The Strange Case of Samson Evot

I met him in the early summer of ‘83. The time of year when you could see cattle drives over the hills and the brothels were in good business. The Dodge City War was raging and the farmers were still recovering from the Locust Plague from a few summers before. I wasn’t supposed to be out so late. My mother and father worried I’d get shot, but I had to work late, tailoring a dress for a brothel girl I owed a favor. I was freshly 17 and yearning for independence, so I took the long way home. He was leaving the saloon when I first saw him. He looked like your typical cowboy; stained boots, too much leather, red bandanna, tattered hat. His blonde hair stuck out the edges of his hat and kissed his shoulders. But he was pale. Too pale to be a cowboy. His skin reflected the moonlight as he stared. His red eyes were dead as he turned to face me, his face betraying amusement.

“Well, hello there, little lady,” he said. “What are you doing out here so late?”

“God knows,” I replied. “That’s what is important.”

He stared at me. I thought for a moment he might punch me, but he didn’t. He laughed, bent over like a rooster, he laughed. I caught a glimpse of his oddly sharp canines.

“It’s not safe for a little lady like you to be out so late. Let me walk you home.”

He offered me an arm and I took it. We walked silently to my house. My father ran from the door to greet us. As I went to introduce the two of them, my arm felt lighter. He was no longer on my arm. My father pulled me inside and I looked for a sign of him. There was none.

I saw him again just before the sun rose. He was tapping on my window, which I found peculiar because there was no ledge outside it and I was on the second floor. His elbows rested on the windowsill and he held his cheeks in his hands like a surprised child. He smiled at me.

“Hello, little lady,” he said. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“You scampered off like a coward,” I replied. “You saw my pa and you ran away. It’s no fault of mine.”

He chuckled at that, letting his hands fall from his face and dangle into my room. I saw those sharp teeth again.

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean any harm. In fact, I meant the opposite of harm. I didn’t want your pa to try anything when I was innocently walking you home.”

“My pa wouldn’t try anything. He’s a sensible man.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “But if he did try anything, I would’ve had to kill him, and that’s no good.”

“My pa would beat you,” I replied, crossing my arms. “To a pulp.”

“I’m sure,” he said. He nodded, a smile crossing his face. His eyes were still dead and red as the blood in my veins. His teeth poked out of the bottom of his smile. They were so sharp. “I’m sure.”

Silence fell over the two of us. I was still in my night clothes and my hair was down. He looked the same as he had outside of the saloon. He’d been up all night.

“I never caught your name,” he said.

“I don’t recall throwing it,” I replied. “Besides, I don’t know your name either.”

“My apologies. Call me Samson Evot- it’s the name my ma gifted me.”

He stuck his right hand even further into my room. I took it. I jumped a little at his ice cold skin.

“Selene Arcana. My pa chose it.”

“Now how did a man come up with such a pretty name?”

I thought about what to tell him. I was born late winter of ‘66. It was so late, spring was supposed to be halfway done, but it was dark and no one had seen the sun for days. I was born the eight consecutive girl to a family that just wanted sons. My father named me for what he wished would be gone, girls and the moon.

“He’s a sensible man,” I said. He laughed. He had a habit of doing that, even when I wasn’t trying to be funny. He must’ve been really bored if he was so easily entertained by me.

“You’re a clever one, Selene. You’d make a good wife, I’m sure”

“That may be true, but I don’t think I’ll be a good wife to you.”

“Well, I can’t see why not.”

“I don’t think we lead very similar lives.”

“Now, why do you have such a silly thought in your head?”

“You’re very pale.”

“Oh?”

“I like being in the sun.”

“A small detail. You can change your mind about that.”

“I won’t.”

“You could.”

I frowned at him and he smiled back, hands back on his cheeks. A million questions poured into my brain, but I stayed resolute.

“I will not.”

“What if I told you you could stay young and beautiful for as long as you live?”

“But no sun?”

He frowned at me. His eyebrows knitted together like an old lady making a scarf. His eyes darkened and his arms dropped again.

“No sun,” he said.

“No good,” I replied.

“You could live forever.”

“But no sun?”

His frown deepened. His hands curled into themselves like he was a toddler about to throw a tantrum.

“No. Sun,” he said.

“No good,” I replied, smiling at him. He threw his head into a hand in frustration. I couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“You are quite the strange one, Selene Arcana.”

“You as well, Samson Evot.”

“I’ll be seeing you again soon. You’ll change your mind.”

“Alright,” I said. “Alright.” He was gone before he could hear my answer. The sun began to poke over the treetops.

I saw him again every week or so throughout the summer. He kept asking for my hand in marriage and I kept refusing to give it to him. By the end of the summer, I was engaged to the butcher’s eldest child and only son. He was a very sweet boy who had come to visit me every Tuesday and Thursday until my father finally said we could get married. I was very happy when I told Samson about it. He was not. He frowned at me and then near-begged me to reconsider. I wouldn’t. I was going to be a fine wife.

“But not to me,” he said, pleadingly. “Why not to me?”

“We live different lives, Samson. It wouldn’t work.”

“You’re the only woman who’s ever said that to me. The only one.”

Then, he disappeared.

I didn’t see him again for two years. I had moved in with my husband on the other side of Dodge and started working the counter at the shop. My husband cut the meat in the back with his father. When I went into labor, he nearly fainted. His mother had to help me back home. After 17 hours of painful childbirth, I was holding in my arms a beautiful baby girl, named for my mother-in-law. We were both asleep when he showed up. My husband was in a separate room

“Selene Arcana,” he said.

