Ruby

Ruby, a lonley old woman starts communicating with the presenter on her TV. Her best friend and son concerned that her mind is failing arrange for her to see a doctor. But Ruby has made other plans

Ruby


1.

Ruby Hazelwood stood at her kitchen table kneading dough. She was seventy-seven years old. Her manic shock of curly, auburn hair was fading grey at the roots; she refused to admit she dyed it, refused time as it latched itself to her small frame. Upon her face her rouge was badly applied, leaving smears and round globs along her cheekbones. Her dark eyes were worried, sparkling.
She hummed along to the song echoing from the small TV perched on the kitchen counter. She was trying to ignore the man, cramped up in the left hand corner of the screen, desperately attempting to gain her attention. From out the corner of her eye she could see him waving his arms, knocking his head from side to side, even once - she was certain - sticking out his tongue in exasperation, annoyance. When he did that Ruby had gritted her teeth, smacked the dough down into the table, and surrendered.
Surreptitiously she gazed over her shoulder, assuring her son was nowhere near; she shuffled quietly to the kitchen door, her house empty in the hot afternoon; she was alone. She rubbed off loose pieces of the sticky mixture from her hands, dragged a chair across the floor and sat near to the TV.
The man in the corner smiled at her. He leaned in closer to the screen, he cupped his mouth with his left hand, whispered, "my darling! Why have you been ignoring me today?"
Ruby gave him a naughty, cheeky grin, a girlish giggle, "aww, I've been busy. And," she leaned in close to the screen, whispered conspiratorially, "I don't want my son to know we're still speaking. He tells me I'm crazy when I tell him you speak to me, that you dance with me, sometimes."
"Oh come now Ruby! You mustn't let him speak to you like that. You don't want him putting things into your head!" He winked at her.
She leaned back in her chair, absently played with the ruby and silver locket around her neck. "I know I'm not mad!" Her laugh was broken and questioning, the smile on her reddened lips anxious. Ruby doubled forward, elbows on her knees; she was so close to the buzzing television she could smell the static, her voice was nervous as she spoke, "you don't think I'm mad, do you?"
A concerned smile gently spread the man's lips, his head tilted slightly to the side, "my dear, you're no more crazy than I am."
Ruby smiled, relieved to hear the confirmation. "That's what I thought."
The clink of the front gate opening then locking tensed Ruby; she quickly moved the chair back to the table and bent in close to the TV, "my son... I'll have to stop talking with you now, but don't go anywhere he won't be long." She hurried back to the drying dough and continued kneading.
"Ma? Ma, you here? Ah," a tall man entered the kitchen, "there you are." He stood at the table, thick arms akimbo. "Bread?"
"No it's not ready yet, but there's still some left, in the bin."
"I mean, are you making bread?" He spoke with impatience, and dropped onto a creaking chair. He waited; when his mother didn't respond he went on, "what's for lunch? God I'm starving. It's been one hell of a day." Philip Hazelwood combed his fingers through his thinning ash-blond hair, sweat trickling down his flushed face. He leaned as close to the table as his belly would allow and killed a smouldering cigarette, only just masking his disgust. He looked up at a smiling Ruby, he felt his annoyance grow. "Well?"
Ruby lifted her eyes from the task at hand; she frowned at Phil, puzzled, "what? Well what?"
"Christ Ma! For lunch! What's for lunch?" He pushed himself away from the table, angrily jolting open the fridge door.
"Okay, okay, Philip. No need to get so upset. There's some chicken mayonaise in there, in the little blue container. You can make yourself a sandwich and a -"
"Jesus Ma, you haven't made me anything? You know I don't have time and you couldn't have made me anything?" The fridge rattled as the door slammed closed. He pushed past her back, getting a glass of water from the sink.
Ruby sighed, abandoning once more the dough. "I'll make it now then, five minutes. You get so angry with me, for what? I'll make you a sandwich right now. It's not the end of the world, Phil, you know."
He rinsed the glass and placed it on the rack, hurriedly walking out of the small hot room. "Just forget it. Don't bother. I'll get a takeaway." He looked back at her from the doorway. "I hope that's not the same piece of dough you've been busy with since before I left this morning?"
She didn't answer him, didn't look at him.
"Christ." He thundered down the passage. "I'll see you this evening. Hope dinner's done when I get here."
Ruby listened to the gate slamming shut and turned to the TV. The man was no longer in the corner. She sighed and felt the disappointment swell in her heart. She placed the wellworked bread dough into a bowl and covered it with a blanket. Before leaving the kitchen she stole a final glance at the television. Still nothing.
She raised up her eyebrows then knotted them into a frown.
"I'm not mad."


2.

Summer afternoons are ungodly beasts in Pienkiesfontein. The heat creeps slowly and without mercy upon the small desert town; the onus of breathing sending many an inhabitant into an apoplexy, into a raging slumber.
Small town heat is unpredictable that way.
And it was a particularly splenetic Sunday afternoon when Ruby Hazelwood first noticed the TV man. She was sitting smoking in the kitchen, busy with some needlepoint as the lunch roasted in the oven, the TV humming steadily in its corner.
"Ruby."
She stopped, her hands frozen in mid-stitch, her head cocked to the side. It was a perfectly still day, the midday sun having breathed silence upon the baked earth. Inside the house, apart from the television, it was exquisitely quiet. Dust could be heard settling in cool, dark corners, lightly brushing sighing walls on their descent. So when the unmistakably masculine voice floated gently in the air Ruby was certain she had heard correctly; a soft friendly voice, speaking her name.
Placing the half-finished canvas on the table she walked over to the back door, to see if perhaps a visitor had come calling, perhaps her son. But the yard was empty; she mumbled to herself as she checked the lock on the gate and shuffled over to the kitchen door, peering down the passage. Nothing.
"Ruby!"
Louder this time, determined. Ruby's shoulders felt to jump loose of her back, her legs felt soft and unsteady. She raised her hand to her thumping heart, clutched at her precious locket and closed her eyes before turning around, to face whatever - whoever?- could be calling her name.
She only opened her eyes once the turn was complete, once she was sure nothing had struck her down, a foe in her own house. Again the surroundings stood empty. She swallowed a lump of fear, took in the kitchen and frowned, confused.
"Psst! Roo-beee! Over here, come over here. I'm here, my dear."
This time she didn't jump, wasn't afraid. The fright had quickly given way to panic and worry. She was a lonley woman, nearing eighty, and she was hearing voices; not exactly the most comforting of circumstances. The thought made her laugh anxiously, before quelling the need to cry. Trepdiatiously she moved through the kitchen, somehow feeling she was in foreign territory; she stopped at the table, looked over at the sink, the counters.
"You're getting warmer!" His voice was playful. "Ruby, just look over to your left, then we'll be fiery hot."
Slowly she turned her gaze to the left.
"There you are! Well hello, gorgeous!"
Ruby couldn't help herself blushing at the comment, couldn't stop the smile from appearing. It had been many years since a man had paid her such a compliment, and not only did she hear his words she felt them, shivering delicately over her skin. Finally she spoke, "where are you?"
"I'm here my dear, where I've always been. Come closer to the TV, can you see me?"
Frowning hard at the screen she at last saw him, in a square, outlined box in the top left corner.
He tapped on the glass and smiled broadly at the septuagenarian. "There we go! You see me now?"
She looked at the TV, bewildered, suspicious. How can he see me? How does he know my name?
"It's all the new technology, see?" He explained, as if anticipating her thoughts, his head aimed upwards, marveling at invisible forces. "Such wires and wirelesses; satellites, fiber optics and clouds. Quite remarkable, really."
"But my name? How do you know my name?"
"Simple! Apart from having your contacts as a subscriber to our channel I've heard your friends! I've heard them speak your name." He winked at her.
"You've... You've heard my friends?" She couldn't hide the shock in her voice, the feeling of embarrassment. She pressed her face close to the screen, "what else have you heard?"
"Plenty." His smile was devilish, wickedly playful. "I know, for instance, that your son is divorced, he is unhappy at his job at the hardware store and he likes to complain, a lot. Yesterday Maureen visited you and spoke of her brand-new bouncing great-grandchild. And I know what you had for dinner last night. Eggs, pork and beans."
Her mouth dropped open, her skin lost all colour. He laughed, "oh now, darling! Don't spend another second thinking about it, worrying yourself over it. I'm part of your family now, and I hope you accept me with open arms. I really like you. I think you're really swell, old gal." Another wink.
He watched amused as her impression changed from embarrassment to anger, confusion to interest; he watched as her eyes lit up, a shy smile creeping over her mouth.
"You really like me? Like spending time with me?"
"Of course! When they asked us presenters here who wants to go home to Ruby Hazelwood I practically jumped at the opportunity. You're my special little lady."
Another blush coloured Ruby's creased, wrinkled cheeks. She wasn't too sure about this man, he seemed too smooth, too charming. But deep down, in a tiny buried place in her heart, she craved his attention, enjoyed it. And what could it hurt, really? He was way over there, wherever 'there' was - New York? Hollywood? - so how much danger could there be? And truth be told, she thought him nice enough, very friendly. On top of all of that, so good looking! So young!
"I like how you speak... How you sound. Your accent." She felt like a silly teenager, experiencing her first crush, as she heard herself say the words.
"Why thank you my darling." He beamed at her, a smile so brilliant it shone through the screen. "And I'll have you know I think you're delightful, in every way."
Ruby giggled, she felt breathless, felt her heart spinning stupidly in her chest. "Thank you." Her voice was soft, shy; she found some composure as she asked, "what's your name? You know all these things about me and I know nothing about you. So, what's your name?"
"I'm Marco. Marco George, and believe me Mrs Ruby Ann Hazelwood, it is my pleasure to know you."

