Authors: Gabriel Boutros
She’d given him a sad smile when she recognized him as one of her daughter’s classmates, although she couldn’t remember his name at first. She rarely shopped at this grocery store, she said, but happened to be in the neighbourhood because she’d taken many of Julie’s clothes to a thrift shop nearby.
She explained that Julie had been the youngest girl in the family, so there was nobody to hand the clothes down to. But there were always people who were in need, and she was certain that Julie would not have wanted her clothes to go to waste. She hoped she could bring a little happiness into the world, after the awful event.
It was then that Richard had decided that it would be good for him to volunteer at the thrift shop on weekends. He wasn’t so callow to think that helping out there would make up in any way for the harm he’d done. On the other hand there was little point in wallowing in guilt while not doing anything to make his corner of the world a better place. The thrift shop made a good, small, first step.
He just hoped that he’d never feel so good about what he was doing that he forgot to hate himself.
December 25, 2039:
Christmas Day fell on a Sunday. The temperature had been warming up in recent days and it had rained all that morning, turning the snow in the front yard into a muddy swamp. Green and red lights shone from inside the homes of Allen and Terry’s neighbours. Christmas decorations hadn’t been hung outdoors for years, and, as far as the eye could see, the predominant colour on the street was brown.
The boys had gathered in the living-room to watch White Christmas, one of the movies Richard had given Rollie. Janus woke up late and came down to find them gathered in front of the vid-bot, sitting quietly through-out the corny story, entranced by the sight of families walking and singing in the clean snow. Terry sat in the corner, wrapped in a shawl. Janus could tell that this vision of a happier, healthier world saddened her. They both knew what their world had lost over the years, but they said nothing which could ruin the innocent pleasure their boys were having.
After the movie finished, Terry, ably assisted by Richard and Francis, cooked a huge feast that would have done Uncle Joe proud. They ate heartily and tried to enjoy their time together, although it was hard to ignore Joe’s empty chair. Still, his absence had become the norm for them, although nobody would admit it.
Once the dishes were put away the boys began playing their new video games, and Janus headed to his basement office. There he loosened his belt and rubbed his full stomach, before sitting down with a paperback copy of Brave New World that Richard had given him.
His oldest son was on a nostalgia kick these days, but while Richard went looking for a past that Joe had romanticized, Janus was slowly getting used to his new life. He told Terry there were no more late-night committee meetings on Thursdays, and now he always came straight home after work. Terry told him he’d been working too hard for too long, and it was good to have him around the house more.
His fingers flicked the thin paper of the book’s pages, which he remembered reading when he was in high school. Back then they’d laughed at the futuristic advances the author had imagined, predictions which turned out to be wildly inaccurate. What the book did have right was an authoritarian form of government and all sorts of rules controlling people for their own good.
We got all the rules without the scientific advances
.
Pretty raw deal, if you ask me.
From behind his closed door Janus’s reverie was disrupted by the sound of commotion coming from the main floor of the house. Footsteps ran around, several voices were raised all at once and Terry let out what sounded like a small scream.
Christ! What’s happening now?
He threw the door open and ran up the stairs. Just inside the front door he could see his whole family gathered around like they were in a football huddle, with Rollie jumping up and down on the outside of it.
“What’s going on?” Janus asked.
The boys moved aside for him. Terry was on her knees, her arms wrapped around a tiny man sitting in a wheelchair and swaddled in blankets, with an oxygen mask covering most of his face. She turned and looked wordlessly at her husband, tears of joy pouring off her cheeks. Janus hardly recognized the frail figure that was Uncle Joe.
He was speechless. He took a hesitant step forward, then rushed to the old man, falling to his knees beside his wife and engulfing them both in his arms. He had to keep himself from squeezing too hard, as there was nothing but quivering skin and bone underneath the prison-issue blankets. Joe’s thin hand gripped Janus’s arm weakly in response to his hug.
“I am home, Allen,” Joe said in a hoarse, trembling voice. “I am home.”
Janus could find no words. He was surprised at how much emotion welled up inside him, and had to swallow hard to hold in a sob. Terry and the boys joined them in a gentle group hug, and soon everyone was crying unabashedly.
Finally they got up and Richard wheeled Joe into the living room, placing him in front of the sofa. Terry and Janus sat in front of him, blowing their noses, and laughing as their sobs died down. The three boys, wiping tears and snot from their faces, sat at his feet like happy puppies. For a minute, everyone sat gazing at Joe like he was a miraculous apparition. Terry stroked his hand with a loving gentleness she’d once reserved for her children when they were babies.
Janus finally spoke. Barely able to get the words out of his mouth, he asked what was on all their minds.
“Joe. What happened? How’d you get out?”
Joe turned his red eyes toward him, the happy twinkle that once lived within them long gone. He took several deep breaths, letting out a muffled wheeze from under the oxygen mask, and Janus leaned forward to make out what the old man was trying to say.
Joe reached out and squeezed Janus’s forearm with the little strength he had left.
“You, Allen,” he whispered. “You do this.”
Just saying those few words sapped all of Joe’s energy. His eyes closed as his head drooped onto his chest.
“Allen,” Terry said, putting her arms protectively around her uncle’s thin shoulders. “Did you do this? Did you get Uncle Joe out?”
About the Author:
Gabriel Boutros lives in Montreal with his wife and two sons. He was a defence attorney for 24 years. His first novel was The Guilty. Face/Mask is his second novel. He has also written a novella and several short stories. You can read about him and find out about all his fiction at: www.storiesbygabrielboutros.weebly.com