Waking Anastasia

by Timothy Reynolds

  TEN MINUTES LATER he unlocked the door of the loft and stepped inside. The television was off but one warm light banished the shadows. There was no sign of Ana, though. He walked over to the Blake book on the coffee table, speaking as though she could hear him from her world to his.

  “Ana, I’m home.”

  Ana answered him, in an almost perfect Ricky Ricardo Cuban accent. “Jerry, you got some s’plainin’ to do!”

  Jerry looked up at the source of the voice and nearly wet himself—solid-appearing Ana was casually floating around near the high ceiling above his head.

  “Crap!”

  Ana drifted down to the floor. “Good evening, Jerry. I’ve learned a few things today.”

  “I can see that.” He dropped his keys back into his coat pocket and hung it up on the coat tree behind the door. “Was the first thing how to scare the living to death?”

  “No. That I knew already. Something else. Observe!” She concentrated, and although Jerry couldn’t see any marked difference in her appearance, when she reached for his old university sweatshirt her hand didn’t pass through it but rather gripped it, just as his would have. She picked up the sweatshirt and slipped it over her head. Jerry couldn’t believe it when it stayed put and she spun around, modelling it for him.

  “Wow. You have been busy.”

  “At first I could only keep it on for a few moments before one arm or the other fell through, but now I can do it for an hour or more.”

  “I’m impressed. How did you—” His cell phone rang in his coat pocket, cutting him off. He retrieved his phone quickly, afraid that Ana would try to answer it; but she only followed him to the couch, politely curious.

  “Hello? . . . Mom. Hi. Merry Christmas . . . Well, I haven’t returned your call because I just walked through the door and haven’t had a chance to listen to my messages. I usually wait until I’ve got my coat off and maybe closed the front door before I retrieve them . . . Yes, I had to work . . . No, I haven’t opened my presents, yet.”

  Ana made a face at Jerry, trying to distract him. When it didn’t work, she grabbed her ears and pulled them until her arms were straight out to the sides and her ears were stretched almost two-feet-long. Jerry laughed, losing the battle.

  “Sorry, Mom. I have a guest who’s clowning around. Are you going to be up for a while so I can call you back? . . . Oh-kay. How about I open my presents this evening, and give you a call tomorrow morning? . . . Who’s my guest? Her name is Ana. She’s my, uh, ‘neighbour’ . . . Well, we thought we’d have coffee and get acquainted . . . WHAT?! Goodnight, Mom. I’ll call you at noon, your time.” He disconnected the call and put the phone down on the coffee table.

  “What did she say to upset you so?”

  “Nothing I can repeat to a seventeen-year-old Grand Duchess.”

  Ana’s concern changed to joy in a flash. “Oh! That is the other thing I learned! And it is quite simple. Observe!” She made a grand flourish with her hands. “Abrakadabra!”

  Jerry watched, half-expecting her to try on his shoes or start the coffee maker, but, right before his eyes, Anastasia Romanova aged a couple years. Gone was her short, slightly plump, teenage figure as she morphed into a slightly taller, almost slender, graceful young woman.

  “Son of a—”

  “Do not say it, Jerry.” Her smile was heart-stopping.

  “Wow. Who are you now?” He got up and walked around her, inspecting the new look.

  “Me. I simply decided to be me at twenty-two. I was seventeen when I died, but since I was born in 1901, I am, in theory, a centurion. I modelled myself after my sister, Olga. I thought you might be more comfortable with a twenty-two-year-old me.”

  “Definitely. I don’t feel like we should be chaperoned simply because of the theoretical age difference. Though, who would chaperone a ghost is beyond me.”

  “I am glad you like it because it does not take any effort on my part, unlike wearing this sweater.” The sweatshirt dropped through her to the floor. She picked it up and draped it over the back of the chair.

  Jerry made his way to the kitchen area, glancing at the television as he went past it. “Ana, didn’t I leave the TV on?”

  “I closed it—except for I Love Lucy, it was all so annoying. If they took only the good things from all 287 channels, could they fill even two channels?”

