By Mona Bapat
The cool breeze strokes his face and engulfs his entire being like a hug. Stepping onto the cool grass with his bare feet grounds him, returns him to the present moment with peaceful surroundings. If Lob is to never end, then at least he has his home and garden. The roses are his family, his children, since he cannot have his own. Though he finds their view and fragrance quite poignant. They are a symbol of life on Earth: the closer you get to the beauty, the easier it is to see and feel the thorns.
Midsummer used to be his favorite time of the year. The longest day – it just seemed to exude happiness and possibility, that so much could be enjoyed with light well into the evening. Unlike the winter months that feel consumed by doom and darkness.
This is why every Midsummer from now on, his heart will shatter all over again. His favorite day of the year is now tainted with the biggest heartbreak he has ever known.
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He had to be old so that he looked wise. Otherwise why would anyone heed his commands? A beard, very wrinkled skin, very thin, and an old raspy voice. His size had to be in inverse proportion to his intellectual abilities – he must astound. John, the town surgeon, did not trust anyone he knew to follow in his footsteps, least of all his son James. Thus there was no other option as far as he could see, as much disdain and anger from James it may bring.
Forming the clay figure was the biggest challenge. The pottery lessons only helped so much with the fine lines and wrinkles – James worked meticulously to develop an old golem. His Majesty need not question that the new surgeon was real and capable with skill matched by no other. Neither should James – John dared not imagine what his son might do otherwise, if his father did not pass down the opportunity to him instead of some mediocre talent.
At last, after 365 days of effort, he was ready to be brought to life. “Good evening Thomas Lob,” John said.
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Lob did not know such beauty could exist. Her endless thick auburn hair glistened in the sun and fluttered with the breeze. Her graceful slender fingers held a book as if she was caressing it with love, her perfect pink lips pursed in concentration. Her white frock outlined and hugged her figure perfectly.
“How can you possibly approach her?” he asked himself. “She is a beautiful angel and you a short, wrinkly, scrawny man who might as well be an ogre.” As the breeze picked up, she lifted up her face to the refreshing zephyr and closed her eyes to feel it delicately dance on her skin. It was as though he was looking at a painting – this beautiful creature beneath the canopy of an oak.
As she opened her eyes, he panicked and quickly diverted his gaze and knelt down as if the grass caught his eye – he studied each and every unique blade. His heart was pounding, and a bead of sweat fell from his forehead into his right eye. With his left, he saw her white-robed figure walking away with her glistening hair fluttering in her wake.
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The next day, he brought a single rose from his garden to the park in the hopes of encountering this exquisite lady again. He meticulously picked the best rose. It had opened just the tiniest amount, darling, practically still a bud. It had a few green leaves and no thorns, which he carefully removed so that her perfect delicate fingers had no chance of being harmed.
As he approached the large oak tree in the back of the park, he saw her beautiful hair swaying and his heart jumped to his throat. She turned the pages of her book so gracefully and this day her lips seemed especially red, like the color of the rose he was holding.
He removed his top hat as he got closer to her, stopped, and said, “I beg your pardon Miss, I would like to give you this rose.”
“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. She extended her hand, in which he placed the rose. She smelled it long enough so that he saw her lovely, long eyelashes against the tops of her high cheek bones. She stood and showed to be the same height as he – they looked into each other’s eyes. “Thank you. My name is Sarah Cook. And who might you be?”
Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. This could not be real – it was as though he was floating on a cloud and watching it happen to someone else. “Sir?” she said. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m..I’m so so sorry,” he stammered. “It’s just that, just that, you are very very beau….beautiful and I do not know what to say.”
Sarah blushed and her brown, almond-shaped eyes twinkled. It was as if she had just stepped out of a painting except that she was more beautiful than anything any artist could conjure. “Did you tell me your name?” she asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry, it is Lob, Thomas Lob.”
“You are very kind Mr. Lob.”
“Please, call me Thomas.”
“Pardon me sir, but that doesn’t seem like the appropriate amount of respect to show someone so much older than me,” Sarah said, her eyes downcast.
“While that might very well be true, my guess is you are wiser than your years. Every time I see you, you are reading a book. And as I look into your eyes I see an endless ocean of knowledge and wisdom.”
