The Glass Key: A Modern Folktale Read online

and preach it to the wind— I’m not about to see any light. However you may feel about it, Araminta, ten years have passed— and plenty has changed. I’m not the person I was.’

  Araminta leaned forward at this, an appeal on her lips, but the movement only caused her to cough, and she withdrew again, stretching out her hands stiffly on the arms of the chair while the fit passed.

  For all the time she had been resting, she had not yet quite caught her breath, somehow, so when she eventually replied, it was rather whisperingly: ‘You can read into it what you like— you may be sure I craved for meaning myself. There was no longer any rhyme or reason to my life— I was a bead in a kaleidoscope, and despaired of anything certain, or steady. I began to dream at night of emerging somewhere familiar, somewhere I once relaxed, and felt like myself; but those dreams always turned me on my head too, and filled the scenes I used to know with bizarre contrasts, and weird reverses.

  ‘Once, however, after many years, and many doors, I walked into a warm, tranquil-seeming space. It was light, and comfortable-looking, and there was the sound of an old-fashioned tea kettle whistling, out of sight. That sound was like a trigger to my memory— I don’t know why, since I don’t remember any such kettle when I was growing up, but suddenly I felt a pang for my childhood. Tears began to well in my eyes, and I had to lean against a windowsill to steady myself. Outside, there was a flourishing bed of borage, in bloom, and its blue flowers were nodding under the sash. I wondered why I knew the plant at all, and why it gladdened me to see it.

  ‘The kettle finished squealing, so somebody must be nearby, but she appeared sooner than I expected: an older woman, with greying hair and a calm, but slightly melancholy face. She smiled at me— which was so unusual that it interrupted my flight towards the door— and she said: “You’re here at last— I thought you’d never come! But you’re just in time.”

  ‘I froze, imagining she would suddenly realise that I was not her intended guest; but instead she reached out and took my hand. Her soft touch was the first I had felt for many years, and it was so amiable, so kind to be led gently, that I followed her into her kitchen.

  ‘“Just in time for what?” I asked, uncertainly, as she bid me sit at the table and poured a cup for me.

  ‘“I’m going to read your future,” she replied. “I know you’re anxious to know it— you’ve been looking for such a long time.” She drew some papers towards her, which were covered in charts and figures, and sorted them, but I made her pause by laying my hand over hers.

  ‘“Do you know who I am?” I asked.

  ‘“Oh, my darling, what a question!” she laughed, squeezing my fingers. “Who knows you better than me? Just because I haven’t seen you for a while, you mustn’t suppose I don’t think of you every day that passes. Do I know you! Why, I’ve your horoscope here, all plotted.”

  ‘“Is that how you’re going to tell my fortune?”

  ‘“Your future,” she corrected me. “Oh, I know your fortune already! And you know your misfortunes too well.”

  ‘“What do you mean?”

  ‘“Have you forgotten you how fortunate you were, on the night you were born? Well, I suppose you were very young when I told you about it. Look, this shows you the sky that evening.” She drew my attention to a complicated graph.

  ‘“You know the date of my birth,” I queried, “and the hour?”

  ‘She stroked my cheek tenderly, and called me her “sweet Araminta” as though amused at my ignorance. Then she pointed to a symbol on the paper. “Do you know what this means? It’s the constellation of Orion, who presided over your nativity.”

  ‘“Orion?” I queried. “That can’t be right.”

  ‘“Oh, but it is,” she assured me. “All the signs and planets deferred their influence to him, because he fell in love with you at once.”

  ‘“He fell in love?”

  ‘“It’s not so strange, is it? —though very rare. The stars aren’t subject to our course of time, my darling, and Orion could see all of you, as you were and would be, in that moment. He dipped from his sphere to kiss you, and begged the other heavenly bodies to forbear, and let him have you for his own. They all granted his wish; but Venus was fickle, and punished him in yielding. She ensured that, however much he adored, you would never love him in return. So he was disappointed, and has been hopeless of winning you ever since.”

  ‘It was delightful to hear her talk nonsense— you see, Sam, I learned all mine from her. But I felt so happy to be there, in her company, that she might have said the moon was under the sea, and the sun made of frost, and I would have listened. Besides, I had reason to be open-minded, and I was desperate to know what lay in store for me.

  ‘She continued with her anecdote: “You were blessed to have such an admirer, and that was your fortune; but all your grief since has stemmed from your indifference to him.”

  ‘“Is he punishing me, then?” I wondered. “Is that why I’m condemned to roam as I do?”

  ‘“I’ve no idea,” she confessed. “But let’s find out.”

  ‘With that, she began to interpret the astrological jargon, which often seemed to confuse her, though sometimes her face lighted with insight. It was all inexplicable to me.

  ‘“It’s baffling,” she concurred. “I can’t decipher why you’re bound to this wretched, outcast’s life— but I can see where you must go to find out.”

  ‘“Really? Where?” I was nervously excited.

  ‘“To the Bastions of the North, as far up as you can go, where the earth finally reaches the sky. When you get there, you must ask Orion himself to help you home.”

  ‘My excitement collapsed, and I stood up despairingly. “But how can I do that? How can I go anywhere I want to? I’m forced to follow where my key takes me!”

