Old Things Made New Again

Ben’s hair was a mess. Blown about by the gale and four weeks overdue a good trim, it looked like an abandoned bird’s nest. Where had all the grey come from? Christ above, he said to himself, running his fingers through it. When did you get old?

“Help you with anything sir?”

Ben jumped. At his elbow was a small man with a sun-bronzed face and a half smile dancing around his lips. Stooped by age, his scalp was blotched and scarred from being out in all weathers. With trousers and forest green waistcoat, he looked exactly the kind of man who would run an antiques store.

“Sorry?” blurted Ben. “Didn’t see you there. Just looking.”

He had ducked in to Curios and Conundrums to avoid meeting Essie and her boyfriend. They hadn’t seen him, but with unkempt stubble, sweatpants, and deep black circles under his eyes, he didn’t want them to see him either. After a bitter month where simmering tensions had broken into open warfare, she had moved out only a month ago and on almost immediately while Ben was still trying to process a six-year relationship collapsing almost overnight.

“Well, we have all sorts here,” said the little man with the trace of an accent Ben couldn’t place. He didn’t sound like he was from Vermont, but then again Ben had moved around so much as a child that he didn’t either. “I get quite a few pieces from Europe. I go on buying trips once, twice a year.” He rocked back on his heels while waiting for Ben to answer, but Ben was too distracted scooping his hair into some sense of order.

“I’m not really sure what I’m looking for,” he said eventually, giving up on his brown locks for a while. If there was an opportunity to drag things out a little he was open to it.

“Maybe something’s looking for you, then. This mirror,” and the little man rubbed the brass frame with his thumb, “came from an estate sale, oh, maybe three years ago.” The frame was solid, tarnished by time in all the right ways, and decorated only with inlaid filigree. “Perfectly serviceable, but I suspect it has not found the right buyer just yet.”

Ben hummed to start making an excuse to leave but from the side of his eye he saw Essie and beau walking slowly past the window. “What else do you have?” he said instead.

The little man smiled a curious little smile. He held himself with the confidence of years and his bullneck spoke of great hidden strength. “Many things for many people. Curios aplenty.” He extended an arm to direct Ben further into the store. “I fancy myself something of a matchmaker, bringing the old and new together. Makes old things new again, when you think about it. Let’s see if we can find you something suitable. Or if something finds you.” He chuckled quietly at his joke. “Montague is my name, by the way. Lovely to meet you.”

It was a warren of a place packed with the shadows of centuries. Every space beneath the fading yellow electric lights was crammed with venerable tables and chairs, peculiar objet d’arts ranging from ceramic cats with amber eyes to monstrous tentacled creatures carved in green stone, swathes of leather and cloth-bound books, even white beaded dresses straight out of Gatsby’s soirees. One whole section was dedicated to ancient weapons: spears, bows, savage knives. “Old family heirlooms,” said Montague, noticing where Ben’s eyes had wandered. “They’re not for sale but add a bit of gravitas to the place, I find. My father and grandfather were mighty hunters.” 

“Do you hunt?” Ben asked eventually, half-lost in the memory of the one hunting trip he’d ever gone on with his father and his father’s bitter disappointment when his son couldn’t take the life of a deer. 

Montague smiled out of the side of his mouth. “After a fashion. I find it keeps me young, in small doses.”

Ben was only vaguely paying attention. “Who do find to buy all this?” he asked as his head bobbed around in wonder. “There aren’t that many people in Burlington.”

“People travel for what they really want. And we’re online twenty-four-seven.”

Ben had drifted off already. “Where did you get this?” In a magnificent ash display case hung a sword comfortably longer than a man, the pommel carved with an explosion of stars surrounding a sphere of polished red jasper. The blade had been decorated with some ancient script Ben didn’t recognise.

Montague pursed his lips. “I’ve had that a long time. Came over from Europe with some of the first settlers, as it happens, but older than them.”

“How much?” Ben was seized by the urgent need to know if he could own it.

“Oh, I fear you couldn’t afford it.”

Ben’s brows furrowed. “I have money.”

“An object like this, well, its price is more than coins and dollar bills.”

“Everything has a price.” Ben pulled a face at having quoted his father. He’d never done that before and it disgusted him.

“In pure money terms? Thirty thousand, another two for the cabinet.”

“That’s…”

“...a very reasonable price, all things considered. I could fetch multiples if I put it on open auction.”

Drumming his fingers on the glass, Ben sighed. “Let’s see what else you have,” he said, wandering off as Montague polished his fingerprints away.

Against the wall furthest from the entrance was an array of mirrors of all shapes and sizes. A polished brass one stood behind what looked like a statue of Buddha, both pockmarked with the maturity of centuries. Another was covered by a thick violet cloth trimmed with gold. Others seemed mostly functional, with more ovals than Ben had ever thought possible. 

