The fall of Arda

I wrapped the scarf tightly round my neck, making sure it was protected from the cold, and tucked the ends into my jacket. I had left my damn gloves on the kitchen table again so I thrust my hands in to my pockets in the attempt to keep them warm but I knew there was a fat chance of that happening. My breath misted the air in front of me and I trudged towards the town with my head down. It was only just past noon and I could already tell that the rest of the day was in ruins.

I cut through a field, the frost coated grass crunching beneath my feet as I avoided another pile of frozen cow pat. It was freezing out; too cold even for December. I flexed my hands inside my pockets and I could hear the crack of ice between my joints. I tried my best to warm my hands up; clenching them, moving them about, doing little finger aerobics in the pockets, hell, I even tried to hop over the next fence without exposing my hands to the open air, but the possibility of falling face first into a pile of cow dung made me consider the risks.

Halfway through the next field I feel a buzzing in the pocket of my new jeans. I stopped in my tracks, frozen in a dilemma while the phone vibrated in my pocket. I could pick it up, or I could keep my hands warm. Ah, but it could be an emergency, I told myself. Someone could be hurt, needing your help quite desperately. But then again, it could also just be Sal; and your hands would be back to square one. I weighed up the options over three rings of the vibrator and finally pulled the phone out of my pocket. I glanced at the caller ID, seeing “SAL” flash up on the merry blue screen.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

I could imagine it now. He had somehow scored a date with the stunning girl from our politics lecture and now he was calling me to brag about her fantastic chest or her ass or how she looks like she’ll put out. I flipped open the phone and pressed the answer button. Jesus.

“Hello?”

“Shut up you git, you know it’s me.”

“Always so affectionate aren’t you Sal?” I resumed walking, jumping over a dead crow. “How can I help you?”

“You know that girl from the politics lecture? The one I got the date with?”

I rolled my eyes. “No actually.”

“Shut it. You know the one I mean. Long blonde hair, black beret and those big round eyes?”

I sighed and shifted the phone to between my ear and shoulder. “What about her? She got a nice rack too or something?” I blew into my exposed hand, warming it slightly.

“I don’t know. She ain’t here man.”

“What?” I almost dropped the phone.

“I know! I’m sitting in this restaurant like a goddamn idiot. I’ve had like three glasses of water and the waiter’s giving me this damn dirty look!”

I arrived at a road and followed the path along it towards the town. I had walked this way hundred times before and I knew the route like the back of my frozen hand. A car went by, going too fast to stop on any ice on the road.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Look, are you sure you’re at the right place and everything? Maybe you got the time mixed up-“

“Jesse, it’s always the same with every girl. Midday at the Living Room. I take every damn girl here, do you think I’d forget it? Damn, this has never happened to me.”

It really hasn’t.

Sal was one of those guys who beat the girls off with a bat. He has a date almost every weekend, always with the bombshells of the classes we’re in. He always takes them aside when no one’s around and works his ‘special charm’ on them, as he calls it. I can’t understand it. I had known Sal for the best part of my life, and he wasn’t usually a smooth talker. Sure, he was a good laugh, but he used to be so nervous around girls. Then one summer he was suddenly able to charm the pants off girls, literally.

All the girls would always show up. Always.

“You still there?”

“Yeah yeah, calm down goddamn it. Are you sure she got the address right?”

“What’d you take me for? Course I did. I wrote the directions down for her and everything.”

“Did you write it right?”

Another car drove by, drowning out his answer.

“What was that?”

“Of course I did you damn idiot.”

I rolled my eyes again. “Look Sal, I’m not going to hang around if you’re just gonna insult me. My hand is killing me.”

“Fine fine fine. Damn. This sucks. How’d you handle being stood up so many times? This is just annoying me so-“

“Once, Sal. I got stood up once.” I smiled slightly, “And now so’ve you.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Sal? You hear me? Now you’ve been stood up once, we’re in the same boat.”

“Like Hell I am,” he answered, “she just walked through the door.”