  “Probably not.” He laughed. Even a century-old ghost knew that what was on TV was crap. He opened the fridge, looking at her over his shoulder. “Do you eat?”

  “I do not think so. I am not hungry in the least.”

  “Well, I am, so please don’t think me rude if I fix myself some dinner.”

  “Not at all. While you eat I can tell you what else I have learned today. I learned that I cannot travel too far from the book. I made it to the landing outside your door and could go no further. At that distance, I also found it difficult to concentrate.”

  “That’s weird.” He placed a plastic-boxed grocery-store salad on the counter and poured himself a full glass from the two-litre bottle of caffeine-free Coke on the bottom shelf.

  “Jerry, why am I here?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that, too, and one school of thought about ghosts is that they’re souls who’ve left something important unfinished. Was there something you didn’t finish?”

  “Do you mean, something other than my life?”

  He leaned back against the sink, his favourite kitchen stance. “Good point. But if that was it, your sisters and your brother would be here, too. Is there something more specific? A message you needed to give? A promise to keep?”

  “Nyet. No. Nothing big.”

  “What about the curse put on your family by Rasputin?”

  “What curse?”

  “I was reading something on the internet at work about a curse he made a couple years before he was murdered.”

  Ana huffed. “That is silly. Grigori was not cursing us, he was making a prediction that if he died at the hands of any Russian nobility, then my family was in danger, too. It was a warning to watch close to home, and he was absolutely correct.” She tipped her head slightly to one side. “Time has not treated Grigori’s memory very well, has it, Jerry?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “That is so unfortunate. He was a good man. He was strannyy—strange—but quite wise and very kind, at least with Mother and us children.”

  Jerry pulled two frozen chicken cordon-bleu packets from the freezer, opened them, placed them on a plate and stuck them in the toaster oven, setting the timer before dumping his salad on a plate. Ana hopped up to sit on the counter to watch.

  “I have an idea for after dinner, Jerry.”

  “Sure. Shoot.”

  Chapter Nine

  @TheTaoOfJerr: “Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.”

  ~Ludwig van Beethoven

  BY TEN O’CLOCK, the night chill had gripped Victoria’s Inner Harbour and few people were out near the provincial parliament buildings. It rarely snowed in coastal Victoria, but on this evening, the feathery-light white fluff drifted down onto the streets, adding to the seasonal mood set by the Christmas lights everywhere. A short walk from the loft, the outline of the beautiful, light-grey, copper-domed, century-old government building was lit with white lights, rendering the large structure almost fairy-like in the distance.

  Jerry sat facing the parliament buildings, alone on the marble base of the statue of Queen Victoria. Although he wasn’t completely hidden from view, shrubs shielded him from the nearby street. He took a small, plastic grocery bag-wrapped package out of his jacket pocket, gently removed the Blake book, and placed it on the bag beside him on the snow damp bench. He glanced to his right and then his left to make sure no one was watching, and when he looked back, Ana was sitting beside him, nearly bursting with pure joy. Her simple dress and lace-up boots from 1918 lent a touch of nostalgic elegance in the soft light of the Inner Harbour. Ecstatic, she leapt to her feet. Jerry
rewrapped the book and put it back in his jacket.

  “Oh, Jerry! I am outside!”

  “Shhh! Let’s not push our luck. So far, so good.”

  Ignoring his concern, Ana spun and twirled and laughed, looking every bit as solid as Jerry in the cloud-softened moonlight. “This is glorious! Look at the snow! And the lights—look at the Christmas lights! Every tree, every post, everywhere! It’s all so beautiful!”

  Knowing there was no way he could contain her enthusiasm, Jerry stepped up beside her and shared the view.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “This is the best Christmas present anyone has ever given me. Thank you!”

  She darted in and quickly kissed him on the cheek.

  “Hey! I felt that.” He raised his hand and felt his cheek where the kiss was planted.

  “Good! So did I. Jerry, let us go for a walk.”

