An Encounter or the Golden House

(The palace built by Nero, symbol of a tyrant's power and folly, had the name of 'the Domus Aurea,' or the Golden House. )

Being winter solstice the sun never stayed in place; soon as it climbed over the mountain to the south it began to descend in an eternal golden gloom, and cast the city in a thousand fleeting shadows.

Crossing the Green to catch the tram I chanced upon a strange man.

Ahead he dawdled with hands folded on back, like a distraught poet. Then suddenly he'd raise his head as if he'd finally found the rhyme, and launched into a stride, nodding and laughing-like to himself, only to stop dead again in some unnameable agony.

Normally I'd keep a distance from such a figure, but save for his disheveled grey hair the man dressed rather fastidious. Either a remarkably steady drunkard, I thought, or a member of the faculty from the nearby college.

At any rate he was in my path. My few attempts to overtake him were cut short by his sudden outbursts, as though teasing me in a slow chase to hell. And he was talking to himself, of which I only caught a few distinct words:

"Did she, or did she not?..."

Troubles of love then. I chuckled; hard to find flowers around this time, maybe a clover would do him. Then I heard the tram ringing outside the park's tree-shielded railing.

I sped up and was finally about to overtake the stranger, when he abruptly halted in the middle of my path and was nearly ran into by me. He turned, saw me in the eyes, and stumbled backwards.

"You? But...it can't be!"

In my bewilderment the man turned his face southward to behold the lingering sun. Before I could respond to his strange recognition he charged at me, distraught:

"Cut the trick! Tell me now - did I get that one? Give me a hint! I still got time, mind you! If only you know how close I was... so close!"

A few heads turned around us. I remained calm for he had clearly mistaken me for someone else, a fact the man himself realized in no short while; he apologized with slumped shoulders.

"But your eyes - how green they are!" He uttered.

Without me asking he began to speak about an encounter he'd had at a pub three days ago. Strangely he couldn't recall much else about this person's appearance except for the color of his eyes, green as gems. As he proceeded I noticed that his accent was good.

"So then, of course, when I saw you..."

The man was stammering and looked around as if being watched. The one he had mistaken me for seemed to be both feared and expected.

"And today marks the seventh day..."

There was no hope now. The tram must have just left the station. I'd have to settle for the next one, though I was suddenly not in a rush to leave now. I sensed in this stranger an adventure this city had always denied me, and I jumped on the boat not caring if my shoes get wet.

Turned out the stranger was equally ready to confide in me.

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It was seven nights ago at his favorite pub. A slow night; someone was sitting not far from him, quiet and with an empty glass. 'This won't do,' he thought, and he offered to buy the man a shot of whiskey, as was the custom.

They conversed and soon got on personal terms (though again strangely enough he had forgotten what the name was, 'except it was a funny one'). Now that he was at it he was able to recall more details. It was an outlander with an accent ranged anywhere from Portugal to Greece.

But it was the man's green eyes that struck him most; so fiercely bright that they made the rest of his face seemed darker.

He kept buying him strong shots, half mischievous and half out of pride, but his new friend was completely unaffected; he continued to chat in a low and steady voice that seemed to reverberate in circles.

Finally the outlander waved his finger at another shot:

'I have long heard this is the land of hospitality. Today you have proved it true, my friend.'

In return for his generosity the man proposed a game of coin toss.

'Make a wish, should you call it correctly. And it might just come true.'

'Well, what if I lose?'

'Then I'll take another glass of that wonderful whiskey, my friend.'

Of course he agreed with quite some enthusiasm; when you're drunk like that you'd agree to any childish game. He recalled examining the coin briefly before tossing and found it quite peculiar, for it had a small hole in the middle by design.

He called for head and he was right. He thought briefly and said he wished for a new pair of shoes; the ones he had were worn.

'The benefit of good shoes goes a long way indeed. Tomorrow you shall find a new pair from an unexpected place.'

He laughed and called head again. But this time it was tail. The outlander had another shot and praised it to be the best thing on Earth.