I didn’t reply, my face had fallen.

“She hasn’t seen me yet. Jeez, she looks damn beautiful.”

“Are you done yet? Can I go?”

“And the cute little skirt she’s wearing, in this weather! Oh damn, she’s coming over.”

Jesus.

“Goddamn it, Sal, my hand.”

The line clicked silent, leaving me trudging forward with a phone to my ear and a face frozen into a grimace. I jammed the phone back into my pocket and wrung my hands together to try and revive them, all the while cursing under my breath.

I reached town about twenty minutes later, my hands still as cold as ice and my face beginning to feel the same. This was a small town, barely much more than a village and it had hardly any shops in it. It was also a damn sight farther away from my house than the other town is – a town with better shops, not to mention much more of them. I walked over to the building that held the only advantage of this little gathering of bricks; the train station. A direct link between here and the city, it just has to make you smile.

The girl inside the booth giggled at my rosy cheeks and I sunk lower into my scarf, taking the ticket quickly and trying to leave as fast as I could. She told me that there were delays on the line due to the frost, and the next train wouldn’t be for another hour. Damn.

I stepped out of the waiting room and looked around for something to do for the next hour. The town consisted of four streets branching off a circle, with the phallic town monument at the very centre. I circled it a few times, playing Mozart’s ninth symphony in my pockets as I looked up and down the empty streets in search for something to do. Two book stores stood on opposite sides of the street, their windows glowering at each other with new offers in an attempt to grab any customers who could potentially pass through this tumbleweed town. I had no idea why there were two bookstores in one tiny town, both selling the same wares and both trying to outsell each other in various prices. I meandered over to one, watching the manager eye me up through the window, checking to see if I was a potential customer, before I shot off to the other side of the road, laughing quietly to myself as I imagined the manager’s face.

I had been in here with Sal once, gathering books and pens before university started, and we had messed around a bit; signing the empty notebooks and drawing crude doodles before being hit across the back of the head with a broom and chased out by the owner. The owner wasn’t here today, a young boy stood behind the counter reading some trashy book, but I flipped my collar up just in case the damn fogie was hanging around.

I wandered to the back, running a finger over the multitude of rulers and pencil sharpeners that filled the shelves – being careful not to slice myself open – until I reached the notebooks. There were a few dozen of them, all piled on top of each other with stickers and labels proclaiming their price. I was feeling a bit playful, so I picked a few random books and switched the labels about. By the end of it a fancy leather bound book was the same price as a tiny plastic thing beside it. I looked behind me, at the desk boy who was still absorbed in Terror in the Orient, and I felt the coins in my pocket. I casually picked up a moleskin notebook and switched the price for a book that was less than a third of what it was worth.

The boy gave me a suspicious look as I handed over the change in my pocket, but he rung it up with no complaint. I hurried out of the store with the book tucked under my arm and sneakily acquired pen in my pocket. The train station was the only other safe refuge, so I walked there and spent the rest of my time standing alone on the platform; my hands tucked under my armpits and my thoughts whirring on what to write.

The train, finally, arrived. The door slid open and in my eagerness to get on I was almost run down by this old guy coming out. He mumbled something under his breath before pushing on, not even looking up or anything. I stepped on the train and sat at the first table I saw, throwing the book and pen onto the tabletop as I rubbed my hands joyfully in the central heating. Within minutes the train started up and I was on my way into the city.

When my hands had suitably warmed up I slipped the pen out my pocket and opened the first page, shifting position on the lumpy cushioned chair. The pen hovered over the paper for a few moments before I scribed in perfect cursive handwriting; The Life and Adventures of Jesse Sutherland, and after a pause, Esq. With a long flick of the pen I underlined it, curving the corners slightly to give it an elegant look. I laughed quietly to myself about how corny this was, but I turned to the second page and wrote (to the best of my memory);

It was a fine winter’s day on the farm of Mr Sutherland, and he strolled the fields at great length surveying his land. The sun was high in the clear azure sky, shining coldly on the frosted land below his feet. He smiled smugly at the amount of land he owned; laughing secretly at the men he ruined to achieve his wealth.