  “I’m not so sure, Ana. We’re out of the way here but if we walk along the streets—I don’t know if anyone else can see you and I might look like I’m talking to myself.”

  “Do not get your knickers in a knot, Jerry. Let us just walk now and worry later.”

  “This is important to you, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, yes! Da!”

  “Then let’s walk.” He led the way to the street-side sidewalk and Ana caught up and took his hand in hers. Surprised, Jerry looked down at their linked fingers but didn’t let go. They walked on, and Jerry smiled to himself.

  “Your hand is warm.”

  “What were you expecting?”

  “Well, you are dead. I guess I was expecting you to be cold to the touch.”

  “Not right now. I am so happy I feel warm all over.”

  A dapper gentleman in his seventies strolled towards them, tipping his houndstooth hat in greeting. “Merry Christmas, folks.”

  “Merry Christmas,” Jerry returned.

  Ana gripped his hand tightly and whispered, excitement lighting up her voice, “He said ‘folks’!”

  “I noticed that.” He squeezed her hand back.

  “Plural. He saw me!”

  “Yeah, it sure sounded like it.”

  They walked on, Jerry warmed by the idea that he might not be the only person who could see his ectoplasmic date. Eventually they came upon two women in their forties, holding hands and chatting quietly under the streetlamp. Ana gave a small wave with her free hand and greeted them cheerfully. “Merry Christmas, ladies. Lovely night, is it not?”

  The couple smiled at Ana’s enthusiasm, and the taller woman answered. “Merry Christmas. It’s a perfect night.”

  “Yes, it is. Merry Christmas,” Jerry added. He and Ana strolled on past and the couple went back to each other. Ana was so excited she floated up a few inches above the damp sidewalk.

  Jerry tugged her hand and whispered sharply, “Hey! Get down.” She snickered and came back down to where her feet once again tread the sidewalk.

  “Oh, Jerry! They heard me. They saw me.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  He smiled, caught off guard. “Yeah, they sure did, didn’t they. Wow.”

  Fingers laced warmly together, and the chill air ignored, Jerry and Ana explored Victoria’s Inner Harbour, greeting others on the promenade as they drifted past, everyone simply soaking up the peace of the late evening and the lights of the season.

  TWO HOURS LATER Ana danced around the loft alone, humming quietly, happily to herself. She danced along the floor, passing through the furniture, and then up the walls and onto the ceiling, waltzing and twirling with an imaginary partner. She spun in mid-air and then began to fade as her strength finally waned and she was gently pulled back into the book. A second before she vanished, though, she blew a kiss in Jerry’s direction, and he stirred in his sleep as if he felt it.

  THE NEXT MORNING Jerry was up bright and early, having slept more soundly than he had for months. After a quick breakfast of microwave-poached eggs and toast, he steeled himself and returned his mother’s call. While he verbally jousted with his mother, he watched Ana, who was partially hidden by the oriental dressing screen that blocked off the loft’s sleeping area. A pair of his jeans and a freshly unwrapped pale yellow dress shirt hung over the screen. He’d told her to pick anything she liked and Ana had gone directly to the jeans and shirt as if she knew how much they meant to him. It was like Isis all over again. Oh, well, he thought, they’re only clothes. Ana tossed her dress over the screen and pulled the shirt and jeans over to her side. The dress faded away, in a spooky, back-to-wherever-the-dead-go kind of way. Jerry shivered, then answered his mother’s query.

  “That’s right, Mom, I have to work today, a holiday . . . Well, being the new guy, I get to cover the station over the holidays. Also, I’m trying to learn the ropes and I can’t do that at home on the couch . . . Yes, the shirt looks great. Thank you. I’ll be wearing it today at the office.”

  Ana pirouetted out from behind the screen, dressed in Jerry’s new shirt and old jeans. She danced around him, making faces and coquettishly flashing wrists and ankles at him.