He demanded another toss; the other agreed. It went for tail as he called. This time he thought about women and demanded to have a good-looking wench tomorrow - along with the shoes.

The green-eyed man brushed a fingertip along the edge of his mustache. 'A challenging wish, but not impossible - with the help of a little magic.'

The outlander proceeded to explain how the magic would work. He can have any beautiful woman indeed, he said; anyone that fancies his eyes, just recite this line in heart: "on Christmas Day I await you at the Golden House," and she will return a clear signal to confirm it.

And why only one, when he can have them all? There's no constraint on number, the outlander said; however many women he had set eyes upon and had responded to the spell, will be his for one unforgivable night....

This 'Golden House', the outlander said, would be open to him on Christmas Day through a dream: one that goes on as long as he wants, and where he retains full control - unlike normal dreams, where the plate of turkey would explode into dust soon as one bites on it.

"And he promised to keep their clothes on, at first..." As he spoke softly his eyes squinted as if befuddled by the wind.

"So what's the catch?" I asked.

He seemed both irritated and relieved by my question.

"There's no getting away from it, is it? Well - first I had only seven days. There's eh... time needed, 'for preparation'. And then the total number can't be odd; if it's odd the magic cancels out in the end... And then it only works on those who have had impure thoughts themselves, so it takes two to..."

He admitted to being near piss drunk by that time and it was a miracle he managed to remember anything.

"Of course I took it all for a grand jest, a right heap of malarky. We parted ways on good terms... He said he'd be here for a while. I was convinced I'd seen him again, for it's a small town... things go around and then back.

"By next morning I'd thrown the whole encounter behind my mind. But noon came and guess what - a parcel at my door!"

It had a French address and turned out to be a gift from his son who had emigrated to France, and whom he hadn't seen nor heard for years. In an accompanied letter, he said he might get engaged soon, and missed his father terribly. This whole gift, he thought, must've been arranged by the son's mother.

"A kind woman," he said. "keeps a place in her heart for me, after all the troubles..."

Then as he opened up the package he felt the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

It was a pair of new shoes.

"Some sort of clairvoyant that man was, and what's more..."

At that word I recalled these fairy tales told by my great-grandmother, when I was young and the world was still filled with fairies and other magical beings.

"They fit very well too," he showed me the shiny shoes on his feet that were oddly in fashion compared to the rest of his apparel.

"There's no way, no way he could've known - luck of a draw you say? Well..."

I saw how this tale was headed: if the first wish came true, then the second wish with all of its elaborate magics and limits seemed suddenly plausible in a most tantalizing fare.

As the tale went, he decided to give it a try. Who knows? One in a million chance this might be real and he'd take a bet. He went out with a buzzing noise in his head and haunted the streets like a lunatic. The truth was it's no easy task just to pick someone to experiment on; she had to be close to perfect.

He almost gave up, when came a woman who looked a lot like his ex-wife. She had a pair of short boots on and was on her way home from shopping. Deep down he did wish for her to return, so he made up his mind and recited the spell as the woman walked past him. Just as he thought the whole deal was no more than a stupid prank, the woman suddenly stopped to redo her hair with bag between her legs, and as if noticed something, turned back and smiled quickly at him.

"Naturally there's no way to be sure... it was hardly a smile, and she must have felt I was staring at her back..."

He tried on a few more women, and it was not much different. They did respond, but in no pronounced way whatsoever. Just a little nod here and a faint glance there. Still he wanted very much to believe the magic. If only it were proved real - how his life would have changed!

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Then that night he had a dream, so vivid it was like living in another life.

It was the city again, but different; There was no sun like the sun had never existed, dark but wasn't quite the night he knew either; some sort of limbo. The city was forlorn, the pubs shut up with boards and trash dancing in the wind. Only the statues stood their ground, watching the empty streets with their unmarked eyes.

Saddened by the scene he straggled like a deserter, until he came upon a house with red door. Here the lights were on, and a guard sat in front on a little stool reading newspaper under the light.

He came forward and asked where this was.

'The Golden House, sir.' The guard spoken with an accent he hadn't heard in many years.