Having learned that TV man Marco George could see and hear everything that happened in her kitchen had Ruby feeling reluctant at first. She would try to avoid spending too much time in the room, unless it was absolutely necessary. She had stopped immediately walking around in her pyjamas.
Though after their first contact Marco had not reappeared too often, and had spoken even less. She started to believe that she had imagined it all, or better still, had dreamt it. Again she felt easy in her favourite room in the house, and so she returned to spending her hours busy with needlepoint, reading and crosswords back in the light, airy space.
One late morning, when struggling with a particularly difficult crossword clue, she heard the familiar tone.
"It's 'anthropophagy'."
The suddeness of the voice shook her and she dropped her pen. She smiled awkwardly when she glanced at the TV and saw Marco there, a pleasant look on his pleasant face.
"The word you seek, twelve down - it's anthropophagy, human consumption of human flesh." He grinned. "Cannibalism."
Speechless at first, slightly uneasy, she smiled, "thank you." She wrote the word in. "You're right about it too, fits with the other letters." She looked up at him, they exchanged smiles. "Thank you. Marco."
"You're more than welcome, my dear."
A peculiar silence settled over the kitchen; she feeling somewhat foolish to speak to her TV, Marco waiting to be spoken to. They waited a while, shifted uncomfortably. Ruby at last spoke to him, "why are you here? What do you do? Exactly?"
His smile was expectant. He had assumed to answer that questions ages ago. "It really is nothing to write home about. It's customer satisfaction, at the end of things. We want to engage with our viewers on a very personal level. We want to be friends, I suppose. Not just some money-guzzling network, out of touch with its public." Ruby seemed dejected at the reply. Marco sensed it, and went on, "yes, I'm afraid it's nothing too romantic. But Ruby dearest, unlike the others around here, I enjoy my time with you. I enjoy you. And in fact, I want to spend more time with you. I want to be your best friend."
Her demeanor perked immediately. "You really mean that, Marco?"
"I would never lie to you."
Ruby couldn't remember the last time she felt this happy, through words of another. "I'm glad, Marco. I like my time with you, too. It makes my days... It makes me feel," she shrugged, looked out the window, "it makes me feel less lonely. Like I'm with someone who really wants to be with me, and enjoys it. You make me feel alive. You make me feel special. Like I have something in the day to look forward to." It was a totally fatuous thing to admit to, but she felt even if Marco - if any of it - weren't real, at least she'd only be confessing to a television, a soulless entity.
"My dear, you bless my heart to hear you say that. You honor me with your time and I could not be more grateful."
Ruby felt the tears pooling in her eyes, her heart heavy with ambivalent feelings. Joy, to know she had someone in her life, someone who appreciated her; sorrow, worry and confusion to know that that person may well be a lunatic creation brought on by senesence, her stumbling mind. The happiness she felt bewildered her, but she needed to believe it, to believe in Marco, and so she went along with it, her heart entirely.

Somewhat tentativley the relationship grew, and as the hours they spent together mounted Ruby felt that in Marco she had at this late stage in her life found a remarkable friend. Though sometimes, late at night in the quiet of the dark, she would question her sanity, fear the reality she knew was nothing but a madwoman's fairytale.
But she quickly denied herself the thought; Marco was real. He liked her and their time together and he was real. He was Marco George.
And he was hers.


3.

