Four Doors and Other Stories

by A. G. Billig

  Right where the small town began, the path wound by some shabby cottages, inhabited by gypsies. Rumor said that they had come a long time ago, from a distant realm, travelling by water and by land. They were rarely seen on the streets, except for the Sunday fair, where they came to trade handmade copper kitchen utensils in different sizes for groceries, bread, meat and cotton. Once they had closed their deals, they simply vanished while the other merchants would sigh with relief. They were a bad omen, wise men said.

  He knew it too, but mocked Mary whenever she begged him not to take the shortcut.

  “This is rubbish! Childish stuff! What can they do to me? Come on, grow up! It’s the same thing as if you told me you still believed in Santa Claus!”

  Nevertheless, whenever he passed by their yards, he would quicken his pace. The toothless old ladies, the big-bellied greybeards, and the naked children that he usually saw inside put awkwardness into his very soul. Only on this occasion, something was different. For the first time, he was seeing one of their young women. In fact, very young, barely out of her teens. A lithe creature with long, dark hair, perfect, white teeth like small pearls and a bright, green gaze that marked his heart. He kept on walking, without turning his head. Nevertheless, there she was, in front of his eyes, raising up her frail arms and hanging out the washing. He tried to banish her out of his mind. All of a sudden, he was getting superstitious.

  She might cast a spell on me, he thought. He suddenly realized that he had never seen a young female gypsy. He remembered the talk he had heard once, while waiting in line at a store. Somebody had said that the power of these people lived within their women. The young ones, able to breed. They were so beautiful that all men who laid eyes upon them fell in love. In order to preserve their power and to avoid quarrels with the small-town inhabitants, the gypsy sage had forbidden them to be out in the open. Whoever trespassed the interdiction was heavily punished. How they were punished remained a mystery.

  Mary overwhelmed him with her kindliness. She had cooked dinner but he was not hungry. He had spent long minutes in the shower, thinking about the young gypsy woman. He told his wife that he was feeling tired and went to bed.

  He woke up, sweating in the middle of the night. Mary was asleep next to him. Same short, curly hair as when they met. Her cheeks had filled out though and her features seemed to have lost their edge. Her calm, steady breath soothed him. What on earth was going on in his mind? He got slowly out of bed.

  He needed a cigarette. The air was fresher now. He would go out and have a puff. However, as soon as he went outside the house, his steps, as if suddenly granted with a life of their own, took him to the town’s outskirts where the gypsy cottages were. A dog, alerted to his presence, started barking loudly. The yards were empty. He must have hallucinated earlier that day. The sun had been so strong.

  “It is best to take the other road, even if it’s longer. Get a car, maybe,” he told himself.

  He stood by this decision for about a week. He even took Mary to several secondhand car dealers in order to pick a car. They had the money but could not agree on the model. She wanted a family car, big and sound, in a dustproof color. Light grey would do. He would have chosen a more sporty vehicle, bright red or deep blue, since they were still very young and did not expect any children soon. They were both to put money into it and they had to agree. Mary, who always had her way, chose to postpone her decision knowing that, in the end, her husband would indulge her. In the meantime, he was growing restless, dissatisfied. He was taking the long road home but he barely touched his wife. In fact, it had been almost a month since they last made love. He still respected her. A lot. He was grateful for her love and devotion. Nevertheless, he had stopped lusting for her. He needed a change. Maybe they needed a change. Their love might have gotten a bit of fresh air if they moved somewhere else. Back to the big city, as a matter of fact. So, he started a frantic quest for a new job. But nothing popped up that suited his educational background and professional experience, as well as their financial expectations. So life went on just the same.

  One day, again he decided to take the shortcut. He walked through the dust, past the gypsy cottages. And there she was! Sitting on a bench attached to a fence, playing with two small children. The red scarf that was covering her head made her eyes look even greener. Just one glance at her, made him feel alive. He came closer. He needed to touch her, to convince himself she was not a dream. The girl gave him a cocky, curious eye and pulled back a little.

  “Well, if gentleman believe that any stranger can lay his hand on me, he is very, very wrong,” she said, in an uneducated yet mesmerizing voice.

  “Don’t fret. I mean no harm or disrespect. I just want to make sure that you’re real and I’m not dreaming,” he answered in the gentlest manner he could.

  “The gentleman makes fun of a simple, common gypsy girl,” she replied, casting her eyes down. The arrogance in her tone implied that she believed the opposite.

  “Whenever a girl is so beautiful, I need to make sure that I’m not dreaming. Please, tell me, what’s your name?” He was speaking in a soft voice, as if she were a fairytale creature that he would not want to scare away.

  “I’m Margaret, sir. But my folks call me Martha.”

  “Margaret suits you better!” He felt like he was back in college, trying to lure in the girl he fancied.

  “Do you know, Margaret, how happy you could make me if only you let me hold you in my arms?”

  The girl looked at him in anger.

  “Sir forgot the ring on his finger!”

  “Damn this ring!” he burst out, snatching it off his hand. “You’re totally right, I forgot. Thank you for reminding me. I should have done this a long time ago!”

