Life Springs Eternal

Why was I born, if it wasn't forever?

— Eugene Ionesco, Exit the King

Nine times Anna Eilsner had killed Henry Robinson, but this time he almost didn’t deserve it.

Just one hour ago, Anna felt she had heard just about enough of what Henry had to say and stabbed him, decidedly quickly, directly in the heart with his very own steak knife. His opinions, while not totally his own, surely blamed on the values of his own time, had angered Anna. One of the few others she knew evading the fundamental truths of humanity, she was compelled to spend the occasional evening with him.

He is centuries older than me, Anna had thought, and has so much wisdom, yet his prejudices continue.

She had stood and left just as quickly as she could, exiting through the door of the formal dining room, leaving Henry’s townhome so abruptly, she managed to miss the doorman and wait staff on her way out the ornate front doors. Anna had hailed a Taxi, knowing her destination.

She had been reluctant but had no choice; she needed someone seen equal to Henry.

And always in this circumstance she found herself too often in, she began to reminiscence about her former life.

The daughter of a prominent Boston attorney, she had been single-mindedly following in her father’s footsteps, just finishing her undergraduate program. Anna’s plans were devasted when she Became. At that time, she had been in agony because she had known – even then - she lost her father, so beloved to her; lost her friends, so dear to her; lost her future, so irreplaceable to her.

Now, finding herself in the hidden underground of New York City, she could hardly believe her life ever existed. The cosmic joke that turned her made the adjustment to the community more difficult; it was a painful transition, but transitioned she had - the longing for her former life, now just a dull ache.

Anna rounded the corner of the gentlemen’s club seeing Jack. She felt surprised, he was uncharacteristically alone, seated in an oversized red velvet chair, his hand rested on the polished mahogany side table as he balanced his glass of scotch, Macallan single malt from decades ago, she just knew it. Approaching him she could smell the heady sweet scent of tobacco from the cigar he was smoking. Cuban, no doubt.

The dim light of the lounge reflected off Jack’s wavy honey blonde hair, slightly amiss, and the shadows made his angular features sharper.

“Those will kill you, haven’t you heard?” she informed him. Jack laughed, holding the cigar between his teeth, his bright blue eyes sparkling. Looking no younger than 32 years in age, she had thought him beautiful from the moment she met him; but, like the others, they were in the same reality, and yet eras apart.

“So I have, Anna.” Still grinning, he asked, “What brings to this side of town – not appropriate for a lady, or haven’t you heard?”

With a mock glare, she countered, “That’s a bit old fashioned.”

“Indeed.” His eyes followed her as she sat opposite the side table where he rested the crystal glass. As she sat, she marveled at how he brought the scotch to his full lips and took a sip, and lowering his drink, smiling charmingly, drawled, “Can I interest you in anything?”

“Uh, no thank you,” She stuttered unnerved. Her eyes darted around the club – surely no one had followed her.

“Anna, that’s not an answer - they have the finest single malt. Allow me.” He insisted and stopped a passing waitress. “Neat or on the rocks?” He asked Anna, turning to look at her, eyebrows raised.

The waitress leered at Jack, and he seemed not to notice, or care.

Realizing he asked a question, she stammered, “What – oh – rocks.” Jack frowned. Wrong choice, Anna thought. Then it occurred to her - he thought the scotch would be watered down when she decided to take a drink, but ever the gentlemen he put a smile back on his face and repeated the order to the waitress. Well now she had to start drinking immediately, but she wasn’t going to complain; it was for the best given what she had to tell him so she would drink the scotch and ignore that Jack’s gaze lingered on the waitress as she returned to the bar.

Anna was friendly with Jack, her sole companion to whom she could confide, she felt their friendship was an intimate one, but he favored double-speak, and truthfully, she had always been unsure of its purpose. If he had romantic feelings, he had never once been direct with her. Upon their initial meeting just a year ago, so new to this world, he had seemed the perfect 18th century gentlemen. Knowing him now as she did, his actions left her confused. As she looked up at him, she could only think, philanderer. The waitress returned, placing Anna’s scotch on the mahogany side table. She gave Anna a terse smile, “Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you.” Anna smiled but looked down as the waitress turned away. Jack shook his head smiling, watching the waitress walk back towards the bar. Anna swore Jack was two different men, and it made her uncomfortable.

Jack turned his light cornflower blue eyes back on her as he brought his cigar back to his lips and inhaled; as he exhaled, the smoke wafted to a fine hazy layer of the sweet tobacco around them, and Anna’s breath caught. Slowly he leaned back into his chair, and still amused said, “I’m shocked to see you here, but you do look like you could use some company.”

