Letter from Yesterday

By Geoffrey Angapa

A woman stood in the doorway, a faint light in the background outlining her form. She inclined her head, as if she would speak, but no words came, except a low, drawn-out sigh that, pitifully, faded with time. I heard the drop of a tear on the floor. She turned, her countenance concealed in shadow. A step forward and then another. "My love," she said, her voice touching the corridors of memory. I rose from the bed. She took a step closer. "Why do you weep? Our child needs you."—I said her name—"Shh," was her only response, placing a finger on my lips. Now I felt her in my arms; smelt the faint scent rising from her skin; felt the tenderness and swelling passion of her heart. Now she was fading; I clutched sadly, but resignedly, knowing the outcome, and the form melted away into the mists of time. I kissed her hand, softly, whispering her name; she faded and was gone. Despair took me and no sleep came.

 

Andrew lives in totalitarian City-9, where the rain never ceases, running a bookshop with his daughter and struggling to make ends meet. All goes on its usual dreary course, until a mysterious woman, whom trouble seems to follow, appears out of nowhere.

 

(Some content not suitable for children.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Geoffrey Angapa
• Release date: May 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201168964

Book preview

LETTER FROM YESTERDAY

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Letter from Yesterday

BY GEOFFREY ANGAPA

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© Geoffrey Angapa, 2020. All rights reserved.

Second Edition, published first in Nov. 2020

Cover designed with GIMP, using the picture Woman Silhouette Standing, Pixabay; and the font Cormorant Garamond by Christian Thalmann.

Version 2.3

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Contents

A View from Salton House

A Memory Come to Life

Rain, Endless Rain

Two Sides to a Window

A Ribbon

Trouble at the Bookshop

Esther

Charlotte

Link to the Past

The Silent Woman

Like Tears in the Rain

Stirrings of Shadow

The Shadow of Entropy

Solitude

A City Altered

Out of a Dark Corridor

Mrs. Rosewood

Mrs. Rosewood: Continued

The City that Rains

Off to Depot-3

On the Tracks

ARC1

ARC1: Continued

Vesper Cross

The Distance between Two Hearts

The Archives

The Garden of Eternity

On a Train to Nowhere

Letters from Yesterday

She—She at Last

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I

A View from Salton House

A woman stood in the doorway, a faint light in the background outlining her form. She inclined her head, as if she would speak, but no words came, except a low, drawn-out sigh that, pitifully, faded with time. I heard the drop of a tear on the floor. She turned, her countenance concealed in shadow. A step forward and then another. My love, she said, her voice touching the corridors of memory. I rose from the bed. She took a step closer. Why do you weep? Our child needs you.—I said her name—Shh, was her only response, placing a finger on my lips. Now I felt her in my arms; smelt the faint scent rising from her skin; felt the tenderness and swelling passion of her heart. Now she was fading; I clutched sadly, but resignedly, knowing the outcome, and the form melted away into the mists of time. I kissed her hand, softly, whispering her name; she faded and was gone. Despair took me and no sleep came.

WE pushed through the wooden gate and, climbing a short flight of bluish steps, rang the doorbell (picking Miss Daisy up, I gave her the honour of pressing the button). Shortly afterwards we heard footsteps drawing nearer: some latches were undone and the door creaked open. Before us stood a woman, perhaps in her sixties, who lowered her glasses to get a better look at us. Her hair was mostly white, but one could see the faint remains of yellow from the past; and, all in all, she possessed a dignified bearing, an upright posture, and a pleasant sparkle in her eye. Indeed, I thought her beautiful and rather charming. Drawing the door a bit more open, she smiled and said, Good morning. May I help you? Are you here to enquire about admission? She smiled at Daisy and raised her eyes back to me. For this young lady perhaps? and gestured with her hand.

We stepped inside and found ourselves in a passage faintly reminiscent of Salton House in the past. Most of the furniture was different and newer, as were the arabesque carpets, but the structure was the same, and I found myself absorbed, looking round. Taking note of this, the lady went on to say, A pleasant place, isn’t it? Our students feel quite at home. Luckily, there’s a bit of peace today, being Saturday. None of them actually stays here of course, which gives me a bit of quiet to go through my work, which, I assure you, is never-ending; but I can’t complain and wouldn’t have it any other way.

