Aban's Accension

Chapter 23: The Taxman

She sits up. The banker. That lady. She had said to call if she needed help. Yeah, that’s right, she had said she’d help her figure it out. And she does have money. She remembers now – the lady had opened an account for her and put money in it. She wipes one cheek and then arrests her hand. How does she call her? She doesn’t know her name or nothing.

The business card. She had given her a business card.

Where’d she put it? Maybe her wallet? She stretches her right leg out to reach in and pull out her wallet. She opens it and sees an unfamiliar glossy plastic card. She frowns and then her face clears as she remembers this card gets her money from that machine the lady showed her. But then confusion clouds her face again: how does she get it from that machine to these bills demanding money? The lady. She’ll tell her. She yanks out the plastic card and out falls a business card. It flitters to the floor. She leans over and picks it up. Taking a deep breath, Aban reaches for the phone sitting on the far side of the table, dials, and hears a life-saving voice.

“Um, yeah, hi, this is Aban.”

“Oh yes. Hello Aban. How are you doing? Are you settling in?”

“Yeah. Um, I have these bills and stuff.”

“Of course. Why don’t you come in, and I’ll help you sort them out. Did you receive the cheques?”

“Cheques?”

“Yes. They’ll have come in a fat envelope or small package.”

Aban looks at the pile. “Um, just a sec.” So many letters in that pile; she reaches a hand forward to flip the letters over one by one until she gets to a fat envelope. “Yes, there’s one here.”

“Why don’t you open it. I’ll wait.”

Aban drops the phone on the table and wrenches open the envelope. Out slides a pile of cheques, with her name and address on them and everything. She hurriedly picks up the phone. “Yeah. They came.”

“That’s great. Bring those with you along with your bills. And we’ll get it all done. Don’t you worry Aban. You’ll be a whiz at this in no time. Now, let’s see. Why don’t we say next week, July twenty-second?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Aban scrambles around for a pen.

“I’ll call you the day before to confirm, just in case your schedule changes. I know how busy we all are.”

“Yeah, sure. Great. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I look forward to seeing you next week Aban.”

Click. Aban slowly takes the phone from her ear and presses End.

“She’s gonna help me,” she informs El as she enters his living room later.

“That’s what she’s there for. Find the help you need from the right people, Aban, and you will do well.” El returns to his reading.

Aban glares at him and is about to open her mouth when a knock on the door halts her words. “Are you getting that?” she demands of El.

“It’s your house.”

“Yeah, but they’re always here for you.”

El doesn’t reply but continues reading.

Aban stomps out and down the hallway. She yanks the door open, and a young woman smiles at her, holding out a box with a slot on top and letters on the side: “The Feast of Madeleine.”

“Hello. I’m here for the annual Madeleine donation drive,” she says as if Aban will know what she’s talking about.

“The what?”

“The Madeleine donation drive. It’s to help provide Madeleines for the poor and needy.”

“What the hell are Madeleines?”

“Madeleines are little cakes named in honour of Madeleine and to celebrate her inspiration.”

“Her?”

“Oh. Uh. Madeleine was a woman who was cast out by her family, shunned by her friends, and afflicted by strange illnesses. Whoever came into contact with her was repelled, and they called her many names and accused her of being lazy, a hypocrite, a thief, and a liar. One day, she met a man who accepted her and in accepting her recalled to herself who she really was. He redeemed her. She turned her life around and became an inspiration to women everywhere. She gave comfort to the poor and needy; she taught the illiterate; she made powerful men uncomfortable until they changed and began to help the vulnerable; she empowered women and raised them to be on equal footing with their husbands through her own example and her teachings. Every city has a hospital dedicated to healing women’s diseases because of her. A famous chef in the sixteenth century created these little cakes in her honour. At first, only the rich could afford them because they’re hard to make, but they’re so light and have this sweet orange flavour. One day, an upper class Lady said we should not be the only ones to eat these cakes. She said Madeleine lived for those who couldn’t afford luxuries like these. Let us make enough for everyone on Madeleine's day, and on that day we will all feast, rich and poor alike, on Madeleines and remember her. Since then every year we celebrate her memory and example by handing out these cakes to as many people as we can on the streets and at subway stations. Every city around the world celebrates on the same day.”

“That’s a waste of money.”

The young woman rallies back, “Maybe, but it brings a tiny bit of joy to everyone, even the people who have it bad, and reminds us we are all human, together.”

“I got no money, and anyway as I said, it’s a waste. You should be collecting worthwhile stuff, things the homeless really need, like clothes and stuff. Not cakes.”

Aban feels a presence looming up behind her. She turns sharply and sees El, the dark depth of his eyes inscrutable.

“I will donate,” he says as he slots coins into the young woman’s box. “Everyone needs a touch of sweetness in their life. And before you go, let me say a blessing to you for the joy you will spread next week. For even in the midst of suffering, we must feast and celebrate.”

Aban spills contempt out her mouth and slams her feet on the stairs as she returns to her kitchen. She doesn’t get El. Why waste money on something so stupid? Cakes. It’s like that...that Queen in France who told the poor to eat cake. They killed her for that. Those people knew what they needed. Real food. Cakes don’t fill their stomachs or help them with the things that really count. Why would El support something like that? Stupid.