Death In A Teahouse

From her passenger side window, Anne would imagine the windmills were giant steel orchids standing tall above flat fields. The silence in their car was now the new normal. No radio or laughter, only the monotonous noise of wheels rolling over imperfections in the asphalt. Both she and her husband, Bill, were sunken deep in their melancholic thoughts. It was the same trip for several months now, but this time they would make another stop. Life needed to get back on track.

Six months before, their daughter had been rushed to a hospital, only to end up in a coma. The accident hit them hard. But hospital bills kept piling up, and Bill had been between jobs for some time. So they both decided to reopen the old tea house again. It had been closed for a couple of months; understandable, given their situation. She wasn’t keen on this reopening. She imagined a happier event there, surrounded by friends and family, and a laughing Lizzie helping out around.

The venue had been a family owned tea-house in that quiet part of town, boutique and vintage vibes. Then the pandemic started. Then the accident. She did not visit the location after the accident, so she did not exactly know what it looked like now. Bill took care of all that. But it was he that asked Anne to stop going to the hospital. He thought the bleakness of that location made her more and more depressed. “A change in scenery, a purpose would do you good”, he told her. ”There’s no point in seeing all that pain in others when you can’t manage your own.” He was right. Plus: doctors and nurses were there twenty-four-seven, so if any machine Lizzie was connected to would pick something up, they would let them know. This amalgamation of thoughts was why she agreed to reopen the shop that day. Or, at least, put things in order for a fresh start. She dared not think of the discussion they would have to have about taking Lizzie off those machines.

“Do you need anything after?” Bill’s raspy ex-military voice broke the silence.

She shook her head “no”.

“After the hospital, I have an interview in the city. Maybe this time…”

“Fingers crossed…”, Anne reflexively replied. The last thirty or so unsuccessful interviews he had attended were not encouraging at all.

They parked the car in front of the old tea house. Bill took out the bags holding supplies out of the trunk and carried them to the front door. She realized she missed that door chime as they entered the now dusty place. The once chique locale looked more like an abandoned mom and pop store.

“You should open up the windows, let some air in here”, advised Bill. “Where do you want these?”

“Put them on the counter. I’ll unpack them later. I need to do some cleaning, first…”

A serene feeling took over her. She thought back to when she felt something similar, after her mother passed away and she inherited the tea shop. The venue came with its loyal customers so they added some tables, turning it into a small tea house. Memories of her redecorating the place while pregnant with Lizzie and Bill helping out during his military leaves. The thousands of hours put into the overhaul had breathed life back into the place and even made the whole enterprise profitable. The sweet nostalgia of happier times…

“You OK?” Bill asked her, surprised to see her standing still and watery eyed.

“Yeah, just had a moment…” She tied her hair back and pulled up her sleeves, ready to get to work.

“I’m leaving now. Call me if you need anything OK?”

“Sure… Be careful, please!”

“Always…”, Bill replied, leaving the store.

Anne spent the whole morning cleaning up the place, shaking off nostalgia as best as she could. The shine brought back into the varnish of the old furniture got her spirits up. She even found herself singing again.

Then came her favorite part: placing the assortment of tea in the caddies, but not before smelling each bag. This ritual had made her nose able to distinguish even if some of the Oolong was no longer in its prime.

Grabbing the small ornate aluminum box labeled Matcha from the paper bag filled with supplies, she convinced herself the effort of getting the extra special delivery was worth it. Not to be savored on any occasion less than special, she resisted the temptation of opening the lid. “Short shelf life after opening, but the highest quality”, she thought.

The door chimes startled her a bit, so she quickly got up from behind the counter to see who had entered, since she did not remember putting the Open sign on the door.

“Nat!” Anne noticed out loud. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“Mornin’! You open?”

“Not yet, but for you, I’ll make an exception!” Anne rushed to pack the tea bags in the caddies.

“I can come back later, if it’s inconvenient…” continued Nat.

“Nonsense! Let me put these in storage. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

She could not hide her excitement. It had been a couple of years since she last saw the old man, and even though he had been a loyal customer before the renovation, he had a habit of disappearing for months at a time. This time, however, it had been a couple of years.

“Wow! You haven’t aged a bit, Nat. What’s your secret?”

“Well… I’m here for it, Annie!” Nat said, jokingly. “Can I get the usual?”

“You’re in luck, just bought this today”, she cheered, showing him the matcha box.

“I knew I picked the right time to visit! To be honest, I was passing through the area and saw the blinds up, so I thought I’d try and see if you’re open.”

She was smiling, first time in months. She put the kettle on the stove and prepared a whisk and two bowls.

“Are you back in town for longer, this time?” she asked, popping off the aluminum cap and savoring the aroma of the freshly opened can.

“Don’t know yet…” Nat said, while being invited to also get a whiff of the wonderful scent the special powder emanated.

“How long has it been?” Anne continued, sifting the powder in a small bowl.