There were footsteps behind him, hurried and close together. He turned, his hands behind his back to face Lady Beatrice who pitter-pattered towards him at great speed. She reached him, out of breath with her young voluptuous breasts rising and falling from beneath her bodice. Mr Sutherland looked her up and down slowly, taking in the slim waist and exposed shoulders. Lady Beatrice’s already rosy cheeks turned a deeper red.

“Mr Sutherland, there’s-“

“Sir?”

She looked at her feet, embarrassed. “Mr Sutherland, sir, there’s a Lord Stevenson here to see you. He says it is quite urgent.”

“And he sent you out here to find me?” His voice was rough and incredibly deep.

“Yes sir. I’ve been looking for near on ten minutes.”

“You must be freezing!” He exclaimed, and pulled her close to him. She was startled at first, uttering a little squeal of surprise, before she felt Mr Sutherland’s strong arms and chest. He held her close, and she found her small frozen hands rubbing his muscular back under his jacket. She tilted her head up, the pale blue eyes looking meekly into Mr Sutherland’s deep brown ones.

“Come now, let’s get you out of this chill.”

“But,” protested Lady Beatrice, “what about Mr Stevenson. He’s waiting for you.”

“Such a ghastly man that can send a young woman like you out into the freezing cold? He can wait.” He looked around him, finding his bearings, “The stables are not far from here, we’ll go and warm you up a bit.”

And thus Jesse Sutherland was conceived.

I smiled over what I had just created. I span the pen round my index finger and pondered what to write next, letting my imagination run wild. My actual moment of creation was far less exciting; a routine wedding anniversary ritual is far less romantic than throes of passion in the stable. This Jesse Sutherland was going to be a lot more interesting, with adventures, pirates, and a good string of voluptuous women to experience.

Just as I turned to the next page, my phone went off in my pocket. I shifted position on the uncomfortable chair and contemplated leaving it to ring out. I could feel it buzzing happily against my leg, and I grudgingly pulled it out, glaring at the caller ID for a moment before flicking it open.

“Yes Sal?”

“Jesse? Is that you?” His voice was in a hushed whisper. There was the slightest hint of an echo coming down the receiver.

“Who else? What is it?”

“You sound different.”

“Whatever.” I twirled the pen round my spare hand. “How’s the date?”

“Amazing, she’s so sexy and interesting and, damn, that skirt.”

“Uh huh.” I threw the pen in the air and caught it seamlessly.

“Seriously, I can see her whole damn thigh and everything.”

“And? What’s so good about a thigh?”

“You have not seen this thigh my friend. And the thing is, she wants to take me back to her place for coffee.”

I stopped spinning my pen and sat up. “Coffee? As in the liquid kind?”

I could tell by the silence on the other end that Sal was shaking his head, smiling smugly at the thoughts that ran through my mind. Coffee. Coffee? Christ.

“Where does she live?”

“A flat not too far out. She says it’s a cheap taxi, and we’re leaving in ten minutes.” There was a definite echo this time.

“Sal, where the heck are you?”

“Cubicle in the guys toilets.” I slapped my forehead in shame. “I couldn’t let her know I was calling you man. That’d be so… uncool.”

Coffee for Christ’s sake.

“Where are you anyway? What’s that I can hear, your mum hovering or something?”

I looked out the window of the train, spotting a few stray houses springing up in the distance. “Nope, I’m on the train heading to the city.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Sal? You hear me? I’m on the train and I’ll be in the city centre I guess in abo-“

“What the hell you going to town for?”

“What?”

“What the hell are you going into town for? Why you coming in?” His voice was raised and almost angry. “Meeting someone or what?”

“I thought it’d be a good change.” I replied as normally I could, but I was pretty startled. I could hear Sal’s heavy breathing on the other end of the line, and I could almost see him run his hands through his hair.

“Christ, look at the time. I’ve been talking to you for ages. I need to go.”

