This is Not a Fairy Tale Read online

The story would have been better with popcorn and beer, but as it was, the old man moved over to the ancient kitchenette and made, with much clanging and muttering, a pot of tea.

  When he had finished mumbling under his breath about the sheer incompetence of disciples these days, and how was he supposed to get anything done when he was obliged to teach such imbeciles, he brought the tea over, handed me a crusty, chipped cup and looked at me severely over the top of his mug. I took a sip and sighed. This was undoubtedly the most amazingly wonderful tea I had ever had the pleasure of drinking in my life.

  “Right,” he said briskly. “It’s as simple as this. You have been chosen to go out into the world and teach our message…well, not just our message. The universal message.”

  I choked on my tea, and he shook his head despairingly.

  “Yes, I know,” he continued. “You wouldn’t have been my first choice either. But they do know what they are doing, and if they’ve chosen you, it’s for a good reason.”

  “Who are they?” I wondered aloud. “And what is their message? I mean, I don’t even believe in God, let alone angels or whatever the hell you’re talking about.”

  The old guy looked profoundly shocked.

  “How can you NOT believe in angels? They’re everywhere!”

  “Where, everywhere?” I countered. “Are they here now? Can you see them, because I sure as hell can’t?”

  He smirked at me.

  “Then you’d better get your eyes checked. Not to mention your parenting skills. Who do you think is taking care of your children right now? And why did you leave them with Mrs. Brinkley so confidently, you who never leaves her children with strangers? And don’t tell me that Mrs. Brinkley is not a stranger. She’s your neighbor, yes, but how much do you really know about her?”

  I thought about it for a moment. Effectively, Mrs. Brinkley was no one more than a little old woman who had moved into the apartment block just after I had. Our paths crossed when we went to collect our mail or throw out the garbage, but that was about it. She seemed clean, and she had a lovely soft air about her, but for all I knew, she could have been the devil incarnate. Or one of those dreadful witches who lured children into their homes and then sold them to pedophile networks for retirement mad money.

  “Haven’t you noticed how she’s always there, just when you need her? How many times has she given you a helping hand, without ever asking for anything in return?”

  It was true. The day I’d dropped my keys down the elevator shaft and found myself blocked in the lobby, unable to go out or in, let alone go get my spare keys from the super, Mrs. Brinkley had just happened to pop down to check her mailbox and was more than happy to loan me her pass key.

  Another time, when I was running against a pressing deadline, complicated by a sick child demanding constant attention and desperately waiting for a letter that hadn’t arrived, she came knocking at the door with the said letter, which had just happened to fall in with her mail. And when she’d seen the pale little face of my feverish daughter, she’d popped back almost immediately with a large mug of hot lemon and honey as well as a book of enchanting fairy tales that she proceeded to read to my child while I finished my work.

  Effectively, if an angel there was in my life, then Mrs. Brinkley might be one, but that was it.

  “No, no,” said the old man furiously, reading my mind again. “Keep looking! The guy who blocked your garage exit the other day so you couldn’t get out? He prevented you from being part of the huge accident that killed six people further down the road. And the electrician who shorted the power and made the blackout that lost you half your work last week? Well, didn’t you do a better job, starting all over again, and get a raise because of it?”

  He shook his head.

  “Honestly, miracles are wasted on you people.”

  I wasn’t prepared to concede him any ground.

  “Angels, shmangels. Kind people and strokes of good luck.”

  “Chicken and egg,” he shot right back. “Where do you think luck comes from? Or kind people, for that matter?”

  “OK,” I smiled winningly at him and he looked at me suspiciously. “If there really are angels, then why don’t they teach this great message?”

  I smirked triumphantly.

  “Why choose a dumb human when angels can use all their powers to convince the world of their magic?”

  He looked at me pityingly.

  “We’ve tried that, obviously. But you humans are an obdurate lot, and you just won’t listen. We’ve tried everyone from Krishna and the Vedic chronicles to Jesus and the Red Sea scrolls but you guys just won’t hear a word. We’ve thrown all kinds of miracles at you, and you haven’t even noticed. It’s very frustrating, enough to make you want to give up, really.”

  I laughed out loud, not very polite but given the circumstances (freaky old men reading my mind, mystical creatures postulating on my usefulness, a televised version of ‘This is My Life’), it seemed that a little impolitesse was acceptable.

  “Right, so you’re telling me that Jesus, Mohammed, Krishna, all the great prophets, were angels? Sent to earth to teach us all some extraordinary message?”

  The sardonic tone melted away as I realized what I’d said.

  “Have you finished now?” asked my strange mentor. “Ready to listen and learn?”

  I sank back, defeated and not a little confused.

  “As I was saying, we’ve used some of the best angels we have but it hasn’t done any good at all. Some of the marketing has stuck, but basically, you’re all still out there, making wars and mistreating each other. Not sharing the wealth of the earth. Spending your lives chasing after things while children starve.”

  He shook his head at the sheer hopelessness of it all.

  “There are only ten rules to follow, seven if you adhere to the simplified system. How difficult can it be?”

  He caught my confusion and scowled at me.

  “The ten commandments? The seven deadly sins? Don’t you know anything?”

  I did a quick count-off in my head. It was more difficult than trying to remember the names of all Snow-White’s dwarves. I gave up at six commandments and five deadly sins. Not too bad, and if I couldn’t remember the others, that was probably because I was so pure of mind that…

  The old chap slapped the table with the little book he was still juggling about.

  “Will you stop it? This is not a parlor game. It’s very serious. The world is going to hell in a hand basket and you’re the one who’s been chosen to stop the spread of Chaos.”

  By now I’d had more than enough. If I’d wanted to be ridiculed, I could have stayed at home and called my ex-husband. I had books of fairy tales at home too, and if there was one thing I knew, it was that fairy tales were just nonsense, nothing more than words put together to explain away man’s rampant imagination. There was enough craziness in my life without taking on the starring role in someone else’s fantasy life. Not to mention the fact that the old man’s metaphors sucked. I stood abruptly and made my way towards the door. The old man breathed out as if he was trying hard to keep his patience.

  “Promise me one thing,” he called as I reached the doorway. The gravity of his tone made me turn to look at him.

  “The only thing that we ask is that you watch for the signs. Just keep an open mind, because this is the most important thing you’ll ever do. Watch for the signs.”

  I closed the door to the tattoo parlor behind me and stood for a moment in the bright, late afternoon light before I looked at my watch. I’d been gone an hour – twenty dollars worth of babysitting fees - and I had nothing to show for it. I decided to cut my losses and go home. I’d had enough silliness for one day.

  4

  Dancing plates and

  big questions