“Selene Arcana Vladimirescu,” I replied. He frowned and saw my daughter tucked away in my arms.

“A girl?”

“Yes.” My daughter cooed in my arms. “Would you like to hold her?”

He looked at me skeptically for a moment, before carefully reaching out and taking her in his arms. We were both silent for a moment, watching my daughter and getting used to each other’s presence.

“She’ll age,” he said. “You both will. You’ll age and die. I can stop that. We’ll wait till she's older, of course. But I can keep you this age forever. Then she can be 18 forever.”

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “Kids need to be watched. And they need the sun. I can’t watch her right if I can’t be in the sun.”

“Alright. We wait and do you both at the same time.”

“What if she wants kids? What if I want more?”

“You think too much, Selene Arcana.” He gave me back my daughter, avoiding my eyes. “Eternity is a long time. You two won’t want kids.”

“It’s Selene Arcana Vladimirescu,” I said. “And I think I’d want kids. I’m already planning on more.”

“With that butcher’s son?”

“Yes. He’s a good man.”

“He’s not great. Greatness is forever. Greatness trumps all.”

“Not goodness. My husband is good.”

“Alright.” He made his way to the door and did not look back at me. “Alright.”

He disappeared into the moonlight. My daughter woke, screaming in my arms.

I did not see him again until the day of the funeral of my husband. It was the winter of ‘98 and we had four boys and one more girl. He was running late home from a trip to Ft. Larned with his father. I thought nothing of it until my father rushed to my house. My husband and his father had died in a train accident. I did not weep until my children were asleep. Then, I could not stop. It was rainy, the day of his funeral. The sun set early that day and my children followed it. I stayed up and knit. I did not know what else to do. He showed up then.

“I am sorry about your husband,” he said.

“Don’t be,” I replied. “You did not end his life.”

“Still, I am sorry.”

Silence fell over the two of us. We both knew what was going to happen. It was routine.

“I will not marry you. I will not give up the sun.”

“Then who will you marry?”

“No one. I will not marry anyone but my husband.”

“You’ll waste away. You’ll live the rest of your life alone as a widow and only your children will visit your deathbed. You will waste away, Selene Arcana.”

“Selene Arcana Vlad-i-mir-e-scu.”

“Not anymore. Your husband has died. You will take on another name soon. Perhaps even Evot.

“You don’t understand! I made a vow to God and to my husband and I want to be no one else’s wife but his!”

“You're useless here. No one mourns a mother. Children carry their father’s name. The mother is forgotten. Your children do not care. Leave them. Come with me. You are useless here.”

“I am not. My children bear their father’s name, but both our blood, both our love. My children will remember what I’ve taught them.”

He opened his mouth and did not close it. Unspoken words hung heavy in the air. I caught sight of his sharp teeth. I stared into his dead red eyes. Neither of us moved or spoke for quite some time. The crickets’ chorus outside threatened to deafen us.

“What will you do now?”

“I’m taking over the butcher shop. His sisters’ husbands can’t and I know enough to manage.”

“That’s not a woman’s job.”

“A widow rarely follows the same standards.”

He stared at me, amusement flooding his eyes. A laugh escaped his lips.

“You’re funny, Selene Aracan Vladimirescu,” he said. “You will be good as a widow.”

Before I could respond, he disappeared. I returned to my knitting.

I saw him face-to-face sporadically after that, but he was ever-present. The butcher shop had an anonymous donor that I knew was him and at my parents and mother-in-law’s funeral dozens of bouquets of flowers showed up, more than I could even think to afford. My children found school supplies in their bag before I could buy them. My eldest daughter and middle two sons even got to go to college on a rare full-ride scholarship. I knew it was him.

I saw him for the last time while my boys were off to war. My daughter, tending to them as a nurse. The Great War, they called it. About a year after our country joined, all my boys were alive, but I got sick. I got terribly sick. No one knew what it was. I knew I was never making it out of that hospital. I’d been stuck for weeks. All I wanted was to see my children. To see the sun.

He came as soon as the sun set. He rushed to my side, brushing the hair out of my face and taking my hand in his. 35 years since we met, and he had not aged a day. The only thing that changed was his clothes. Gone was the cowboy attire I once knew. He looked like a businessman. He’d kept his precious youth and my hair had begun to gray, my eyes sagged, and my skin cracked with wrinkles.

“I can stop this,” he said. “Let me stop this.”

“No,” I replied. “Never.”

“You don’t have to die. I can stop this. Please! Please let me stop this!”

“No chance.”

“We don’t have to stop at your life, we can salvage your youth, too. I could restore it. I could figure it out. “

“These gray hairs and wrinkles are a tribute to the life I’ve lived. To remove them is to remove me. God planned for me to die like this. To change that is to call him a liar.”

“What do you want, Selene? Just tell me what you want! Do you want to be saved? Do you want to die here? Tell me what you want and I will get it for you. Anything in the world. I will get it for you. I will make it happen.”

“I want to see my children,” I said. “I want to see the sun.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Alright.”

He grabbed me and carried me out the window. We were on a hill, looking at the moon, before I knew it. The cool wind and music of nature was the peace of mind I needed. I closed my eyes and rested on his ice-cold shoulder. He showed me a picture from Europe, my children, all safe and sound in the same battalion. We stayed out there until the moon began to sink behind the trees.

“The sun’s coming up,” I said. “You should get going.”

“Not this time,” he said. “Been a while since I’ve seen the sun.”

The sun rose. He gasped.

“It's beautiful.”

I fell as he broke away into ash with the breeze. I did not get up again.