Gold Man

1

I sit here watching the cat.  He has big gold ormolu eyes and is still a kitten in his face, with his imagination aroused by the sight of a silk belt, wriggling.  He doesn’t seem to need true love - I poke him with a stick fondly, and he seems pleased.  But it just wasn’t enough, physical affection.  What I needed was the burning yearning within, fulfilled.  This cat doesn’t need true love; its instinctive drives are not to be in love.  But one day I realized I was different.  You’re perhaps sceptical, but one day I met ‘love at first sight’.  I’d read about it before, in Shakespeare, and always thought it something he’d made up.  ‘Love at first sight’: an instant recognition of love - a knowing of love, requiring no effort.   

It all began while I was walking in Barcelona. Something told me to linger, some pleasant, carefree feeling, telling me to look at what was around me and not care about time. I had no duty, no schedule, and no place to be, no time limit and could go and do as I pleased. It felt as if, all of a sudden there was no danger, no need to fear rape, robbery, hassle.  The air held me up, like a jelly, and it was tinged with a gold warmth, as, through the trees, the sun filtered down. It was the first time I’d daydreamed, in a long time, and I breathed so softly, I hardly noticed. I forgot myself.  

It was then I came to the gold statue. He was a king, or Spanish lord, standing on a cubed pedestal that was made of grey marble and the gold statue’s skin shone like brass and he stood up, proud and still. He had deep, dark brown eyes behind his gold skin, which were shining, and when he looked out, it was as if at a world beyond the people.   Then, a young boy stepped forward and stood at the foot of the statue, where there was a little box, which had been placed at the foot of the pedestal. He dropped a coin into the box, so that there was a chinking noise and all at once, the gold statue began to move! His arms seemed to melt out of their stiff pose and he began to bend forward to shake the boys’ hand like mechanical toy come alive, nodding his head and winking his gold-lidded eyes.

The people laughed and the boy turned his face, grinning at his mother, while his hand was being shaken by the statue, before hurrying to her side again, leaving the statue to resume its original, static pose.  I felt myself grin as I had done as a little girl seeing a game I liked to play, but waited, shyly.  I stopped, feeling the awakening of my own will. ‘What could come’ I had thought, ‘of dropping a coin into the gold man’s box too?’

I knew Gerald would never have approved and it felt scary, like walking for the first time, rewarding this gold man for his creativity and playfulness. The urge to drop the coin throbbed and throbbed but I clearly heard Gerald’s voice saying to me “another tourist being ripped off by a local” but I waited eagerly for someone else to drop a coin in his box.

I felt myself move to drop in a coin, even with the peoples’ eyes on me. I found that my hands searched for my purse full of coins with a will of their own. It seemed they moved of their own accord and then I threw the coin into the box, and looked up at the gold statue.   The gold man’s eyes flickered alive on hearing the chinking noise. I found his brown eyes watched me, and then, it seemed as if they were struck by a sudden emotion.

Their sparkling brownness all at once became intent and serious. Rather than shake my hand, his hands remained by his sides and his eyes simply watched me earnestly. He watched me for a long time and didn’t move. In fact it was a long stare, a stare that didn’t stop, rude and without cease. I thought that his eyes had become heavy, brown, and almost sorrowful and they watched me, too seriously, as if they’d been reminded of something stony and chill, something too serious and so deeply sad had been awoken by the sight of me.

Uncomfortable in the stony scrutiny, I stepped back and walked away.  He continued to watch me as I walked away, no handshake, and I felt a thud of fear by his look, as if I had opened a Pandora’s box, and now I wanted to get back to my hotel and hide from him so I took the path back to my hotel.    I felt deeply uncomfortable. ‘What was that look?’ I thought. It was so serious it made me feel afraid. I wanted to get away from it, for it seemed so dangerous a look that I felt vulnerable. He looked like one of those men in love films who had felt something deep and serious and painful. I thought it best to get back to my hotel room and lock myself away, but then, after a while of walking, I began to change my mind, thinking that the idea of anyone loving me at first sight was implausible, for I had pimples, and he couldn’t have been serious. The emotion in his eyes was so strong, it had to be a joke because I was barely able to keep Gerald loving me, he who had known my for nine years, and I began to decide that the brown eyes were just a joke. And I finally concluded that the gold man gave a handshake to the men, and for the women, he gave the ‘in love look’.

Telling myself that his look was a joke I decided to eat my fruit in the Plaça de la Catalunya.  There I began to wonder if Gerald was really ‘true love’.  He hadn’t wanted me to come to Barcelona on my own.  He had said before I left:  “It’s dangerous for a young woman travelling alone.  Men take advantage”     With Gerald, love was something like a soldier endured, a daily gruel but Gerald and I were pretty happy. And I believed the years ahead would be the same as the years that had passed.

