A Different Coda

A Story by Waggish Cape

There's no time like now. We forget the past, and we move on. We look toward the future. So how can one event completely change someone's life?

Cardboard and wet dogs. I wish there were more pleasant things to say about his scent, but it seems there were not enough unpleasant things to say. I wish I could say that I picked him up from side of the road, in the rain, out of the kindness of my heart. I wish I could say a lot of things.

It’s strange, vagabonds don't usually hang around this area. Maybe it’s the rain that attracts them. “Grrrrr.” the hobo grunted. At least I hoped it was a grunt -- he looked like he hadn't had decent meal in weeks. I looked back to see if he wanted anything -- not that I can translate low pitched growls. I couldn't even see his eyes behind his dirt-stained layers of scarves. He turned his head towards my direction, before looking back out the window.

As we pulled into the driveway, I could see my sweet little Anna peeking through the curtains. It’s hard to miss that front tooth gap and those golden eyes. Not even a second after I pulled the emergency brake, he opened my door, using part of his olive coat to block the incoming rain. I had no choice, but to accept his chivalrous act. Before I could even reach for my house key, the door swung open. “Daddy,” Anna inquired, cocking her head slightly, “who is this?”

“This is, uh, --”

“I am Siris.”

The whole ride home with him was nothing but silence, mostly from my reluctance to ask any questions. Never did I imagine this man would have the voice of a baritone jazz singer. Actually, I did wonder if he could he sing. I couldn’t help but let my mind stray as I welcomed him into our home.

“Okay, Mr. Siris? I’m going to grab you some fresh clothes. If you need to, the bathroom is down the hall and it’s the last door on the right. My name is Grant, by the way.”

“My thanks.” he bowed, smiling. At least I think he was smiling. He walked off, in search of the bathroom.

As I pointed him on his way, I walked into the master bedroom and scrambled through the dresser, looking for something his size. However, I was not so sure I had anything in a “titan” size. Granted, he wasn’t very broad. I managed to find my old university sweater and a pair of joggers. That sweater was the only good thing that came out those 4 treacherous years, besides an over-glorified paper with my name on it and a handshake.

Before I went to go check on my supposed “guest”, I wanted to be sure I could get something to defend myself, should he have been a problem. A gleaming karambit caught my eye, Lord knows why I just had a combat knife lying around. Just as I clipped onto my belt -- trying to make it seem as inconspicuous as possible -- I heard a knocking coming from the bathroom.

“Sir Grant!” the man called.

“Hey, I got you your clothes. Need something else?”

“I would be most grateful if you could spare me a razor.”

“Um, there should be a clean one in the first drawer.”

“Ah, much appreciated.”

I felt somewhat bad, but I don't know why. I guess it was my lack of communication. I stood there for a good minute or two before I finally uttered something.

“So, where are you from? If you don't mind me asking, that is.”

“I see you choose to be inquisitive now? If you must know, I happen to be a traveler.”

“Well that’s uh… that definitely narrows it down.” It was like I could feel him sighing to himself in there.

“I am a wanderer. I've traveled all over, but I've never found anywhere to settle.”

That man was harder to figure out than a Rubik’s Cube.

“How old are you?”

“Age is but a state of mind.”

“I’m 29.” I thought if I opened up to him, maybe he would've done the same for me.

“Hmm. I thought could sense some naivety from you.”

Not knowing how to react, I just softly hit my head against the adjacent wall. “If you’re 29, that makes me 1,000 years old.” he chuckled at his own joke. To be honest, I did too. I went off into the kitchen to fix up some grub for us. It was a struggle to pick between heating up the last of the stewed

beef or last night’s leftover kimchi. Knowing the obvious answer, I decided to reheat the beef; only Anna actually likes kimchi, have mercy on her soul.

“Anna, darling, can you set the table for dinner, please?”

“Can I set it up with Mr. Siris?” At first, I was seriously considering that she’d gone mental, but I remembered that every 7-year-old daughter is. “I-if he’s out of the bathroom, yes.”

I swear, that man had a sixth sense, because as soon as I said that he walked into the kitchen. If there were anyone to compare him to now? Probably a black Tom Selleck-- with some arguably cool sideburns.

“Mr. Siris, Mr. Siris!” Anna yelped.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Daddy says you can help me set the table!”

“Why, that sounds splendid! Let’s get to it then, shall we?”

It was nice to see Anna show him where everything was and how to set everything correctly. With everyone acquainted at the table, I dished out the stew into everyone’s bowl. As Anna and I dug in, Siris sat quietly with his hands together. “Uh, Siris? You can eat now.”

He opened his eyes. I don't think I've seen grey eyes before. “My apologies, I usually bless the food before I eat it.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine.”

We sat there eating in silence for a while, before I actually ask him one more question.

“Siris? What do you, uh, plan to do after you… secure yourself?”

He placed his fork down and looked me straight in the eye; I had my hand on the karambit sleeve just in case. “I hope to write myself a different conclusion. Find a new coda.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“In my past lives, I had no closure. So many times they ended in failure. I’ve been --er, am -- a poor man, and I've also been a king. Yet still, I am reborn over and over to, still in search of peace.”

I scanned his face for any sign of trembling, sweating, or shaking -- any sign of falsifying his story. But something told me -- no, called out to me -- that it was the truth. “I’ve died in war, in bed, in the rain, at sea, in space. I've explored the cosmos and the great reefs. I've lived, loved, and lost. What really astonishes me, however, is that you are the first person who ever extended this sort of courtesy to me. That means something.” he happily said. “So to answer your previous question… we will see where this rebirth leads to.” Siris just kind of stared at his bowl, off in his own little world. I had no idea what to make of what he said to us.

“Mr. Siris?”

“Yes, Ms. Anna?”

“Can Daddy and I help you write the ending to your story? I like happy endings!”

Siris took a second to himself and then looked at me. “Daddy, please can we help him?”

I eyed Siris for a second. I already took him in from the street, clothed him, and fed him. I figured, “Why not?”

“Most excellent. I owe you my life. One of them, I suppose.” Siris snickered.

“Hmm. Oh hey, Siris? Thanks for trusting us this much.”

“I should be saying that to you.” he answered, smiling. I was certain he was that time.

At that moment, I was seriously pondering whether or not I was face to face with an immortal. That night really showed me that no act of kindness -- no matter how great or minuscule -- can really change someone’s life. If anyone has taught me that, more so than anyone else… it would have to be Siris.