“Dunno. A year? A year and a half? Lost track of time. So, what’s new with you?” Nat asked, cheerfully, taking a seat on a stool and placing his black hat on the counter.

Anne’s enthusiasm subsided, not ready to share. Nat sensed this and steered the discussion away:

“I get it, times are for all over the world. Chin up, kid-o. Let me tell you what I saw, though…”

Nat then proceeded to tell stories of the exotic locations he had visited. His tales often included animals, and he tended to exaggerate about the size of some bird’s beak or some monkey’s tail. As if there weren’t enough animal documentaries on daytime TV channels. Anne had brushed up on those, during her depression. The magic in Nat’s stories appeared to have petered out but she nodded and smiled, whisking the matcha in the bowl and kept on pouring water from time to time.

By the time the foam had formed, Nat was telling an anecdote where an old friend of his had  lost a pinkie to a Toucan in the West Indies. She cozily smiled and poured the beverage in two bowls. Nat stopped so they could both enjoy their first sip of matcha that year.

“Did you know”, said Nat, turning the bowl around in his hands, appreciating the fine taste, “they used to eat tea in porridges before they boiled it?”

“Yup. Ancient China, right?” Anne replied. To which a challenged Nat one-upped:

“Right. But what most people don’t know is that tea is also the reason humans first came to these parts.”

“What do you mean?” asked Anne, genuinely curious.

“Exactly that. Tea helped the old humans traverse the great frozen plains through the narrow strip between Asia and America, following big game. Well, not tea, the drink, but the plant. Back then, they ate the leaves, while hunting, ‘cause it gave them energy. Mind you, all this happened when the world was a lot colder than it is now, and chewing on those leaves all day gave one that feeling of inner warmth. Perfect for a whole day of tracking. So they followed their food across that icy bridge, hyped up by the caffeine in the leaves. They still do that, a lot south from here…”

Anne pondered on the accuracy of Nat’s story.

“Well, not the same plant,” Nat continued. “But the same idea. They chew leaves while they chase their prey. It’s funny and a bit ironic: they turn that stuff into powder as well, but they don’t make tea out of it…”

They both laughed and finished their matcha. Nat went on to tell her of some other ways native tribes of the Amazon drink their tea, while Anne sat quietly, enchanted by what the old man recounted, same as she did when she was young.

“My… just look at the time?” Nat said, checking his wristwatch.

“Oh, you have to be somewhere?”

“Yeah. This place looks clean and ready to receive some customers…” he continued, pointing to the four empty tables on the other side of the room.

“Yes. We’re reopening soon.”

“Best of luck! I’ll leave you to it, then…”

Nat paid for the drink, leaving a very generous tip, then put his hat on, ready to head out.

“Wait, Nat!” Anne called. She then grabbed a sealable pack and dropped a couple of spoons of the green powder in it, then rushed it to Nat, handing him the pack, to which Nat took a quick step back, politely refusing. Anne insisted but Nat reminded her it’s about the ritual, not the beverage.

It was at that moment that Bill entered the shop and acted surprised to see somebody else in. He modestly greeted the stranger.

“Oh, Bill! Do you know Nat?” Anne asked.

Bill’s puzzled face shook a no, extending his hand to shake Nat’s but was left hanging.

“Can’t say that I do. I’m Bill, her…”

“Husband, yes. Nice to meet you. You will excuse me for not shaking your hand but I’m a bit of a mysophobe…”, Nat excused himself.

“He doesn’t like touching others,” Anne explained.

“Not to worry. Have we met before?” asked Bill, unable to shake the feeling of a dejavu.

“Not sure, maybe… I’ve been tasting matcha here for a while now…”

“Ever since my mom opened it up, right?” Anne added, while Nat nodded approvingly.

“No, I don’t think I remember you from this place,” Bill said.

“I visit this place from time to time,” Nat confessed, “every other Thursday. Love the way tea is made here. I saw the blinds up and I couldn’t miss the chance.” A few moments of awkward silence, after which Nat continued: “Well, that’s that. Best of luck with the reopening, Anne. Pleasure to meet you, Bill.” Nat exited the shop, tipping his hat gentlemanly on his way out the front door.

“You’re here early. How was the interview?” Anne asked, heading over behind the counter, to collect the bowls the tea was served in.

“Don’t think this one’s a winner…”, Bill said, pouting and taking a seat at the counter.

“Don’t fret. Next time…” Anne reassured him.

“Annie, who was that man?”

“Oh, Nat? He’s been coming here since way back, since mom’s time running things. Not really a regular, but he orders the same matcha tea drink every time. He’s pretty cool as a person. I’m surprised you never met him, by now…” Anne told Bill.

“I think I have, though. He did look familiar, but I can’t place him in my memories…” Bill confessed.

“Might just be his quaint face, then. He does travel a lot so you might have seen him abroad, if not here, in the shop.”

