Relics- The Chronicles of Solomon Drake

by Robert York

  I smiled as I picked up my own spoon dipping it into the stew.

  “It smells delicious,”

  I lifted the spoon to my lips blowing a cooling breath of air onto the hot stew. The spoon like the bowl was a bit on the largish size which was a tad disconcerting. I opened my mouth shoveling the stew greedily into it. I froze savoring the mouthful of stew as the various flavors collided with my palette. The meat wasn’t beef, probably some other game animal that lived in this area, but it was tender and the taste was indescribable. My taste buds were assailed with the flavors of roasted onions, garlic, mushrooms, carrots, ground black pepper, a little salt and the faintest hint of sage. All the ingredients masterfully combined into the best stew I ever tasted. I noticed out of the corner of my eye my host watching me. I assumed as with any cook he tried gauging my like or dislike for his dish. I turned my head in his direction eyes locking on his. A few moments of uncomfortable silence hung between us until he broke it.

  “Is the stew not good?” He asked in a hopeful fishing tone.

  “No,” I said, watching his shoulders droop perceptibly, and then I continued. “This is the best stew I’ve ever tasted,” I proclaimed plunging my spoon back in the stew for another mouthful.

  A wide approving smile shone on his face as he dug into his stew almost as hungrily as me. Deciding to not stand on ceremony I ate like a pig, I even sopped up the remains of the stew with the last of the crust of bread which I have been told is very anti-Emily Post.

  “If you still have room,” he said standing, “I made strudel earlier today.”

  “Strudel?” I asked, wiping my mouth and hands with a napkin. “I like strudel”

  He smiled happily placing his dishes on the bed tray, and then picking it up he carried it into the kitchen area. I settled back into the bed letting the stew digest. I’d have gone for another bowl, but once he had mentioned it, I really wanted something sweet and that strudel sounded awesome. I watched him moving around putting things back in their places. My stomach gave another growl when he opened a small breadbox producing a pan of strudel then proceeded to drizzle icing all over the pastry from a copper cup.

  “What’s your name,” I asked inquisitively. “You know mine, but we have yet to be properly introduced.”

  The question elicited a change in my host’s manner. He stood stone still possibly contemplating the question or me. The last of the icing dripped languidly from the lip of the cup as the silence stretched on. Over the years I’ve found that if it takes a person more than a few seconds to answer a question they’re either reluctant to answer the question for reasons known only to that person or they are searching for a plausible lie to tell you because the truth might make you think differently about them. I was hoping that neither were the case here; he seemed on the surface to be a nice person. Of course if villains all wore black and twirled a pencil thin mustache between their thumb and forefinger whilst they did their evil deeds life would be a whole lot simpler. We would avoid the evil people in the world because we’d know them by their look. Unfortunately, we don’t live in a world painted from the palette of black and white. Our world is a muddled canvas covered in many shades of gray. Sadly, the evil people blend in far too well and are difficult to spot. Everyone thought John Wayne Gacy was just a normal guy that enjoyed dressing up as a quirky clown called Pogo until the authorities started finding the bodies, which I believe totaled thirty-five in all. That’s how it is with the truly evil people in the world; you don’t know they’re evil until it’s too late.

  He put the now empty copper cup on the block next to the pan of strudel. Taking a deep breath he straightened considering me with a half-hearted smile.

  “My name is Wilmar, but I haven’t been known by that for many years,” he said somewhat reluctantly.

  His hand lifted fingers roving over his face.

  “This face is not the face that I was born with.”

  That was an odd statement to make. What, did he get a facelift or something?

  “I’m sorry,” I said in reply. “But I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  He slammed his hand frustrated down on the cutting block. The force of the blow toppled the copper cup and made the pan of strudel hop a good inch in the air. My only thought was not for my safety, but for the safety of the strudel. - If that doesn’t prove I’m insane nothing will - I watched him wearily, hoping he didn’t go all Annie Wilkes on me. He sighed deeply, shoulders drooping. He moved sulkily over to a tiny bookshelf that I hadn’t seen before. On it were what looked like a dozen or so books. He pulled a thin book from the shelf before walking over to the bed presenting it to me. I took it from him examining the cover.

