The Last Clue to the Undiscovered Country

Leo delicately held the yellowing scrap of paper. The ink had faded and the print was barely legible to Leo’s rheumy eyes. Not that it mattered. It was committed to memory anyway. The act of looking was but a ritual.

Fifteen down. Four-four. Close affinity for motley team following spirit. Leo caressed the crossword as if reading braille. His finger alighted on a letter E and traced the distinctively sinuous form of her handwriting, the capital E resembling a mirrored numeral three. Leo sighed and laid the crossword on the side table. He closed his eyes and sank back into his comfortably shabby leather wingback chair. The fire warmed his face as he dozed and lost himself in thought. He was not contemplating the clue; it was simple enough. Even if it were not, the rest of the crossword was filled in and he had enough letters to brute force an answer. No, the clue had been solved long ago. Yet the spaces remained blank.

A sharp knocking woke Leo from his reverie. He slowly raised himself from the chair and shuffled to the front door, pulling it open to reveal a ruddy-faced man in his forties with a cheerful aspect to his countenance that was genuine yet slightly strained.

“Adam!” said Leo, his voice warm with quiet delight. “Come in, my boy, come in. Cup of tea?”

“Hi Dad,” said Adam, giving the old man a delicate hug. “Sure. Let me.”

Leo protested feebly but allowed Adam to stride into the kitchen while he followed at his own pace. Adam filled the kettle and turned it on, then rummaged through his jacket pockets. He pulled out a folded page of newspaper.

“Brought this for you,” said Adam, handing it to Leo. “From yesterday’s paper.”

“Thanks, son,” said Leo. He shuffled into the dining room. His frail voice was muffled by the rustling of papers. “I’ll take a crack at this after dinner.”

“Where are your mugs?” said Adam, shouting so that Leo would hear him.

“Haven’t got around to washing up yet,” said Leo, wandering out of the dining room and into the small, cosy living room. “Bear with me.”

Adam looked at the open dining room door with curiosity. He hadn’t been in there since the last family meal, many years ago. He quietly slipped in while Leo was busy gathering the tannin begrimed mugs that inevitably clustered together for solace on the coffee table in the living room. The dining room was dusty. It clearly wasn’t used any more. Stacks of taped up cardboard boxes covered every available surface. On the corner of the dining table there was a stack of papers. Crosswords. Adam riffled through them. All blank. He didn’t have to count them to know there were over one hundred in the sheaf. One per week for the two years since her death.

“Oh, Dad,” said Adam sadly, replacing the stack of papers as Leo left the living room holding a tray of dirty mugs.

“Oh,” said Leo as he noticed Adam’s discovery. He set the tray down in the kitchen and sat down on a wicker chair, gazing at the grubby linoleum. He wrung his frail hands.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” said Leo quietly. “It’s just. It’s our thing. We do it together. Every Sunday evening, in front of the fire. I need Iris.”

“Dad, Mum’s gone,” said Adam gently.

“I know, son. I know.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” said Adam. “If I’d known…”

“I like seeing you,” said Leo. “I didn’t want to give you any reason not to come.”

Tears pricked Adam’s eyes, a soft stab of guilt. “I’m not the crossword delivery man, you silly old duffer. I come here to see you. You couldn’t give me any reason not to come. Come on, let’s get this brew going.”

They drank their tea in comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional reminiscence from Adam, prompted by the knick-knacks that littered the living room, the accumulated avatars of a lifetime of memories and associations. Adam stoked the fire, then announced his departure.

“I’ll bring Su Doku next time, okay?” he said, smiling. He bent and kissed Leo lightly on his bristly cheek. “I’ll bring the kids next week, if I can drag them away from the computer. I’ll let myself out.”

Leo watched him go. The front door clicked shut. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the sky was dark and the fire was dying. Despite the glow of the embers, the room was cold. Leo’s warm breath misted in the cool air. He raised himself from his chair and shuffled to the dark windows. Spiderwebs of intricate hoar frost rimed the panes. Outside the wind howled through the treetops like a banshee, and untended branches scraped on the upstairs windows as if beseeching entry. Leo pulled the heavy damask curtains together, banishing the dolorous night from his senses. He rekindled the fire and sank back into his chair.

When Leo woke the fire was dying once more, yet the room was not cold. He looked at the clock. Time for bed. He was about to pull himself from the chair when he noticed that the yellowed crossword had fallen to the floor. He gingerly leaned out of his chair and picked it up. He instantly noticed the fresh ink, in sharp contrast to the familiar faded letters. Fifteen down had been filled in.

SOUL MATE.

Leo’s mouth gaped, and he looked around in bewilderment. He traced the final letter with his finger, the E that looked like the top of a heart, rotated ninety degrees counter-clockwise and then severed. The ink was still wet. A tear rolled down Leo’s unkempt cheek and a fond smile played on his lips as he laid down the crossword on his lap and closed his eyes for the last time.