Is this a school now?

It is. Actually, was someone’s house a long time ago but went up for sale; and, looking for a new premises, we bought it, and it’s served us well ever since. Care to look round?

That’s all right, ma’am. This person, who sold the house?

Yes?

She doesn’t live here any more, does she? This is Salton House?

Yes, it is, and no, she does not.

Can you tell me more about her?

I can’t remember a great deal about her. That was many years ago. I do recall her being a kindly, pretty young woman, who lived all alone. Poor thing, I suppose she got tired of being in this large place all by herself. I remember, when I spoke to her, something seemed to be bothering her at the time, though she smiled and pretended otherwise. I knew, I knew then and there, that some pain lay at the bottom of her heart, and though she had recovered, yet it would always temper the loveliness of her smile. Her name was—what was it?—Eleanor? Can’t seem to remember.

Esther?

Why, that’s it. You knew her?

We did and remember this house as well. It brings back a mixture of feelings. We—well, we lost all contact with her a long time ago, though the time must have been greater for her than it was for us, and my daughter and I should dearly like to find her and see that she’s well. Our hearts will never be at peace otherwise.

I’m sorry to hear that. Come, can I offer you some tea? Mrs. Kemp, principal of the school, pleased to meet you. Smiling, she shook our hands. We introduced ourselves. Come.

She led us through a doorway to a sitting-room we barely recognised, so extensive had the changes been, and after a while came back with tea and biscuits on a tray, and went on speaking. So, you’re looking for Esther? Now, I don’t know her address off the top of my head; indeed, had trouble remembering even the name; but it’s possible—I make no promises—I’ve still got her details somewhere.

That’s more than we could ever ask for.

I’ll try my best, and start looking this afternoon. If I find it, I’ll give you a call. Can I have your number?

I gave her the digits and thanked her. You’re welcome, dear, but remember, I might have lost those papers. I don’t want you to be disappointed.

While we had tea, Mrs. Kemp reflected on her school and how things had gone over the years, sometimes better, sometimes worse, but always onwards. It seemed she desired someone to speak to and, from the manner of her speech, was unwilling that we should leave straight away.

You know, my boy, why don’t you tell me a bit more about Esther and how you two met? I’m quite curious actually.

It’s a long tale, ma’am, and a surprising one too.

Go on. I’ve got my tea and the time. She raised her teacup and smiled.

Very well. It was many years after the war.

The late, lamentable war?

It was just Daisy and me, and told her about my work.

My, aren’t you one any more?

Let’s just say I wasn’t for a long time.

All right, I shall be all ears now. Go on, and start from the beginning. Mind you, if I get lost, I’ll ask you to go back and cover certain points again.

Nodding with a smile, I had a sip of tea, and setting it down on the dainty floral saucer, took a deep breath.

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II

A Memory Come to Life

IT was a dark cold morning; the rain was coming down relentlessly, and umbrellas did little to shield one from it. Thankfully, I had left Daisy at home. A day like this would cause her to catch cold. Looking up, I saw the rain falling in thin straight lines. Looking ahead, I pushed on through the endless puddles, sighing as I felt my socks getting wet. Crossing Liberation Square, I directed my steps down one of the main streets in the metropolis and presently drew up before the doors of the shop. In no time I was inside, shutting the door and rubbing my hands together. Another long dreary day and eight hours before I saw Daisy again. There were no customers that morning, but City-9 was busier than usual, Civil Protection going to and fro in rather large numbers, and I wondered what was going on. For a moment I poked my head out of the door, but a C.P., drawing out his stun-baton, threatened me, saying, Get back inside, citizen. Get back! And so I did, shutting the door, but keeping my eye glued to the window.