Dinner that night with Phil was silent and uncomfortable.
Early last week he had stopped by for a sandwich and a change of clothes and had found his mother dancing atop the kitchen table, giggling; she was completely overcome by the moment, by such bliss, and had been whispering Marco! Marco, how you dance! How you feel, your arms!
Phil had all but hurled his mother from the table, screaming at her, asking her what in the devil she was up to, what had come over her.
Ruby had then fully explained to Phil about Marco, about how he could see and hear her, about the wonderful new technology that afforded such interaction, and just how nice it was, to have a friend like Marco George. And Phil! it's all just so incredible! He's such a nice young man too!
Phil had laughed straight in his mother's face and scolded her, told her no such thing was possible. And mom, you better stop this nonsense or I'm going to have to take you to Dr le Grange, and then you'll see what happens.
Ruby had previously mentioned the afternoon chats with Marco George before, but he had never properly listened, or had taken her too seriously; he had always known his mom to be slighlty eccentric, taken to the occasional flight of fancy. But the day of the table-top dance had shaken him. He found that not only did it cause a deep concern in his belly, it also angered and ashamed him. Sometimes he felt guilty to admit that, at times, his anger far exceded his concern for his aging mother.
And now, seated across the table from her, he couldn't take his eyes off the silly little smile she had on her overly made up face. Phil struggled to control the irritation and disgust each bite of food, each whistling breath she took caused him. He quickly looked back at his own plate, rubbed his hand across the top of his head and forced himself to relax.
With a deep breath he calmly asked her, "so Ma, how was your day? Mine was hell. Uncle Hannes dragged me out to his farm to have a look at his sheep. So hot, and all those stinking, noisy animals. And you know what for? Fleas. Wanted to know if I had stuff for fleas. Coulda just asked me at the shop instead of driving fifteen kilometers on a dirt road, in the sun, in the middle of the day. And his bakkie doesn't have aircon. Some people," he said through a mouthful of creamed cauliflower, "just don't use their heads, just don't think."
Ruby looked at him sympathetic, unsure of what to say, exactly. Through Phil's tired rant she had kept a close eye on Marco; he had yawned and rolled his eyes and lulled his head backwards while listening to Phil's dull diatribe. She had struggled not to laugh at her funny little friend. When she noticed Phil staring at her, noticed the ill-disguised contempt, she blinked rapidly, kept her voice even. "Sorry dear. Sorry Uncle Hannes can't keep his sheep to himself." He glared at her; nonchalantly she spoke on, "I think my day was slightly better than yours. Maureen came over again, brought me some muffins she made. I took a walk down to the shops, had a cup of coffee." She smiled at her middleaged son, "just another day in Pienkiesfontein, I suppose."
Phil kept an unblinking eye on her for a second more then dug back into his plate, cutting his way through the last of his steak. Secretly he was interested to ask about Mr Marco George, but he didn't want to know anything about him, didn't want to acknowledge his disconcerting existence. He was afraid.
Quietly, when he had fallen victim to his curiosity, he asked, "and what about your 'friend', your little dance-man," he twirled his fork in his fingers, drawing invisible circles in the air, "you seen him lately? Done any more tangos? Or was it the foxtrot?"
Ruby decided to ignore the derision in her son's voice, calmly she answered him, "no, I've not seen him lately. I think you scared him off, Phil." She winked at him.
"Good. Good riddance. Starting to think for a moment there I was gonna be the one in town with a loony mother." He caught a flash of hurt in her eyes, he softened his words, "look, Ma, I just want you to realise it's not real, he's not real. You have to be rational about it, think it through clearly. There's no way it can be possible. That technology just doesn't exist." Phil sat back, thought over his words, questioning if technology like that did indeed exist. Covering his potential mistake he coolly added, "and even if it did, you think that old TV of yours would work with it? Never. Never in a million years."
Ruby kept her mouth drawn, all the while tapping lightly on her locket; they had had similar conversations just this week, and the more she tried to explain, the way Marco had about the technology behind it, the more irate Phil had become. So she kept quiet; she listenend and nodded obediently.
"But ja, if he's staying away - and he is, isn't he? You don't hear him anymore? You're not just saying that to please me, are you?" She shook her head. "Well, good. And if he has gone and you're not hearing things anymore that's wonderful. Wonderful. Can put it all down to a slight lapse, a slight suspension of reality. Maybe now I can relax a little. Maybe now it'll be a bit more normal around here."
Ruby watched him as he scooped the last bite of food into his mouth. He swallowed the last of his juice and stood, taking his plate to the sink. Hesitantly he placed an awkward hand on her shoulder, he struggled to sound affectionate, "you know Ma, if you just want someone to talk to, I mean if you get lonely, I mean... I mean..." His face heated with embarrassment, he spat out his sentiment before lifting his burning hand from her body, "I mean I don't mind listening, from time to time when you have something to say. Something normal, anyway."
Ruby's fingers barely grazed her son's as she reached up to his withdrawing hand. It was the briefest of encounters, unsettling. It had been years since they had had any form of physical contact with one another, and to her, tonight, his skin hardened as it touched hers.
She wanted to smile at the discomfitting display of affection, but she couldn't. Ruby let out a small laugh, looked back, up into his stiff face, "that's ok Phil. I know I have you, and thank you for your words."
Phil was silent, unable to look in the eyes of this small, fragile woman, his own flesh, his own blood. He moved away from her, ready to flee her presence. "Sure. You just don't talk about Mr George and we're good to go." He grinned foolishly. "I'm gonna use the phone very quickly, then I'm heading home. Tired."
"Okay Phil, and you have a good night. See you tomorrow for breakfast?"
"Of course."
"Alright then." Ruby looked across the kitchen at her son. Depsite the harshness of his manner, the coolness of his affection, she loved him, he was her only child after all, and to have him leave every night methodically chipped away at her. This she would never tell him, how could she? So she just accepted it, it was nothing important anyway. He would be back in the mornings and afternoons for more arguments, more misunderstandings. This was how they showed their love for the other, constant antagonists. Ruby sighed, gave him a tired smile, "goodnight Philly, you sleep well now, okay? And don't forget to lock up when you leave, please."
"As if I would, Ma." He paused, shifted on his feet, uncertain as to what he was feeling, what kept him lingering. Abruptly he cleared his throat, frowned hard at Ruby, "you keep that TV off, you ignore that George fellow, you hear me?" She nodded. "Good. Ja, well... G'night Ma. I'll see you early tomorrow, before seven, yes?"
"That's all fine."
"Good. Goodnight."
"Night, Phil. Have a pleasant night."
And with a breath he was gone. Ruby sat in her empty, quiet kitchen. It was almost nine-thirty and she was tired. She eased back into her chair, hands in her lap. She listened briefly to the night, its unnerving combination of silence and sounds. She hated it. Refusing to fall further she briskly turned the volume up on the TV, went over to do the dishes. Marco was eyeing her, amused, curious. She laughed at him. "What's wrong with you?"
"My dear, it always amazes me how the most mundane of activities are made magical through your grace."
"Oh Marco! You are a charmer!"
"Only with you, my sweet."
She dried off her hands on a towel, walked over to the TV and cocked her head at him, "such a charmer. But now, my friend, I am going to bid you a goodnight. I can't keep my eyes open any longer." Ruby looked about the kitchen, then back at Marco. "I'll see you tomorrow though, won't I?"
"I wouldn't be anywhere else my dear, you know that." His smile was warm, his voice soft, "you have the sweetest of dreams, my darling, and I'll be here in the morning, to welcome you to your day."
"I look forward to it, Marco." She stepped in closer to the television, blew the man a kiss which he graciously returned. "Goodnight, Mr George."
Ruby unwillingly turned the TV off; she watched his image flash bright then slowly turn grey, dissolve completely. Ruby straightened her back, took a last glance around the empty kitchen, ignoring the pull at her heart.
She turned off the light and made her way to her bedroom, moving carefully through the dark of her slumbering house.


4.