And he hung up, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. I dropped the phone on the table and slammed my book shut. Bastard. I had known Sal for almost three years, and he had never snapped at me like that. Christ, that put me in a foul mood. I glared out the window for a couple of minutes before shifting position again. I reached my hand under myself and tried to push down the god awful lump that was causing a literal pain in my ass.

But it wasn’t a lump. I pulled a hat from under me, and I caught my bewildered look in the window reflection before I set my face straight. It was a fedora hat; dark brown (strangely matching my jacket), broad brimmed, with a dark – slightly squashed – feather poking out. I poked my hand into it, feeling the comfy inside and pushing it back into shape. It had the uncanny resemblance to Indiana Jones’ hat, except maybe a little flatter. I flipped it round and examined the inside label; A.S was written in barely legible blue biro. I laughed and examined the tip – the colour faded slightly after years of use.

I surreptitiously looked around the carriage, noting that the only other occupants consisted of two gossiping old ladies and a snoring vagrant. I looked round behind me and as I turned to face the front again I slipped the hat on, casual as hell. It sat snugly on my head, tipped forward slightly and casting a shadow over my face. I sneakily eyed myself up in the window, flicking the tip of the peak so it would tilt up, then quickly changing my mind and putting it back to where it was. I gave my reflection a small nod, from one adventurer to another as we both travelled towards the great city.

It was then I noticed the vagrant who was no longer snoring peacefully in the corner, but was looking straight at me, an eyebrow raised on his filthy face. I stared back at him from under the rim of my new find before looking down at the table. I could feel his eyes on my prize.

“Damn crazy freak.” I heard him say from under the shaggy beard.

I looked back up at him, but the Nazi had already closed his eyes to fall back asleep. I raised my arm and caught him square between the eyes with my bullwhip, striking him dead where he lay (his last breath sounding ominously like a snore) before I stood up and moved to the door of the train, my book tucked under my arm.

The train station was busy with people trying to escape the biting cold. They have the mentality that since the station had a three walls and a roof (three stories up) then it counted as being inside and therefore warmer – and no hanging icicle could possibly dissuade them. I stuffed my hands in my pocket, clenching them in the attempt to keep them as toasty as they were in the train, and kept the brim of my hat low down. I walked hunched low until I stepped out of the station and into the freezing sunlight of the street.

I took off my hat and stood up straight, breathing in the air of the city centre. I held the hat with the book and ambled down the street, head tilted up at the frozen blue sky that floated about the rooftops. I danced around cars and sidled my way through crowds before reaching the city square. I stood at the foot of the city monument, my eyes running up and down it in its glory. I flipped my hat on to my head and ran an index finder along the edge and fired it straight out; a makeshift salute.

My hands returned to their pockets and I walked off towards the Java Jug – a favourite coffee house of Sal and I. We had discovered it almost a year ago whilst looking desperately for a good place to find girls, and where else to find smart, sophisticated, easy-to-lay girls than a coffee shop? It was the most obscure place within walking distance, and we forced down our first cappuccinos with our eyes on a few well endowed girls in the corner. I went to the toilet and came out to find the girls had disappeared and Sal slipping one of their phone numbers in his pocket.

“You just gotta time it right.”

Lucky bastard. He scored more dates than anyone else I knew, and all of them short lasted; a quick fling with him and then out of his life. The furthest I ever reached was a goddamned kiss in a goddamn cinema, and here was Sal running to fourth base and back again in the space of a week. Right now, I was stuck by myself having coffee while he was off with that girl having coffee. Christ.

I ordered my usual and the barista gave me a quick nod before rushing off to turn various knobs and handles. I wandered over to a seat by the window and took off my jacket and scarf, but I left the hat on. I had the idea that it made me look older, more cultured, so I kept it on. Hell, if I had a cigarette I would’ve lit up; it would just fit the picture. I laid the book on the table and rested my pen beside it. I could imagine it now, me pouring over a weathered notebook with a pen on one hand and a cigarette in the other. The smoke would trail up and waft away when I shook my head, dismissing another idea. My hat would either be on my head or by my coffee (Irished up, of course) which I would drink slowly, making sure all the caffeine reached my hand as I scrawled down another best seller or cult hit.