“No, that’s not…”

Bill’s words came to a stop as Anne saw his eyes enlarge and his thick eyebrows frown. He then jumped off the barstool and ran out of the shop, ignoring Anne’s calls.

Adrenaline pumped up his heart, same way it did in his youth, in firefights. Outside, he looked around for the old man, scanning the surroundings for a black hat. He noticed Nat’s silhouette in the distance and started running towards, calling him to stop. Nat slowed down, but did not turn, standing still on the sidewalk as Bill arrived running, stopping just by his side.

“I know you! I’ve seen your face!” he said, accusingly and short of breath.

“Do you, now?” Nat’s voice had changed into something deeper and more ominous. A cold shiver ran across Bill’s spine as the hair on his arms stood up.

“I’ve seen your face twice, before. Back there, during the war… I would not forget it… Ever!”

Nat turned to him, revealing a gaunt, haggard face, different from the one he’d seen inside the tea house. Nat’s bony finger pressed against those thin lips, gesturing him to shush, scared Bill, who took a step back, startled by the sudden change in appearance.

“Yes… It’s you!”  Bill was at a loss of words as he felt something he had not felt in a long while. Pure fear and terror. Was this? “Maybe,” he thought. But the feeling of the encounter was the same, unmistakable.

“What… What are you doing here? Please, don’t tell me…”

“Simmer down, William. I just came here for matcha tea…”

“What?”

“Is it so hard to believe I enjoy the stuff?” Nat added, grinning.

“You’re joking, right?” Bill cried, his feeling of panic subsiding into confusion. He took a quick look back at the tea house, then turned and slapped himself, wanting to check if this was all a dream.

“Not joking William, although I remember you telling jokes when explosions were going off near you, out there in those mountains…”

Bill now knew for certain who he was dealing with.

“What did you want?” Nat added.

Bill jumped at the opportunity:

“Our daughter… Lizzie…”

Nat shrugged, adding: “She’s out of my reach for now, William.”

“So… She’ll be OK?”

“Not quite and not my place to say.”

“Can you at least…”

“William, you’re not the first, nor the last to try and bargain with me. I don’t negotiate. Everybody meets me at some point, but not of their own choosing.”

Bill fell to his knees and started sobbing.

“Get up, William.” But Bill did not move.

Nat repeated the words but in a commanding voice:

“Get up!” Bill then stopped sobbing but did not stand up.

Nat, crouched in front of him and shifted to a soothing voice:

“Look, what you’re asking is not possible. I like Annie, I liked her mother. Understand I can’t touch you but you have to be strong. For her. This tea house made my Thursday breaks delightful with that matcha. She learned that from her mother. I took her mother, even though I was fond of her. It’s just what I do, my purpose. We all have a purpose, and yours is to be a pillar. There’s no point in crying about things that are out of your control, so get up, go and be with your wife. Enjoy your time together, because, trust me, the next time we’ll meet you will not have that luxury. This is not a threat, it’s a fact.”

Bill gazed straight into Nat’s black eyes:

“Take me, instead… Just… Give Lizzie back to her...”

“She’s not mine to give, William. Understand that.” A crestfallen Bill dropped his eyes to the ground again, tears irrigating the desert that were his cheeks. “Tell me one of your jokes, William… Like you told the guys when times were tough and there was no good end in sight…”

Bill found the strength to stop himself from crying and tried thinking of one. He then plucked up the courage to tell Nat the first joke that came into his head

“Well, there’s the one about a guy, home alone at night, hears a knock at the door and goes to answer it. Opens the door and there on the doormat he notices a small Grim Reaper. Seven inches tall, black cloak, scythe, the works… He gets scared and yells ‘God, no!’. To which, the small Grim Reaper replies: ‘Calm down, you drama queen, I’m here for the hamster…’”

Nat started chuckling, then turned to outright nightmarish cachinnation as he fell on his behind on the pavement. Bill soon joined him, shy, at first, but they both ended up laughing so loud the birds in the trees across the road took flight.

By the tea house door, Anne could not understand what was happening. In the space of a couple of minutes she saw her husband get into action mode, cry and laugh with the old man. She then saw them wave each other goodbye, and brimmed with curiosity about how the two knew each other.

As soon as they both got into the shop, she asked Bill if he was feeling well, expecting a laconic answer from him.

“Why were you two laughing?”

“Just told him a joke…” he answered.

“How do you two know each other?”

“We met while I was in the army… Let’s leave it at that…”

She knew she wouldn’t get anything more from him, so she abandoned the questioning. She asked him to help her with the dishes, instead, and offered to make him a calming tea, and Bill accepted.

As Bill sipped from the hot cup, Anne’s phone rang.

“Who is it?” Anne asked Bill, who was closer to the phone.

“Unknown number. Might be the bank...”

Anne answered the phone and heard a faint voice at the other end:

“Hello? Mom?”