Maureen Joubert walked briskly from her home to Ruby's.
The two woman had been friends for twenty-four years, having met when they were both working for the same furniture franchise in Durban. Maureen took an early retirement and had settled in the small Karoo town, urging her friend to do the same. Ruby had followed Maureen's footsteps, her gentle pleas, and bought herself a house a few minutes walk from Maureen.
Recently, Maureen had been grateful she stayed in such close proximity to her former colleague. There was something not quite right with Ruby, something that was cause for concern.
Maureen Joubert was an exceptionally youthful eighty year old, with three children - all daughters - seven grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. Her husband of fifty-seven years, she would tell you, was the most wonderfully annoying man she ever had the pleasure to meet. Her dark brown hair had only the vaguest silver tint; her green eyes were still sharp and focussed, and her tall, lanky frame still, at times, displayed its younger athletic self. She was active in the garden club, the cooking club, the Pienkiesfontein social committee, and she was an avid amateur astrologer.
And oh! was there something ever so wrong in the stars! Something horribly upsetting.
This was all she was able to think of as she hurried towards Ruby's gabled Victorian.
She noticed her friend had been slipping recently, not behaving as she used to. Ruby had spoken endlessly about a man she had met on TV, a Marco George. At first Maureen thought she meant she had met a television personality here, idling away in Pienkiesfontein. When Ruby had said that no, there is a man on TV that talks to her everyday Maureen was immediately alarmed. She hid her jolted reaction and had casually asked Ruby about this man, and how it works, their communication. Maureen didn't know anything useful about technology, though she was quite sure it was just about impossible for these daily conversations with Marco George to occur.
One day, for Ruby to prove her point, she had Maureen watch a show which Marco was the host, to show her friend that he really was speaking to her. While Maureen agreed that indeed he did seem to look straight at the viewer, this was only because he was directly looking at the camera. In essence, Maureen patiently told Ruby, he is talking to millions of other people.
Ruby puffed up, irritated that her best friend didn't understand how things worked, how Marco really did speak to her and only her.
He calls me by my name, Maurie! How do you explain that one away?
Maureen couldn't. Or rather, she didn't want to. How do you tell a person, politely, that they are losing their marbles? It can't be done. So against what she felt was best, she humored Ruby, went along with the woman's peculiar fantasy.
Reaching the quiet household she let herself in the garden gate, then straight on into the house. Maureen could smell roast beef and banana bread. She walked softly down the unlit passage to the kitchen. When she got to the door she could hear Ruby talking animatedly with another visitor. She listened as her friend rambled excitedly, laughed, whispered. But Maureen could hear no one else.
Very carefully she opened the kitchen door, anxious as to what she was going to find.
She saw her friend sitting with her back to the table, looking towards the kitchen sink. There was no one else with her. Maureen watched silently stunned, morbidly fascinated as Ruby seemed to answer questions; wait patiently as her invisible guest spoke; laughed at unheard jokes and lean in close to empty air, whispering into the nothingness.
Ruby unexpectedly stood and turned, a huge grin splitting her face. Maureen felt so shocked by the other the woman the pair stood inanimate, staring at the other in terrified silence.
Slowly Ruby raised her hand, pushing vagrant strands of hair behind her ears. She looked at Maureen coyly, cleared her throat. "Maureen. I uhm, wasn't expecting to see you today."
"Since when have you ever expected to see me, Rue?" She moved closer to the table, deciding whether to sit or stay standing. "Sweetie, what's going on here? Who were you talking to?"
Maureen could see Ruby stiffen, her creased face tighten.
"Nothing." Ruby barked at her friend.
Maureen waited before responding, uncertain how to say what she knew needed to be said. She stepped closer to Ruby, carefully placing her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Rue, you need to tell me what was going on just now. You know you can trust me, you know you can tell me. So tell me. Please."
Ruby irritatedly knocked the hand from her shoulder, reached to the table for her cigarettes and lit one up. She took a few puffs, seeming to consider if she should tell Maureen about Marco and his friends. She realised that she had been caught out, seemingly talking to thin air, she realised Maureen would never just let this one slide. Worst of all, she knew how bizarre it must've seemed.
With a sigh she motioned for her friend to sit; she grabbed her seat, twisted it back towards the table and sat down with a grunt. The two women faced each other. Ruby took a few more drags on her cigarette before killing it.
"Maurie, I've told you about Marco, the man who -"
"Yes my dear, you have." Maureen cut her off; she had heard the basics about Marco numerous times; right now she was concerned about today, this episode. "But Rue, today, just now," she pointed towards the sink, "who were you talking to? Was it Marco?"
Ruby shook her head, "no no, he was here earlier but he left. He brought his friends, for me to meet them. He left them here with me when he had to go to work. They all work with him, you know? Very nice people. Very friendly. Very happy to meet me, Maurie!"
Her smile spread wide on her face; but Maureen noticed something in Ruby's eyes she'd never seen before. An excited vacuity. The empty gaze scared the hell out of Maureen, it made her want to cry.
She sucked down her emotions as she forced herself to speak. "That's nice sweetie. And what were they saying to you?"
"Ah, nothing, nothing. Just telling me how nice it was to meet me, that my house is lovely. They really like me, Maurie." Her excitement grew. "And they told me that Marco, that he is taken with me, smitten. They say he has a little crush on me. A good looking youngster like that!
"He really likes me, Maurie."
Ruby's silent, frightened smile broke Maureen apart. She coughed out a laugh in an attempt to hide her tears. "Rue, I'm very happy that they like you as much as they do. You know you're a very special person to me, and to Phil, and we like you very much too, Rubes. We love you."
"Ag," Ruby smiled and waved off her friend's sentiments. "I know that Maureen. I know how you feel about me. But this is a man, it's different. It's different to have those feelings come from a man, from Marco."
"Rue I know that. But look, Marco is where? The States? The UK? That's so far sweetie! You know Henk has always had his eye on you, you should call him, get together sometime."
"Leave Marco for Henk? Maureen have you lost you mind," - Maureen wanted to laugh at the absurdity of Ruby's word choice - "Henk Grobler is eighty-nine years old. He doesn't have teeth nor hair. And he smells... Funny. Good god! Leave Marco for Henk!" Ruby laughed and stood up, "anyhow, Marco says I could always come over if I wanted to. He could help me arrange it and everything."
"How, Rue? How? How would that all work?"
Ruby shrugged. "I don't know. Marco just says he could help. He knows a lot of important people, you know? He's very important himself." She said it with a smugness that bristled Maureen. "He's an amazing man, Maurie, you just don't know how much."
"Yes. Too good to be true. Or so it seems." Maureen couldn't help her irritation as it seeped up through her pores. She honestly loved Ruby, but she felt the time to act softly and accept the woman's fantasy had passed. The situation was becoming more serious; Ruby was quickly slipping away from reality and she couldn't just sit back and pander to her, and do absolutely nothing about it.
Abruptly she rose from her seat, "alright Rue. Well I'll be going now, I have things to do in town."
"Okay okay. Thanks for the visit, Maurie. What you have to do in town?"
"Oh just this and that. I have to go to the bank, then to the shops. Daily things that irritate me." Maureen smiled at her diminutive friend. So old she suddenly seemed, with her painted wrinkled face and spreading grey hair. She decided to take a chance, "hey Rue, I see the grey is at last starting to catch up with you!" Her voice was warm and humorous as she teased Ruby.
"Hey! That's not grey. It's blonde Maurie, I keep telling you that! I was always blonde as a little girl." Ruby playfully hit the arm of the taller woman.
Maureen laughed. "Yes yes, I know. You've told me that before." She leaned down to hug the other woman, holding the embrace. "I have to get going. But have a pleasant afternoon Rue, and I'll see you soon, okay?"
"Of course it's okay!"
The two friends pulled apart and Ruby walked her to the front door, waving Maureen off as she walked down the dusty street.
Ruby closed and locked the front door, softly padded her way back to the kitchen.


5.

