Jonas Saul
The Reaper
© 2012
The day had finally come to kill. To remove a soul. What I do is a form of cleansing. I take great pleasure in easing the world of the souls that burden it. The only problem is, each soul has to be worked and – after eight years on this one – I need to move on. I’m old, tired and ready to hand off some of my responsibilities to the younger generation. But first I have to continue the ruse. What’s one more hour in the life of someone as old as me?
“What bothers me,” I started, “is our own child doesn’t like us using the name we gave him.” I turned around in my seat to glance at my sleeping son, my little reaper, Jacob. Or
“I know, honey, but all we can do is continue on to Novar and prove to him that what he’s been saying can’t be right. We’ll take Jacob to where he thinks he was born and show him.”
I felt grumpy and moody. I was pissed this day had taken so long. But, in each case we have to have a story. I don’t wait for people to die like my cousin the Grim Reaper. We take people early. It’s justified. It’s right. The problem for me is that I’m the only one powerful enough to know our purpose. My husband, John, has no idea who he is, and won’t for another hour. He actually thinks he’s my husband and Jacob actually sees himself as my son.
If the world only knew how crazy I am, how much fun I have in their misery, they wouldn’t hunt me with pitchforks as they did hundreds of years ago – they’d send an army to decapitate me.
I sat in the front seat of our Nissan and stared at the passing trees, my arms crossed. The colors were a vibrant green this time of year. Normally that would inspire me, cause me to snap a picture or two of the July sun, if only to add another prop to my stage dressing. But I didn’t, because this play was coming to an end and there would be no encore.
“I’m just tired of always hearing about his mother,” I stated, fully encompassing my role in this incarnation. “How she washed clothes with her hands and how she made bread at home in an outside bread oven. His mother
John put his hand on my leg to calm me down. He knew all too well that I could really get fired up about this stuff. I am Jacob’s mother.
At first, I wondered if Jacob knew who he really was and what his mission had become for this incarnation. There were times when I was sure of it, but then I realized that he wasn’t as old as I am, and only ones older than five hundred years can do what I do with all the knowledge. I’m eight thousand, two hundred years old this June and as I said earlier, ready to retire. My husband is a pawn; my son, my successor.
I realized a few years ago, when Jacob began remembering a past life, that it was only a phase he was going through. But it didn’t stop. Jacob continued talking about his past like he’d actually lived it. When he said he was born in the village of Novar, my husband and I decided to drive there to show him Novar so we could put his delusions to rest and I could complete my task for this incarnation.
“Everything will be fine,” John said, trying to reassure me. I appreciated his efforts, but I had a nagging feeling that something was amiss. On this, the day of atoning, John still didn’t indicate that he knew who he was. I worried a little that he wouldn’t. If he didn’t come around, I would have to kill him too, and that could become a problem.
My son had given details about a previous life that he couldn’t have gleaned from watching TV. Barney a few years ago, then Blues Clues, and now PlayStation. There was no way he could know about churning butter, poverty and a one-building school house. It didn’t stop there; he gave details. The kind of details anyone would have of their past, except that Jacob had grown up with us in Barrie. It had become too close to what was really happening. I knew he was too young to possess the truth, yet he caused me to wonder.
Jacob had said just last week that if we drove to Novar, he would direct us to where he used to live. He would even show us the tree where he carved his name and the year he was born: 1931. He said that if we went this week he had a surprise for us, one that I would be happy to learn. The mystery was enough for John and me to say we’d go, even though this was exactly why we were all here this time around. I should’ve known then: Jacob was well aware of my plans, our plans.
I wore a yellow, flowery dress, one of my favorites. I had wanted something bright, calming and happy. I was prepared for a revelation of some kind, Jacob’s mystery surprise, and a disgruntled husband. My human nerves were rattled.
“Ten kilometers left,” John said.
I looked back and saw Jacob waking. He pushed himself up and glanced out the window as he rubbed his eyes.
“Hi baby, how’re you feeling?” I asked.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Are you worried about coming here?”
“No, I miss being here. We had great times when I was little.”
We? What the hell did that mean?
“You still are little, Jacob. There are lots of great times to come,” I said.
He looked at me. “Can you call me Mark for today? At least while we’re in Novar?”
I stole a glance at John. He nodded and I looked back at our son. I forced my teeth apart to say, “We can do that. But just for today.”
John put the turn signal on to exit the highway and I was immediately hit with deja vu. I shook my head and came back to the present. John mumbled something beside me.
“What?” I asked him.
“Are you okay? You slumped down in your seat and paled, like you were frightened.”
“I’m fine,” I stuttered. “I just thought for a second that I recognized this place.”
What was it about Novar? Real fear entered my being. Strange. An odd feeling.
“That’s ridiculous. We’ve never set foot in this town,” John said.
He gave me a look that shouted, Don’t start talking like Jacob.
Jacob directed his dad down a number of streets while I gawked at the familiar terrain. Why did I feel I’d been here before? This was crazy; we were in Novar for Jacob and our mission and I was starting to feel like I’d been here before too. If I had, I would’ve known about it. Odd.
“Where are you taking us, Mark?” I asked, feeling as awkward as always when using that name.
“To where I used to live. I think you’ll recognize it, Mom.”
What the hell? How could he say that? Better yet, why would he say that? He’s not old enough to know who or what I am. Information like that can only be acquired at death.
I looked down at my lap to avoid seeing the passing buildings. My leg was bouncing up and down, my hands shaking even though I clamped them together on my lap.
“Why do you think I should recognize Novar?” I asked him. I heard my voice crack. Even John looked over at me. And the play continues. Damn, am I good at this shit.
“Because you were my mom in 1931. We lived here until our house burned down in the great fire.”
I turned around in my seat and gaped at Jacob. What could I say? It was the first time he had said that his delusions of another life included me. In this incarnation, he isn’t supposed to know why he’s here, and yet he
