the city. Her gaze unfailing, fixed on an unknown point. A complete mannequin if not for the brief moments she would squeeze her right arm lightly. Her coffee cup, long empty and cold, tells that she has been idling for a long while.

“Hello madam, I’m Zalman, what is your name?”, a voice comes to pull her out of her near-stasis. It was from a young-looking brunette wearing a standard casual - white short-sleeved skinsuit - and a wide smile.

She ignores him completely, hoping the stranger would leave her on her own. She could barely tolerate anyone in her distress, more so some overzealous centenarian. The choice of introduction clued her in. Very few use that anymore. Most people eventually realize that it is best to leave some things alone - not to mess with things that aren’t yours.

“How you doin?”, Zalman follows up, missing the proper tone, timing, and flavor of the message, akin to someone reading a script without knowing the story or characters. The man is so out of his game, as they used to say.

She spares him a brief glance. Mostly to check his right arm. True to her expectation, the guy had a single ring tattoo on his wrist. It is a New Age’s custom to imprint a black ring around a person’s right arm for every passing century of their life. The first ring is placed around the wrist with the next ones added above it.

The minuscule attention given is interpreted as a silent permission to continue by Zalman. “Shall we Netflix and ch-”.

A bellow of glee interrupts at an opportune time. It was from a tall man wearing a slim black suit. His deep laughter reverberates loudly in the area.

“That’s great, Z. That’s gold.”, he says after a few more chuckles.

“Pops!” The younger man calls out, part happy and mortified. He realizes that he got himself into another embarrassing situation. His “Pops” only laughs that loudly at the funny shows from the Old that they regularly watch together. He doesn’t get much of the humor though.

The young man exits swiftly with cheeks tinted red. Right after offering a quick and deep bow as if both to apologize and to excuse himself.

“The kid is not so bad, you see? He’s just too fascinated with the Old.” the man explains while smiling happily at the retreating “kid”.

The woman doesn’t respond and fixes her attention elsewhere, ignoring the new unwanted distraction that came up.

“Columba, I presume.”, he says with a warm smile as he settles himself in a seat beside her. She tenses. She never met him before. Only her contact should know her name. This man is not the image of the person she imagined the “Ferryman” to be.

“Yes. I am that Ferryman.” the man whispers the answer to the unworded question. “But please call me Siegfried.”

Columba clutches her right shoulder tightly after the revelation. Her breathing comes on the verge of being fast and shallow. She battles herself for composure. Desperate to stay coherent to find out what she is looking for.

Siegfried stares at Columba as if looking right through her soul. She reached out to him just yesterday and requested a meeting with him. There are two types of people who ask for him. The first are people who admire his music: his beloved fans. And the second are the ones who seek The Doctor. It’s obvious to him which type this woman falls.

“Please”, her tone breaks out in desperation. “Tell me. Tell me how to get to Him.” Her eyes now misted with unshed emotions.

The Doctor. A phantom, an enigma. The one who can Undo. One of the catalyst. One of the people who started all of This. Only a select few people know about his whereabouts. The ones who manage to find him rarely get the chance to share the secret.

Siegfried pulls out a scrap of paper from his suit pocket and starts scribbling. Each scratch of pen on paper triggers a storm of emotions inside Columba.

He finishes writing, places the paper face down and pushes it towards her but lets his hand remain on top of it. Neither one of them makes any further move. One waits for a reaction while the other is too confused to act.

The mask begins to unravel. “Just like that?”. Her face now openly starting to show the centuries-long weariness. The raw emotion is uncharacteristic for such a youthful and dainty face.

“Why?”, comes a desperate plea for things to make sense.

“She asks why yet she was the one who summoned for it.” Siegfried announces to no one. “Answer me. Why do you want to find him?” he says while locking his searching eyes with Columba.

She looks away but indulges him with an indirect answer.

“Y-you must know why. You looked for him before. How would you have known about him if you hadn’t? And yet ... yet you are here.” She turns her eyes back to him. “In here. Now. Fine enough as if we haven’t been stuck in time for so, so long… so out of our place.“

Siegfried smiles and lets go of the paper. The warmth is expressed with a hint of sadness.

The woman studies the scrap of paper as she continues. “I made a promise with myself. I said I would do it on my twentieth”. She squeezes just below her right shoulder. The spot where she had her twentieth ring tattoo yesterday. Her twenty centuries.

“I should not be here … not here. Not anymore.” Columba finishes sullenly.

There was a long silence. Columba uses the pause to calm herself. She held her grief for so many years. This is her final struggle. She’s been emptied. And all that is left is acceptance. Who knows what would happen when she meets The Doctor but for now she has this: her resolve.

She starts to move her hand towards the paper but she stilled when Siegfried suddenly spoke.