Phil sat horribly cramped at his desk in the tiny, unbearably warm manager's office of the hardware store. He had taken to keeping his door closed and kept a small fan in the corner of the room. With the door open, the acrid, medicinal smell of all the livestock and agricultural chemicals made his mouth taste terrible, so he chose instead to slowly sweat away his days in his stuffy office.
Without warning the door burst open, sending a stack of papers quivering to the floor. He quickly pushed himself from his chair in an attempt to grab them, hitting his belly against the desk as he did so. He winced, sat back down and glared at the figure in the doorway, massaging his throbbing paunch.
"We've got to do something about Ruby, Phil, she's getting worse!"
Phil grunted. He dropped his gaze to his stomach, carefully unbuttoning his shirt to see if the collision with his desk had marked him.
"Philip! Are you hearing me! I said we've got to do something about your mother!" Maureen flung up her arms, her voice was tense and raised, a shaky alto.
He let out an irritated sigh. "Well what's happened now Auntie Maureen? What's little Rue done today?" He buttoned up his shirt, eased himself back into the chair. "More dancing? Lunchtime pantomimes? Performance art?" Phil teased, a smirk on his glistening face.
Maureen looked at him with shocked disbelief. She closed the door and sat in the chair opposite from him. "This is serious Phil, she's getting a lot worse."
Leaning over his desk Phil growled, "you think I don't know that? You think I don't see she's losing more of her mind every other day?" He sat back. "I just don't know what you expect me to do about it."
Maureen's mouth fell open. "She's your mother..."
"You don't have to keep reminding me."
"You cocky little b*****d! How can you be so heartless? So indifferent?"
Phil breathed slowly, he frowned his eyes closed and spoke to the intruding woman. "Look, Maureen, I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. It's not as if I can help, no one can. Now, if she needed money or food or a place to stay... That would be different. Easier."
"Easier? Alright so, because it's something difficult, something hard to understand and cope with you're not going to do anything?" She raised her hands, her white palms facing Phil, "and yes yes yes, before you say that nothing can be done, I mean take her to the damn doctor for a start! A pshychiatrist, somone who would be able to assist, someone who could tell us something."
"Have you tried telling her that? Have you tried suggesting going to a doctor?" His voice was low, angry, "no you haven't. But I have. And you know what she's like, you know how independant she is, so goddamn stubborn! Insists that she's not crazy, that Marco is real, that he adores her, that his friends adore her, that pigs can actually fly but they're just too lazy, and that Elvis is a fairy chillaxing on some Mediterranean island!" He shouted at the calm old woman. Phil sucked in a deep breath, he felt his throat vibrating, his heart thumping. He struggled to lower his voice, "Aunt Maureen, I just don't know what to do. I say doctor, she says I'm trying to have her put away, that I would prefer it that way so I can have her money. Again I say doctor, she says she's not sick, never felt better, that there's nothing wrong with her at all. Finally I say doctor and she tells me I want to see her committed, locked away til she's dead as dead can be and, when that happens, I'd be the happiest happy person in Pienkiesfontein." He frowned, then softened his expression. He looked directly at Maureen, "I honestly don't know what to do. I can't drag her to the doctor. I can't get one out to see her - imagine what that would do! - and there is no one else to talk to.
"So please, if you can think of some..." he bobbed his head, searching for the right word, "peaceful way to do things, let me know and we can try it. And I mean 'we'; you say you're so concerned, well show you are, then, and you come over when we decide on how to approach this. You agree to that?"
"Of course I agree Phil. I'm terribly worried about her, and if I can help, I'll help
"I love your mother you know. She's my oldest living friend. I couldn't bear the thought if she, if something..."
Phil watched anxiously as Maureen struggled with her emotions. He was hoping she wouldn't cry and would have to comfort her; the thought of having to touch and console another human being terrified him. He quickly stood up, affectively cutting her emotional soliloquy. "I know. I know, Auntie Maureen. Nothing like that is going to happen. We'll speak to someone and get something sorted." He tapped her briefly on the shoulder, motioned towards the door. "Now I really don't mean to be rude, but I am rather busy. Month end. Farmers showing up with accounts to be settled, new ones to open," he smiled, playfully shook his head, "and all that. So I really am needed." He opened the door, Maureen stood. "But I mean it; I'll make some enquiries and then I'll get hold of you and we can see where to go from there, okay?"
"This week? You'll sort something this week?"
"This week. I promise you Auntie Maureen, I'll do it before Friday."
Maureen wanted to believe him. She knew his and Ruby's relationship had always been stressful, but she was certain they loved one another even if they never openly displayed it. She smiled up at the tall man, touched lightly his hot forearm, "thank you Phil. I know you're a good boy, I know you're worried even if you show it in a peculiar fashion," she teased, "but I know I can count on you."
He gave her a sincere smile. "You can, Auntie Maureen. I mean it."
"Thank you, Phil. Thank you." She patted his cheek and left him standing in his office.
Phil settled back down behind his desk. He felt a gnawing heaviness pressing down on his head, on his shoulders. He pulled out from a drawer the Yellow Pages and started scanning the listings for psychologists in the area.


6.

Arrangements were made for the following week. Phil and Maureen were going to sit down and have an honest talk with Ruby.
Phil had contacted a psychologist the day after the visit from Maureen and had told the doctor about his mother's situation. The doctor had informed him, that by the sound of it, it was most likely senile dementia. She had made an appointment to see them for Thursday, and had suggested they inform Ruby of their intentions, but assure her also it was just a preliminary check up, an assessment, before further treatment and care could be determined. He had thanked her and telephoned Maureen immediately. After talk and consideration they had agreed to meet the Tuesday before the appointment, at Ruby's.
Phil had taken the week off from work, trying not to give too much information away. He knew through experience the story would grip the small town soon enough, without him having to broadcast his embarrassing predicament. It was one of the most infuriating aspects of small town life and Phil hated it absolutely. Not having a private life, anonymity.
Most days he resented his decision to move down from Johannesburg to this middle-of-hell town. At the time it seemed like a good idea. Well no, perhaps not a good idea but better-than-bad. He had just been dismissed from his sixth job and his wife of eight years had decided she had had enough and walked out on him. Running home to mommy seemed almost welcoming, comforting. And at first it wasn't too bad. But her overbearing, argumentative ways soon proved too much and he moved into a place of his own.
That problem was solved fairly easily.
Having his personal life being so easily observed however, was a problem he still couldn't cope with, couldn't condone. The problem being is that there is just not much else for a group of old-age pensioners to do in a small community besides talk about one another. And boy! would they be talking about this one for some time to come! The thought of it made him cringe, and he tried his absolute best to keep it to himself for as long as possible.

Tuesday morning he was awake early, after an unsatisfactory sleep. He was nervous. He didn't want to do this at all; no talking, no arguing, no bargaining. No acknowledgements. He definitely didn't want to to listen to his mother give such a fine example of madness.
After a quick coffee and dry toast he picked up Maureen from her hilltop cottage. They drove silently to Ruby's house. Thankfully the entire journey lasted under a minute and soon they were on the doorstep of the picturesque Victorian. He apprehensivley knocked on the door, looked down at the greying woman at his side and smiled awkwardly.
"Well. You ready for this?"
Phil detected a certain amount of worry in Maureen's voice. He peered inside his mother's dark home.
"No. I'm not. I wish I weren't here at all."