  The book appeared to be an old edition. I had no idea of its age; the faded worn hardbound book pages had yellowed over time. If I had to guess by the outdated method of raised letter printing I’d have to say the book was at least one hundred years old. The title of the book was familiar to me, though in German I could read it - Frankenstein or The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley - I’d read the English version of this particular book in high school. It was the first book that helped foster my love of reading and a paperback copy of it rested in the shelves of my own modest library at home.

  When my eyes sought out his, I found he’d returned to the pan of strudel, calculating eyes watching me. I lifted the book waggling it absently as I began to speak.

  “If I understand your meaning by giving me this book, you believe yourself to be Frankenstein’s creation,” I asked skeptically.

  Wilmar stared in my direction, a puzzled expression on his face, I rested the book in my lap waiting, the puzzled expression however remained. Did he expect me to scream in terror or bust through the door trailing blankets in my wake? He didn’t understand that I grew up watching movies like Night of the Living Dead on late night television or had nightmares about Freddie Kruger, Michael Meyers and Jason Voorhees. It wasn’t until Barnabas introduced me to the world I was destined to become apart of that I truly knew fright for the first time.

  “You mean wretch, monster or murderer don’t you?” He replied bitterly. “

  “No,” I said unapologetically. “I meant creation.”

  I lifted the book showing the cover to Wilmar briefly before returning it to resting upon my lap.

  “I’ve read this book many times and if you are who you say you are then I don’t think of you as any of those things that you mentioned.”

  His puzzlement deepened.

  “But I killed all those people,” he said remorsefully.

  “Yes, I know. I don’t agree with what you did, but you were obviously driven to it.”

  Wilmar looked absolutely dumbfounded.

  “This is what I know,” I continued. “And please correct me if I’m wrong. You were created by an ego maniac scientist from various parts of dead people and then were subjected to a means of resurrection that is still unknown to this day. After his glorious moment of creating life, Victor Frankenstein shunned you as an abomination. Now as you’ve said your name Wilmar doesn’t go with your face. That must’ve been a terrifying shock. Dying with one face, then waking with an entirely different one completely alien to your memories. You were vilified by the people of your day because of your unusual appearance, and when you asked your creator for a companion he refused. Then you embarked on a revengeful killing spree to rob Victor of all he held dear. When he was driven mad with guilt, you and Victor set out on an odyssey to destroy one another which led you both up here to the top of the world in which your creator died as a result of his own stupidity. Then you paddled off in hopes of destroying yourself on a funeral pyre.”

  I finished watching Wilmar’s reaction. He remained perplex and I believed that he really didn’t know how to react or respond. I again hoped he wouldn’t turn into a murderous lunatic. Since I obviously had an insane streak in me a mile wide I pressed on.

  “But something happened, didn’t it Wilmar? Something happened
that prevented you from killing yourself.”

  His head lowered and I thought I saw a tear trail down his cheek, but upon reflection the candlelight may have cast shadows giving that appearance.

  “I tried. I came ashore many miles north of this place. There was not much in the way of wood to build my fire and that fact alone compelled me to trek inland. After a few weeks I made my way to a place that had suitable fuel for what I needed to do. I set to work building my funeral pyre in the manner of the Viking funeral rites.” “Log upon log I cut and stacked, then when all was ready, I climbed atop the logs with a lighted torch setting the whole thing a flame. The fire raged for hours even burning the clothes from my body yet, I did not die.”

  He bowed his head shaking it regretfully.

  “When the fire had burned down to glowing embers, I crawled from the smoldering ashes hungry and dying of thirst.”

  He raised his eyes searching for mine.

