“So, you are the potion maker?” The woman sank onto a flimsy chair and got out a long slim cigarette.
“Suppose, I am.” The old man lit his pipe and held out a lighter.
She leaned forward to get a light and exposed her blood red lipstick and nail polish. “So, you can make a potion for me?”
He blew out a puff of smoke. “Lady, I was in business long before you were born. I know my trade. I can brew love, success, and prosperity. You name it.” He leaned back in his rocking chair and stared at her. She kept in the shadow but still, he could see fine lines and dark circles underneath her eyes which no makeup could hide. “Love. It’s the love potion you came here for.” He smiled. The chair made a little noise as he started to rock it back and forth.
She leaned her head back and let the smoke out.
“Yes and no.”
“Go on.”
“Do you have a potion that… kills love?”
“Anti-love potion, you mean?”
“Kind of. Yes.”
“Never heard of this one. Why do you need that? I can give you a love potion instead. Happily ever after and all that.”
“Just like woo doo?”
“Whatever.”
“No. I don’t want that.”
“Why? It works.”
“No, he does not want me back. There is nothing anybody can do about it.”
“Hello? That’s why it’s called a love potion. A few drops, he wants you back, he is all yours.”
“No, thank you.”
“Curious. Am I missing something?”
She looked down on the floor. “It’s against my beliefs.”
“Oh, ho, look at you, lady! Against your beliefs, you say?”
“Yes.” She leaned forward and looked straight at him. “I believe it’s wrong to put my will upon somebody else.”
“So, you prefer to stay miserable but be all righteous?”
“Yes.”
“Ha.”
“So, you don’t have it?”
“No.”
“So, there is no way you can help me?”
He stared at her for a minute. “No. I cannot help you, lady.”
She put out the cigarette and rose from the chair. “Fine. I am not going to waste more of your time then.” She turned around and headed to the door.
“I cannot help you but I know of someone who might.” He closed his yes and started to rock in his chair again.
She stopped.
“There is a man, an old… let’s say, classmate of mine; haven’t seen him for years, actually. We went different paths, you see. He might be able to help you out. But, I must warn you, I am not that much in favor of his… work ethics.”
She came back and kneeled down next to him on the floor. “How can I find him?”
He scribbled the address on a piece of paper he got out of his pocket.
“You will find him there but…” He held the paper back. “Are you sure that this is what you want?”
She closed her eyes. Memories of men she has met since she was left alone stood still: memories of their smiles and their eyes, memories of time she has spent with them longing for him. Memories of men with whom she could not escape the pain of not being with him. The pain, which has been tearing her apart.
She looked up at him. “I am sure. Please. That’s my only option.”
The man handed her the paper. “Good luck, then.”
She held her breath as she was peering into a dark landing lit by the sole bulb dangling on a wire from the ceiling. It gave just enough light so she could see the number on the door. She knocked.
“Who’s there?” She heard a man’s voice and said her name. “Know none of that. Go away.”
“Please, the potion maker told me you could help.”
“Oh, that old fart.”
She heard jingling of a chain and the sound of the door getting unlocked.
“C’mon in, then.”
She stepped in.
The room smelled like mold. It was cool. It was dark. She felt blindfolded until her eyes could see a big, almost empty space which looked like both a kitchen and a surgery room at the same time. The walls were of white tiles; there was a big white counter, a big sink in the corner and a stove with six burners.
“Don’t just stay here. Go, sit down on that chair.” The voice from behind commanded.
She slowly walked toward it. She could only hear the sound of her heels echoing on the concrete floor and her heart beating against her ribcage. She sat down on the very edge of a chair and held her purse tight.
“So, what do you want?” The voice questioned.
A bright light shot into her face so suddenly, she closed her eyes for a moment.
“What is there that the potion maker couldn’t do?”
She looked into direction of the voice but saw no one. “I am looking for something that kills love.”
“Oh, that… Hm.”
She heard heavy steps pacing back and forth.
“It is complicated. And it is going to be expensive.”
“I don’t care about the price as long as you can make it and guarantee it will work.”
“Oh, it will work, no worries about that.”
She heard the man moving something around on the counter.
“How much?”
He named the price.
She took a stack of bills out of her purse. “I don’t have enough here. Will you take a check on top of it?”
“Modern times hits in. A check is fine.” He coughed. “Still, this procedure…the thing is, there is no way to get rid of just one feeling. It’s either all of them or none. You choose.”
She looked down at her hands, at the stretched out bare fingers, and at the red nail polish. She straightened a lock of her hair, tucked it behind her ear. “All.”
“No joy, no happiness, no…”
“No pain, no loneliness, no anxiety, no more tears, and no more sleepless nights. I get it.”
“As you wish.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
“I will have to cut out your heart.”
“My heart?” She swallowed and reached for a tiny golden cross upon her chest. She held it tight.
“Yes, dear, your heart.”
“Will I still be alive?”
“If you can call it a life, yes.”
“Is it painful?”
“No, you will be asleep. When you wake up, you will have no feelings anymore.”
She reached for a cigarette. Memories of the past months swept through her head: endless pills and empty bottles; the silence of the dead phone; her shaking hands as she dialed his number; the breaking of her voice. She recalled his brutal honesty: “Don’t call me. Find yourself somebody else”. The words were still echoing inside of her. She recalled her quite submission to his will and her failure to go through with it.
