Ana’s concern changed to joy in a flash. “Oh! That is the other thing I learned! And it is quite simple. Observe!” She made a grand flourish with her hands. “Abrakadabra!”
Jerry watched, half-expecting her to try on his shoes or start the coffee maker, but, right before his eyes, Anastasia Romanova aged a couple years. Gone was her short, slightly plump, teenage figure as she morphed into a slightly taller, almost slender, graceful young woman.
“Son of a—”
“Do not say it, Jerry.” Her smile was heart-stopping.
“Wow. Who are you now?” He got up and walked around her, inspecting the new look.
“Me. I simply decided to be me at twenty-two. I was seventeen when I died, but since I was born in 1901, I am, in theory, a centurion. I modelled myself after my sister, Olga. I thought you might be more comfortable with a twenty-two-year-old me.”
“Definitely. I don’t feel like we should be chaperoned simply because of the theoretical age difference. Though, who would chaperone a ghost is beyond me.”
“I am glad you like it because it does not take any effort on my part, unlike wearing this sweater.” The sweatshirt dropped through her to the floor. She picked it up and draped it over the back of the chair.
Jerry made his way to the kitchen area, glancing at the television as he went past it. “Ana, didn’t I leave the TV on?”
“I closed it—except for I Love Lucy, it was all so annoying. If they took only the good things from all 287 channels, could they fill even two channels?”
“Probably not.” He laughed. Even a century-old ghost knew that what was on TV was crap. He opened the fridge, looking at her over his shoulder. “Do you eat?”
“I do not think so. I am not hungry in the least.”
“Well, I am, so please don’t think me rude if I fix myself some dinner.”
“Not at all. While you eat I can tell you what else I have learned today. I learned that I cannot travel too far from the book. I made it to the landing outside your door and could go no further. At that distance, I also found it difficult to concentrate.”
“That’s weird.” He placed a plastic-boxed grocery-store salad on the counter and poured himself a full glass from the two-litre bottle of caffeine-free Coke on the bottom shelf.
“Jerry, why am I here?”
“I’ve been wondering about that, too, and one school of thought about ghosts is that they’re souls who’ve left something important unfinished. Was there something you didn’t finish?”
“Do you mean, something other than my life?”
He leaned back against the sink, his favourite kitchen stance. “Good point. But if that was it, your sisters and your brother would be here, too. Is there something more specific? A message you needed to give? A promise to keep?”
“Nyet. No. Nothing big.”
“What about the curse put on your family by Rasputin?”
“What curse?”
“I was reading something on the internet at work about a curse he made a couple years before he was murdered.”
Ana huffed. “That is silly. Grigori was not cursing us, he was making a prediction that if he died at the hands of any Russian nobility, then my family was in danger, too. It was a warning to watch close to home, and he was absolutely correct.” She tipped her head slightly to one side. “Time has not treated Grigori’s memory very well, has it, Jerry?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“That is so unfortunate. He was a good man. He was strannyy—strange—but quite wise and very kind, at least with Mother and us children.”
Jerry pulled two frozen chicken cordon-bleu packets from the freezer, opened them, placed them on a plate and stuck them in the toaster oven, setting the timer before dumping his salad on a plate. Ana hopped up to sit on the counter to watch.
“I have an idea for after dinner, Jerry.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
Chapter Nine
@TheTaoOfJerr: “Music is the mediator between the spiritual and the sensual life.”
BY TEN O’CLOCK, the night chill had gripped Victoria’s Inner Harbour and few people were out near the provincial parliament buildings. It rarely snowed in coastal Victoria, but on this evening, the feathery-light white fluff drifted down onto the streets, adding to the seasonal mood set by the Christmas lights everywhere. A short walk from the loft, the outline of the beautiful, light-grey, copper-domed, century-old government building was lit with white lights, rendering the large structure almost fairy-like in the distance.
Jerry sat facing the parliament buildings, alone on the marble base of the statue of Queen Victoria. Although he wasn’t completely hidden from view, shrubs shielded him from the nearby street. He took a small, plastic grocery bag-wrapped package out of his jacket pocket, gently removed the Blake book, and placed it on the bag beside him on the snow damp bench. He glanced to his right and then his left to make sure no one was watching, and when he looked back, Ana was sitting beside him, nearly bursting with pure joy. Her simple dress and lace-up boots from 1918 lent a touch of nostalgic elegance in the soft light of the Inner Harbour. Ecstatic, she leapt to her feet. Jerry rewrapped the book and put it back in his jacket.
“Oh, Jerry! I am outside!”
“Shhh! Let’s not push our luck. So far, so good.”
Ignoring his concern, Ana spun and twirled and laughed, looking every bit as solid as Jerry in the cloud-softened moonlight. “This is glorious! Look at the snow! And the lights—look at the Christmas lights! Every tree, every post, everywhere! It’s all so beautiful!”
Knowing there was no way he could contain her enthusiasm, Jerry stepped up beside her and shared the view.
“It is, isn’t it?”
“This is the best Christmas present anyone has ever given me. Thank you!”
She darted in and quickly kissed him on the cheek.
“Hey! I felt that.” He raised his hand and felt his cheek where the kiss was planted.
“Good! So did I. Jerry, let us go for a walk.”
“I’m not so sure, Ana. We’re out of the way here but if we walk along the streets—I don’t know if anyone else can see you and I might look like I’m talking to myself.”
“Do not get your knickers in a knot, Jerry. Let us just walk now and worry later.”
“This is important to you, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes! Da!”
“Then let’s walk.” He led the way to the street-side sidewalk and Ana caught up and took his hand in hers. Surprised, Jerry looked down at their linked fingers but didn’t let go. They walked on, and Jerry smiled to himself.
“Your hand is warm.”
“What were you expecting?”
“Well, you are dead. I guess I was expecting you to be cold to the touch.”
“Not right now. I am so happy I feel warm all over.”
A dapper gentleman in his seventies strolled towards them, tipping his houndstooth hat in greeting. “Merry Christmas, folks.”
“Merry Christmas,” Jerry returned.
Ana gripped his hand tightly and whispered, excitement lighting up her voice, “He said ‘folks’!”
“I noticed that.” He squeezed her hand back.
“Plural. He saw me!”
“Yeah, it sure sounded like it.”
They walked on, Jerry warmed by the idea that he might not be the only person who could see his ectoplasmic date. Eventually they came upon two women in their forties, holding hands and chatting quietly under the streetlamp. Ana gave a small wave with her free hand and greeted them cheerfully. “Merry Christmas, ladies. Lovely night, is it not?”