THE BOY WHO LIVED FOREVER
When I was little, deep into the night, I would walk outside in the cold and collect some stones; usually about four and put them in my pockets.
She would turn on the light to the attic at about 9pm, and she would pray by the window. I knew she prayed because I could see her silhouette — on her knees and hands clasped together.
Her husband had died recently.
As she prayed I threw the stones onto her tiled roof with all my might and it made a big clank each time! I would then run home.
Why did I do it? Because she had the face of a witch, and she smoked cigars and ate peaches as she smoked them. Also, she would keep our footballs which we would kick over into her yard accidentally as we played on the street. We would ask her to return them but she never did. She just took them all into her home.
Anyway … One day I was walking home, ball in hand, when I heard this great scream behind me, “HEY BOY, COME HERE!” I froze. I didn’t know what to do. The scream was like a thunderstorm. I was too scared to turn around so I kept on walking, and the scream came again, this time even louder. I felt as if the ground shook. “TURN AROUND.” I was too scared to but the voice had such power that I felt if I didn’t turn, I would die right there and then, so I did. And it was the witch. And she was smiling, and this time she spoke in a voice that was almost inaudible, “Come and follow me little boy. We have to talk about things.” She took a puff from her cigar and commenced walking. I dropped my ball and followed her to her house.
She stood by the door, cigar in hand. She butted the cigarette out on the concrete floor and said, “Come on in.”
I walked in and she had these amazing lanterns with large candles in them, which radiated the most beautiful light I had ever seen.
“Sit over there,” she said pointing to a large wooden table. I walked over and sat and put my hands to my face covering my eyes, but I couldn’t help but look through my fingers at the myriad of colours carouseling around the room. I could hear her footsteps, sure and even, high heels on the wooden floor. I heard glass hitting wood. “I brought you a cookie and milk,” she said. I took my hands away slowly, or as slowly as I could. And I turned to face her and I looked into her eyes and it was like the Milky Way, thousands upon thousands of stars in them, under the light.
“Now,” she said, waking me from my dream,”I know you’re the boy that’s been throwing rocks onto my roof while I pray for him.” She pointed to a black and white photograph of her deceased husband when he was a young man — tanned and muscular, and a strong moustache. “Yep, we all die my little boy. Didn’t you know that,” she said and grabbed my cheek. “ I looked down at my milk and chewed my biscuit like a little bird.
“Now, let me tell you something else. I was was recently writing a story which I named, ‘The Boy Who Lived Forever’, and I had you in mind as that boy. Would you like to be a boy that lives forever?”
I looked up and into her eyes. The stars were still there.
“Do answer me,” she said.
“Yes,” I said in a whisper.
“We have a deal then. I’ll make you that boy and you will no longer throw rocks on my roof.” She held out her hand and I shook it. And then she smiled and it was a beautiful smile. And I smiled with her.
“Well, now you can go,” she said.
And I said, “Thank you for the milk and biscuit.”
As I was about to exit she said, “And aren’t you forgetting something?”
I turned and looked up at her. She looked so big now, like a heroine from one of my comic books. “What did I forget?” I said.
She opened the door behind her and I could see all of our footballs in there. There were so many of them. “Let’s make another deal,” she said, “you can take one of them at a time. And each time you come here, because that’s what you’ll have to do, you can have milk and biscuits with me, and I’ll show you the stars as well.”
“Yes, ok,” I said, smiling at her.
I came back 21 days in a row because there were 21 footballs. And I never threw rocks on her roof again. And she would stand in her yard eating peaches while I played with my friends, and say, “Don’t forget João, you’re the boy that lives forever.”
I guess we all do.
