Rose Garden: Chapter 19

Previous TOC Next

The Traces of a Dream

Pulled along by her quick-footed husband, Nanya ran up a gently sloping hill, brushing the hem of her skirt away from her ankles as she went. The wind blew hard against her face, and the golden hair she had so carefully arranged now came undone, strands clinging to her cheeks.

“Wait, wait… Snair!”

Her husband, red-brown hair tousled by the wind, urged her on with a cheerful “Hurry, hurry.” At last, the tips of her toes began to ache, and Nanya came to a stop at the top of the hill.

“What’s wrong?”

Snair was kind, always kind but sometimes he got swept away and did reckless things. Ever since they’d turned onto the northern path, it was as if something had possessed him, driving him to run forward without pause. Nanya simply couldn’t keep up with him when he moved so fast. With a playful pout, she flopped down into the grass and stretched her legs out in front of her, showing off her deerskin shoes.

“My feet hurt.”

“You can’t walk?”

“They really hurt, you know.”

Snair didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled her to her feet, then hoisted his young wife onto his back and started running again. The world bounced wildly, and she clung to his broad back with all her strength to keep from falling.

Today, Snair had said a friend was throwing them a small celebration for their marriage. Nanya had never heard the name Warren before, the friend he spoke of so fondly until now.

When they reached the edge of the northern path, just before the Oliva Forest, Snair suddenly came to a halt. He set Nanya down gently. She thought they had arrived at the friend's house, but all she saw before her was an empty meadow.

“Listen carefully, Nanya. I’m about to tell you a secret.”

Snair looked at her with a rare seriousness in his eyes.

“I want you to know because I want you to understand. What’s about to happen and about him you must never tell another soul. Can you promise me that?”

“Snair…”

Nanya crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Have I ever broken a promise to you?”

Snair smiled and took her hand. “Come with me,” he said, and began walking again. She followed, hand-in-hand.

Then, suddenly, a house appeared before them.

It was old, its bricks crumbling, its frame weathered and decayed. A house long forgotten. And yet, moments ago, there had been nothing here.

Startled, Nanya turned around. Behind her still lay the northern path, and beyond that, the Oliva Forest. But now, before her, this run-down house stood as if it had always been there. But it hadn’t. She was sure of it.

Confused and slightly afraid, Nanya hesitated. Snair, however, walked on, undeterred. Her vague unease transformed into astonishment the moment she saw the house’s garden.

It was overflowing with roses.

Red, pink, white, yellow every color imaginable bloomed across the garden like a chest of scattered jewels. They passed through that kaleidoscope of color until they reached the worn-looking front door. Snair knocked.

With a creaking groan, the door opened. A black-haired man, about the same age as Snair, stepped out.

“I’m glad you came, Snair.”

His left eye remained closed perhaps damaged beyond use. Despite that, his gentle expression turned toward Nanya with a soft smile.

“Welcome, Nanya.”

A gust of wind danced past, making Nanya’s golden hair flutter. The man’s lone eye gazed at her intently, almost reverently and though they had never met before, he reached out and touched her hair with a look of deep nostalgia.

“…Such beautiful, beautiful golden hair,” he murmured.

The wind swept through again.

Nanya hadn’t said a word yet. She didn’t know this man at all. And yet, a strange ache bloomed in her chest.

Maybe this man is terribly lonely… That was the thought that crossed her mind.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It was a gentle spring afternoon.

Her husband, rising from bed for the first time in days, had barely settled into the sofa when he curled forward with a deep, wracking cough. Lately, that kind of coughing had become more frequent. The fever too hadn’t gone away. They had the village doctor take a look, but all he said was, “At his age, and with a chest illness… well, it's difficult.”

Nanya’s grandmother had also died of a lung condition. It had started with a persistent cough, then came the fever and the bed-bound days, and before anyone could catch their breath, she’d been summoned to God’s side.

People were like that, Nanya thought. When the time came, they were called back to heaven. She knew that. She accepted it. And still, every day she prayed that her gentle husband might be granted just a little more time.

“Nanya, what’s this?”

In his hand was a small relief sculpture, no larger than a palm, carved full of roses.

“Oh, that? Eugene forgot it. She asked Warren to carve it for her, and then just left it here. That girl’s hopeless sometimes.”

Her husband chuckled softly. “Eugene’s always been a little absent-minded.”

Their granddaughter Eugene, red-haired, the only daughter of their second son Garth was very attached to her grandfather. Unlike Garth, who was cautious and easily frightened, Eugene was bold and headstrong. In that way, she resembled her grandfather more than her own father.

“She adores Warren, you know. She says she’s going to marry him when she grows up.”

“That’ll be something to see. If I’m still around by then… well, I doubt I will be. I haven’t got much time left.”

He let out a sigh, soft and quiet.

“Just yesterday, I dreamed about Grandma who raised me. She told me it’s about time I started preparing myself.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Nanya said, her voice sharper than she meant it to be.

Her husband widened his eyes and feigned fright. “Oh, how terrifying.”

“I married you, we raised children, had grandchildren… It’s been a modest life, but a happy one. My only regret is Warren.”

He looked past her, toward the open window, eyes distant.

“Ever since my chest got bad, I haven’t been able to travel. I haven’t seen his face in a while. I keep wondering if he’s feeling lonely.”

“You don’t need to worry. Eugene goes to visit him nearly every day.”

“Ah, that’s right,” he said, closing his eyes as if trying to see the memory more clearly.

Nanya had first been introduced to Warren, a friend of her husband’s who never seemed to age a week after their wedding. When she was told he was the child of a human and a demon, she had been shaken. There were nights she couldn’t sleep, afraid that God might punish them for the connection. But now, that fear had become something to smile about.

She had read countless fairy tales about humans who sought eternal life and ended in tragedy. When she was young, she too had wished she could stay beautiful forever. But now, she was certain aging with time was a blessing.

From the day they met, Warren hadn’t aged a single day. And now, Nanya couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Eternal life meant grief without end.

“Even if it’s a prayer from an old man, do you think God would still grant it?” her husband murmured.

“What is it you’d pray for, dear?” Nanya asked.

He only chuckled in response.

From the open window came the clear, high song of a distant bird. Soon, the roses they had divided from Warren’s garden would all bloom together.

Red, pink, white, yellow roses of every hue would fill their garden, their scent carrying on the spring breeze.

“When the roses bloom, let’s invite the children and have a garden party. We’ll ask them to help, and we’ll invite Warren too…”

She turned around, but her husband had dozed off on the sofa, his head bowed. A soft cough escaped him.

Quietly, Nanya draped a light blanket over his shoulders, then gently reached out and held her husband’s wrinkled hand in her own.

Previous TOC Next