Copyright Oggbashan November 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
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I woke up with my head spinning. It took me a couple of minutes to work out where I was. I was lying on the tiled floor of the hall in my Victorian house, wrapped in a duvet with my head on a pillow. Beside me were a plastic bucket, a jug of water and a glass, with a packet of aspirins.
I raised my head cautiously and looked around. Yes, I was on the floor of my hall. How had I got there? And who had wrapped me in a duvet?
Yesterday had been the office Christmas party. I remembered going and the news that had delighted me. I would be promoted on the first working day of the New Year, as would be a few of my friends. We had been celebrating, and if the state of my head was any guide -- too well.
I began to sit up. That was unwise. It made my head spin. I looked along the hall at the familiar statue of Pandora. She was more than life size, about nine feet tall and a relic of my grandparents who had left me this house, far too large for a single man. Whenever I had visited my grandparents when young, my first act had to run along the hall and hug Pandora's legs, the only part of her I could reach.
I had spent hours sitting at Pandora's feet and talking to her as if she was a wise older sister. When I went through the stage of having an invisible friend, that friend was Pandora. She would always listen and give wise advice as if she was the sister I had never had.
Later, when I started work and moved from my parents' house to a small bedsit, I forgot about Pandora except for the few occasions when I visited my grandparents. That wasn't often because they spent much of their time on cruises or they might visit my parents. But whenever I visited, my hand would stroke Pandora's exposed breast. I wasn't the first to do it. Her breast was far more polished than any other part of her.
But today Pandora looked different. Was it the light shining through the stained glass above the front door? Her colour had changed from pure white marble. Her exposed skin seemed flesh coloured and her robe seemed blueish, a sort of faded pastel blue. And her hair? Her hair was black and glossy. It couldn't be. There was no black glass in the doorway.
I shook my head and winced as the pain escalated. But as I watched, Pandora adjusted her robe to cover up the exposed breast. That made me feel sad. I had loved Pandora's breast ever since I had been adult.
Pandora laughed at me.
"Missing it, Andrew? "She asked. "You've been seeing it and touching it for years, and a few seconds of it being covered is too much?"
Pandora couldn't be talking to me. She was a statue. Or was she? She seemed to be a real woman, a nine feet tall woman, but she looked and behaved as if she was alive.
"Thank you for cleaning me, Andrew. And I appreciated the flowers and your love."
When I had inherited the house, Pandora had been covered in dust and grubby except for her much caressed naked breast. I had found advice on how to clean marble and had done it slowly and carefully for many hours over a period of weeks. By the time I had finished the clean I knew every inch of Pandora almost as much as I knew my own body. I had installed spotlights with a switch just inside the front door. Every time I came in, I switched the spotlights on first to illuminate Pandora. I treated her as a household Lar, a goddess protecting the house and me. Several times a year I bought a bouquet of flowers to lay at Pandora's feet.
"Andrew? I think you should take two aspirin with water."
That sounded like the Pandora I remembered, giving good advice, I did.
Ten minutes later I felt a little better but I was still surprised that Pandora looked real.
"Today is Christmas Day, Andrew," Pandora said. "Please stand up, carefully, and come to me."
I stood up. My head was still spinning. I had to put a hand against a wall before I walked or weaved down the hall to Pandora. She opened her arms and hugged me. She pushed my head away slightly before uncovering her breast again.
"Here you are, Andrew," Pandora said. "You've wanted this since you inherited this house when you were twenty-three."
She pushed a warm soft breast into my mouth. It felt fantastic. Her arm wrapped around my head holding me tight before she uncovered her other breast.
"And this one you have never seen."
Her hands moved my head until I was sucking on the other breast. After a few minutes she ran her fingers across my face.
"You need to shave, shower, change and have breakfast, Andrew." Pandora said. "I'll still be here when you have, and I'll have a Christmas present for you..."
"A Christmas present for me, Pandora? But I haven't got one for you," I said sadly.
"You have. Just inside the front door," she replied.
I turned my head and winced as the hangover hit me again. Yes, just inside the front door was a bouquet of flowers. I remembered buying them at lunchtime, just before the office party.
"Off you go, Andrew," Pandora said. "You'll feel better afterwards."
She was right. I did, I still felt fragile but the pain had reduced. Was it the shower, or the aspirin, or both? But Pandora still seemed human, a giant human, but wholly alive. I picked up the bouquet and was going to put it where I normally put bouquets, at Pandora's feet. She held out her hands to take it from me and smelled the flowers appreciatively.
"Thank you, Andrew," she said. "You know the legend of my box?"
"Yes. It shouldn't have been opened and when it was, all the ills that afflict mankind came out."
"Yes. But what was left?"
"Hope."
"Yes, hope."
Pandora turned around, put the flowers down, and picked up the box that had been on the plinth behind her legs. She held it out in front of her and deliberately opened the lid. I looked but nothing seemed to come out.
Pandora laughed at me.
"You can't see hope, Andrew. It is an idea, not something tangible. I know what you hope for. It is Christmas Day and hope could bring you what you want -- today"
The landline telephone rang.
"Answer it, Andrew," Pandora said.
It was Sarah. She works at my office, sharing an apartment in a subdivided house a few doors away with two other women, sisters, from my office.
"Hello, Andrew. How are you?"
"Delicate, and recovering from a hangover, Sarah," I said.
"I'm not surprised. The three of us had to take you home last night. I'm sorry but we couldn't get you further than the hall but we left you with a pillow and duvet."
"Thank you, Sarah. I appreciated that, and the water and aspirins."
"They were Pandora's suggestions. We asked her to look after you. She did, didn't she?"
I looked at Pandora who smiled.
"You spoke to her?"
"Yes."
I couldn't understand how Sarah could have spoken to Pandora. Nor did I know why Pandora now seemed alive. She just was.
"OK, Sarah. Why did you ring?"
"My car has broken down and Anne and Rachel left early his morning to go to their parents."
