8th Day - The Village
Reading time: 5 min
Photo by Fallon Michael on Unsplash
Archie had been up all night long to finish his masterpiece, and yet, when the village awoke, he was still in his study.
Marcus looked out the window and saw Archie’s car in front of the barn, covered in mud.
“Where’re you going? It’s early. Come back to bed,” Tiffany said.
“Do you know what day is today?”
She looked puzzled, but amused. “Do you?”
“Today is the anniversary of the day He left.”
“What’s an anniversary?” Tiffany asked.
“It’s exactly a year from an event.” Marcus had his police uniform on and was tying his boots.
“How much is a year?”
He glanced at her and grinned. For a second, he’d forgotten that villagers were not like other people. “It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s a measure for outsiders.”
“Why does it matter then?”
He stood again and stared at the barn. “That’s exactly what I’d like to know.”
Marcus walked down the village. The frost cracked under his boots, but the sun was already warming the patches of ground it could reach. He followed the pleasant scent of fresh croissant and bread, and when he got in front of the bakery, he saw Pietrus trying to comfort his daughter, who was weeping and crying uncontrollably.
“What happened, little pumpkin?” Marcus kneeled beside her, but the girl jerked free from her father’s hold and run inside the bakery.
“She found out about the Old Lady,” Pietrus explained.
“How?”
“Our dog, Max, escaped this morning.”
“Did he cross the bridge?”
Pietrus nodded.
“Do you want me to take him back?”
Pietrus jumped on his feet as if he’d never heard anything that outrageous before. “You’re not serious, are you?”
“I am. I’ve been in the village only a couple of years, it won’t be a problem.”
“How much is that?”
Marcus grinned again. “Enough for me to come back in.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Pietrus twisted his callous hands. “I don’t like risking someone’s life for a dog.”
“You’re not, I promise. It’s my decision, anyway.”
“Archie will never agree.”
“Let me speak with Archie.”
Pietrus took a long look at Marcus, then sighed. “All right,” he said. “But whatever Archie says is law. She’s sad now, but I’m sure another dog will cross the bridge soon.”
Soon, Marcus thought, must have meant absolutely nothing for that poor little girl.
He went to the barn, but before knocking at the door, he walked around it slowly, taking in every detail like a detective would do on the other side of the bridge.
The garden, as well as the greenhouse, had been ransacked of all the vegetables as if a hoard of wild boars had feasted there during the night. He could hear someone moving clumsily inside, the silence of the morning so utter he thought he heard someone chewing inside the barn.
Archie was standing at the very centre of the building: a big cucumber in his left hand with its top missing, and his jaw was working hard to chew and swallow it.
“Morning buddy, you alright?”
Archie turned, startled, but when he recognised the man behind him, he rejoiced as if he’d just won the lottery.
“Marcus!” He rushed to hug him.
He smelled of dirt, and sweat, and salad, and it was clear he hadn’t slept for ages.
“How are you doing?” Marcus repeated.
“I’m great, never been better. I’m finishing my portrait, I only have to place this last piece.” He showed the bitten cucumber in his hand. “Give me a second.”
He went back to the centre of the barn and that’s when Marcus noticed the carpet of half-eaten vegetables on the floor. They were masterfully laid to form a picture: the portrait of a hooded figure brandishing a scythe.
“Death,” Marcus whispered.
“Yes!” Archie shouted after he’d inserted the cucumber between a dark aubergine and a smashed cauliflower. “Death indeed. Revolutionary, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Marcus gasped, while Archie placed a friendly arm around his shoulder.
“I just need one finishing piece; would you help me?”
“Sure,” he said reluctantly. “What happened to your leg?”
Archie’s jeans were torn on one of his calves and blood was dripping on his bare foot. It seemed a nasty dog bite.
“This? This is nothing, nothing if my plan works.”
“What plan?”
“Follow me.”
They walked to the bridge. Archie was so excited Marcus was struggling to keep up with him. He stopped on the village’s side and looked across the river towards the green valleys with a smile. Marcus joined him a few moments later. He was a pragmatic man, not as idealistic as Archie, and maybe that’s why he couldn’t see the idyllic landscape in front of them when, right at the end of the bridge, perfectly visible under the sun, there were the ancient remains of a man and a dog.
Max and Jeremiah, Archie’s father.
“Do you know it’s been a year since he left?” Archie said.
“Yes.”
“Would you do something for me?”
“Of course.”
“Could you please take Max and bring him back to the village?”
Marcus sighed in relief. “I knew you were a good man. Pietrus will be immensely grateful. And your father would be proud of you.”
“I know,” Archie said; a tear appearing in one of his tired eyes.
Marcus held his breath as he crossed the bridge, wondering how it would feel to catch up with time. At the beginning it was nothing, then his muscles ached, his bones squeaked, his skin greyed, and he felt as if he’d been propelled two years into the future in one painful instant.
“Are you ok?” Archie asked from the village.
Marcus showed a thumb up, although he wasn’t ok, then picked up what was left of Max and walked back.
The dog must have been a century old when he crossed the bridge.
He passed the bones to Archie and cleaned his hands on his uniform. “Are you going to give it back to Pietrus?”
“No need for that,” Archie said, digging a hole in the ground.
“Why not?”
“Because I found a way.” He buried the bones and covered the hole with dirt as quickly as he could.
“A way to do what?”
“A way to make my father’s dream come true.” As Archie spoke, his skin flew off into dust, his skeleton became brown and broken, his clothes evaporated. The entire village fell apart, ageing thousands of years in a mere second.
Marcus stared at the doom all around him like a cow watching a tornado, and when it was all over nothing remained, apart from Pietrus daughter, still crying, but now in the body of a hundred-year-old lady.