  “Great—I’ll talk to you next week, then. Have a good time at the flower show, Mom . . . Yes, Mom, I’ll be seeing Ana again . . . I know you’re glad I’ve met someone. She’s quite a—what? Meet her? When? Do I have any say in this? This is my home, Mom, so it only follows that you wait for an invitation to come visit . . . Well, that particular week in February I’m in Seattle for a trade show. Let me check my schedule and see what—no, don’t buy your ticket, yet. That would be stupid . . . Mom, I’m not calling you stupid, I’m just saying don’t buy your ticket until I know if I’m even going to be in the city . . . Mom—Mother! Would you please—” His mother interrupted him again so he gave up trying to explain to her. “Good bye, Mom.” He hung up without waiting for her reply.

  Ana settled beside him on the couch. Jerry sipped his decaf, trying to calm himself.

  “She sounds like a Zhenshchina s siloy—a strong woman—Jerry.”

  “That’s one of the more polite ways to put it.”

  “Does she live alone?” Ana tucked one leg up under herself and turned to face him.

  “My father chose death over life with her nagging.”

  “He took his own life?!” She was shocked.

  “No, it was a heart attack.”

  “Then he did not choose, did he?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.”

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Of course.” He really did. Every day.

  “Was he a stupid man?”

  “Stubborn yes; stupid . . . far from it.”

  “Then do you not think that if he had a choice, he would have chosen life with his family rather than death without?”

  “Well, I was really only joking.”

  “Jerry, death is no joke—trust me on this.” A tear tracked down her cheek and she wiped it away. “I have been given a chance to taste life again, but my family . . . where are they? What has happened to Alexei? Is my little brother happy where he is? Is he anywhere? What about Mashka? And Tatya and Olga? Are they all ghosts somewhere else?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Neither do I, but I do not think that they are.”

  “How do you know?”

  “How do I speak? How do I float? Why am I connected to a book of old poetry my mother gave me one Christmas? Jerry, your mother cares about you. If she did not care, she would not even waste breath, let alone time and money to telephone you.”

  “But she’s—”

  “Da. I know. She infuriates you, makes you angry.”

  “She drives me crazy, and lately it’s been a really short trip.”

  “Nurture patience.”

  “Okay.” He smiled. “Who am I to argue with royalty?”

  “Exactly! A commoner does not argue with a Royal—even a dead one. And for that reason, I wish to ask one further favour.”

  “Couldn’t you just command me?”

  “I would not dre
am of it.”

  Jerry surrendered. “Then ask away.”

  “Can we go for another walk?”

  “Of course. It’s supposed to be a nice evening, again.”

  “This afternoon. While it is light out.”

  “I’m sorry, Ana, but I have to work. Besides, are you really ready for the glare of sunlight?”

  “I . . . I think so. If not today, tomorrow then?”

  “I have tomorrow off, so sure, I guess so. Maybe we should go for a drive, just to start with.”

  “Yes! A drive! You have an automobile?”

  “Sure. It’s parked out on the street.” He pointed at the window while he walked over to his desk and turned on his laptop. “I prefer to walk, but I have wheels. Tomorrow we’ll get out and explore. Deal?”

  “Deal! I have not been in an automobile in so very long.”

  “Then tomorrow it is. Now, I’d better get back to my proposal for Manny.”

  He sat at the desk and suddenly Ana popped her head through the laptop’s screen so that it came right out of his document.

  “All work and no play—”

  “Pays the bills, young lady.”

  Ana stuck her tongue out and withdrew from the computer.

  JERRY STOOD QUIETLY in the doorway of the tech booth, proudly watching his staff at work. On the other side of the glass the on-air personality was interviewing a now-vacationing Santa. Santa was definitely just Rolf in a Santa hat and a false beard hanging around his neck, but in radio anything is possible.

  “So, Santa, what are you going to do with your spare time now that the gifts have all been delivered?”

  “Mrs. Claus gave me a home gym for Christmas so I’m going to exercise, I suppose.”

  “Exercise? Is Santa going on a diet, too?”

  “I don’t have a choice, young fella. The reindeer all unionized this year and say I have to lose weight, for safety reasons. They claim they’re getting old and can’t carry the weight like they used to.”