She put the cigarette back. “Deal.”
“Are you sure? You are still young, you still can find...”
“Deal, I said.”
“Ok, I just wanted to make sure you know what you are doing.”
“I know. So, the check…”
“Leave the name blank.”
She scribbled the numbers, holding the checkbook on her knee.
“Where do you want it?”
“Just put it on the floor.”
She did.
“Done, then. There is just some preparation I need to do and we will have our little procedure on the way.”
She heard some noise, then a light above the counter came on and she saw an old man with long grey hair, his back crippled. He came to her, bent over her and looked straight into her eyes. “Undress and sit down on the counter.” He handed her a robe.
“You mean, undress…Here?”
“I will not look. I have my own stuff to take care of.”
He went toward the stove and turned on a burner.
She turned away, rashly undressed, put the paper-like robe on, and went to the counter.
“Ready?” He asked.
“Yes.”
He came back to her and gave her a steaming mug. “Drink it.”
She did.
Then, the light dimmed and darkness fell.
She opened her eyes. She was lying on the counter. She was shivering. Her only piece of clothing was the wrinkled robe. She sat up. Her head was heavy and empty. She looked around. Everything was blurry. She blinked her eyes. It was daytime already. She saw light fighting its way into the space.
She reached for her chest and felt a familiar beating.
“Oh, don’t worry, lady. The muscle is still there.”
She turned around and saw the old man. Now he was dressed in a green, doctor-like robe.
“How are you doing?” He asked.
“I am doing… I am doing… fine.”
“Perfect, then.” He gave her a glass with some clear liquid in it. “Here, drink it. I see you are freezing.”
She took a sip and coughed. It was icy cold.
“Drink, drink.”
She finished the bitter drink. It warmed her up from the inside.
“Better?”
“Better. Thank you.”
“Perfect. So, just you know, your surgery went well and here it is.”
He gave her a brown paper bag.
She opened it and saw something wrapped in a piece of fabric. “What’s that?”
“Your heart, of course.”
“My heart?”
“Oh, yes. What, do you think I am the one to keep it? It’s yours.”
“What am I to do with it?”
“Oh, you get to keep it. It might be not a part of you any more, but it is still yours.”
She got off the counter. “Where are my clothes?”
He pointed to the chair, standing in the middle of the room.
She took off the robe and left it on the counter. The light was streaming along her body as she slowly walked to the chair. She paused, spread her arms, stretched her back and started to get dressed.
He looked at her. “You’ve got a nice body.”
“I know.” She zipped her dress, got out a mirror and put lipstick on. “So, this is it?”
“Yes.”
She kept looking at him.
“What?” He turned away and walked toward the counter. “Do you want something else?”
“No.”
“Good bye, then.”
She took the bag and walked out.
She followed the path she used to walk with her man. Her steps were light. Her skin was radiant. Her eyes were bright blue. She smiled at the yellow leaves underneath her feet. She listened to the birds, carelessly singing above. She breathed in the air, so fresh and moist. Memories rushed into her head but they felt like snapshots of somebody else’s life. Life, she did not care about.
She walked toward a big hill with the rock on top of it. It looked just like a back of a huge turtle. It used to be the place she and the man came to. They used to stand on the top of it and dream.
Here she was now, rising above the rolling hills, above the grey roofs of the houses, above the great ocean on the north. She looked up in the sky and sun above her. She looked down at the pieces of life she used to dream about: a couple walking down the street, two cars parked at a driveway, toys left on the ground. She could hardly believe that this was what she had wanted.
The old man did his job well.
She came back down. She walked the familiar streets. She smiled, nodded to her neighbors but they didn’t seem to care.
She went to the park and headed toward a bench an old couple was sitting on, chatting.
“Do you mind?” She asked.
They fell silent, got up and left.
She set down on the empty bench, eyeing the couple strolling away. Something hit her. She glanced down and saw a red ball at her feet. She lifted it up. “Here you go.” She smiled and handed it to a kid standing nearby. He starred at the ball she was holding out for him, took it, turned around and ran away. She gaped.
“Funny, isn’t it?”
She turned and saw an older man sitting on a bench across the walkway.
“Funny what?” She asked.
“Funny how they ignore you. As if you don’t exist.”
She felt chills running down her body.
She looked at the man. He was dressed in a grey suit, he was wearing an old fashioned hat, and his black shoes were shiny. He rested his hand on a brief case next to him.
“Why do you think it’s funny?”
“Because, it is funny. Don’t you think so? If you do not have feelings it means you are dead. But if somehow, you are still alive, without them you cannot be truly a part of this world. Funny.”
She looked at her shadow on the ground getting longer, getting lost in between the shadows of the trees.
“No. I don’t think it’s funny.” She got up.
“Don’t forget you bag, young lady.”
She paused; looked down on the brown bag on the empty bench.
She picked it up, nested in her arms tight and gently, as if it was a wounded bird and stumbled away.
The man kept looking at her until she disappeared. “Poor creature. So young. So much yet to learn.” He got up, took his brief case and went the other way.
[+/-] show/hide this post