That name sounded a bell. He resumed his lucid self, but did not realize this was a dream. Then he was a little disappointed, for it was just a little row house.; he uttered that it was quite small for the name.

'The front is narrow but it goes deep. You will see; the owner likes to keep a low profile.'

Indeed now he began to hears lutes and great merriment coming from behind its windows. He wandered whether the owner was the same person as the outlander he met in the pub, and who were all these people and what this place was; but then it struck him that these were not the questions suitable for asking.

'Have you the invitation?' The guard was impatient. He stuttered as the guard took out a book and followed down pages with his finger:

"Uh-huh! I see, your name is on the list. But not yet. Nine days, sir, till you are permitted to enter." Then the guard closed the book and looked at him: "It seems that you have only invited nine other guests so far. That, mind you, sir, is an odd number. Just a friendly re-minder!"

The guard started humming a pleasant tune. He said something back but found no sound rising from his throat. Suddenly it started to rain and in moments the rain turned into a shower, and he was just standing there, unable to move or speak, but soaked in the rain like an idiot.

And he said to himself, "I wish I still have an umbrella..." at this the guard, seemed to have overheard his mind's mutterings, began to laugh and laugh, until his laughters were as loud as thunders... It was then he'd woke up in his own bed sweating as if running a fever.

That, the man told me, was when he fully knew what kind of extraordinary shite he was in.

"Perhaps I shan't talk about it... but who'd believe a word? I know for one that you don't. Tell me, do you think I've lost it..."

He followed a passing squirrel with his eyes and then turned to me, full of despair.

"Why? I've always believed magic is real." I said.

He reluctantly accepted my protest of innocence and moved on.

So ever since the dream that convinced him he had been hard at work to 'sign up' as many as he could. God! He walked on the streets with a hard-on like he's a teenager again. He'd never felt this way about women for a long time.

During the first few days he frequented the posh malls, quaint streets lined with boutique shops, tourist attractions, fancy restaurants, the colleges... wherever nice-looking females might gather in generous numbers.

He even spent half a day at the airport pretending to pick someone up, until he feared the security might suspect him with nefarious plots.

He kept an eye on the number; if the magic were real then so were the constraints. He had been very careful these past six days, he said. By the end of each day he'd always managed to make it even. The math was simpler that way.

Then by the end of the fifth day he started to feel jaded. There were only so many combination of types and he must have seen them all. For the first time in a while he went out to drink again, and afterwards lingered around, not wanting to retire so early. There he happened upon a group of giggling young women stumbling by in skimpy dresses, leaning on each other, heading north.

He followed them across the river and discovered another world after dark. Wholes streets were filled with the kind of women that he wouldn't lay eyes upon during the day, but now suddenly seemed most enticing. He started reciting the spell, time after time, and he had to be careful because it was harder to see whether one responded or not. He might have gotten a few real whores, he said, but then...

The night energized him so much that the sixth day was spent in a frenzied hunt, though the rain and gusty west wind had put a damper on his ambition.

On seventh day he realized that some of his more grandiose schemes would never come to fruition. Like the idea of going to a concert with a binocular, or flying abroad to another city, say Paris... But who'd know how far this magic reached? He decided it's not worth the risk after all. He'd have to settle with the scant offering of his own little nation.

So how many in total had him got then? It surprised me the man had no clue. Must be in hundreds, if not thousands, he said.

"But I didn't keep counting them all. When I'd got one I knew I'd need to reach two. And as soon as I reached two I knew I can start at one again..."

On the last day he decided to take a break. No more thought about another woman for now; he just needed to wait until Christmas Day and claim his prize.

He went for a stroll in the Green; the weather was not unpleasant with the sun peeking through its blanket from time to time, and the birds sang merrily. He walked with the same blissful, invincible air that Napoleon must have had after Austerlitz.

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What went wrong was a little while ago.