Our flat was a rare, breathing soft place of a flat, with a candlewick bedspread over the bed with a mattress thick as a Victoria Sponge.  It reminded me of the inside of a box, our flat, within which I led a routine life, the walls protecting me from a chaotic and menacing outside world.  It had cream curtains at the window, that wavered softly, should it be a nice day and the window was open.  Outside there was a view of peaceful gardens and inside, gentle under my feet was a thick grey carpet, moss-like, and always the breathing of Gerald.  Whether sleeping, reading, cooking, Gerald was always there.  At night deep black burning buildings loomed in a burnt umber sky and I dreamed my dreams feeling secure that Gerald was at my side.   

When I left for Barcelona Gerald had been really grumpy.  

“I don’t want you to leave me?” I said. I put my arms around him, my big eyes calling for his affection, but he was stiff and cold, and so I ended up holding him, as if he were a float, and I was trying not to drown. His green eyes glanced at me, watching me, fixedly like pin pricks. 

“Bye” he murmured, tiredly, as if I were no longer his girlfriend anymore, but a stranger.  The bus swallowed me up in its soft vibration, and swiftly, it sleighed its away along the road, as if out of control, leaving Gerald out of my grasp. My arms reached out, but he had turned his back, and was walking away, without even a wave, and soon he was smaller, faraway, a man in just a suit and tie, now too small, even to see. I stared at the last speck of him, feeling as if he were falling down an abyss. 

“Fares please” said the bus conductor had said, looking at me. 

“Victoria please” I tried to say, but my eyes were tired, my face gaunt, and I had a wobbling voice. I couldn’t see. I didn’t think I would get as far as Victoria, as I sat there with tears in my eyes. Barcelona seemed impossible to get to. It seemed so foolish, suddenly, to be going on my own. I couldn’t believe I was doing something so stupid: travelling alone. It was like something impossible, something only strong people could do... not someone like me.  Our comfortable Islington flat had drifted further out of my grasp.

2

Two days later I peered over someone’s shoulders, and saw the gold statue again.  There he was again, dazzling gold, stood on his pedestal, motionless.  But not for long, for, at regular intervals, people were stepping forward, dropping coins into his little box, and he would move, shaking their hand and giving each one of them a warm smile, with his brown eyes. 

He was handsome, something very rich, in his being that anyone might feel cheered up, to get such a look from him.  From being so very far away, so very still, he at once, at the sound of a coin’s chink, gave off a glow, a flood of character, as something that came alive, from stillness, a butterfly, from its cocoon. 

I didn’t move.  I watched him, shy again, glad to be hidden from his view, by the many spectators, but, something held me, something kept me watching him, and when the people in front of me moved away, I was in full view of him, and if he should move his eyes my way, I knew he would see me.  

I wondered about the look he’d given me the day before, the serious look, and I was still curious, still curious to know why he had looked at me like that. So I waited, like someone doing an experiment, to see what would happen if he saw me again.   My heart beat a little, because I was afraid to see his face react again, and I waited, uncertainly, nervously, my face rather puzzled, amid a street of lazy, tired people looking about for something to do, beside drink, beside wander in the breeze.  I waited, for the gold man to turn his face, and when he did, his brown eyes fell on me, found me, and recognized me, at once. 

The eyes forgot, at once, their other duties, and aimed on me, as I stood there, amongst the crowd, watching him, with such a questioning look.  I frowned slightly as if I still hadn’t understood why he’d looked at me the day before, and still puzzled, had come back to find out.  At once, he signalled me to go to him, using his head, but I simply looked back at him in alarm, remaining frozen to the spot, self-conscious at once, and warily feeling the glance of the crowd upon me.  Their intrigue had spread, to involve me, and in their boredom, they looked at me, to see what my role was going to be in their evening’s entertainment.  

The gold man lifted his arm and waved me over, and while he did this, someone’s coin fell yet it was ignored by the man.  His main concern seemed to be me, and his attention was set upon me, keen now, to get me to go to him.  Instead of this, I began to shuffle backwards, fear on my face, and so the people began to chuckle, for, from his pedestal, the man stepped down, and began to tread his way, over to me, beseeching me to not run away. 

“Are you English?” he said.  I, as though dumb, nodded, looking afraid, like a deer, startled, in a forest.  “Are you here alone?” he said.  I didn’t answer at once, knowing that an honest answer would render me vulnerable... and perhaps easier for him to seduce, but after worrying, biting my lip, I found my head nodding anyway.  “Do you want to go for a drink?”  The people were still watching, as if it were all part of the street mime, and therefore their right to watch.  I wished they weren’t watching. I bit my lip, trying to decide what I should do.

Read the rest of the Gold Man by Keziah Shepherd, available now at Amazon Kindle