“You like mirrors, I take it?”

Montague spread his hands. “Everybody has at least one. Windows on the soul. Reflections of your innermost desires. Doorways between dreams and reality. Great at making small rooms seem bigger. They always sell eventually.”

Ben reached to pull back the violet cloth but Montague stopped him with a gentle hand. “Forgive an old man his superstitions,” he said. “That one saw a man die in his library. I fear it is too soon to uncover it.”

“Uh, okay.”

“Like I say, old superstitions.”

“That’s… No, that’s fine. Just curious.”

“How about this one?” Montague gestured with an open hand toward a tall freestanding mirror in a grey wood frame. It was about five feet in height on a heavy stand with an elaborately carved lion’s paw on each corner. Set into the frame all the way around was a delicate unbroken line of copper that seemed to flicker in the light. At each cardinal point was a simple raised relief of a human eye. Green glass winked at him from where the pupil should be. They were nestled in the most ornate scrollwork he had ever seen. How did they seem to be spinning? It was like a kaleidoscope where the only colours were green and black. A heady hum formed in the back of his head as he watched them swirl.

Expecting to be pulled back again, Ben let a finger run down the wood. It was warm, somehow, and fragrant. Catching his reflection, he flicked a line of hair behind each ear. The bags under his eyes were gone and his stubble looked more fashionable than neglected. Even the rip in his old army coat that he’d stitched badly while drunk seemed to have gone. You didn’t look so rough after all, he said to himself. You’ll be braver the next time you see them. 

“Ah yes, I’ve had this one for quite a while,” said Montague in a dreamy sort of way. “Older than it looks, like me.” He chuckled. Ben guessed he was probably in his sixties, though apart from the slight stoop he seemed robust. “Probably from Germany originally but it came here from an old country house in Ireland, of all places.”

“Bit far from Vermont.”

Montague half shrugged. “Sometimes people bring me things they think I’ll find a home for.” Spotting Ben’s raised eyebrow he added: “A distant relative of mine knew the owner. Deceased now, sadly. A writer. Used to tell people the mirror gave him the most wonderful vivid dreams that inspired his stories. Said it was cursed in a good way.”

“What was his name?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know him. Before your time.”

“And he, what, left it in his will?”

Montague did that half shrug again. “Disappeared one night. Nobody knows what happened to him. No wife or kids so my cousin helped clear out the house and brought it over on a sailboat, if you can believe it. Contacted me the second they’d moored up in Maine. Belfast.”

“That’s what, a five-hour drive? And you did it?”

“Oh yes.” He laughed. “I’ve gone to far greater lengths to get my hands on a piece. Might say it’s a calling. Mind you I was a younger man, then.” 

“I don’t really need a mirror, though.”

“Are you sure? Because you haven’t let it go since you saw it.”

Ben was shocked to find his fingers white from gripping the frame. And yet in his reflection he was smiling the warm smile of true contentment. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time. The way the light caught him, the way the surface angled, it all made him look a good ten years younger than he was. The cabinets and chairs stacked behind him melted away until he was standing alone in a field of ripe corn, could feel the soft kiss of the autumn sun on his face. He watched himself nod slowly in the mirror, holding a smile he couldn’t feel on his face in the real world. Didn’t he deserve to have something that made him feel good about himself? “How much?” he asked softly.

Montague’s eyes twinkled, and the light cast deep shadows into the crevices of his face, which stretched and undulated as he smiled a wolfish grin. With a blink his face was back to normal, apart from that grin. “Why don’t you try it for a few days? Make sure it fits you as well as your home. After that we can discuss the price. And I deliver.”

***

That evening, as night fell and the streetlights buzzed into life, Ben stood on the sidewalk in the drizzle wondering if he’d actually bought an antique mirror or had some fever dream. Had he bought it or just borrowed it? He giggled suddenly, the thought of borrowing an antique for a few days catching him off guard as just too funny. I’m losing my mind, he thought with a quiet pang of fear. But what of it?

A long black car turned onto his street, splashing water up onto the pavement. Ben was bemused to find that it was a hearse, albeit with the wide windows on the side and back covered up. It flashed the headlights twice to greet him as it rolled to a halt a few feet away. Montague got out, bundled in a tartan coat and heavy flat cap. He waved casually amid a confident stride to the back of the car. 

“Is the hearse an antique too?”

“Oh, no, not so much. But it’s handier’n you’d think to cart paintings and what not about. And I quite like the looks I get.”

“What sort of looks?”

“Like the one you’re giving me now.” He chortled as the rear door swung open, revealing a wide array of objects in various stages of wrapping. Ben’s mirror – and how easily he thought of it as his even though he wasn’t sure about it – was on top, well protected by grey rippling foam sheets and acres of tape. 