“Well, it’s just–,” Anna cut herself off, and started again, “I need advice, really.”

Jack leaned towards her, putting his cigar out, and sighed, “I must confess, these are not the words I expected to hear, Anna,” he admitted leaning closer, so close she could smell the scotch and tobacco on his breath. “Advice?” he inquired. “Advice on what, precisely?”

“I stabbed Henry Robinson with a steak knife at dinner…” and isn’t that just a Thursday. She kept that particular thought to herself, as she bowed her head. Once upon a time these words would have brought pure horror – and blood still made her queasy - but nowadays, this was Anna’s existence.

There was something that happened she felt, in the minds of the community that changed when they became immortal– something that could not wholly be explained by the eras in which these minds had been produced; no, it was something much more profound.

This was almost certainly why Jack laughed at her admission.

“Anna, darling – you look like you have given yourself a prison sentence,” Jack began to compose himself when he caught sight of her distraught expression. He leaned closer, until he was right next to her ear, and with authority in his voice whispered, “He won’t retaliate.”

Just one hour ago, Anna had been conversing with Henry, as she did every other Thursday night. A tenuous and largely political alignment, their relationship had always been leavened with a modesty on both their parts, the social mores of 15th century England – a ghost Henry carried with each word he uttered - were not immediately palatable to Anna’s 21st century values, but nonetheless she listened. The popularity he had amassed among the immortals was undoubtedly substantial. Her intentions were pure - she had little choice but to fit in with others; most days she tried to be kind and met the others’ opinions with grace. Being a child of the era of information led to different perspectives than her pre-21st century counterparts.

“Running away wasn’t a wise choice – purposeless homicides are uncommon,” Jack mused into his tipped glass, lulling Anna from her thoughts. He lounged back in his chair, cigar alit, and looking contemplative said, “Though, they have quadrupled, in fact, since you came around.” Jack looked up, exhaling the last of his cigar almost directly in her face, his eyes darting from her eyes to her mouth, he advised, “It makes you look guilty. If I were anyone other, I may have believed you meant genuine harm.” Despite the suggestive words, his tone wasn’t threatening.

“He’s insufferable,” she argued, her voice disbelieving. “And speaking with him -” Anna looked up to the giant crystal ceiling fixtures like they held the answer to a profound truth, and sighed deeply, “I don’t belong. I don’t want to be cast out because I can’t find common ground with one of your esteemed.”

“He’s Henry. Honestly, Anna, what are expecting to happen?” Jack smiled at her kindly. “He is six centuries old - he has not once expressed a mere wish to burn you as a heretic in the street.” Anna groaned, agitated and glaring, but Jack just raised his eyebrows, and offered, “My advice? Stay away from topics where you disagree -” he paused, running his left hand through his wavy silky hair, he told her gently, “He’s one of your esteemed to.”

At that, Anna picked up the scotch glass and drank just as quickly as she could. And then she coughed - it burned, but Jack was right, it was delicious. To his credit, Jack did not laugh at her, though it was clear he wanted to, and desperately. She was seething, too angry to be embarrassed.

“I should be grateful that he’s not campaigning to kill me?”

Anna looked up at Jack, his clear beautiful eyes measuring her began to morph from amusement to glinting in warning.

She was the one taking the risk, she knew. Every time she made a decision outside their cultural mores, she risked losing everything. There was nothing left in her old life, and there was no escape from the new one, but reconciling this attachment to Henry - formed out of his fascination with her and his willingness to befriend her, so that she might not be a pariah - left her unbalanced.

What will I do completely alone? The question crossed her mind many times, and the thought struck her with such existential fear, that she always put it back on its mental shelf, unable to cope with an emotion so powerful.

She shook her head but reframed her statement. “I can’t agree with a man that has no respect for me.”

“And perhaps, his opinions are more nuanced than you are wanting to believe?” Jack countered.

“You’re taking his side?” She asked him, her voice rising. She knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“I will intervene on your behalf with Henry. Although, I do believe that he will be quite infuriated. You promised that last time was – well…the last time,” he said. “This can’t continue to happen. I won’t continue to allow you to make sport of our own kind, especially your esteemed. Your circumstances are peculiar…”, he admonished, waving his hand vaguely toward her, “And you’re young, but still,” Jack’s voice steeled and as his blue eyes pierced hers, he ordered, “This will stop, Anna.”

Anna sighed and looked at her glass. “The scotch was really good.”

