It will knock three times, and on the third knock, it will rain. The first will die. The wispy voice that spoke it in my dream ran rampant in my head. My eyes, crusty and bloodshot, were wide open and fixed on the ceiling. The thought of death made me shiver under my warm blankets, and tremble in fear.
I threw the blankets off me, and spun to where my feet were hanging on the side of the bed. I let out a long overdue yawn, extending my arms out and opening my mouth wide. I blew out the dancing flame on the wick of the candle next to me, and watched as the smoke began to fly up to the heavens. I blew the remaining smoke out of my face, and began to gather my clothing. Knock. Knock. I jumped at the second knock.
“Who’s there?” I asked, startled.
“It’s me, I come with breakfast,” a humble toned woman said.
“Of course." My nerves were still shaking. “Come in, Donna.”
A large woman who looked to be in her sixties opened the door. She was wearing black and white maid clothing, and was holding a silver tray in both hands.
“Just place it down here," I pointed to the table next to my dresser. She set down the tray of food, and left, closing the door behind her.
I felt that was a bit ironic, the fact that my dream still lingered uncompleted in my head and almost finished itself. I don’t believe in fate, or prophecies, but this voice was like the tormented scream of one hundred banshees. I still remember it, like it’s speaking to me now. A voice I’ll never forget, unfortunately.
I dressed myself in loosely fitting pants, and a cotton shirt. I pulled my grey wool socks onto my feet, and hid them with my brown skinned shoes. I sat down and ate my breakfast of eggs, warm rye bread, and freshly squeezed orange juice. I wiped the crumbs from my mouth, said a quick prayer, and got up to leave.
I left my home, and later arrived in the town after a couple minutes of walking. The town was full of life, and the markets were open and flourishing. Fruits and vegetables hung by strings, men that wore blood stained aprons slammed meat on wooden boards, and people held tightly onto their children as they toured the bazaar. I was not here for food today, but a soothsayer has a stand open here, and a reading might help clear some things up. I pushed my way through crowds and arrived at a red tent that was risen by a string at the top, and supported inside with wooden poles. I walked up to the tent, and pushed the red velvet door way up out of my way, and walked inside.
Inside, a single candle was lit, and it was completely hidden from sunlight.
“I was expecting you.” A voice called from the far side of the tent. “The spirit world has been crying your name; you come here with a question you have the answer to.”
“I have not given you my coin, and yet you already have begun,” I replied sarcastically. “May I speak?”
My voice trailed off, and there was silence. A snap of fingers lit candles around the rim of the tent, and an old man was revealed. He had a long grey beard, and grey skin, most likely from not seeing sunlight. He had a lazy eye that looked to the left of me, when his right functioning eye was staring at me. He had long overgrown hair that looked as thin as a thread, and was a shining grey. He pointed his long old finger at me, and beckoned me over.
“May I sit?” I asked. He nodded.
“Now, friend, tell me what you already know. Are you sure we speak on the same terms? This morning, a voice trailed through my head, whispering ‘It will knock three times, and on the third knock, it will rain. The first will die.’ What is the meaning of this? Is this something I should worry about?” He looked at me with a face of worry. He shook his head, and began stroking his long grey bread, deep in thought.
“Only if you worry shall it be a problem. The future holds many secrets that are not to be told. You on the other hand, were given spoilers.”
“Spoilers, like hearing the end of a story before starting it?”
“Precisely. Forget what you have heard today, and all shall be fine.”
“Someone is supposed to die though. Is it me? Or is it someone else? I could – you could save a life. Just tell me what this means!”
He sat still for a while, and looked into his diamond necklace that was clearer than the air. He made noises with his mouth shut such as ‘Hmmm…’ and ‘Aha’, and finally let his necklace hang from his neck again.
“The future tells me you will leave this tent, forget everything, and go about your day as usual.”
“You satanic crippled man! What mockery is this? I shall leave, indeed, but when I return you shall be sorry.”
“I know.” He said with a smile. He coughed in his hand, and motioned me away with his free hand. I turned my back to him, and stormed out of the tent, leaving with a cloud over my head that could tear apart the very tent.
My rage subsided after a minute of deep breathing and cursing. My fists unclenched themselves, and my face slowly went back to its normal pale color from the red of rage. I tried to forget everything that had happened up to this point, and began my daily chores. Work first. I changed my train of thought, and moved swiftly back through the crowds and walked to the chapel grounds. As I approached, the large chapel began to get bigger and bigger as I moved closer to it. The sound of bells began to ring. Ding . . . ding . . . the bells rang until they had eleven bongs. It was eleven in the morning. The bells echoed through the narrow roads and open sky, frightening the birds that rested on the building edges and flag poles. The double doors on the chapel swung open and out ran a man dressed in tight black. His shirt was stained with blood, and a dagger was held in his right hand, and he had a look of worry.
We met eyes, and he immediately ran north of me. My suspicion rose, and I picked my feet up off the ground and followed him. Keeping my balance and maintaining proper breathing, I tried to yell out to him.
No matter what I said, he still ran. He dropped his dagger, and began climbing up the side of the building, grabbing onto anything he could pull himself up with. I stopped at the bottom of the building, and kept my eyes fixed on him. I grabbed a brick that was stuck out of the building, and tried my best to climb like him. I slipped off of the small jagged bricks I had my feet on sometimes, but hung from whatever my hand was on. After a while, I could no longer see him, but this did not make me give up. In fact I tried even harder to climb, and went faster up the side of the brick building.
I made it to the top, and in the distance could see the man leaping off buildings, and climbing even taller buildings after that.
“Stop that man!” I cried, hoping someone would see him. But he just kept running and, getting smaller to the eye. I swore out loud, and used God’s name in vain plenty of times. I kicked the dirt that sat on the roof tops, and created dusts clouds around me.