  He was not lying. In fact, he was feeling so free as if, together with the ring, he had removed the burden he was carrying on his shoulders. The girl was hiding a smile in the corner of her lips. She knew she was beautiful. Besides, she was not to blame for this other woman’s inability to please him or her belief that, once he had put a jewel on her finger, he would stay for the rest of her life. She was just a plain and simple gypsy girl. But she knew her good looks would not last forever so she kept them. She also knew that men were hunters and needed to be lured all the time with new decoys. A woman needed to stay the same to make a man feel as secure as necessary, but must remember also to reinvent herself a little, day by day, so that he can discover her over and over again. Most importantly of all, play with mystery. Unveil it just a bit only to make it deeper.

  From that day on, he took back the old way home but he said nothing to Mary. Deep down in his heart, he was hoping his feelings would pass and that he would manage to stay a respectable fellow. He thought that his forbidden love affair might reignite his passion for his wife, as it happened to other men. Nevertheless, with each glance, touch, and kiss, Margaret took a stronger hold on him. She would meet him halfway and go down below the steep, barren, lakeside. They would hide under the long branches of a willow, the only tree left by the water. There, he would fill himself up with the taste of her lips, and the silk of her skin that smelled like grass and fire ashes. He would caress her soft curves, her flat belly, amazed by her little waist. In the evening, he would go back to his flat on the third floor, the very one he had chosen months ago for being spacious and light, only to feel like a drowned man into a sea of tiny objects and big pieces of furniture. His odorant had developed in a bizarre way so that the man was able to sense each and every little smell. The more he inhaled Mary’s expensive perfume, the odor of synthetic soap, woman’s body and face lotions, the more he longed for the scent of grass and fresh water, for Margaret’s sweet faint sweat. Yet, he had a hard time seeing himself living with the gypsies. What if he persuaded his beloved to elope with him, to another city? Get a fresh start. He spent evenings in a row imagining and planning before daring to speak to her about it.

  “I would never, ever, betray my people, do you hear?” Margaret scre
amed to his face. “Go away with you, turn into one of these pale, dead creatures, abide by some false rules we despise. Be cut off from the trees, the water, and the animals! Never!” He could never have imagined such a fierce look in her eyes and stayed there, defeated. This was it. Almost a curse of being half-living, whenever they were together, half-dead, as soon as he played the part of the respectable husband and engineer.

  “They would find us and kill us both, anyways, if we eloped,” she added in a soothing voice. “Unless you decide to join us. I bet they would accept you. As tanned as you are now, you look a little bit like a gypsy!” she giggled.

  “Margaret, you know I love you but I couldn’t possibly...”

  “It’s all right my love, no worries. We’re good. At least, until my father decides to marry me.”

  For the first time, he understood why men and women committed passion crimes. He would have been up for it as well if such horror happened. He took her into his arms, into a passionate embrace, and laid her down into the rich clover under the willow.

  As deepened into his thoughts as he was, he still noticed there was something wrong as soon as he returned home. Mary had puffy eyes and a swollen face. She, who always smiled and started talking about everything the moment her husband set foot in, was now silent. Her lips, tightly pressed one another, turned into a thin line of indefinite color.

  “Good evening,” he said, wearily thinking she was upset because he was too late, later than usual. “I’m sorry, I’ve got caught up in a million of things at the office. Piles of paper to sort out, this kind of stuff…”

  “Stop!” she replied in a dry voice. “I know!” she added heading for the living room and sitting on the couch. The man followed her, puzzled. What on earth could she know?

  “You were seen today. I mean, you two were seen. Now, I understand why you have been hiding this from me,” she added by pulling out of a pocket a rumpled piece of paper. “You turned it down, right?”

  His head was spinning. It was perfectly true. A major company in the capital had offered him his dream job, yet, he did not take it. However, he had thrown this paper into the garbage bin a long time ago. Besides, nobody ever passed by that place, at the seaside.

  “Who is she? Is she someone at work? Do I know her?”

  “She is a gypsy…”

  The words went out of his mouth by themselves, lightening up his heart. He was sorry for Mary, yet, he was relieved with telling the truth. For a second, the curse seemed to fade away. But to his astonishment, the woman’s face lit up.

  “It’s a spell. She must have put a spell on you!” she said throwing her arms around him. “Today, when that kid’s mother told me about it, I knew that you were unable to act like this out of your own will. Now, I have the confirmation. We must go to church.”

  “Mary, you don’t understand. I’m in love with her!”

  “Of course, my darling you are. Because she made you believe so. She made you see her as a goddess while she may be as ugly as a toad. I shall talk to Father Thomas tomorrow morning, see what we must do.”

  Her cheeks were red with excitement and she was determined to save him.

  “Have it your way,” he answered, sure that no priest could change his heart and happy to see her cheering up.

  The problem was solved for now, but what about the curse? Well, the curse continued working its magic. The next day, somebody, somehow heard the conversation between Mary and Father Thomas. It was a matter of days before the news crawled through the town, like a snake, reaching the respectable society members’ ears. They were watching him, willing to see repent and regret. Yet, he carried on, as before, with his life refusing to seek help from God. The only love potion Margaret had given him was her lips. He told Mary he should move out but she begged him to stay.

