The Keeper

***

A woman is unpacking her belongings and sorting them in a decent sized apartment. She takes the newspaper off a beautiful figurine and admires it before placing it carefully on the mantel over the fireplace. 

Through the window snow is coming down and the world is blanketed in white. Her young son plays with his toy trucks on the floor. The doorbell rings and he jumps up, running over to the door, pulling it open.

A mailman stands there in his parka, huge bag of mail at his right side. He looks at the boy, "Hello there youngster. Are your parents at home?"

The boys calls out, "Mamma!" but she is already right behind him.

"Good afternoon sir."

"I have some important looking mail for you." He hands her the lambskin envelope.

"We just moved in. I'm sure this is not for me."

The man shrugs, "No return address. Keep it. Maybe someone will show up looking for it." He closes his bag and turns to go. "Nice envelope though. Might have something good in there." He heads down the stairs.

She closes the door.

"Mamma? What is it?"

"I don't know, Andrea. But it doesn't belong to us, so we'll just keep it safe until someone comes to claim it."

The boy goes back to his toys and she puts the envelope in the top drawer of her bedroom dresser, before piling her underwear on top of it.

***

The woman and her son are going down the stairs. A large, heavy set older woman is coming up with a box in her arms.

The younger woman stops and moves out of her way, pulling her son with her. "Mrs. Klemp?"

The older woman pauses and leans on the railing, breathing hard. "Yes, Miss Larose?"

"Did the last tenant leave a forwarding address?"

"No. He just moved out one night without giving notice, the bastard. Why do you ask?"

"Something came in the mail yesterday and it can't be for me. There's no name and no return address."

"He was a scoundrel. Treated people like worms. Throw it out or burn it." She continues up the steps and Miss Larose and her son Andrea continue down. "Now you be good at school. This is your first day and I don't want any trouble. You hear me?"

"Yes, mamma."

***

 

The Destroyer

*** 

Prologue 

A young, beautiful auburn haired woman is leafing through old love letters and crying. She gets to one, focuses on it through her tears long enough to read it: 

* 

Dear Nastya, 

Baby, I can never explain the feeling I have had over this last week, it seems months, maybe it is because every moment you have been gone has been filled with memories playing over and over in my mind, beautiful memories. The fear that clenches my stomach is beyond comprehension, to live another day with out you would not be living, you are my breath, my pulse, you make me whole. 

At night I am afraid to go to bed, though I am so weary from emotion. When I fall, I wake when it is still dark and try as I might to go back to sleep, I cling to my pillow and know that I must occupy my mind to keep from dying of pain. All the things I have seen, everything I have believed in, my instincts and knowledge guide me. For the first time in my life I felt like a real person, knew my life was about to change, to become normal with no more pain, and then the worst agony that I could ever imagine replaced that joy that was to be. I fill my days with anything I can possibly do, I don't stop, as though I am running from the thoughts of you trying to bring my tears. The house is immaculate and renovated, my muscles are sore from exercise, I have seen every movie currently in the cinema and been to every shop in town. But no matter what I do, you are right in front of me, everything reminds me. Romantic movies, the things we were going to buy, you are in every corner of my house. The little heart cushion in my shower to the balcony, to the street, to the stars, Baby! I am exhausted and tonight I stopped running and it caught me, the tears won't stop and I am so afraid... where are you, when are you coming home, are you coming home to me? 

Sweetheart, come home to me! Please!! I beg with all I have and as I have said, promise you a lifetime of happiness and love. Come dance on the moon with me. You are all there is, I neither need nor want anything else at all. You are my heaven on earth and I need to live there, if you go ... I need to as well, I have two angels and I need to be with one of them. 

I am empty; fill me with passion for life once again ... please. 

Love always, Pieter. 

* 

She starts sobbing hysterically, then hitting herself, first on the thighs and legs, then on her chest and arms, then on her face and head. 

A fire is going in the grate and she grabs the whole pile as if to throw it into the flames, then spasmodically recoils and reconsiders, holding them in her hands, salty drips falling on them from her eyes. Suddenly she grabs a thick stitched 12" x 18" lambskin envelope, dumps out the financial papers in it, and stuffs all the love letters into it. 

Closing the envelope, she ties it shut with string and adds a sticking plaster label to it, writing her ex-lover's address on it, all the while wiping tears from her face. 

She gets dressed into her street clothes, heads down to the post office. 

The postmaster says to her, "There's no return address. Should I add it for you?" 

She shakes her head, "No." 

The postmaster shrugs, turns, and puts the package into a large sack. 

Nastya walks home with a deeply sad look on her face. 

Inside her apartment, she undresses, runs a bath, gets in, and soaks for a bit. Finally, she smashes her hand mirror, takes a piece of silvered glass, and slits her wrists. 

The water turns crimson as the thick bloody rivulets dissolve and she slides into her final sleep. 

*** 

The Maker

An old woman sits in her rocking chair stitching pieces of lambskin together. She makes a small drawstring bag, puts a handfull of nice looking beads into it, closes it, and puts it on the table beside her with 4 others just like it.

Taking the blanket off her legs, she puts her hands on the arms of the chair, creaks out of it laboriously, takes the 2 steps to the fireplace, shuffles it around a bit with the black iron poker, throws another chunk of cedar on, then sits back down.

Something about this night reminds her of a time, long ago, when she was a very young woman waiting for her husband to get home on a cold night. She pours herself another cup of steaming strong tea from the pot warming by the fire and takes a sip, then another. She remembers that night when he finally got home and her old loins feel something they haven't in quite some time.

She remembers the poetry she used to write, ardent and erotic, sitting in an old box upstairs in the closet, and decides to make a lambskin envelope just to keep them in.

Before she turns in for bed she has the envelope made.

Happy New Year 2009

Got home from work today at 1200 but billed my boss until 1330 + 31km, hah. Hope he doesn't read my blog.

Service calls all morning. Jas & I fixed the problem at the Package Depot: it was a mouse-chewed wire making an intermittent short. He found it. I figured out the flaky transformer at the autobody shop in Surrey, and the 2 of us did blank plates on Salter in Queensborough for about an hour and a half, but called it 3. Business is quiet the last couple weeks. Well, it beats doing pre-wires in a snowstorm like Steve, Ish, Jas and I did a couple weeks ago. BRRR! That was fucking _COLD_!

The city is still full of dumb-asses burning out their engines at red-line trying to get moving in the snow. How long does it take to learn how to operate a vehicle in bad traction?

Some bugger took the parking spot I had carefully cleared out so I had to mire myself in a drift. Fortunately things have warmed up and the ice is melting.

Our apartment building has been without heat and hot water for 2 days. The rotor on the boiler pump sheared off and they seem to be having some trouble getting a new one, so it's cold as a meat locker in here. I can't believe they don't have 2 pumps in parallel just for this occasion.

But, on a brighter note, we just paid rent and now I'm broke.