In the distance, over the river, surrounded by a whitish haze from the rain, rose the Archives, the tall building always in the distance, seen from almost anywhere in the city, and where the powers that be, oversaw all. An ever-present sight, and a menacing one at that; but even as I looked at it, across the miles of falling rain, and the tramp of C.P.s in front of my window, as if out of a dream, there across the street, turning faintly to glance at the window, was Charlotte. The phone on the counter rang, drawing my attention away, and when I turned back, she was gone. Someone of a similar appearance most likely, but I felt a sense of loss which, reason said, was nonsensical. As I walked towards the phone, it stopped ringing and there came a rap at the door. I turned round, and stepping closer to the door, saw her face for the first time. Words left me. Time, itself, appeared to have been demolished. On either side of the glass we stood and ages seemed to pass. The rain, the tramp of C.P.s, the beat of our hearts, all of it ceased in that awful moment. It was just the woman in the window and me, our eyes bound together by some irresistible force. What her features were, I could not tell; for her eyes piercing into my soul, I felt that all was laid bare; that our hearts spoke, without barrier, the native language of Silence, the same silence that stretches between the stars, the silence between youth and maiden, man and wife. Vermilion spread across her cheeks, her brow, her nose; water was now forming in her eyes; a drop, collecting, fell from one; the spell began to break; and I felt I was being drawn back from some unfathomable depth and distance. The lady and I were back in City-9, standing on either side of the door. I neither knew nor cared who smiled first—but what I did know was, we were both smiling together, faintly.

I opened the door and invited her in. With a diffident glance, she nodded and stepped over the threshold, saying never a word; and I motioned for her to take a seat in the chair near the counter. She seemed reluctant at first and we both remained standing.

Morning, ma’am. How do you do? Saw you at the door.

She was silent a long while, looking round the shop merely and occasionally catching my glance. I—I wanted to know, sir, her voice quite soft, what is this place?

This? Well, this is a bookshop. Are you looking for any book perhaps?

Gazing round, her face grew increasingly scarlet each time I looked at her. No, sir, not searching for any book. My thanks.

I offered her a cup of tea. She seemed surprised by the proposal and, turning her gaze to the door, answered, Once again, sir, I give you my thanks but must decline. I’m sorry. I must go.

Are you all right?

Can’t speak. She turned as if to leave but half waiting for me to hold her back.

Won’t you tell me? I should like to help you if I can.

She turned to me; her eyes bore the marks of internal pain and agony. Hesitantly she answered: I think they’re looking for me and don’t know what to do. It won’t be long.

Who’s looking for you? Civil Protection?

We can’t speak; don’t know who’s listening. But yes, I think it’s them.

I paused for a while. I see you are in some sort of trouble. All right, you don’t have to tell me everything, at least not right now; but I want to help you.

Oh, Andrew. She burst into tears.

I was somewhat taken aback that she knew my name. Gently, I tried comforting her, caressing her on the side of her shoulder, while maintaining propriety. Come, don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right. She wept and embraced me fully. Oh, Andrew, you don’t understand, you can’t. But your kindness is as I expected. Thank you. I let her take it out for a while, the Creator having given us tears for a reason; then got out my handkerchief and slowly dried her eyes. There, good as new. She sniffed her reddened nose and smiled faintly.

Tea? I asked, and she smiled a bit more, nodding her head. All right, you sit right here and I’ll be back in a twinkling. Everything’s going to be fine, I promise. She nodded. Pressing her hand, I went off to the back room and, filling the kettle, turned it on. Part of me felt that, when I got back, she would be gone, whether it was from a real feeling or the conditioning we receive from books and films. As the water began heating up in that icy room, full of draught, my thoughts went back to the time when I first saw her, there in that window, all those months ago.