“He says it is our choice.”

“That time I met him, The Doctor said he wanted us to have a choice. The serum was our choice but no one could have told us it would come to this. The people born After don’t know how it was. This is their reality. For us, we’ve been left longing for so many things. For peace. For a conclusion.”

“The guy then invited me to hear him play the piano. I first thought he wanted to ease my weariness with music. But all it was good for was a laugh - He was horrible!” Siegfried smiles, remembering the moment fondly.

“I’ve never grieved any less than I did before. My sins and regrets would forever linger.”, he says in the most solemn way he could. “But I would still have my tomorrows. Tomorrow I would attend a union ceremony downtown. The next day, I’ll be watching my favorite show with Z. Tonight, I’d be playing with a Jazz combo on stage.”

“Let yesterday conclude. Begin again every day. I’ve been a lousy music man before but I’ve been practicing for more than two thousand years! By that alone, I’m the best in the whole universe!” He laughs at his bravado.

Siegfried gets up his chair after a beat. He places the piece of paper beneath the cold empty cup before he leaves her alone. He steps back with a sincere and hopeful smile unseen by the woman. Columba remains silent, head bowed and contemplating. She expected to meet a man who has lost all will and barely living. Not someone seemingly full of joy. Not someone at peace. She recalls a time, several decades ago, when she was just as full of life. And then she’s not. All hope drained, replaced with despair. She wonders if she could get it all back.

Her musing is interrupted by a soft clink. She looks up to a rich slice of chocolate cake.

“Happy birthday. Well, ‘belated happy birthday’” Zalman says with a huge smile. “Pops Sieg told me it was yesterday. He seems to be always in a sad mood on his birthdays. Old folks seem to do that a lot. ‘Birthday Blues’ he says, but this ...” He pushes the plate slightly. “He swears my chocolate cake never fails to cheer him up.”

Columba snorts a laugh. The annoying man from minutes ago just tried to cheer him up. And somehow successfully and marginally managed to shed away some of her gloom.

Zalman was again starting to feel embarrassed. Unsure whether he got another thing wrong. It was really confusing hanging out with two very different cliques: the old folks and people of his age. He always ends up committing awkward mistakes.

Just before the poor confused guy leaves, Columba manages a ‘thank you’ and a genuine smile. Zalman lights up and smiles with all teeth showing. He gestures at the cake, encouraging her to try it now.

One bite turns to three, turns to ten. It was extremely good; the cake is an exceptionally executed marriage of new and old techniques. The cake was born from this Now, a time that’s not her home. And yet it brings forth all the fondest and sweetest memories of yesterday. Decades ago of watching the cherry blossoms bloom fall with hands and hearts intertwined. Bonded in mind and in soul; complete. It was a promise of eternity broken by fate.

She tears up a bit. Indulging on the flavors and savoring the emotions and memories, both of joy and of sorrow. She held her calm before and yet she’s crying over cake now. This thought makes her burst laughing for a bit.

Zalman beams at her again excitedly. “Pops does that too! He cries a bit then laughs. He says because it was really good. It’s good, isn’t it?”

She smiles and wipes happy tears from her eyes. “The best”, she validates.

Zalman bashfully clears the plates away. He picks up the scrap of paper from before and examines the writing. Columba was unable to react fast enough to stop him. With panic rising, she reached out to grab it, but was too late.

His face shone with amusement as he pocketed the paper, moving on to leave with the plates and cup on one hand.

“Wait! The paper... w-what was written on it?”. She asks, puzzled by his reaction.

“Hmm ... Nat King Cole. Good stuff, it’s one of Pops’ favorite music man. I like t-”

“Huh?”

“A song from the Old. It’s written here.” He then takes the scrap out to show her. True enough, it is as the young man claims.

Columba sags on her chair. A bit exhausted by the whirlwind of emotions from moments ago. She thinks of Siegfried and his trick. She thinks of her tattoos. She thinks of the most delicious cake she has ever had. She becomes amused by how yesterday’s dread has led to this glimmer of something new yet familiar. And as she restfully ponders about what to do next, she hears a beautiful rendition of a song being played in a piano not far.

Right then she decides maybe it’s not so bad to hang around in New Kobe for a while.

Of course, I made a sad and gloomy story about a prompt where everyone is healthy and don't age 😅 I tend to make most of my writing tragic. The type of setting seems nice and all at the start, but looking terribly exhausting in the long run.

I wrote this story a while back but never posted it online. I guess I just never had the confidence and motivation to post my written stories. But this time, I got an ulterior motive: I'm at rep 49 and I need to reach rep 50 for Byteball. lol.

If you are wondering about the song at the end of the story, check this out:

There are things in life that you just don't forget...

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Images [1:Pixabay] ,[2:Unsplash]