A Fleeting Encounter
12 Days of Fiction 2019, Day 7
It wasn’t the best of lives, but Abdul knew there were worse fates. In point of fact, he had risen from the ashes to be a member of the Guild of Paupers. He paid his tithes and got the protection, like any other mendicant in town. Of course, you had to put up with the uncleanliness and general insalubrity, but the job was nothing but easy. Moreover, it was a job that allowed someone like him, from a different race and religion, to practice his trade here.
It was a fine evening, or so it seemed, since Abdul’s corner wasn’t in a particularly sunny spot. That would eventually arrive, Abdul hoped, for he wasn’t a young man any longer. But he couldn’t complain: his corner was on Church Street, which meant that people passed him by on his way to and from the church. That was excellent for business, since the general public loved washing their sins by generosity both before and after mass.
It was almost dinner time, however, and Abdul knew almost no-one would be in the streets for some time. He could take a nap for a while if he wanted to. And he did. He simply closed his eyes, legs crossed under his warm tunic, and allowed himself to drift off.
At first, Abdul thought it was a fly. Still a bit cold for flies at this time of year, but the little buggers never completely disappeared. And of course, they tended to ruin the best of naps. But the buzz intensified: perhaps it was a bee. Even rarer. But wait: it didn’t move like a fly or a bee would. The sound was fixed before him.
Abdul half-opened an eye, already fully alert, but expecting to fool a possible enemy.
He saw nothing at first, yet the sound was there, in front of and a little above him. And then a point of light appeared.
That was indeed strange. He opened both eyes.
The point of light grew. Abdul looked around him. He saw nobody.
There was a shape forming in the light. Something that looked vaguely human. Abdul didn’t believe in djinns, but he was starting to feel afraid. This he had never seen, and he had seen many things.
The shape coalesced into, of all things, a woman. A scantily clad woman, with floating red garments and gloves. A woman who came from Cathay or Zipangu. A woman who, Abdul noticed, was floating in front of him.
The woman spoke, but Abdul didn’t understand.
“Who are you?” he said.
The woman stared at him. She looked fatigued. She said nothing for a few seconds, and then she spoke again. Abdul discovered that this time he could understand her.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“Vienna,” Abdul said.
“Vienna,” she repeated. She inspected him and her surroundings, then spoke again. “Which year?”
“Sixteen hundred and sixty four, as the inhabitants count the years.”
The woman grimaced. Abdul noticed, for the first time, that eyes looked like two pits of black.
“Wrong date again,” she whispered. And blinked out of existence.
This is my entry for Day 7 of my 12 Days of Fiction 2019.
