THE GATE KEEPER

by JULES GABRIEL

  I released it and landed on both legs with the knees bended to evenly distribute the tension of the fall. I turned towards the swivel chair to my right and brought it out from the mini-computer table near the window. The bell rang for a third time.

  Once the chair was near my bed I sort its pneumatic pump and level the seat with the bed. Its arm rest was gone, missing from wear and tear. This provided easy access for my second routine exercise.

  I stood with one leg firmly on the soft mattress bed and with the other one on the soft office chair. Under control I opened my leg with the chair rolling slowly away from the bed. Its star like foot of five wheels drove my elastic leg to its maximum degrees of one eighty. I brought both palms of my hands together. In preparation of regenerating my body’s aura, I controlled my breathing, distribute and centralise my weight evenly.

  Familiar perceptible and audible sound echoed through the hall way for the fourth times. I closed my eyes and took my mind off this place. Meditation was the way forward and towards the enlighten path of a true martial artist, my mentor and master once said.

  Macy had been stuck with breakfast when the door had ring three times. She couldn’t stop as it would have opposed her mission. Her aim was to have her son confronts what she believes to be his eating disorder. The door rang for a fourth time.

  ‘Ok, I’m coming!’ She responded as she turned the cooker off. Safety comes first she thought.

  She walked towards the door through the small dining-room and living room. At the corridor, Macy’s curiosity kicked in and she started to wonder who was on the other side of the door. She had successfully turned the small house into a safe haven. As a single mum she had strived to meet weekly ends. Thorough thoughts of any cost she might had incurred or missed brought an adrenaline chill of fear. Macy came to a pause as she put one hand on the knob.

  Macy stood stealthily still at the front of the main door. The fingers of her right hand laid at rest as if waiting for clearance. As the sole source of income she had to prioritise their needs. Eviction was the scariest thing that came through her mind. Deep down Macy knew the outcome of both for becoming homeless. She wondered if she had missed an important bill. The one which could jeopardised the standard of their daily lively hood and put them at the wrong side of the law.

  Clear, there shouldn’t be any outstanding...water, electricity and gas bills are sorted her conscience agreed as it came to terms with her ethical thoughts. Macy confirmed to herself that it was safe. Convinced enough, she gripped the knob and twists it. The door open inward and she took a peek in between the security door chain.

  ‘Yes.’ Macy said calmly.

  ‘Miss Smith?’ The stranger at the door asked.

  ‘Yes.’ Macy responds, masking her nervousness and curiosity.

  ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Miss Smith.’ The stranger said with excitement.

  ‘Have we met?’ Macy asked curiously.

  ‘Indeed our path had once cross from the beginning...’ The stranger said.

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t remember it, when was that?’

  ‘Ma’am may I come in? It’s for the benefit of your bright young Phil,’

  ‘Listen, sir, whoever you are, I don’t know you and you haven’t Show me you’re I.D. You can be anybody as far as I’m concern.’ Macy firmly confirmed.

  ‘I’m just an old entrepreneur and like I’ve said, it’s for the benefit of your son.’

  ‘Why would a businessman be interested in a sixteen years old kid? .....How do you know Phil?’ Macy seeks for answers as she fired more curious questions.

  ‘Please, let me in. Outside is no place to discuss family affaires. We both know that your son is an exceptional bright boy and my firm had already invested in him.’

  Life has been financially unfair to Macy since when Phil’s father left her to solely raise him fifteen years ago. She wanted to believe the stranger but she couldn’t. There was no such thing as a free ride in this world. She had mastered hardship of being a single mum. There was no turning back.

  Macy could partially see the stranger. Part of his black bowler hat fit well with his posh suite. She did not fail to notice his expensive taste of his leather shoe which was exposed through the limited peek of the door chain. She had no choice. She had to take a chance and believe that miracle can happen.