I was caught up in the moment, and didn’t stop to think why that man was running. I climbed down the side of the building, which was easier than going up, and ran towards the chapel, where the bells rung again. Bong. Bong. Bong. Could this be the three knocks of which my dream spoke to me? God save me, or whomever is to be met with Death tonight. I picked up my pace on that thought, and arrived back to the chapel. I pushed the doors open, and they shut behind me. In front of the altar, I could see a dying man gasping for air, lying in a pool of blood.
“Father! I cried out. “Father!”
I ran to the side of Father Gorvy, who was losing blood every second from many stab wounds. I leaned him up, and supported his head on my hand. I could hear faint breathing.
“Al – Alonso? Oh . . . my dear boy. If . . . if only you had . . . come . . . sooner.” He took a deep breath. “The . . . man who did . . . this. Don’t . . . follow. If . . . you had come sooner . . . you could . . . have tended to . . . my wounds.”
“Don’t speak with such blasphemy! Listen, we’ll get you fixed up. Real good. You’re healthier than any horse raised by Farmer McBride. Why should you die by the hand of a filthy criminal?” I said, fighting back the tears.
“Every . . Sunday morning . . . you come here . . . for church . . . and I . . . have taught you . . . that after death . . . is the reward . . . for life. Please . . . go now . . . tell the townspeople . . . don’t . . . be . . . ” he took a large breath in, “ . . . afraid.”
Knock. Knock. Knock. Three knocks at the chapel doors, and the doors flew open. Two Imperial Guards stood in the door way, armed. They began to jog this way, making clinks and clanks with the armor they wore.
I could no longer fight back my tears, and I began to mix my sorrow with his death. The tears . . . it rained.
The full weight of his head dropped into my palm, and his breathing stopped. I laid him down, and closed his eyes.
“What has happened here?! Explain yourself!” one guard yelled.
I explained to them what had happened, and how the man in full black got away. As I spoke of today’s unfortunate events, I began to think of what the fortune teller had said, and what Father’s final words were: “Forget what you had heard today, and all shall be fine." “Alonso? Oh . . . my dear boy. If . . . if only you had . . . come . . . sooner.”
It all made sense. The knowledge I was given today was to save Father Gorvy’s life. Today I was given two options. Save a life, or let one be taken. Two doors. Both of them, remain shut, yet the prize behind them has been claimed. Life. The ultimate prize.
After talking more with the guards, the coroner took the body away and burial preparations were made. Townsfolk got up to speak of his life, and how much of a great man he was. They reminisced of their favorite sermons, and joked about how he once baptized a baby for being left handed. They asked if anyone would like to speak before he is buried, and I thought of what he said.
I stood up, and made my way to the speaking area. I stared at the crowd that was gathered in prayer and began to spoke.
“I was the last person to see Father Gorvy alive. He . . . he had taken many shots to the chest– I also saw the man who did it flee. I am still ashamed for not catching him. I’m not speaking to you today just because Father Gorvy was such a great man, but his last words were addressed to everyone. ‘Don’t be afraid’ was what he wanted me to tell you. I don’t know what it means, and don’t know what is going on, but I hope you take it into consideration . . . somehow.”
I walked away.
The next day I woke normally. Donna had left me breakfast. I ate, and left.
I walked towards the bazaar, curious why I should return to the fortune teller. He said I’d be back, so I should complete this prophecy.
I pushed the velvet door up, and entered the tent space.
“Why am I here?” I asked solemnly.
“I am a fortune teller. Not a mind reader,” he replied with hostility.
“You said I would be back. I did not listen to you the first time, so now I would like to stop people from dying. What’s my purpose?"
“Everyone has a purpose.”
“Stop toying with me, old man! Answer the bloody question! What brings me here?”
“You, yourself, brings you here. Not I. Nor anyone else.”
“I beg of thee to spoil things for me. I am but a humble man, living, like any other. I was baptized and taught morality by the man who was slain because you refuse to share your secrets!” My tone grew hostile, and I began to anger myself with the thoughts of Father Gorvy. “You sharp tongued crusty old man! Give me the information I seek, or I shall beat it out of you.”
“I welcome thee to try. But my gift is a powerful one, and there is nothing you can do to get what I have. What you need. Didn’t your Father ever teach you that life is simple? That you aren’t supposed to know what happens next . . . the unpredictable.”
“I predict because I have no choice, and I didn’t make that choice. Someone else made it for me. Now listen to the dying wishes of the man that you killed, and stay away.”
I cracked under my rising blood pressure, and took a swing at the man standing before me. I could feel his soft cheek, then jaw being crushed under the force of my hand.
“Why did he have to die?" I took another swing. “Why?!”
“Your questions . . . will remain unanswered. LEAVE!” He kept one hand on his jaw which had been broken by me, and he began to cough in his hand again. He continued to cough, and I could see his eyes trying to move to me. He wanted to beckon me away but he had no free hands. I walked over to him and kneeled down.
“You can’t make your own choices, fine. I’ll make them for you.” I placed my hand over his heart. “I feel nothing beating. How funny, since you are such a careless old man who clearly has no understanding of emotion.” He continued to cough, and cough, and cough. He opened one eye and glared at me.
“The doors could be left unopened, and still, what’s behind it has been claimed. That door will stay shut. I can’t open it, and neither can you. I can shut it, but why would I want to bathe in hell with you. I will take my chances. You’ve won this, but lost the greater prize. I shall take my leave now.”
I walked away, still hearing coughing from inside the tent. The sound soon disappeared after a distance. The town bells chimed. Ding . . . ding . . . ding. The sky began to sympathize with the town of the passing of Father Gorvy. It rained.