Hidden Heart

Once upon a time in a land far, far away there was a little girl. She must have been ten or twelve years of age with skinny limps, mop of brown hair and curious green eyes. She had handful of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and two crooked teeth that were protruding just a little, making her look as she was always smiling.

 The girl liked to read a lot; first she read all the books in school and then all of the books in the big library that sat on the square of her small town. She liked to read in the middle of the night by the moonlight till her head ached from squinting her eyes too much and her mother would send her off to sleep. She read books of faraway lands, of kings and queens from kingdoms long lost in times, of princesses and princes, merchants and peasants, of traders and beggars. Of rich and poor, of soldiers and poets. And she loved them all as if they were her very own family. And indeed, her family praised her for being so smart and everyone you’d ask would tell you that the girl was just as kind as she was wise.

But in all of her stories and while observing others she realized one thing that people fall in love and then their hearts break. And as they break, the song of their souls grows quieter and quieter. And more and more their hearts break the more and more their try to pierce the pieces together. And always people’s eyes would fill with tears and their mouths would smile no more. She saw the merchant across the street cry as her husband left her, she saw the doctor grew silent as his wife took their son away in a wagon. And it was then, when she realized that heart are dangerous and she does not want her heart to be broken. It was then when she started to plan.

And that is why one early Saturday morning she packed a bag and lunch her mother prepared for her, took her most treasured book in one hand and set off for a journey.

She traveled to further than she ever traveled, there where the sun sets and meets the ocean, there where the old man with the glass eye lived and watched the sea, from sunset to sundown. The old man had no name, at least no name she’d know of, and he had no age. To her, he indeed seemed as old as the world itself, his skin worn from the sun, filled with wrinkles. One of his eyes was made out of glass, always looking just a bit behind one’s shoulder as if he could see what was hidden from others. The cabin itself was shabby, held together by inertia, the wood tortured by time and winds. She shuddered as the cabin came to sight but continued nevertheless. She came to the door as the sun was setting down coloring the ocean in deep red and orange glow. She took a deep breath, pushed her shoulders to her back, just as her mother taught her, and knocked three times.

The door opened on its own, weathered by time, and there in the middle of the tiny room sat the old man smoking a pipe.

“Hello Marla” he said in a deep voice. She stopped in her tracks and held her book to her chest. “Good evening old man”.

“Come in, or go back from where you came from” .said the old man as he took a drag from his pipe. His clothes looked paper thin as he has been wearing them for years on no end waiting for them to fall apart on his own body. The sleeves of his shirt were tucked up exposing his old skinny arms with elaborate tattoos of symbols she did not understand. She came this far, traveled for what seemed like days to meet him. She quickly entered the shabby room and climbed up onto the rickety chair.

“How did you know my name?” she whispered. The people in the town often gossiped that the man had magic, that he possesses powers a man should not, whether from God or from the Devil. Those chatters were only whispered in the deep of the night, when the children were all asleep and all the prayers were said as not to anger the old man and bring misfortune upon a household. But Marla spent hours hidden under her bed reading and often she heard her parents and their friends as they exchanged rumors believing her to be asleep. The old man however did not look terrifying, on the contrary; his good eye seemed to be smiling at her as if in conspiracy while the other was rolling widely in his socket, trying to see everything at once. His mouth was set in a smirk as he sat a mug filled with hot tea in front of her.

“You have it stitched right on your bag, Miss Marla Core, see?” Marla felt her cheeks heating up as she blushed to the roots of her hair. “Your mother’s name is Elisabeth and I haven’t heard of any other Core girls running around, so I must be right” the old man chuckled.

“And what is your name?” she questioned embarrassed.

“You may call me The Old Man”

“That is not a name”

“And who are you to decide what is and is not a name?” he asked snickered. Well he is right, she thought to herself. Names are just names, people from foreign lands often have strange names so why couldn’t his name be The Old Man? After all, names do not define us and he definitely was an old man. Old and wrinkly. At least his name was not The Wrinkled Man.

“Some call me that as well”. “Why are you here, Marla Core?”

Marla took a sip of the hot tea that tasted like cinnamon, squared her shoulders and prepared to present her case.

“I want you to hide my heart” She stated. She felt mightily proud of her voice not wavering once. After all, hasn’t she practiced the speech in front of her mother’s mirror for days on no end? “I want you to hide my heart because my heart does not deserve to be broken” She repeated. The old man puffed on his pipe again and signed.

“That is a mighty serious request Marla Core. Why would you think I can do that? After all, I am just an old man”

“You are The Old Man. And I heard stories, that you can do things, powerful things, things no one else can” she stammered quickly He must be able to hide her heart, if not, who will? She felt tears gathering at the corners of her eyes and her nose started to run. “I know you can, I know!”

“Enough of that now. I can hide your heart, of course I can, but why should I? People are not meant to live without them. They are essential, just like your eyes or your freckles” he said kindly. He reached across the table and grabbed her hand in his. “Living without a heart is not a pleasant existence”   

“They only cause you pain, I’ve seen that myself. I don’t need mine, will you hide it for me? So no one can hurt it? I’ll give you all the pennies I have saved and this book, it’s my favorite one! I don’t have much else but I can cook and clean and…”

“Enough” he signed and stood up. “I will hide your heart if that is what you wish for. But if you ever want it back, I tell you know, it will not be an easy journey. Are you sure you want that, Marla Core? “

“I am”.

The Old Man stood up and walked to his bed. He kneeled down and dug underneath it. And from underneath the bed he dug out a beautifully crafted chest. It seemed to shine in the dusty room, as if the dust itself was afraid to fall on top of it. He said back down and laid it on top of the table with a heavy sign. “I will hide your heart, Marla Core, but if you ever want it back, you will have to find it yourself, do you understand?” His good eye that seemed to be smiling just a moments ago was looking sad and weary. The glass eye however was looking straight at her as if daring her to continue.

“I understand”

She took the last sip of her tea and stood in front of him. The Old Man opened the box and the box sang, just like the souls of the people with broken hearts sing. He reached his old, wrinkly hand to her chest but it did not stop there, his hand went right inside her, between her ribs, feeling like ice. Marla’s breath escaped her as the cold coursed through her veins, the hand deep in her chest was searching, searching until finally, it grabbed onto something and pulled!

She fell backwards her back hitting the wall of the cabin. She slid down until she was sitting on her knees and there before her, her heart shined deeply golden. The Old Man held it in his hands, carefully as a new born bird and slowly lowered it into the chest. The box closed by itself with a heavy thud and stopped glowing.

“Your heart is hidden now, Marla Core. Sleep now and tomorrow you may go back home”

 

Marla woke to the sound of The Old Man cluttering around making breakfast. She was lying on the old couch that smelled of cinnamon and tobacco. She sat up and rubbed her hands on her eyes. The Old Man was putting fresh bread and butter on the table, along with the longest and sharpest knife she has ever seen.

“Good Morning, Old Man” she said and hopped down to the wooden floor.

“Good Morning Marla Core. Come have breakfast and then it’s time for you to be on your way”

She sat at the table and bit into the buttered bread with gusto. The Old Man was seated opposite of her and watching her with a sadness in his gaze.

“Can I come visit you, Old Man?” she questioned with her mouth filled with food. She hastily swallowed, her mother would have reprimanded her by now.

“Come only when you want to find your heart. Otherwise, you will not find anything here”

“Thank you” she said and looked the man deeply into his good eye.

“There is nothing to be thanking for” he whispered. Marla knew better though. Her heart was safe, and she would be happy. She held her bag tightly to her chest, took old last look at the old man’s tired face and marched to the east; home.