“I’ll help you bring it up,” he said, extending a hand but Montague shooed him away. 

“I’m perfectly capable, you know. I just look old.” And indeed the way he was smiling made him look young apart from the grey eyes that retreated into his brow under the cap. Those were immeasurably old.

It had looked heavy in the store but as Montague easily carted it up the stairs with one arm, despite its size, Ben wondered absently if he’d been ripped off with some cheap, mass manufactured tat. But then again, no money had changed hands, and they hadn’t even committed to him buying it, so could he really be ripped off? He scratched the back of his head, mulling it over as Montague strode through the apartment more powerfully than Ben would have thought. It wasn’t much of a stride though. It wasn’t much of an apartment to begin with, so it was no great accomplishment to go through it.

“This is a bedroom mirror,” said Montague, not even remotely out of breath. “Or at least, that’s where the previous owners have kept it. Any preference?” He looked around as if searching the savannah for a distant speck on the horizon. 

“Uh, no, not really,” said Ben eventually. “Bedroom’s fine.”

He was glad he’d tidied the place, or at least hidden all the detritus he could think of. Montague set it up against the wall facing the window and started stripping off the foam protectors. Ben would have to sleep facing the thing. It had been a modest room to begin with - he and Essie had argued over not moving to a bigger place when they could easily afford it, though he just couldn’t give up the first place he’d ever had entirely to himself – but seemed twice the size once the mirror was uncovered. Montague peered at himself and tucked two barely visible strands of hair behind his ears in an odd mimicry of what Ben had done earlier. With a nod and a wink, he let himself out. Ben sat at the end of the bed, losing himself in the scrollwork around the green eyes as the car’s engine coughed into life and slipped away into the distance. 

It really did make the room seem bigger, and gazing into it felt a bit like one of those infinity mirrors his nephew had where the lights seem to stretch backwards forever. Doorways between dreams and reality. Shaking his head at the folly of the enterprise and allowing himself one black chuckle, he heaved himself up and headed for the shower. That his reflection stayed sitting, smiling a lopsided smile while watching him go, went completely unnoticed.

Sleep was hard to find. His body ached with weariness but his mind refused to switch off. Aimlessly scrolling on his phone made it worse; reading a few pages of a novel did little either. A fruitless attempt to masturbate only made him sad, though after failing to climax he eventually floated off into a listless doze.

Faces swam up through the dreamtime. Then he was standing in a wide corn field in late autumn, Essie spinning and her long white skirt moving so fast she seemed set to lift off. She raised her arms to the sky as she came to a halt, then picked her way over stubbly stalks and dry stones. It was the last day they had been truly happy together, the end of that long, directionless road trip halfway across the country. He wished they had just kept going, living in the moment rather than returning to an apartment cramped with tensions and broken promises. ‘Your innermost desires,’ Dream-Essie said. ‘Doorways between dreams and reality.’ Her delicate dusky pink lips stretched into a thin smile that slowly, steadily absorbed her face until there was nothing left but endless toothless smiles. But he felt no horror at the love of his life distorting into something inhuman. There was peace there, to be lost in a moment forever, one moment of joy. Even in the dream he felt envy. He would give anything - everything - to have a moment like that.

The corn field flowed into a black abyss before morphing into his own room. He was sitting at the edge of the bed, fully dressed, head cocked to the left and the hint of a smile on his lips. ‘Dreams and reality,’ he heard himself say. He saw his reflection rise and drift toward him, though he felt as if he was still sitting. The flesh of its face was weeping and dripping off the bone like melting wax. It flowed down along one arm as it reached out to touch the mirror’s surface and Ben watched himself raise his own arm up to touch it. The roiling silvery flesh came to the surface and slid up Ben’s arm. It was cold, oh so cold, but his entire body sang with the soft joy of inner peace.

***

The door clicked open and swung forward gently. A man in a tartan coat and flat cap, no longer shortened by a stoop, white hair now gunmetal grey, face smoothed with the release of years. He stepped lightly, respectfully, through the silent apartment toward the bedroom. On the bed was a small pile of clothes, laid out in the shape of a man. Montague, who now looked like he could be Ben’s older brother, peered into the mirror and tucked two stray hairs behind his ears. From the other side of the glass Ben, his hair now the right length, raised a hand in silent greeting before turning away to take the hand of a woman in a long white skirt. They walked off through the corn. The green gems glowed.

Montague nodded, satisfied. Flexing an arm, he promised Ben he would make good use of his returned youth. It didn’t always go this way. Sometimes they fought. They didn’t need to, he thought sadly as he packed up the mirror. They could, if they chose, live in one moment of joy forever. That was hardly a curse. It was a blessing.