Waving over another waitress Jack said, “Another for the lady,” and with another charming smile thanked her.

Hours later Anna found herself seated at her kitchen table in her sizable studio apartment, slowly drinking the bottle of scotch Jack had gifted, and staring at the burning candle in front of her. It was nearly 11 o’clock, but she couldn’t bring herself to sleep, just as she couldn’t bring herself to regret her actions.

A year.

In her life, just over a year had passed, and the current situation with the others and their opinions were growing to be too much. She couldn’t get over the irony that her eternal life, on its current course, would not be eternal at all. She was forcing the issue, Anna knew, but she was not going to be the one to change. She had been altered into an immortal, but she would not make one more sacrifice to her own self.

“My advice? Stay away from topics where you disagree -” he paused, running his left hand through his wavy silky hair, and said gently, “He’s one of your esteemed to.” The earlier memory came unbidden to her.

And remembering his words, all she could think: No, I can’t, and he isn’t.

A life was not meant to be forever, and forgone attitudes were meant to be remnants, not crossing centuries in the way of a phantom.

Anna jumped when she heard a knock at the door, startling her from her reveries. She stood to answer it. Peering through the small hole in the front door, she observed Jack leaning against the wall outside her apartment, staring directly at her.

Anna unlocked the door, and not for the first time tonight felt surprised, he not been to her apartment recently. Shocked, she blurted out, “You scared the hell out of me.”

Eyebrows raised, clearly unimpressed, he asked, “Would you like to invite me in? I seem to recall doing you a favor tonight, Anna, yet you swear at me.”

“I wasn’t swearing at you.” She opened the door wider, beckoning him into her living room.

“Yes, well.” He replied. The sharp edge in his voice getting sharper. “In the general vicinity of my person.” He stepped into her apartment and glanced around her studio. His eyes surveyed her living room, looking to the couch, at the mounted TV; he looked over to the far corner, toward her bedroom, partially obscured by a paneled sliding door, and he turned finally to her kitchen, observing the scotch, the lit candle on the table. “I haven’t stopped by recently, have I? It seems there has been a bit of a remodel.”

“I have a few new things.” She gestured toward the living room, and Jack glanced at the panel again.

“Drink?” Anna imagined Jack had more than enough to drink tonight, but he seemed angry.

“Yes.”

Anna grabbed another scotch glass and went to join him at the table. He took the glass deftly from her hand.

Thunk.

The sound of the cork was thunderous in her completely silent apartment.

Several uncomfortable moments passed when Jack cleared his throat. “I had an enlightening discussion on your behalf with Henry. He seems to be considering a new perspective. He may even apologize to you but choose to hold your breath only if you would like.”

Translation, Anna thought, “I would apologize because I’m a gentleman, but you screwed up.”

“You –” Jack narrowed his eyes, and she took a sharp breath. Editing her words, she promised, “I will show more restraint.”

“You will have restraint.” His eyes were still narrowed, but in a lower tone told her, “I did not realize you were so aggrieved, but I am serious, Anna.”

Anna took Jack’s scotch, downed his glass, and grabbed her own. “Fine.” she agreed, slamming it onto the table when she finished.

Jack raised an eyebrow and smiled at her for the first time since he entered her apartment. “That was mildly impressive. If you had asked me to place a gentlemen's bet, I would have bet against you.”

“Bad choice for you,” And still upset, she jabbed, “Your gentlemen’s club is stupid.”

“What is it they say about old habits?” He grinned at her.

This time Anna did smile back at him, a genuine smile for the first time in a year. “Well, change is necessary, don’t you think?”

“I think that it’s wise that I attend dinner with you next week. Allow me to accompany you?”

Anna shook her head. “No. That’s thoughtful, but no. I can manage Henry myself.”

He was deciding whether it was wise to start arguing with her, she knew. He glanced down into his drink and pursed his lips, and then looked out the window to the city, and when he looked back to meet her gaze, all he asked: "Well, maybe a nightcap?”

“Not at the club.”

Jack chuckled. “I was thinking a kitchen table, actually. I believe I’m do for a tour?”

Anna didn’t respond. She was resting her hands together on the table, trying to keep her composure, and Jack placed his hand over Anna’s, in the way only Jack could, very lightly and restrained, as if the action was not completely appropriate.

“You will have a life among us.”

“Not in this era.”

“Perhaps a new era, then?” Jack asked, raising his glass.

“Perhaps.”

Nine times Anna Eilsner had killed Henry Robinson, and this time it was purely diversionary.

***

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