  Unfairness had knock at her door the day he left her with a child. Perhaps God had answered my prayers, have faith in the almighty our creator our Lord God, she thought. Beside the stranger has been right about his son’s academic ability. She always knew that one day her son’s prowess academic ability shall come to light.

  ‘Bare, with me Sir.’ Macy said as she gently closed the door.

  She laid both hands on the door and thought about the risk she was putting both of them in. If the stranger turned out to be a criminal it could turn out nasty for her son and herself. The phobia of being attack by a stranger has been strong within her. The world hasn’t been good to her and she never expect the best of any situation but the worse instead.

  Some may call it paranoia but she called it survival instinct. Today she broke her own rule. She removed the chain from the door and opened it, for a stranger armed with only his words as proof of honour.

  ‘Please do come in if it’s in the interest of my son.’ Macy said nervously.

  ‘Of course ma’m.’

  ‘Please close the door behind you.’ Macy said as she led the way while the stranger did as instructed.

  He followed her.

  They both came out of the hallway which opened up to a small living room and kitchen. The stranger came to a halt a few yards away from Macy. He removed his bowler and put it in his hand. He put his left hand in his left pocket of his black suite. Macy turned towards him. A chill of fear made her stood still. She felt powerless for a moment. She wondered if she was about to become a victim.

  The stranger removed his hand from his pocket. Macy exhaled a breath of fear. She tried to relax as the stranger gestured an envelope towards her. He smiled at her and anticipates her movement.

  ‘It’s yours. Please do read it when I’m gone.’

  ‘You told me that you’ve got business proposal for my son.’ She curiously seeks for answers.

  His eyes slowly and carefully scanned at the framed family photos on the wall. He looked at them as if she wasn’t there. For a moment Macy felt as if she was being ignored. She tried to trace his line of sight. She step a few inches to her right away from the stranger’s line of vision. It was the photo of her son.

  ‘Phil’s first win... under seventeen....’ Macy explained to the stranger.

  ‘Yes, I know the kumite.’

  The stranger’s face was filled with strong emotion of sadness that puzzled Macy. Her mind searched for answers. She wanted to comprehend but to no avail the reason became a mystery. The built up expression of overwhelm sorrow made his face appeared red.

  Phil’s mother turned at the photo and saw the same image that she had seen for the past two years. Her son dressed up in what she called his white pyjama suite, secured by a green belt at his waist and armed with one massive golden coloured cup. Atop of the cup was a cover with the statue of a metal martial artist displaying a high kicks.

  ‘He had lost quite some stones there, in a matter of a few months and I believe that’s when he became obsessed with his weight.’ Macy said as she nervously folds her arms together cupping and cradling both elbows with the opposite hands.

  ‘Obsessed is not the right word.’ The stranger said as he wept and explode with sad emotion.

  ‘Are you ok?’ Macy seeks for reasoning she could hardly understand.

  She brought her left hand to her temple while the other remains in the same position, keeping comfort for the other arm. A sense of deja-vu struck her. She felt as if her mind was playing tricks on her. His face seems similar to her former boyfriend but yet he seems quite old at the same time. She carefully scanned for every line of symmetries with t
he old memories of his son’s father and compares it with the actual stranger’s face standing in front of her.

  ‘Excuse me, what did you say your name was?’ Macy asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, I got to go.’ The stranger excused himself. He quickly turned towards the main door and head for it.

  ‘...but you haven’t met my son Phil.’

  ‘The letter speaks for itself.’ The stranger responds as he rushed out of the house.

  The stranger covered his face and dry off the tears with a white handkerchief he had pull out from his pocket. Macy felt confused. His dazzling expression was hard for her to interpret and come to terms with logic. Did the stranger have a breakdown? Was he crazy? Did I invite a crazy man inside my house? Answers which she believed only a shrink could have the ability to evaluate and come up with a solution.