Now Sarah was speechless.
“What book are you reading?”
Now it was she who was having an out-of-body experience, a surreal moment of being considered for who she was. Until then, she had only been complimented on her beauty. Yet here was this sweet man who noticed her love of books and desire to learn and ponder.
“Miss?”
“I’m reading Utopia by Thomas More.”
“Tell me about it,” he said.
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They walked around the park for five hours, which felt to him like five minutes. They talked about everything – literature, art, theatre, music, religion, culture, politics, their favorite foods, and even, in jest, how they might spend their time together if they were married.
By the end of this conversation of his life, he was in love. “Oh my!” Sarah suddenly exclaimed. “I’m late for supper – Father will be so disappointed. Will you meet me here at the same time again tomorrow?”
“Of course!” Lob replied, elated that she wanted to see him again.
“I’m off!” she said as she started running with book in hand and her thick beautiful hair trailing behind her. She paused quickly, turned, and blew him a kiss. He froze in awe.
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The next two months consisted of long afternoons picnicking and talking under her favorite oak tree. It was like he was in a fairy tale.
He owed John more than he could imagine for without him, he would not exist and he would not know true love. However, he did not know if John intended to give him the powers he had or if they just transpired.
He recalled John having a large garden behind his house that was completely unoccupied. What better way to use his powers than by showing gratitude with rows and rows of flowers?
He arrived at John’s house at dusk on cloud nine, after spending a lovely afternoon with Sarah. He knocked on the door while wondering why he was so nervous. When the door opened, his heart jumped in his throat. “Well hello Thomas!” John exclaimed. “How lovely to see you, come on in. My son James is here as well if you’d like to join us. May I get you some tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” Lob replied while trying to keep his nerves under control.
“Are you okay Thomas?” John asked. Was he? James was looking at him with such fierce energy. What was it? And why was it so?
He turned his attention back to John. “Well if you must know, I’ve fallen in love!”
“That is wonderful!” John said, almost dropping the tea kettle from excitement. However, James’ gaze was fiercer. Very unsettled by this, Lob was able to take just one sip of tea before feeling a strong rumbling in his stomach.
“I must be going. I just wanted to pay a friendly visit and give you my news.”
“My apologies,” said James. “I’ve been distracted. I’m happy for you too. What is her name?”
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Lob walked around John’s house to the back, did a smooth lifting gesture with his right hand, as though he were picking up a magic ball, and whispered “Thank you.” John now had rows and rows of lilies, daffodils, and roses.
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Sarah returned home on Midsummer Eve with a skip in her step – she felt as if she had been floating the entire way home. If this is what it meant to be in love, it was sensational and magnificent.
“I’m home Father!” she yelled and laid down on the table some wildflowers she had picked with Lob. As she started to put some water in a vase, her father yelled, “Darling, we have a visitor!”
James stood and removed his hat as Sarah entered the drawing room. “Hello Miss, my name is James Barber and your father has given me his blessing to ask you for your hand in marriage.”
Stunned, Sarah dropped the vase. Oblivious to the shattering sound and bits of scattered glass, she said “Father, I must speak to you.”
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Alas, love is not enough – there are other factors for a father to consider. The age of his future son-in-law and whether he can care for his daughter. While a surgeon is a revered position, the son of the former surgeon is closer to her age and can also provide for a family.
As quickly as love lifted him up – as though he were weightless and put at the top of the world – heartbreak brought Lob crashing down to earth, giving him emotional pain more excruciating than any pain he could have had if he jumped from the top of the oak.
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While standing in his garden and thinking of Sarah and James, his heart feels as heavy as the full moon. “The fault, dear James, is not in our stars but in ourselves,” Lob mutters to himself. He also marks the end of Merry England with this vow: “Henceforth, Midsummer Eve will be a time of reckoning for those who betray.”
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The author is proud to present this short story as a prequel to the play “Dear Brutus,” written by J.M. Barrie in 1917. This story began to form in her mind as she was preparing to portray the role of Lob in “Dear Brutus” at M.T. Pockets Theatre here in Morgantown, WV.
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