The Wait of the Soul

Part 3

Whatever the altercation in the road had been, the woman walked away and the drunk staggering in the other direction.

Only shadows remained.

Above, in a tower block overlooking the street, a woman let the curtain fall back into place and turned away from the window.

Seven night shifts in A&E had left her raw; she could sleep now till midday, get the housework done, then collect Sophie from nursery at three. After that, three glorious days off, just the two of them. they would watch silly films, go to the park, eat equally silly food. Then the cycle began once more, Sophie back with her grandparents, she, at work, studying, sleeping, and then a few days of being a mother again.

Exhausted she pulled off her clothes, dragged on an old tee shirt, crawled into bed, curled herself in sleep.

###

In the street below, lonely shadows retreated.

The daylight did not vanquish them, merely limited their mobility. The Watcher sat high on the broken stones above the city, observing the living.
They thought themselves so free. Free, they believed, to censure those with whom power resided, free to go where they chose, free to live as they wanted.

But there was no more freedom than his own time; all were constrained by social mores. Even those like his former lord needed the good graces of King and Church to perpetuate their schemes and plots.

He had believed that gold gave freedom, but it did not; wealth brought its own obligations. To have the necessary and constant supply, ways of acquiring more were needed. Wealth was itself a crop; seeds must be sown, cultivated, and then harvested.

No freedom there, just the compulsion for more gain.

He looked up, the sun was high now, glinting off the glass and metal buildings below, it warmed their coldness but not his skin. Closing his eyes he tried to remember the feel of the sun on his face. He frowned, it would not come. Such a simple thing, but not within his piteous grasp.

Regret washed over him, he tried again, this time for the smell of fresh-baked bread.

A hint of something was there, but...

Then he had feeling of sinking into a hot bath after a day in the saddle...A bath prepared by his little brown bird, and after, the pleasure taken and given in their bed. He almost cried out as the wave of feelings hit him...

No, he shook off the remembrances, they cost him too dear, they brought back a loneliness barely kept at bay.

But there was another pleasure newly discovered, that calmed and soothed his sadness, the sound, and sight of children at play. Their laughter and innocent energy were infectious. Watching mothers with their children, scolding, hugging, talking nonsense, all filled him with peace.

Try as he might he could not bring to mind if the distant warm softness of his memory was his mother or his wife. Women drew him, not as they had, though he could still admire one of goodly proportions. No, it was their strength he now acknowledged. For centuries he had seen them toil at field and hearth, seen them become work-worn, bowed down with the care of others, seen bodies coarsen, beauty fade. But still, when shown a newborn or given a flowered posy, they became fresh girls once more, gentle, open and tender. Whatever their faults and failings, womankind was a wonder to him.

The thoughts had drawn him to a school. Mothers, in small knots, gathered to collect their offspring. He wandered among them, half listening to the simple, gossipy domestic chatter.

Then came the slow trickle of very young voices, eager with urgent news of inconsequential doings, and full of a wonderful enchanting light.

In this warm haven of joy, the glinting shadow caught him unawares, but he knew it was there. Slipping through the small groups, where it touched, smiles turned to frowns, voices turned waspish.

The Watcher found himself beside a small woman who crouched and held out her arms. A girl child ran into them, trustingly launching herself into her mother's embrace. The child laughed and clutched at the love there. Her huge wide-set dark eyes blinked slowly at him; the tiny perfect mouth smiled shyly and said "Hello big man."

He flinched.

"What Soso?" The mother shifted the child's weight and kissed the smooth cheek.

The child gave him a slight, flat handed wave and looked away. Children often saw them, but most often took little notice, swiftly losing interest.

The mother looked about her cautiously, eyes as large and dark as the child's, swept over him.

They both shivered at the contact.

"Lepers, my boy, all lepers." A voice rasped into his head.

A sharp chuckle cracked the air. The mother clasped the child tighter and, without a backward glance, hurried away.

The watcher slumped; a light had gone, chased off by a familiar old evil.