Ruby felt her body evaporate when she saw both Phil and Maureen on her front veranda. Both wore that look, that we're-not-here-to-hurt-you look, which belied the serious expression their faces couldn't quite conceal.
She opened up the door with a forced smile which they both reurned and led them through to the kitchen. As was usually the case the TV was on and the volume cranked up. Ruby made them coffee, put some biscuits out on a plate and sat down, joining the pair at the table.
Minutes passed before anyone spoke. All three seemed to keep a curious eye on the electric box on the counter. Neither Phil nor Maureen were quite sure if they were unconsciously wanting to see Marco George magically appear and start talking to them; although such a fantastical occurrence would save a lot of heartache it would also inspire in the concerned pair flat-out shock, not to mention the guilt for believing Ruby was systematically losing touch with reality.
Phil and Maureen exchanged glances, as if they were both tapping into this similar train of thought. Both were shamefully relieved, when after thirty minutes spent TV-gazing, Marco George did not make any appearances.
If any disappointment was to be found by the lack of his presence it belonged to Ruby. Although secretly, at times when she was brave enough to admit it, she suspected that Marco didn't exist, that he was a worrisome phantom of her failing mind.
The pleasantries were out of the way. There was nothing left to hide behind.
"Alright, well, Ma, I think you might suspect why we're both here today."
Ruby nodded at her son, her face was pained, her fingers softly ran over the ruby of her locket.
"Ma, Maureen and I are both very concerned about you, about this Marco George business." Phil paused, looked over at Maureen who kept her gaze gently on her friend. "He's not real, Ma. What you're hearing and seeing, none of it is real, none of it is happening."
Ruby, closed her eyes, her frustration and annoyance growing. Softly she spoke, her voice calm but forceful, "Philly, I'm not mad. You both think I'm mad but I'm not. I'm not some lunatic, Phil."
"Ma, neither of us think you're mad, least of all a lunatic," Phil's voice was unusually gentle, his manner surprised him. "What we do feel is that you've got an issue."
"An issue? What please, do you mean by that Phil?"
"I mean that something is a bit off, this whole thing with the TV people - Ma, we want you to talk to someone, so we can understand what the issue is."
"No! No, no, no! No doctors! This is just the beginning, isn't it? You both come over so quiet and sweetly when you have that up your sleeves, want to have me put away, Phil, so you can get stuck in, isn't that it?" She looked over at Maureen. "But Maurie, my dear sweet friend, why you? Why are you here, doing this to me?"
"Rue, we're worried about you, for you," Maureen offered, her heart slowly sinking, "we want you to speak to someone so we can get you the help you need, for you to get better."
"Better? Better? What's wrong with me! You tell me! What's wrong with me? I've never felt so good in all my years."
"Sweetie, we want to help you understand that what's been happening with you, it's, it's not healthy, Rue. While you can't see it, it's harming you. And Phil and myself can't not do anything anymore. We have to act."
Ruby's eyes grew wide, her back went rigid. "Act? What do you mean?" She carefully looked at Maureen, then Phil, back to Maureen. "What exactly is going on here, Maurie?"
A thick silence hugged the trio close, stifling them. Maureen sat quiet, desperately trying to grasp at useless words, trying think of a way to let her friend know of her appointment with the psychologist. She cleared her throat, spoke softly, "Rubes, we've arranged for you to see someone, someone who understands and can help with this problem." Ruby looked at her blankly, unresponsive. "Her name is Dr Helen Greyling and she's a psychologist out Hanover way who specialises in cases like this." Ruby was still silent, still disengaged. "Rue, we have an appointment for Thursday and Phil and I will go with you, we'll be there for you through this, Rubes."
Ruby slowly got up from her chair and stood at the window. She kept her back to her son and friend as she spoke. "So you both get together one day to discuss me? Both decide behind my back what has to be done with that silly old bat? You don't speak to me about it, you go around in secret."
"Ma, when we have tried to speak to you it goes nowhere. This was the only way, Ma."
"The only way? The only way!" Her voice was raised, her gaze still to the window. "What is that Philly? To sneak around with my best friend trying to have me put away? Why? Why can't you both just leave me alone? I'm not hurting anyone, I'm not hurting myself, Maureen, and, and I'm not bothering anyone. All I'm doing is talking with a nice young man who likes me, he actually likes me, and you two can't accept that! Why not? Why can't you leave me be? Why did you have to interfere like this?"
Maureen stood and and walked over to Ruby, placed a tentative hand on her back. "We're doing this Rubes, because we can't just sit back any longer and watch you disappear." She felt her voice crack, then shatter completely as she went on, "it's too painful to see, Rue. It breaks my heart everyday when I hear you talk about him. And I can't - I won't - lose you to some, to some imaginary makebelieve TV man. I can't lose you to that, Rubes."
Her eyes closed tight, a tired sigh, "he's real, Maurie. Marco is real."
Maureen removed her hand from her friend's back; she covered her face and cried softly. Phil got up to leave; he knew if he stayed for any longer he would end up screaming at his mother and he didn't want that.
He went to Maureen and softly pulled her by her elbow, "we should go now, Auntie Maureen. I'll take you home, unless you have to do things first?" She shook her head. "Alright then. I'll take you home.
"Ma, we're going to be here Thursday at eight. Your appointment is for eleven-thirty but it's a long drive." Phil leaned in close to his mother, his warm breath tickling her ear, "we are going to go, Ma. Hell or high water I'm going to take you to that doctor, and we're going to get you sorted.". He stooped lower, held her in an awkward embrace; both mother and son stiffened at the touch. Phil pulled away and looked down at her. "We'll see you then, Thursday at eight. Be ready, okay? I'll bring some cold drinks and food for the trip."
He followed Maureen to the kitchen door, he turned to Ruby, "all is going to be okay Ma, you'll see. That doctor, she'll get you sorted. It's all going to be okay." Phil hesitated. "I... I lo..." That Tuesday midmorning Philip Hazelwood had wanted desperately to tell his mother he loved her. But he just couldn't seem to bring his heart to speak the words. He let out a deep, forlorn breath, his eyes to the ground. "You look after yourself, Ma. And we'll see you Thursday."
Ruby didn't say anything back to him. She stood looking vacantly out at the street, glowing in the yellow sunshine.
He tapped twice on the doorframe and walked down the passage, away from her, away from the pain he felt so intensely as his words abandoned him. Before leaving the house he shut his eyes; through gritted teeth he heard his quivering voice in the quiet,
"I love you, Ma."


7.

When she heard the car pull away Ruby collapsed into a chair and sobbed uncontrollably. She was terrified of the future so quickly turned ominous. What made it worse, somehow, was that she didn't even see it coming. She felt blindsided by her son, her friend, and it split her heart open.
She clutched intensely to her locket, rocking back and forth in the wooden chair.
"Oh Marco. Marco why didn't you speak when they were here? Why Marco? If you did they would've believed me. But now they don't and they never will and they're going to have that doctor put me away! They want to take you away from me, Marco!"
"Who? Who is going to take me away from you my darling?"
Ruby jumped at his voice, quickly she pulled her chair to the TV and sat close to the screen, close to Marco. "Marco, where were you? Why didn't you speak to them?"
He looked at her, confused. "Who?"
"Why, Maurie and Phil of course. They were here just now, Marco, they want me to see a doctor. Why didn't you say something to them! Let them see you're real!"
"Darling, I was away earlier, a staff meeting. I heard absolutely nothing." Marco's voice was grave. "But Bee, why are they doing this to you? Why don't they believe you?"
"I don't know! I don't. I've explained how it works over and over. They tell me it's impossible, that it can't happen. They think I'm losing my mind Marco, and I'm scared. What if they are right, what if you're not real? What then, Marco? What will happen to me?" Tears ran slowly down her face, dipping into shallow crevices, cutting pink rivers through her blush.
"Sweetheart, it's not you, you're not losing your mind. I feel so helpless now, I feel I can't prove myself to them, at a time when you need me the most." Marco looked away from her, he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry Ruby. All I wanted was to be a part of your life, not only have I failed you, I've put you in a precarious situation.
"I didn't mean for any of this to happen, my dearest. I'm so sorry, Ruby. I'm sorry I've hurt you."
"Oh Marco," she gave him a small smile, "you've not hurt me. You've made me happy in so many ways. Just having you there to talk to, to have you listen..." Her words fell away. She gripped her locket, looking down at it. She rubbed a mark off the ruby.
"That means a lot to you, doesn't it?" Marco asked, directing his eyes to the pendant.
Ruby sniffled. "Yes, Philly's father, Gerald, gave it to me after Philly was born. A jewel for the most precious of jewels." Her voice quivered, her smile full of loss and grief. "That's what he said that day, all those years ago. So many, many years, right through my fingertips."
"You miss him, don't you? Gerald?"
"Oh I do. Now more than ever." She gave Marco a guilty look, "I don't mean anything on you, Marco, don't misunderstand that!"
"Of course not, my dear."
"It's just... I don't know. He was always there when I needed him. He never let me down." Her head dropped to her chest, her shoulders sagged. "I just feel so alone, Marco, and I'm scared. I'm scared as I've never been scared before in my life."
"I know my sweet, I know." Marco looked at the fragile woman, he said sheepishly, "but Ruby, I really hope you know you're not alone. You have me, you know? You do know that?"
She laughed. "Oh Marco of course I do. But they want to take you away from me. What then, Marco? What will happen then? I can't lose you, too."
"But you won't. You won't, Bee. I won't let it happen, we can make a plan."
She frowned at him, wiped the drying tears from her cheeks. "How do you mean, "make a plan"?"
Marco sighed. He looked over his shoulders, to his left and his right; he leaned close into the screen, he whispered very softly. "I shouldn't even mention anything to you. You shouldn't be allowed to know."
"Know what, Marco? And why so secretive so suddenly?"
"I'm going to tell you something, Ruby, that I am not supposed to tell you. But I see you, I see your heartbreak and I can't stand it. I can help you, Bee, if you want me to."
"How? What can you do, Marco?"
"I can have it so that we will never be parted. We can be together forever, Ruby, just you and I, and happiness."