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III

Rain, Endless Rain

HALF-PAST FIVE, and what a waste of a day. Gazing across the city, I saw the Crushers in the distance, stationed silently, ready to strike fear into human hearts, or destroy large swathes of the city. One rarely saw them nowadays—the giant metallic structures that moved like spiders—but their appearance meant trouble in the not too distant future. Usually, they accompanied upheaval, change of laws, and, more often than not, loss of life. Shutting the doors, turning the locks, and pulling my coat closer, I made my way down the street, and looking up at the sky, realised that I had forgotten my umbrella: as usual nowadays, it always rained, throughout the day, throughout the night. At any rate, rain was the least of my concerns. Business had not been particularly good that day, and there were only a few credits left in my pocket. Turning left at the corner of roads 701 and 702, I drew up before the bakery, or rather shop 86, the cheerfully cold name of the place. All shops bore such names nowadays—it was considered an improvement; and besides, as the media was wont to emphasise, Change, change is always for the better.

Shaking those concerns out of my mind, I entered the shop, bought my bread—a loaf of which cost me three credits, bread having gone up—and left the shop with a sigh. The rain, too, had not abated in the least. One never got used to the perpetual rain, even folk who had been particularly fond of it before. Shop 97 came next, a general grocer, where, using one of the last credits in my pocket, I managed to buy a block of cheese. Apparently, it was Cheddar, but certainly did not taste like the sharp, crumbling cheese of my youth. Where was the use of complaining? Nothing tasted as it once did any more.

Musing on these things, and nearing the ruins of Carpendale Park, round the precincts of which disreputable characters often roamed, I thought I heard a voice calling out to me, but went on walking. Sir, sir, it came again, somewhat muffled, wait! Turning round apprehensively, half expecting it to be some ruffian, ready to mug, I saw instead that it was a lady of the town. Sadly, she was little more than a teenager and dressed in an array of clothes that modesty would have blushed at. Her hair was a mixture of pink and other colours, and dark make-up obscured much of her eyes. Can I come with you, sir? You’re lonely.

I’m sorry, miss, said I, trying to walk past her.

Half-price then. How’s that?

No, I’m sorry.

"All right, free then, just for you. Take me, take me home with you. Do what you want with me. Anything. Use me."

"No, miss, no. I’m sorry."

You’re married, is that it?

I did not answer but went on walking. She lowered her head and began to walk away sadly, the wind swirling along the cold stones of the street. Here, said I, digging into my pocket for my last two credits, take this, go buy some food, and head straight home. I added, Your parents, and was going to say they must be worried, but stopped, realising she likely did not have any.

Her eyes brightened, and, taking the credits, softly said, Thank you, with a note of sincerity, and walked away into the shadows. Turning back for a moment, she added, as if in afterthought, I haven’t any parents, you know. When my father died, his wife, my stepmother, she threw me out on the street, hating me; and I’ve been, well, doing this ever since. I accosted you because—you reminded me of my father. I don’t know why, but it seems I’m always searching for him, though I know he’s gone and I’ll never find him. I miss him dearly. Sir?—Yes?—Can you hold me for a moment, please? Hold me, as if I were your daughter? Weeping, she approached me, and out of pity I held her, and spoke words of comfort to her. I thank you, she said softly, the mascara running down her face; if you’ve got a daughter, don’t leave her, don’t die. My name, it’s Viola. She stepped away, vanishing into the shadows, leaving me to reflect on her sad life and how cruel fate must have been to her. Why did innocence so often suffer? I thought of Daisy. If something were to happen to me, what would become of her? I shook that thought out of my head and directed my steps home.

In process of time, toiling up the stairs of my building, I reached the landing and drew up before flat number 846. When I got inside, Daisy sprang forth from some hitherto unseen corner, hugging me. Papa, you’re back! It’s so dark outside and I was getting worried.

I hugged her tightly. It’s all right, dear. I’m back now. Business wasn’t that good. I closed half an hour earlier than usual. Come, no more frowning. I’ve got something nice, so we’ll be having a capital supper tonight.

Daisy’s eyes lit up and her cheeks, often pale nowadays, began to colour. Oh, papa! That’s wonderful. Come, let me make you some tea and then we can eat. How’s that?

I could ask for nothing better, my girl, as we walked to the kitchen together. And to see your face, and the smile upon it, is all I need in this world, bleak though it be.

Shortly afterwards, we were sitting at the table, having toasted