The Glass Key: A Modern Folktale Read online

choose, I only asked you to listen.’

  He had no reply for that, so grumpily snatched up the poker and stabbed at the fire to revive it, until she continued.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sam,’ she assured him, ‘I won’t labour you with every door and every room— suffice to say that my life, ever since, has been like this. There’s not a keyhole in the world that hasn’t yielded to my glass key, and I’ve had no choice but to keep on using it, keep on hoping to arrive where I started. I can’t tell you everywhere I went, or all that I saw. Often the rooms had windows, with views of streets, or gardens, or landscapes, or the sea— always opposite to what I’d seen before, or altogether unexpected. I’m sure I was never in the same building twice.’

  ‘What an exciting journey you’ve had,’ he murmured drily.

  ‘But I was lost, Sam— irretrievably lost, and alone. Sometimes I saw people, or met them; often they spoke languages I didn’t know; but even when I understood, how could I make them understand? I was an intruder, and worse, a thief— often I would find banquets laid out, freshly prepared, or kitchens stocked with food, and I needs must eat my fill. I made the best use of whatever I found, and if I was caught stealing from some woman’s closet, or curled up in somebody’s bed, escape was merely a locked door away. I’ve had adventures enough, yes— but for ten years together I’ve wandered through the world like a ghost— the ghost of myself.’

  ‘For ten years?’ he repeated, doubtfully. ‘Didn’t you ever meet anyone you know?’

  ‘Not until tonight.’ Once again she held her hand to the stitch in her side. ‘You must have asked our mutual friends, Sam— did any of them ever claim to have heard from me? Have you even caught the slightest hint of where I might have been? No— not a whisper— and now you know why.’

  It was true that her disappearance had been total— that no-one, in any way connected with Araminta, had been able to suggest to Sam where she might be.

  ‘You mean you haven’t had so much as a conversation with anyone in all that time?’ he pressed.

  ‘Only with strangers. You see why I’m so eager to talk now! I’ve pined to speak— to explain my absence, ask for help, find out what became of everybody I cared about— questions a dead woman might ask of the living, after a decade under the ground! Yours is the first familiar face I’ve seen, since John left me there in the lane.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ he returned. ‘You met me coolly enough tonight.’

  ‘There’s a reason,’ she asserted. ‘When I longed for people— desperately hoped that a door would bring me to my friends, my bridesmaids, even casual acquaintances who hardly knew me— there was one person I never craved— the one I ought to have craved most. Throughout it all, I never once missed you.’

  ‘You didn’t.’ He could not disguise the note of disappointment in his voice.

  ‘I’ve put it too sharply— you’re offended— but it’s important you know it.’

  ‘No— no. I’m not offended.’ He looked aside. ‘I already knew you hadn’t a thought for me— I resolved myself to that early on.’

  ‘But that was because you thought I didn’t care,’ she urged.

  ‘Are you about to tell me you did?’ He was forbidding.

  ‘I’m about to tell you that I didn’t, and that it was wrong. I missed not missing you. When I’d been used to confiding everything, sharing all my ideas, my silliest notions with you— it was uncanny, ominous that you never occurred to me, that I never wanted to see you, or wanted you at all. And more perplexing still— I never once dwelt on that terrible night, the pain I felt at losing your esteem, your affection— it was like it never happened to me. My heart wasn’t broken, and you weren’t in it. Of course I reckoned I must be mad— and the crazy tricks of the key were enough to convince me of it— but in spite of this, I was rational enough. Divorced from my own life, perhaps, and from you— but otherwise, the same Araminta.’

  His expression showed that he was resolved to appear unconcerned.

  ‘But it worried me, Sam,’ she persisted. ‘It worried me because it seemed worse, more dangerous, to have lost that essential part of myself, than to have lost my way in the world, and all the logic in the world besides. I searched through door after door after door to find my way home— but where was I supposed to search for my own missing emotions?’ She smiled exhaustedly, and coughed slightly. ‘That glass key fitted every single keyhole— except the one punched through my heart.’

  He cleared his throat impatiently. ‘Well, we’ve established that I’m nothing to you but an irritating loss of memory. Are you going to carry on?’

  ‘I was only trying to explain why finding you here, after all this time, hasn’t affected me more, considering my long loneliness— you’re a numb spot in my feelings, Sam.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he replied flatly.

  She chewed her lip then, as if uncertain how to explain further; but, from a survey of his stony face, she seemed to decide against straightforward explanation altogether, as useless. ‘I will carry on,’ she said at last. ‘I’ll tell you about the first real conversation I had during my roamings— I particularly remember it.

  ‘I unlocked yet another door, and stepped into a dark place. There was an open fire, like this one, though the mantelpiece was much grander. The flames gave the only light, and by that illumination I discerned a figure sitting by herself. It was a young woman— my own age, at that time, and very beautiful. Her hair was long and golden, and she was brushing it slowly. Before her was a pretty dressing table covered with cosmetics of various kinds, perfumes and such. The air was scented and rich.

  ‘She didn’t notice my entrance, so I quickly turned around to get away; but as I did, she must have heard my step, because she suddenly raised her head, and cried out in an excited voice: “Is it you?”

  ‘I had no inclination to speak, but she gave me no opportunity in any case. Leaping up, she grabbed my wrist— but then immediately let it go.