Ruby blinked at the words. Briefly she felt her heart soar, a joy she couldn't have imagined. "Really, Marco?"
"I've told you before, I won't lie to you."
"But how Marco? Tell me how."
Marco smiled at Ruby. "I can touch you, through the screen. I can absorb your life into mine. I'll never let you go, Bee. We can be forever you and I."
Ruby's smile grew. "I do like the sound of that, Marco! I don't want to lose you."
"And you won't." Marco's face was alive, excited. "If you agree to this, if you want to be with me as I do with you, I can make it so, Bee." He offered his hand, smiling eagerly, "do you want to, Bee? Do you trust me?"
Ruby looked at the outstretched hand, she felt nervous and alive and on fire, she felt she had a way out. "I trust you, Marco. I want this. I want you in my life. Forever."
Marco's eyes sparkled, his smile welcoming. Ruby watched him place his flat palm to the screen. "Here, you put your fingertip to my hand."
Feeling wonderfully uncertain Ruby looked at his tiny hand, wanting to touch her finger to the screen, wanting to feel the connection. But she hesitated. Nervously she asked, her happiness dipping, "will I ever be able to come back?"
Marco cocked his head, a small frown creasing his forehead. "You mean if you come away with me, will you be able to return to your life, your home?" She nodded. Marco slightly pulled his hand away from the screen, his smile faded. "No, Bee. Once we touch, you and I will be gone forever. Someplace else, someplace new and magical, an unknown land, exciting and wonderful, where nothing can ever touch us, ever hurt us."
"Nothing can hurt us?"
"No. Life stops where we will go; nothing will shine but our souls and beating hearts. They will carry on eternally." He smiled when he noticed her smiling at the words, at the thought of it.
"Eternally with you?"
"With me, my sweetheart."
Ruby raised up her hand, extending a narrow, crooked finger. Marco beamed at her, raised once more his hand to the screen. "You do trust me, Ruby?" She nodded, her heart beating loudly. "Then touch your finger to my hand." Carefully Ruby reached for the television, gently touching his hand.
When she made contact with the screen, when she felt his skin to hers an electric rush shivered up through her hand, her arm, right up through her body. She felt herself hum with light, with energy. Foolishly she grinned at Marco, who looked at her with hopeful eyes.
"You feel that, Bee?" She was silent, nodded furiously. "Right. Now, do you want this? Do you want to join me?" Another nod. "Tell me Ruby, are you certain? Are you certain you want to leave it all behind and come away with me? Are you sure you want to be stolen away?"
Ruby swallowed hard. She could feel the tears pushing at her eyes, her pulse quickening in her sagging neck. She could feel, too, an overwhelming sense of peace, of happiness profound. "Marco, I'm certain. I want you to steal me away. I want you to take me to a place infinite.
"I want it, Marco. I want my life with you."
"Then Bee," his soft voice was warm, mesmerizing, "this is what you have to do.
"You have to feel me completely, trust me completely. Give yourself up to me. Let me run through you, over you; let my life fall into yours as we fly, as we lift and float away above all of this, of existence; of breathing and air and mortality. Of everyday hurt and pain; above love, hate and anger, happiness and sorrow. Fall into me, Bee; fall down, down, so far away from everything.
"Fall, Ruby. Let yourself fall."
Ruby struggled to control her raging breaths, her maddening heartbeat. She felt herself contracting, expanding, her muscles dissolve, nerves disintegrate. Ruby shut her tearful eyes and painfully held her breath.
She let herself fall.


8.

Phil waited in the sweltering heat of his car for Maureen to kiss her husband goodbye, and to ask for his strength and support. It was Thursday and neither were expecting Ruby to make this an easy day.
In fact, Phil had fatuously tried in vain to drag Wednesday night out as long as he possibly could. He just didn't want this day to happen. He didn't want to face up to it; he felt that once a certain problem was acknowledged it irrevocably became a truth. And having to face a reality in which his mother would possibly lose all control of her faculties scared him. It scared him to such an extent he had considered packing up and leaving, running away like the coward he was. He was certain that if it weren't for Maureen he would've done it at Ruby's very first mention of the "nice TV man who speaks to me".
But, much to his surprise, he had stuck around. Maybe he was growing up. Maybe this is what being an adult is.
He took a small sip of Coke as Maureen made her way to the car. He smiled and waved at her husband, before the man vanished back into the cool of the house. Phil leaned across the passenger's seat and opened the door for the woman to climb in.
"Morning Phil. How are you today?"
He let escape a nervous laugh. "Uh, I'm coping, Auntie Maureen. Just - just - coping, but coping all the same."
"I'm glad to hear it, big man," she smiled and playfully pinched his cheek. "Now let's get going, yeah? Get that mother of yours all fixed up."
He laughed at the old woman. She made him relax somewhat and he was grateful. Phil cocked his head towards the back seat, "I got some toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches, some crisps and crackers. And plenty cold drink."
"Jesus, Phil, it's only a two hour drive! What you get so much for?"
"Yes, two there, two back. Four hours drive." He winked at the smiling woman.
Maureen feigned irritation, "well gee sorry - four hours! And it's going to be longer if you don't get this car into gear, big man."
Phil gave her a lopsided smile and started the engine, pulling away from the curb and beginning the stupidly short trip down the road to pick up his mother.
Despite the pleasant and calming atmosphere Maureen had created, he felt something deep inside his gut, something inexplicable and foreboding.