I could feel my fingers squirming, so in a flurry of inspiration I threw open the book and scrawled the next few pages for my story. Jesse was a gifted child, brilliant when it came to the arts and a genius when it came to mathematics. He wrote poems and stories and solved algebraic puzzles that he found in books around the house. He had the potential to become something the world would marvel at and admire, but his father stopped it all. Shamed by his illegitimate son, he took every measure to ensure his failure. As such, the brilliance of the boy was quelled and he grew up to be a strapping young stable hand – shuffling hay with only the quaint chamber maid for company. It was a hard life, but he was hatching a plan to leave that dreadful place and run to the city to realise his dreams…

I was interrupted in mid flow by my phone again, buzzing happily in my pocket. My pen hovered over the paper, desperate to continue writing. My other hand slipped the phone out of my pocket, SAL flashing up on the screen again. I felt torn. For once I didn’t want to talk to Sal, I wanted to keep writing. I resigned with a sigh and flipped it open.

“What is it?”

“Oh man, that was sweet.”

I rolled my eyes. “Lemme guess. You scored?”

“Damn straight I scored. Have you ever seen me left hanging? I mean, damn, that was hot.”

Usually I’d be on the edge of my seat, pressing for details and urging him to tell me what was happening, but I really wanted to get back to my book. “Good. Are you gonna split now?”

There was a pause, I could hear someone chatting in the background. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

Pause, there was a small clanking sound on his end.

“You sure?”

“Yes, goddamn it.” I let out an inaudible sigh and took the bait. “Now why was it hot?”

“Ah man, she had this skimpy red thing on under her skirt – in this weather! – and she slid the thing down her legs all seductive.”

I pushed the bridge of my nose with my index finger and thumb. “Uh huh.”

“Then she was on top of me and pulled her top over her head to show this fantastic red and black number.”

I finished my coffee and signalled for a waitress to give me more.

“And she kept the beret on for me for Christ’s sake. Damn, it was fantastic.”

Truth be told, despite my foul mood towards him, I was pretty turned on.

“Anything else?” I asked, slightly more interested.

“What do you mean anything else?”

“She do anything strange or kinky?”

Pause. “You’re a bit of a pervert aren’t you?”

I laughed and swivelled in my stool, taking the coffee from the waitress. “Hey, you’re the one who bangs a new girl every week.” I looked across the shop and sipped my coffee. “There’s bound to be a good chance that at least one is into more…” I trailed off, my mouth hanging open slightly.

“Jesse, you still there?” Sal asked, turning a page in his newspaper and reaching for his coffee. At his table. In my coffeeshop. “What’s up?” he asked and took a sip from the mug.

I was speechless. “It’s, uh, nothing.” I stared at him under the brim of my hat. “Where did you say you were again?”

“I didn’t.” He smiled to himself. “There’s this little Italian place below where she lives. I’m chowing down on the most fantastic pasta right now.”

“In the city?”

“Yeah. Not the city centre though. She’s not rich enough to live there.”

“Oh.”

He closed over his newspaper and finished off his coffee. “Anyway man, I’d better go. I think they have something about mobile phones in here. They’re giving me looks. Catch ya later?”

“Yeah.”

He hung up and put his phone in his pocket before gathering up his newspaper. I turned back round in my chair and hunched over the table, my hat low as I pretended to be completely absorbed in the notebook. I heard him shuffle by, inches away from me, and I peeked from the corner of my eye as he walked out the door and strolled off down the street. My mouth was still hanging open – baffled at what I had just witnessed.

I sat there for a good ten minutes staring into space with the notebook lying open in front of me before I gathered my things. I slipped on my jacket, leaving the still steaming coffee at the table as I went out the door. The notebook and hat were thrown in to the first wastebasket I saw and I caught the next train home.