  ‘She also rose, distressed by my distress, and put her arms around me. “You will find a way,” she assured. “Your fate is more your own than you realise.”

  ‘I had started to cry as soon as she embraced me, and sobbed out: “Even if that’s true, how will I do it? How? How will I even know this place when I get there?”

  ‘“When you finally cross a threshold to find there are no more doors,” she said, “that’s how you’ll know.”

  ‘I entreated her to help me, to give me more advice, but she was powerless, and only soothed and kissed me, until my fit of tears passed. Then she hinted that I ought to set out sooner rather than later. I knew she was right; and in spite of frustration at this partial knowledge, I had more information than ever before, not to mention sympathy and encouragement. So I rallied, gathered my determination, and resolved myself to carry on.

  ‘I won’t bore you with our goodbyes. Having been so lonely, it was painful to leave her— but why she seemed to feel the same pang, I can’t explain. That she did, was right— my heart said so, and does now.

  ‘But I left her behind, of course, as soon as I unlocked her door and closed it after me. For some vain, foolish reason, I expected to find myself at these “Bastions of the North” straight away, but I was soon cheated of that hope— I was in yet another miscellaneous room— I can’t even remember what it was like. But now I had a new purpose, a new reason to keep on trying doors, and plying my glass key— I had two chances in a billion, instead of one: a door might lead me home, or to this high, northern place where there were no more doors— and they were better odds than I’d had to bet on before. But even so, my determination, my courage, weren’t invincible. Still more years came and went, with still more tantalising doors— leading to more rooms, more disappointing rooms, and rooms, and rooms. Endless rooms. And still, throughout it, as I’ve said, I had this sense of a missing piece, an absence, which I knew must be you, Sam. I can see you doubt me— I don’t blame you for it— but I tell you again, I continued to wonder about you, whether I would see you again, and what —whether— I would feel if I did.

  ‘Then, at length, I came across someone else who had more to say than the usual exclam
ations of surprise— another person who, rather than cast me out as an intruder, seemed to know me.

  ‘The latest door opened into a small, spare room, lit by a bare bulb from the ceiling. The walls were blank, but covered all over with dirty marks, as though grubby fingers had probed every inch of them. A thin, dishevelled man was the only tenant there, crouched and scrabbling in the corner; but he leapt to his feet in astonishment, naturally, on seeing me enter.

  ‘“How did you get out?” he demanded, looking me up and down.

  ‘“Out?” I queried, glancing around— there were no other exits— not even windows. “Don’t you mean how did I get in?”

  ‘“Yes, that too, I suppose,” he answered fretfully. “When I locked you out there, I locked myself in here by mistake— my key broke in the lock. Look, yours has pushed the snapped end out.” He pointed to the floor, where an odd scrap of metal had dropped.

  ‘“How long have you been trapped?” I asked.

  ‘“Ever since! I’ve knocked and beaten at the door— at the walls, floor, everywhere— but it’s been no good— I couldn’t escape. And now, after all that, here you are— which makes it all pointless.” He slumped down once more against the skirting board.

  ‘“Whatever are you talking about?” I pressed. “You don’t know me— you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”

  ‘“Don’t know you!” He gave a dry laugh. “I don’t know anybody but you, that’s the trouble! Don’t know you, indeed— don’t you know me?”

  ‘“No— should I?”

  ‘“Oh, yes,” he said, “in so many ways, yes. But you don’t even remember me.” He sighed, and seemed very despondent, in a surly kind of way.

  ‘I insisted curtly that he explain himself.

  ‘“We met years ago,” he muttered, examining the palms of his hands. “Your beloved fiancé introduced us— long may he suffer for it. I’ve known him since we were boys, but he was never a friend, we never knew each other— and it was just by chance that I laid eyes on you.”

  ‘“Well you must have changed a good deal— I don’t remember your face.”

  ‘“Why would you? I was nothing— an acquaintance at most. But I remembered you, and your face— I couldn’t forget it.” He looked up at me, but with a grim, exhausted expression. “I suppose I loved you, at first— but I was never handsome, or confident— I knew from the outset that I didn’t have a hope of getting you, even if I wrested you free of him. So I swallowed my feelings, and they rankled for a while, until at last they went sour.”

  ‘“I didn’t know any of this,” I replied, carefully.

  ‘“Of course not! That made it the worse for me. But eventually I learned to ignore my disappointment, even if I couldn’t forget. Then, when you finally set a date for your wedding, an opportunity came my way— someone whispered in my ear that I could do some mischief— and at the thought of that, I tasted the bitterness as sharply as ever, and knew I would. Besides, it was easy— easy to serve him right, and you right at once. Him for having you— and you for being everything I can never have. So I did it— I locked you out.”

  ‘I pressed the glass key in my fist as I gazed down on him— he had relapsed into a sulk. He was right— I was locked out. The key gave me access to everywhere, but I wasn’t liberated; I was as confined as he, though I could step over any threshold, and he was bound by one.

  ‘But that one, at least, need be an obstacle no more. “You’re forgetting your ins and outs again,” I told him, “but it makes no difference where you locked me. It can’t be helped now.”

  ‘“No,” came his answer, “now or ever. I was beyond help from the beginning— you saw to that, just by being you.”

  ‘I leaned down and shook him by