The car pulled up at the front gate of Ruby's house. Phil and Maureen looked the other in the eye, both trying to find their own courage.
Courage continued to eldue them.
"Well," Maureen breathed out, "may as well be now rather than later. Just hope this isn't too... Ugly."
Phil glanced from Maureen to the front door. He found it odd the door was closed; his mother always kept it open. He motioned towards the door, "you think she's home?"
Maureen followed his gaze. "She bloody well should be." She turned to Phil, recognizing the worry in his face. "Don't worry Phil. I'm sure she's here, and I'm sure it'll go okay. At the doctor's, too. I'm sure it's not all as bad as it seems." She gave him a reassuring smile, though she herself had to take a calming nip of the old Klipdrift before heading out this morning. Collin, her husband, had spotted her and laughed, said to her he was sure things would all work out, and that Ruby was a strong little thing, sure all will be well at the end of it. She had kissed him, hugged him, and asked a silent god, praying that it would be so.
Sitting now, with Phil, she was starting to attract some of his growing anxiety. Before allowing it to get the better of her she puffed up her chest, "ja well, let's get this done with then." She climbed out the car, and peered back in through the window, staring at Phil. "Well, Phil, you coming or what?"
He squinted at her, slowly extricated himself from the febrile vehicle. Maureen waited for him at the front gate and the pair made their way up the short garden path. Phil knocked on the door, and they waited.
And waited. After exactly a minute Phil knocked again on the wooden door, this time with more urgency.
"You really think she would've gone out today?"
Phil grunted, shook his head. Again he knocked, again with more force. And still, there was only silence from the house. Phil's apprehension was starting to overwhelm him.
"Maybe she's just busy?" Maureen had said it more for her sake than for Phil's, futilely trying to calm herself.
"Busy with what, Maureen? With what could she possible be busy with?" His booming voice paled the old woman. Phil began to pound on the door, his heart shuddering, blood thundering in his ears. "Ma! Ma! You in there? You better open up this door right now Ma! I'm not joking around with you!"
"Phil. Philly, calm down, son."
"Don't tell me to calm down! Where the hell is she? Ma! Ma!" His shouts rippled through the quiet morning.
"I've got a key. Should I use it? Should we just go inside?"
Phil sneered angrily at Maureen. "You mean to say I've been screaming and banging on this door for a good five minutes and all the while we could've just waltzed in? Good god, Auntie Maureen, just get us inside already!"
Maureen fumbled with the keys, her fingers shaking. Phil impatiently grabbed them from her and got the gate and door unlocked.
He barged his way through the house, searched through all the rooms, and found nothing. Phil took a deep breath as he stood at the closed kitchen door, his fingers trembled on the door handle. Maureen stood anxiously at his back, her hands to her mouth.
"You hear anything Phil?"
He shook his head.
Phil wanted to open the door, but was afraid of what was inside, of what wasn't inside; afraid of finding his mother. Clenching his jaw tight he violently pushed the door open. He stood numbly as he took in the familar surroundings, Maureen was speechless behind him.
The kitchen stood empty in the soft early morning light.
"You think she skipped out on us?"
Phil looked around the cheery kitchen, a peculiar calm settling over him. "I have no idea, Auntie Maureen. I really don't." He cupped his chin in his left hand. "I don't see how she could've, really. I mean, how would she? She's got no car, and her friends are your friends, someone would've mentioned something if she asked for a lift somewhere."
Maureen nodded at his assessment, tacitly agreeing with him. It would have been more than arduous for Ruby to have gotten out of town without one of them hearing about it; and to hide oneself away in town was next to impossible.
"I'm gonna have a look outside, in the garage. I'll be right back." Phil bounded out the kitchen, Maureen could see him looking in all the corners of the yard; behind bushes and trees, even in the dustbin. She watched him as he disappeared into the garage, only to emerge seconds later, worried and dejected. He climbed the steps up to the kitchen, closed and locked the gate.
He slowly shook his head, his eyes met Maureen's; they were questioning, pleading. "You saw no note or anything? Nothing?" Phil leaned on the counter, blankly staring out the window. Maureen quickly joined him, needing to feel the faint sense of security offered by his physical presence. She moved in closer to him, eventually leaning in, her arm around his waist. Phil didn't pull away, instead he covered her shoulders with his arm. They stood, each consumed by their own thoughts, their own worries, not wanting to share them with the other, not wanting to give voice to their concerns.
Maureen slowly turned her head, pausing to look at Ruby's disparate collection of knick-knacks. They made her smile, made her heart drop. When her gaze fell on the TV she gasped, jumped lightly. Her reaction in turn, caused Phil to jump, "jesus, Maureen! what? What? What's wrong?"
Maureen stood, completely still, her eyes stretched and held in focus by the television.
"Maureen, what the hell is wrong?" Phil looked down at her, watched her slowly rising arm as she pointed to the top of the TV. He frowned hard, not recognizing what she was seeing. When his eyes at last found what Maureen was pointing out to him his mouth fell open, he lost all feeling in his body.
Neatly and delicately coiled upon the television set was Ruby's ruby and silver locket.


9.

As soon as Maureen and Phil's heartbeats stabilized and their ability to think somewhat rationally returned, the sped down to the police station and filed a missing person's report. They explained that Ruby was an elderly woman, with a fragile disposition. The police assured them they would act immediately - which they did - and a massive search party was organized. Homes, farms, abandoned buildings and businesses were thoroughly searched. People took their tractors and and bakkies and scanned the vast, barren Karoo landscape. Farmers took to horseback and ATVs, covering every inch of their fields. Missing posters with the smiling face of the septuagenarian were posted on the internet, plastered upon empty walls and street poles in neighbouring towns.
Ruby Hazelwood was nowhere to be found.
Churches in Pienkiesfontein held vigils; senior citizens formed a small task force, the able-bodied going in teams every second morning to search the veld; shopkeepers donated funds for a reward, going to anyone with valid information. And while the local community was generous and extremely supportive of the search effort, anxious for Ruby's safe return, rumours were also flagrantly proliferated; ranging from the banal (she took a bus to Bloemfontein, Hettie believes); to the absurd (Piet says the tokoloshes grabbed her); to the truly contemptible (well, you know Phil's her only son... Wouldn't be surprised if he had a hand in her "disappearance", Bulla says he never loved her).
Though soon the rumours began to fade, disappearing into the still Karoo air, just as Ruby did.

Three months have since passed since that Thursday morning. Phil makes weekly visits to Maureen, while she will occasionally have lunch with him in his office.
They seldom mention Ruby's bizarre disappearance; they both hold the most conflicting of theories about what happened in the kitchen of Ruby's now-vacant Victorian.
Phil had offered his mother's ruby and silver locket to Maureen, but she respectfully declined his offer. She told him it was far too personal, far too precious a momento for him to part with. In truth, she simply couldn't bear to look at that piece of jewellery. She thought it inauspicious, and it haunted her dreams. While also keeping quiet about it, Phil, too, wanted to rid himself of the pendant, whenever he touched it, he could feel the blood cooling in his veins.
Phil didn't move into his mother's house. Not only would this have confirmed the rumours of his malacious avarice in some of the locals' minds, Phil absolutely hated being in the place by himself, even though he would routinely check on the house every Thursday, and every Thursday he hoped to walk in on his mother busy getting dinner ready, or singing along to a song she knew, or even dancing and talking to Marco George.
Every Thursday his heart splintered a little more.

Ruby Hazelwood's lovely little Victorian stood wrapped in dry winter weeds, cold months of neglect; the lawn was long and yellow, the dead rosebushes wild and naked. Its white walls turned grey by the grey clouds of a late winter afternoon; the house seemed completely desolate and melancholy.
Phil drove up to the curb, stopping by the gate. He unwillingly treaded up the littered path and let himself into the dust-smelling abode. It was the last Thursday of July and it was an icy, miserable day, the house's interior seemingly matching the outside chill. Phil buried his hands deep in his pockets and methodically checked each empty room before hesitating at the kitchen door, as he always did. Of all the rooms the kitchen was the one he most despised, yet he forced himself to sit and have a cup of coffee in its gloomy atmosphere.
He made the coffee and dropped into the chair set to face the TV. In its blank, grey screen Phil could see his reflection, and this afternoon he found it bothered him; it had, after all, begun with a man in the TV. He sat staring, scowling at his ashen doppelganger while he finished his cup of coffee.
After rinsing off his empty cup he unlocked the back door and gate, pushed them open. Phil angrily heaved up the television, ripping it from its wiring and walked out into the back with it uncomfortably pushing into his waist. He threw the grey plastic box to the ground. Phil went over to the dustbin and searched, returning with an old lead pipe. In a rage he bent over the cracked television and proceeded to shatter it, only stopping when his arms were aching from the continuous impact, when he became aware of the tears spilling from his eyes.
Phil threw the pipe across the yard, and without shame, he laid down flat on his back on the cement ground and wept. He wept until his chest burned with spasms, until the skin under his eyes were rough and painful to touch. As the tears subsided Phil lulled his head to the side, stared at the remnants of the shattered television. Tired from the crying, he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of birds, the occasional car passing by, neighbours talking in their back yards. He checked his watch; he was surprised to see it read four forty-five, much later than he had anticipated.
When a light drizzle began to fall from a heavy sky Phil lifted himself up off the ground and went back into the house, locking up behind him. He walked through the kitchen without looking at anything; walked down the darkening passage to the front door and stepped outside into a steadying rain. Phil locked up the house and briskly walked to his car. He sat limply behind the steering wheel, looking over at the house as it seemingly faded into the rain, into the wet, grey evening.
He would drive up to Maureen's, perhaps he could stay for dinner and some company.
Phil turned the key in the ignition, sparking the engine into life. He listened to it beat and tick rhythmically through the rain. He shifted into gear and slowly pulled away from the abandoned house where once he had found his mother in absolute happiness, dancing on the table-top.


the end