  “I had not been killed. I had no burns upon my body. I failed trying to end my miserable life. It was as though death no longer had a hold on my mortality. As I lay there in the snow I thought that God was mocking me, as he has always done even before Victor Frankenstein made me into this,” He spat bitterly.

  I nodded sympathetically remaining silent as he spoke. I’m sure he’s had this all bottled up inside him for more years than I could count. He like everyone else on this planet needed someone to talk too. Even though I’m somewhat childish at times and selfish, I’m a good listener knowing when to keep quiet. I figured this was one of those times. I watched him sigh then quirk up one corner of his mouth into a smile.

  “By and by I overcame my hatred of The Lord eventually I got up from where I lay cold, wet and hungry resolving to take another chance at life.”

  “Wait,” I said interrupting. “How long did you just lie in the snow?”

  He snorted an embarrassed little laugh.

  “Perhaps a week maybe longer, I am not certain. But after coming to terms with my immortality I decided the best thing for me to do was make a home here so that I would not menace humanity any longer and for over a hundred years I have,”

  He smiled; relieved I think that someone actually listened to his story.

  “My fur suit,” - He pointed a finger to the drying furs by the fire – “Scares off everyone that comes my way which are rare occurrences. In your case though I could not in good conscious leave you to die in the snow,”

  He paused thinking for a moment then a wide wry smile came to his face.

  “Had I done that,” he continued. “I would have deprived myself of your company and your wonderful books.”

  I laughed which made my ribs hurt, but I didn’t care. It felt good to laugh.

  “You don’t get many books out this way, huh?” I asked.

  “No,” he said, depressed. “Being isolated from humanity has many drawbacks as well as its advantages.”

  He glanced in the direction of his modest library. His expression turned thoughtful however as he looked back to me.

  “It’s amusing,” he continued. “I was worried that you would have acted like all the others so many years ago. That you would look upon me with horror shrinking away afraid and terrified.”

  He grew silent turning away from me.

  “The only thing that I am afraid of is that you won’t be letting me have any of that wonderfully smelling strudel,” I replied, smiling.

  Then for added effect I tucked the bed sheet into my t-shirt under my chin. Wilmar turned back letting out a deep belly laugh as he returned to the pan of strudel serving it out on two metal plates. In no time he was beside me again handing me one of the plates settling into the seat beside the bed. We tore into our pastry as though these were the only two pieces of strudel left in the world. I’ve never been fond of strudel, - chocolate of any kind being my favorite sweets - this was very good and I told him so. There was a berry flavor I didn’t recognize, but it tasted an awful lot like raspberry.

  “My mother was a wonderful baker, she taught me everything I know,” His face brightened at some remembrance.

  “She taught me to read and write three languages as well,” a melancholy settled over him.

  “She was taken far too young, perhaps if she had lived a bit longer I would have not come to this,”

  His shoulders sagging again then I said.

  “You do realize that things have changed in the world and now a days you wouldn’t create the sensation that you would have so many years ago”

  He raised his eyes to mine. This time I saw tears in his eyes.

  “Really?” He asked, hope in his tone.

  “Yes,” I said chuckling though not in a mean way. “By today’s standards you’re tame when it comes to things that scare people. More people are afraid of the tax man than you.”

  He remained silent, yet interested as I pressed on, feeling glad that my foot hadn’t found its usual resting place, my mouth.

  “Even your size wouldn’t cause people to take a second look. The world is made up of people of all shapes and sizes with wild hair color, piercings and tattoos. This world is vastly different than the one you knew. Information is at one’s fingertips and technology, you’d marvel at what the world has accomplished.”

  Keying in on my words his eyes lit up. Wilmar stood moving to the table where my belongings were neatly placed. He picked up something then hurried back over to me. He took his seat once again opening his hand. I smiled when I saw what he had gotten.

  “Would you tell me what this is,” he asked eagerly. “I thought it might have been some sort of mirror or cigarette case.”