  He put on his bowler’s hat and head for the main door behind him. He was gone. Macy thought of the similarities she had felt. The déjà-vu was strong. Her mind had manage to merge the newly face with the old memories. Her subconscious fought to come to terms with what her eyes registered. Yes it has accepted the similarities. Yes there was a sense of belief that she has met that person before. It was in the way the stranger spoke. For the moment it was all a mystery. She closed the main door the stranger had left opened.

  3

  The stranger came back. He stood still on the pathway and stare at the house. He admired the small dwell made of wood. He closed his eyes and brought his mind to a place hidden deep within. Back to the lost memories he once cherished.

  Neighbours took notice of his unusual presence. Some took a peek at him through their windows. The old curious one hid themselves behind their curtain while they waited as if expecting to witness an event of high importance. Some came outside in their front yard pretending that they had something to fetch.

  The stranger didn’t mind. His body was present but his mind was absent from the nearby reality. Behind him, opposite Macy’s home were the identical houses which spread both ways along Jefferson’s road. It was no longer dawn. The street became alive with the paper boy distributing its product on his bicycle. He rode fast and distribute it by throwing papers at the addresses he was given. His customers opened their front door and came out for it.

  I came out of the meditation. I straightened my hands towards the floor. Then I quickly allowed my upper body weight to lean forward, absorbing the whole weight of my body and cordoning a quick summersault. Out of the split I firmly stood still.

  I stood in front of the window and look outside. I saw a man in black facing the house, except that his eyes seem shuts and yet he stood still as if he was watching me. I brought my face closer to the window. I put my fingers through the window blind and allowed the slats to open wider. I stared at the old man’s face under the bowler’s hat.

  I wonder if he was normal. Perhaps he was a psycho that my mum has warned me of, I thought. In my linear perspective I considered this as abnormal. Then his eyes opened. He stared at me that it brought shiver to my spine. Unexpectedly and in shock I fell backward onto the bed. Was he the madman as mum lectured? my mind fired troublesome doubt. He didn’t even bothered if the neighbours and the passers were looking at him.

  Unafraid, I pulled my act together. I stood up and look outside. The stranger was still there. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a letter while he still stared at my window. He slowly put it in the letter box near him. He walked away and turned around. He looked at my window and the letter box as if he was sending me a message. Then he was gone.

  Later I came down the stairs and into the dining room after I got dress up for school. On the small rectangular kitchen counter which separate the tiny kitchen and the living room laid a plate of English breakfast. I approached the three modern bar stool which was near the counter.

  The full plate of a fried egg, baked beans, sausage and a toast became irresistible. Its smell drove uncontrollable saliva through my mouth. My stomach was set on fire by the acetic acid that craved for it. The hunger was beyond my control. For a moment I felt powerless. I greedily pinch the low fat brown bread and baked beans, while the other hand got hold of my school bag which was on one side. I gobble it down.

  ‘Easy tiger,’ a soft voice from my right said.

  I could recognise it as the voice I was raised with. It was my mother and she was sitting in the corner on one of the sofas in the living room. The expression on her face wasn’t normal though. She seems to have been in a shock.

  ‘Are you alright mum?’

  ‘Yes, Indeed I am. Indeed I am....Indeed, something that I could not understand happened. Do I sound crazy?’

  ‘You’re freaking me now.’ I said and paused as I reflect on what she has said. ‘What is it mum?’ I asked.

  ‘The man I met this morning.’

  ‘Yes. What about him?’

  ‘Didn’t you saw him Phil?’

  Her face and eyes were unrecognisable. Her face looked pale and her eyes were focused on the frame photos of me on the wall. She seems puzzled. I wondered if I was losing her.

  ‘Are you alright mum?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ Mum responds as she looked at me.

  ‘The man, what was it about him?’

  ‘Oh the man, yes... his face was a cross breed between your father and you....Except....Except... ’ She said as she faced my photos at her left side on the wall.

  Meeting that strange man had left her daze for some weird reason. I had to know what had happened. ‘Yes, except what?’

