The Vaticinator

by Namita Singh

considering the predicament that has made all of you return to this Realm, unlike your father, I feel that you should be informed of the situation. Before the more hasty decisions are taken in regard to your partner.”

  This time I do not say anything. For the first time since I am here, probably for the first time in my whole life till now, there is someone who is offering satiation for my endless questions. I am not being simply coddled, kissed and ignored like my mother does. I am not being straight forwardly refused, like my father does. I am not being chided for always wickedly trying to grasp information, like Terry uncle chides. And I am not being asked to stay ignorant of things around me, like Rufina aunt has been doing. For the first time, my grandfather, whom I don’t even know, is telling me that he will enlighten me of something that I have been dying to know probably since the day I learnt to speak. Mikhail Lichinsky may radiate diluvian amounts of superiority but he is not looking at me like I am a kid. I vaguely realize that he probably talks to everyone with this same superior stance. After a considerable amount of seconds pass in silence, I safely decide that Mikhail is offering me the chance to speak now. I clear my throat.

  “Um, may I ask something?” I question, deciding to remain in the safe province by questioning to put forth my question.

  “Yes.”

  “Why now? It’s been more than three weeks since I have been here. Why did you decide to talk to me now?”

  Mikhail’s left eye twitches as if the question couldn’t have irked him more. He impassively (and quite threateningly) stares at me for a long moment.

  “Your curiosity is always in the wrong places.” He says, still stoically looking at me.

  Now my left eye twitches at that and I wonder if my hypothesis that my father is not gossiping about me behind my back is true or not. Because that oddly sounds like how my father would complain.

  “Has dad been talking to you about me?” my tone comes out quite childish, almost whiny.

  Mikhail’s stare hardens at my implication, “Your father is not a girl.” He states in a calm tone but his eyes are betraying his collected posture.

  Oh well. I suppose my grandfather and father are much more alike than I have been anticipating.

  “You didn’t answer me.” I remind Mikhail in as much placid tone as I can.

  “Why I didn’t approach you before?” he asks, slightly tilting his head, his eyes still steadfastly fixed upon me.

  “Yes.” I manage to squeak. I believe my question is legitimate so I cannot fathom why my grandfather is being all uppity about it. Maybe he is much older to still believe that younger people have no right to question the elders.

  “Did you approach me?” he asks.

  I falter at the unexpected question. Did I approach him? Certainly not. I was too busy brooding over why my grandfather has not visited me. I shake my head at him, almost timidly, though a part of me still believes that Mikhail should have been the one to approach me first.

  “Why not?” he asks at my refusal.

  I feel myself blanch at the question. What do I say to him? That I was being a bratty kid and playing revenge games in my mind by not approaching him? But then I think of all the reasons that has been making me feel down in the dumps since I am here, focusing on the highlight of those reasons.

  “You’re just a stranger for me.” I tell him, my voice slightly wavering.

  “So are you for me.” he replies calmly. “So, why do you think it is alright to question my decision of not contacting you when you haven’t been any different than me regarding this particular subject?”

  I swallow the invisible lump in my throat, “It’s not the same.” I mutter, feebly arguing back. “I didn’t even know of your existence before I came here.”

  “Neither did I.”

  I blink at him in shock, “You didn’t?” I frown.

  Mikhail sighs, “If I were in contact with Nikolai in these past twenty years then I am sure you would have known about me. You sound nosy as it is, so I do not suppose Nikolai could have managed to hide me. But Nikolai and I have not been in contact, not even once. I cannot comprehend how he could have informed me of my grandson. I have to say I was surprised. When Nikolai informed that his child is the partner of the vaticinator, I automatically assumed you to be a girl.”

  I feel warmth creeping on my face but then I subtly roll my eyes, “People here sound oddly homophobic.”

  “Do not form judgments with half mind.” Mikhail snaps, his voice roaring in the empty room. His raised voice makes my ear turn from pink to beet red.