  ‘“Oh,” she muttered, wearily, “you’re not him.” And with that she slumped back into her seat, apparently frustrated and disappointed. In doing so, she stumbled against the edge of the table, and groped with her hands to ascertain where it was, before sitting. I gathered that she could not see; and now, examining her face more closely, it was clear that her makeup was clumsy, and uneven— she had no idea what she looked like.

  ‘Presumably she’d felt from my slim wrist that I wasn’t the man she expected— and this disappointment seemed to be so galling to her, that I lingered there, to sympathise, as she went on speaking.

  ‘“I should know better than to expect him by now, I suppose,” she complained. “And even if he did come, what would he find? What would he say?”

  ‘“Who were you hoping for?” I asked, tentatively.

  ‘She rested her cheek against her hand. “I’ve no right to hope,” she said. “I’ve never had that right— or any right to him whatsoever. But that hasn’t stopped me, has it? Hoping and wanting. I can’t help it— and he won’t.”

  ‘“He— he doesn’t want you in return?” I guessed. She was clearly pining for some lover. But my assumption was too cruel.

  ‘“Why do you say that?” she flared. “Why shouldn’t he want me? Other men do— other men would cross the globe for me, if I summoned them. Why shouldn’t he? Why doesn’t he? I’m as good as— I’m better—.” She stopped, exasperated. “Aren’t I as beautiful as she is? I believe I’m more so.”

  ‘“You are very beautiful,” I soothed, and flattery calmed her at once. “There’s another woman, then?” I probed, softly.

  ‘“There was,” she answered, with some satisfaction. “He was distracted by her— smitten, you might say, when I first met him. Even while he spoke to me, he was looking at her— in his mind’s eye. He was a silly, besotted boy, but I knew what I could make of him— I knew I could bring out the man. But she, she preyed on him, like a parasite, so that he doted on her, helplessly.”

  ‘“You and she were sworn ri
vals, I gather.”

  ‘A shrug was the response to that. “Who knows what she thought? I never met her. She had what she wanted— she had him. I doubt she thought of anything else. But it was sickening to watch him becoming such a dupe to her— I couldn’t bear it! I knew I had to rescue him.”

  ‘She scrabbled for her hairbrush and began on the blonde locks again; and as she did, a bout of self-pity returned. “You’ll say I shouldn’t have interfered. But you don’t understand! We were two halves of the same thing, he and I— I saw it at once. And without her dazzling him, he’d see it too. He will. I was right to act as I did! It was for his happiness as well as mine!”

  ‘My next question was: “What— what did you do?”

  ‘The brush paused in mid stroke. The unfocussed eyes were veiled for a moment. “I dealt with her,” she said.

  ‘“But how?”

  ‘“I took off some of that dazzle of hers. Come, come, you’re a woman, you know our weapons. I invented a lie— and a good lie. It was a deadly one, and his affection for her died as soon as he heard it.”

  ‘“He believed it, then?”

  ‘“Of course— or it wouldn’t have been a good lie. He believed, and he was free of her.”

  ‘“Free to notice you?” I said, and she simply continued brushing, until I interrupted again: “And has he?”

  ‘She sighed grudgingly. “I’ve been waiting here for him to come. Waiting and waiting. I used to sit at that window every day looking for him— all day and then all night, too— but I never saw him coming. Now, I— I’m sickened with it.”

  ‘She had gestured towards a curtained recess when she mentioned the window, and by some impulse I moved that way, saying: “How do you know he’ll come at all?”

  ‘Her voice was a groan. “He must. He must.”

  ‘“Perhaps he found out the truth?” I suggested, my hand on the curtain.

  ‘“How many times do I have to tell you?” she rounded. “It was a good lie— the best, because I didn’t speak it! I made sure of that— so it can’t rebound and hurt me.”

  ‘“Maybe, then,” —I hesitated— “maybe he really did love her.”

  ‘She screeched a denial to that, however, and hurled a pot of concealer in the direction of my voice. It hit the wall wide to the right of me, and smashed. “He is coming, he is!” she insisted. “Look for yourself! He may arrive any minute!”

  ‘Partly to move aside in case her future aim should improve, I dodged into the window alcove, and pulled the curtain open. I didn’t expect to see much, as it was late at night, but what I did see surprised me: there was no window at all. The alcove contained a large, wall-mounted mirror, which reflected the shadow of my own face, and the bright glow beyond.

  ‘“Well? Well?” she insisted, feeling her way towards me. “Do you see him? Is he there? Why won’t you tell me?”

  ‘I didn’t have the heart to tell her, of course, so I simply stood back to give her room. As soon as she was before the glass she began to squint and peer intently, as though trying to discern something in the far distance. “It can’t be long, now,” she murmured— and then I murmured something back— something non-committal— and crept quietly away.’

  Araminta paused, and Sam shook his head slowly. He was annoyed— at the content of this yarn, certainly, but also at himself. He had a rising, excited sense, throughout her narrative, of being charmed, of enjoying that old, familiar sound of her voice, those turns of phrase he had forgotten, the whole treasury of her conversation that he had once cherished so much. He began, blasphemously, to like her, as he had in former years —and he was outraged at himself for it.

  ‘Is this supposed to be some kind of parable?’ he snapped, testily. ‘Because if it is, you may as well go out