  ‘Never mine, except that it felt like a déjà vu. The fact is that the truth made me feel uncomfortably sociopath.’ Mum said gloomy.

  I froze for a while wondering if the woman I cherish and love was going mad. I tried to make sense of her puzzling words. I couldn’t read in between the lines. I had to seek for more answers to piece the jigsaw together. After all, was it a jigsaw or was I too young to comprehend complex talk from my genius mother, I pondered.

  ‘Just try me, mum. You can trust me with those types of matters.’ I assured my mum.

  Sensible answers were all I wanted to hear from my mother. After witnessing the old man staring at my room I wanted to know what I was up against. Mum didn’t neither blink nor look at me. Her eyes were still glued to the photos on the wall.

  I crunched and swallow the last piece of sausage I had in my mouth. In one way or another I knew that I had to get an answer from my mother. I stared at her and thought, even if I had to bribe my way for answers I will. I kneel in front of her. I stare at her and she slowly turn towards me. I gave her a hug. I gave her a child to mother peck on one side of her cheek.

  ‘I love you mum.’

  ‘Yes, I know my son. Same from me as well,’ She responds as she smile at me.

  I stood up and head for the main door. I walked out. I closed the door behind me. Then I saw myself face to face with the mail box. A part of me wanted to seek for answers down the rabbit hole. The cowardice side of my character wanted to pull away from it. My mind laid at rest on a fifty-fifty chance of either opening it to seek for answers or simply ignoring it.

  Still standing in front of the mail box I took a decision. I open it. I allowed the light to shed its way in. Precaution came first. I look at the inside and slowly pull out the only foreign object inside of the box. I examine the letter closely. It was a normal letter with two stamps on it. Underneath it was my name and surname.

  Shocked and confused I wondered; how did he know it? Who is he really? Where does he come from? I was getting late for school. I put the letter in my back pack and took off.

  4

  Michael was well off than the rest of the boys in his community. He came from an upper middle class background. He felt proud of his status. His mother who was a manager at a firm married his stepfather who practiced law by trade. Mat, his younger brother of five years of differences left for school with his dad.

  Deep down, he felt as if something was missing. His abusive bi
ological father had always made him felt inferior. The need to be the best at everything has been drilled into him. His old man would drink heavily, curse, made him felt useless and strictly subdue him with agonising lashes of belt.

  The abusive memories went as far as he could remember. At three it was quite vivid recollection without reasoning. At four his mind forcefully adapt with the frightening experience of his father’s nasty behaviour. Self-awareness between the bad and the good became apparent though he was too young to make sense of moral reasoning.

  The 2008 financial meltdown had cost Joe Larker his job. He had turn towards the devil’s toxic liquid for comfort. Alcohol became his best friend. It turned him against his family, against his will to love and hope of love. His role as a dad diminished to an abusive drunk and wife beater. At four years old Michael Larker had witnessed the domestic battle which had helped to keep his parents apart. Then the end of his mother’s relationship to his father came to an end.

  Mrs Larker had enough of the authoritarian life. Being beaten by her husband, she felt that she had lost her dignity as a wife and a woman. She had no option except to file for divorce. Six months down the road she had a fresh start. She became Mrs Reed. Molly knew that Mr Reed was a responsible and a sensible man. He had proven worthy when he sorted the legal issues of her marriage as her lawyer. He was a lady’s man. She was willing to have him the instant he proposed. It was all in the interest for a better life for her and little Michael.

  Molly knew that one day her son will come to terms with the truth. Accept, adapt and embraced happiness from their new found family. At five years old her son excitedly accepted the arrival of his first brother, Mat.

  From the window of his room Michael had learn to appreciate what his mother and stepfather had done for him. His ego to stand out from the crowd has been eating him from within. His envy to be the best and a child worth having as a son was his ultimate desire. Feelings he could not resent.