He was thinking of trying a nice restaurant later and having some seafood, when he saw a group of young nuns with their white coifs and black veils. Among them was a tall girl who was clutching a bundle of books to her chest, listening and nodding at her friends. In profile her thin aquiline nose was cut straight from a piece of untainted marble. Her eyes were almost gray in the sun, which through the leaves cast her in an angelic aura.

From the curve of her cheek he could readily see her swelling bare neck, the ripple of her vertebrae, and her hips full and tender...

So piercing and perfect force of an impression this nun had left on him, that all the sweethearts he had collected paled like stars to the moon. he must have her. The magic wouldn't work on them, he was warned, for their souls were supposedly unpolluted... but what if?

He followed the group. They were making to the tram. He focused on the tall nun, reciting the line over and over again for one small sign. If only she turned back to tuck her dress... But the tram was coming; the nuns hurried to the platform. He watched them getting on it. The tall girl stood by the door with her profile to him. The tram started moving. He went at it one last time:

'On Christmas Day I await you at the Golden House--'

Then suddenly she turned to look at him, confused; her palish lips twitched as if repeating the words of the spell. It was but a fleeting moment. The tram fled out of its stop and as the angle changed a trick of light worked on the door's glass and he couldn't see her anymore.

"It was just like any other... I was so certain at the moment, that she at last answered my call, but afterwards... did she, or did she not?"

So this was the man's great dilemma: a dark looking glass on top of an already elaborate maze.

"Away!" He tried to kick at the pigeons gathering around his feet. "Flying rats..." Just then I heard another tram's bell. The sun was disappearing down the row of houses to the south.

Since then he had been replaying the scenario over and over again, walking along the route where he had followed the nuns.

"Suppose she did? It'd be an odd number, and I'll need one more before the day ends. But if she didn't, I'd lose everything by adding another..."

I sensed that whatever little composure the man had regained during his regaling he risked losing again. Now at the end of his tale he had resumed his own self when I first saw him. What was worse, he seemed almost paranoid, looking over his shoulders on increasingly short intervals, no doubt for his green-eyed friend.

I proposed that he display his magic to me. It'd be a nice diversion, I thought, and I was almost sorry for his state of delusion. He too decided it was not a bad idea.

"But I must keep the number even at the end of it... I don't need another trouble right now."

We left the park and walked onto the crowded street. Near a pole a man was amusing a crowd by balancing himself on a unicycle on a stack of bar stools. Someone called out cheerfully every time he swung back from a certain fall:

"All right! All right!"

We joined the spectating. "See that one there?" My man made a faint gesture across the circle of the crowd. I saw a chubby American woman in green sweater and snow boots, almost like a Christmas tree with her kids around her feet like shiny wrapped gifts. She was really enjoying the trick and clapped her hands above one of her children's head.

"Now watch her as I do my part." His lips moved in a perfunctory way, like a priest who no longer believed in the certainties of redemption.

Then I saw the woman turn our way and smile, though she immediately turned away with that same smile on her face, surveying the festive crowd.

"You saw that?" He asked me.

"Not sure what I saw."

"Well, that's what I felt, at first, but there's a pattern. You'll see..."

Now he needed to find another one to balance out the odd number.

We walked on and turned into a smaller alley. Rain came and ended as abruptly as it started. When sun returned the street became sultry and squalid. Outside a bistro the musty menu lay bleaching. A young waitress came out carrying a stack of trays: a Sicilian beauty with a tattooed arm showing two dolphins in chase.

I turned to the man. He watched her with longing for a few seconds and shook his head.

"I can't allow any more inked ones in."

The next opportunity came in the form of a blonde with a black fur hat on her head. She was tall and slim, with saucy eyes and painted lips. She was waiting to cross the road, her feet strapped in sandals placed neatly side by side at the edge of the curb.

I saw that the man was again tempted. His lips were already moving, when the woman answered her phone and began to chastise her caller in a coarse foreign tongue. He frowned and signaled us to moved on.

Naturally the rest of the search didn't go well. Most women didn't meet his eyes, and those who did still managed to irritate him more. We walked past a shut gift store that hadn't opened for years; inside the dusty showcase an old Christmas tree stood forgotten.