The Man

Spring had finally sprung in the valley. Two nights earlier, he had decided to throw his mother’s annual party celebrating the rediscovered sunlight. When he had been a younger man, he had always enjoyed these parties. They were held in the conservatory mostly, to take advantage of the brighter skies above and the wet earth below. The lights of the valley spread out like tentacles below the privileged party. Soft music - always so soft it was like a faint whisper in your ear; his mother had abhorred shouting and revelry - wafted in from the sound system in the den at the other end of the house. There were lovely canapés and thick moist breads and fragrant trifles all made at the family grocery stores. Very few cocktails, naturally. After all, this village had once practiced strict temperance - in fact, it had been dry for years - and they had not moved far beyond their puritanical ways. At least his mother and her friends hadn’t.
But now she was dead. And it was his turn to throw the party. He had a caterer for the food, a gardener for the gardens, a party planner for the guest list and decorations. The list had really been the same for years, though. The wealthy, the local celebrities, the dying matriarchs and patriarchs. And a few of the younger eligible elite to set the tone for the next generation. He had met more than one of his old conquests at these parties. Women with bare shoulders and red lips who smelled like so many different flowers. They were drawn to him because he was handsome, and quiet and filled out his white dinner jacket better than the other foppish young men who had been invited. His mother had made sure of that. But they really loved the power they saw he would some day have. Not that he minded. He thought he would love the power he would some day have as well.
But now the day had arrived. The house bore not a single mark of the party from two nights earlier and neither did he. In fact, it was like it had never even happened. The same people had come and eaten the same food and remarked on the same flowers. But it was not the same. He was not his mother - and people were slowly starting to realize that. She had been boisterous and outspoken and charming. It turned out he was really none of those things. After a few awkward hours of small talk, he had retreated quietly to the den to sort through some c.d.’s and drink a little brandy. No one had taken notice other than Carolina Bennett, who had waited until everyone left, followed him down to the den and let her black strapless number fall to the floor while she watched him wordlessly. She was beautiful, different. Exotic but familiar. Thin but curvy, and brazen. Any man would want her. He had been slightly embarrassed for her.
He was to meet her for lunch today. Because he felt terrible for sending her away and because she was the woman he should probably think about marrying. His few friends were excited for him - she was the catch of the county, just like him. And she really seemed to care about him. So it was going to be terrific, he was certain.
Sometimes he wished he could be like the boy out his window, slowly picking his way up the hill and stopping just at the edge of his property. What freedom that must be. He had seen him a few times from his porch, wandering through the forest for hours on end. In fact, there had even been a few times when he had tried to encourage the boy to climb a little higher.
“Don’t worry about it boy.” He had called out just the other evening while enjoying a cigar from his mother’s seat on the porch. “No one will stop you if you’d like to climb a little higher.”
He had smiled and waved slightly, but had never progressed any further. What in the world was stopping him, he wondered? The man was not his mother. He was happy to see children using his forest. Perhaps she had given the boy a good talking to, and now he was nervous of coming too close to the house. Well, it needn’t be like that.
“Boy! There are some nests here for you to see. Come have a look.” He hadn’t meant his voice to sound so gruff. The boy just smiled and said nothing.
“Boy! I noticed some rabbits just over to the west the other day - go and see if they’re still there.”
Nothing.
He had tried again and again. As he and Carolina had begun their mating rites. As they had begun to look at wallpapers for the forgotten bedrooms in the east wing and copper fixtures for his ensuite bathroom. He watched the wet earth turn to dry cakey dust. The air had stilled around them, the whir of central air conditioning giving him chronic migraines as it had always done. But people like him didn’t open their windows for fresh air. Fresh air was for the poor. Carolina had teased him softly about his fascination with the boy.
“Leave him be, for pity’s sake. You’ve probably scared him away.”
But there’s no reason to fear me, he had reminded her. I am not my mother. I’m not like her.
Again, as the gloaming came to the valley and pink moonlight made everything fresh and foreign to him, his eyes fell on the little cottage.
I’m not like her.