  “This,” I said taking the item from his hand. “Is an iPod Touch,”

  I pressed the top button, turning the screen to him. The little Apple icon appeared, his eyes growing wide with fascination. When it finished booting up I slid the “locked” bar revealing the home screen.

  “It plays music,”

  I pressed the music icon then scrolled down the play list selecting something at random. “Don’t answer me,” by The Alan Parsons Project began playing through the speaker. The volume was low because I mainly use my ear buds, so I turned it up.

  He listened with childlike awe, I wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated retro eighties music.

  “It plays movies,” I continued.

  “What are movies,” Wilmar asked intrigued.

  I smiled backing out of the music app selecting the movie one instead. I pressed the first movie I saw, Jaws. I turned the screen lengthwise so the movie would appear in wide screen. The movie was queued to the part where Sheriff Brody backs into the cabin of the Orca while staring fixedly out the window at a shark fin approaching the boat in the distance. Without looking at Quint - who is working on a fishing reel - Sheriff Brody, played by Roy Scheider delivered the now famous line, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat,” Wilmar’s eyes grew even larger as a giddy sound of delight passed his lips.

  “And you can even read books,”

  I backed out of the movie app and clicked on one of the three reading apps I use off and on. The book I’d been reading - the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams - popped up and I began leafing through the pages by way of swiping across the screen with my finger.

  “See,” I said.

  Wilmar’s childlike curiosity got the best of him. He placed his plate of strudel on the dresser, gently taking the iPod from my hands. I looked on with satisfaction that I was able to at least repay him in some small measure for his kindness. The iPod looked tiny in his large hands that he took great care not to damage.

  “How many books are contained within this device,” he asked excitedly.

  “Well,” I began. “It’s got quite a bit of space - I stayed clear of technical specs figuring it would be lost on him - so you could store roughly a few hundred books. More if you dumped your music and movies I suppose.”

  “How do I find the book selection,” he asked pressing the display li
ke an inquisitive kid.

  I briefly explained the iPod’s functions, which he picked up quickly going through the list of novels. It wasn’t a huge library only a few dozen books but there were enough to give Wilmar hours of enjoyment.

  “The glass face is so tiny,” he said unperturbed.

  “Yes it is,” I replied. “If you come back with us to Detroit my iPad would be more suited to the size of your hands.”

  Wilmar halted, his eyes deliberately meeting mine. He considered my words for the minutest of moments and then reluctantly handed the iPod back to me.

  “I cannot return to the world of men.”

  “It was only a suggestion,” I sighed as I pushed the iPod back into his hands. “I give this to you as a gift for your generosity and help, it is the least I could do.”

  He took it gratefully, like I’d given him a bar of gold, though I detected a tinge of suspicion lurking in his eyes.

  “Thank you,”

  “You’re welcome,” I replied. “You don’t need to worry about charging it as long as you leave it in the case. It has a charm upon it that keeps the battery charged.”

  Sleep rapped upon my door of consciousness again. It was probably a result of the great food coupled with the exertion of talking or it could’ve been my body’s way of combating the headache I could feel rising behind my eyes. The pain, a dull achy throb, grew more painful the longer I sat up. I closed my eyes resting my head back on the pillow. I felt Wilmar’s eye searching, trying to get a read on me. After a few moments he broke the silence in a soft voice.

  “I appreciate what you are offering me and it is a very tempting thought... But it is better for everyone if I stay here away from man.”

  I regarded him with half opened eyes. He stood placing the iPod inside a shirt pocket then collected the plates from dessert. His eyes fell on mine once again.

  “Rest now... You need to gather your strength for when you are ready to return to your friends.”

  He turned heading into the kitchen area. My heavy eyes closed as the haze of sleep approached. No thoughts were in my head, which was unusual for me, I was just numb, tired. Sleep finally took me and I was happy that it did.