  “This would be the supreme shame,” she argued. “I still believe you are under a spell and I feel like I haven’t done all that I can to cast it way. Think how it would make me look, being ditched for a gypsy. I could never get out of the house.”

  A month passed by. People started avoiding him and eventually, he lost his job. Now, he had all the time in the world for Margaret. He let his hair and beard grow and started wearing colorful shirts. Eventually, Margaret gave birth to a baby boy. That day, he went to his apartment, while Mary was away, took a few things that he held dear and wrote a short note, asking her to forgive him.

  “I must have been a gypsy all my life, only now I realize it. I wish you always stay true to who you are and I thank you for all your love and caring.”

  Since that day, neither him nor Margaret were ever seen again. Even the gypsies packed their shawls, kettles, their hats and their mustaches, put the horses to the carts and moved out. They were the talk of the town for months. Some women stood by him: it must have been the curse. Give up a good life, to become a bum. Or maybe die, after all. Some people said the girl’s father must have killed him. Others swore that they had seen him in one of the carts, together with a very young woman who was feeding a baby at her breast. Others blamed him and his kindred: men go crazy whenever they see a skirt lifting up.

  As for Mary, she packed her bags and moved back to the big city, for fear that the curse might harm her as well. She remarried an older, almost bald man of substance, and turned into a big lady.

  THE LEATHER BELT

  The little boy was looking at his father with dry, wide-open eyes. He still sensed the touch of the thin, brown leather belt. So much pain just for spilling the soup! The bowl had fallen on the rug with a stifled noise, then rolled and smashed against the wall, into two big equal pieces. It had been just a moment of absentmindedness, and his mum knew it. The woman had left the table murmuring, “It’s all right, it’s all right,” and went to fetch a brush to clean up the carpet before it stained. The child had stood stock-still while his parents glared at him. He was still hungry and wanted another helping of soup but he was afraid to ask.

  The man grabbed his arm and dragged him to his boyish room. Taking off his belt, he started hitting him in smoldering anger.

  “I do not care for a molly-coddle in my house. I need a man. My son will be a real man no matter how many belts I shall wear out on his butt!” His voice grew louder and louder until it turned into a scream.

  “How will you handle life? How will you be able to master other people while you cannot master a spoon?”

  He was on the verge of hitting him again, when the mother came in and grabbed his hand.

  “That’s enough! I think he got it! You’ll pay more attention to it next time, won’t you, honey?” she told the boy, holding him with infinite tenderness.

  “Great, now you spoil him! It is you who will later take the consequences, not me!” He spoke in a heavy, angry voice but the worst was over.

  “We get back to it now, finish our lunch, right? And everybody behaves!” said the woman, taking her husband’s arm and pulling the little one along with her spare hand.

  The boy fought a little before allowing himself into the dining room. He was afraid. He was hungry. He needed to cuddle against his mother. She always made him feel secure. This tiny woman, with big, green eyes and long chestnut hair, with her light, flowered dress looked like a teenager next to her husband who was already turning grey. He was no more than five years older but since he had been appointed school headmaster, he had become a different person. He was paying more attention to his looks, especially his garments. He wore a tie, shirt, and suit trousers with a perfectly ironed crease during his spare time, too. He smiled less and walked with his hands behind his back, feeling important. He had a mission now and great responsibility weighted his shoulders, he would say, that of building strong characters. He was a role model who was not allowed any flaws.

  A year after his appointment, a scandal related to a wealthy family’s student broke into the school. He had been caught fooling around with a junior female student. They were being very intimate when someone spotted them and sounded the
alarm. The principal intended to expel him. Both families were pressuring. Eventually, the wealthy ones had prevailed. The headmaster developed a sort of pain, a sense of failure and his authority diminished for good. He started graying despite being in his early thirties and became more demanding.

  Right after lunch, the man retired in the master bedroom, for a midday nap. The little boy helped his mother clean the table and joined her in the kitchen. She did the dishes, humming Frank Sinatra songs, and he wiped them up. She had put her hair into a loop, looking even younger.

  “I’m so happy to have you, my dear,” she told him, embracing the boy when everything fell into place. “Would you like to watch TV together?” He nodded affirmatively. The little boy would have kept this embrace for eternity. He nestled against her on the couch, inhaling her rose perfume greedily, the same he knew since he was a baby. It melted all his sorrows away. Soon, the woman fell asleep.

  The little boy got up and turned off the TV set. Going to his room, he passed the master bedroom. Through the ajar door, he saw his father’s trousers and brown belt lying on the back of a chair. The child stopped, listening to his father’s steady breath. He must have been sound asleep. The kid made up his mind at once. He carefully pushed the door open, tiptoed to the chair, grabbed the belt and left as silent as a cat. He went to his room, his heart pounding. He took out of his desk the penknife his father had given him as a birthday present and started cutting the brown leather belt into teeny-tiny pieces.