  My eyes immediately get averted from his glaring face and I end up scrutinizing the almost invisible specks of dust on the marbled floor. I feel slightly surprised at my own impetuous remark. Not because I should have known it will offend the mighty Mikhail, but because….because just like Neal, I somehow ended up indicating Neal and I to be gay. I didn’t reason that partners don’t necessarily have a romantic disposition, therefore the gender doesn’t matter. I straight away riposted to something that I found offensive. Something that I shouldn’t feel offended about. I risk a glance at Mikhail, peeking at him through my lashes. He is sitting straight, unblinkingly glaring at me. His offensive posture makes me avert my eyes again. This time my eyes travel to the far corner of the room on my right side, towards the end of the panoramic window. My heart immediately skips a beat at the sight.

  A person, a silhouette from where I can see, is standing in the corner. Despite the bright light flowing shamelessly through the window panes, this particular corner is slightly darkened, making it difficult for me to make out the silhouette or even guess since when it is there. I sense no aura from the silhouette.

  “What the hell…” I mutter, motioning to stand up, “Who is it?” I ask loudly, now completely standing up and looking at the corner.

  In my peripheral view, I sense Mikhail emotionlessly turning towards where I am looking. As soon as Mikhail’s eyes reach the corner….the silhouette vanishes.

  It just vanishes. Into thin air.

  I blink.

  “What is it?” Mikhail demands, standing up too and looking at the corner I am staring at. I am completely flummoxed.

  “I saw…” I trail off, furiously frowning at the now empty corner. Am I imagining things?

  “What?” Mikhail’s thundering voice breaks through my stupor and I turn to look at him. Only to find a man standing right behind Mikhail.

  “Holy shit!” I exclaim, my heart skipping several beats at the sudden sight of that man.

  Surprising me, Mikhail adroitly turns to look behind him. The strange man is faster. He raises his bare hand to land a solid punch across my grandfather’s face. Apparently, Mikhail is faster. In speed that I cannot imagine to achieve at such old age, Mikhail caught the hand of the man, restricting his onslaught. The man doesn’t rest though. He lifts his other hand only to have it in Mikhail’s grasp again. He doesn’t allow the man to attack with his legs either. Mikhail swiftly, too swift for his age, entangles the leg of his attacker and twists his arm backwards to prevent an attack. The man, now completely immovable in Mikhail’s grasp is facing the panoramic window now, away from me.

  “Josh, get out!” Mikhail orders, not at all loosening his grip on the man. “Get your father.”

  I am so stunned that it takes me several seconds to grasp his order.

  “Now.” he booms, probably sensing that I am still rooted to my place.

  As I motion to move out, the man in Mikhail’s grasp starts laughing.

  The reaction is so unexpected that I find myself rooted to my place again. I quickly go through their posture. Mikhail is completely overpowering the man. Why is the man laughing then? I don’t like the guesses in my mind.

  “Good old days, Lichinsky.” The man speaks in a raspy voice which goes oddly with his appearance. He doesn’t look a day above thirty. Though he seems to be wearing rag, old fashioned clothes. The man turns halfway, so he can look at Mikhail through his peripheral vision, �
�You’re getting old. So old? That you forgot to tell me about yourgrandson?” he drags out the last two words.

  “Josh, go.” Mikhail orders in a firm voice. This time I do turn away.

  I hear the man laughing as I make a bee line for the door.

  “You’re forgetting a lot of things, Lichinsky.” I hear the man guffawing.

  And suddenly the laughter stops. I am almost at the door. I do not turn back, knowing too well that the sight will probably make me procrastinate more. I don’t know who that man is but if he is ready to hurt Mikhail then I will definitely not count him in good books. I hastily step out of the room and face another arrhythmic beating of my heart as I am forced to stop dead in my tracks. I cannot believe my eyes. Through invisible air a fine mist appears, almost smoke like and within a second the man is standing right in the corridor outside the door I have just exited. I am way too flummoxed. While I force my heart to slightly calm down, I observe the man. He stands an inch or two shorter than me, wearing very, very old clothes, dark in color. He possesses dark chocolate hair that falls to his shoulder with a center parting that makes him look extremely dorky, if anything. Thick stubble on his face contrasts vividly against his extremely pale skin, matching the darkness shadowing under his eyes. He is not laughing now but staring straight-faced at me. Instinctively, I feel my right hand turning into a claw, my skin fluxing to provide me the strength and sharpness I am