Jacob's Mother—Chapter 16
A Souvenir
Author’s note: This chapter’s artwork brought to your by the mysterious Michael A. Rhima.
Jacob’s Mother is a serialized novel. Start with Chapter One.
The Smoking Man
Ireland—1973
In 1973, a young American woman navigated her way through crowds of people swarming around the pubs in Dublin. It was cold and damp, but the young woman felt alive. She had a packet of Purple Hearts wrapped in cellophane and stuffed inside her bra, under her heavy breasts. It was thrilling. It was also illegal and the worst thing she had ever done up until this point. With the amphetamine pills, hidden in her bra, the young woman felt powerful. She smiled as she entered the pub. She couldn’t wait to see him again.
Once inside, she removed her coat and scarf, and scanned the bar. There he was, leaning against the wall in the corner, wearing a vintage suede vest, smoking from his odd pipe. Her stomach fluttered. He looked like someone from another time, classically handsome. His dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, and his sideburns were just the right length, but the best thing about him was the permanent smirk attached to his face, like he kept a juicy secret. He was such a babe! She wanted to run her fingers through his dark hair. He was trouble, she knew. However, he was so intriguing, that she would do anything for him, just so she could keep seeing him. He saw her and didn’t move towards her. Instead, he watched her from afar, smoking his pipe, smiling with a knowing smile, as if he knew exactly what she looked like naked.
The young woman took a deep breath, flipped her long hair off of her shoulders, and approached him. Instead of greeting her, he smirked. The young woman wanted to put her mouth on that smirk.
“I brought it,” she said, in a sing-songy voice that she hoped sounded sexy.
“Give.”
“Right here?” The young woman looked around. “Shouldn’t we go to a place that is quieter?”
He just stared at her, so she reached under her turtleneck sweater and fished the packet out of her bra, right there in the bar. Her cheeks flushed with desire. She would do anything for this man, and she didn’t know why. He pocketed the drugs and stroked her cheek with his cool finger. She wanted those fingers to touch every part of her, and she leaned into him, thrusting her large breasts against his chest, hoping he would embrace her, so she could dissolve into him. She could feel her heart beating as she pressed against the man, but not his. She moved even closer, pressing her hips against him, and if it wasn’t for the hard ridge in his pants, she wouldn’t think he was interested. But he was. He was hard. She wanted him so badly.
He didn’t embrace her, but held her gaze with his smirk. “Meet me here tomorrow night,” he said. Then he turned around and walked out of the bar without a second glance. The woman could smell his smoke long after he had gone. She slumped against the wall and sighed. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. She wanted him, and she would do anything to get him.
That night in her hotel, the young woman couldn’t think about anything but the man with the pipe. She lifted her nightie up around her hips and ran her hands over her breasts and stomach, pretending that they were the smoking man’s hands. As she fantasized about him, she smelled his smoke and breathed it in hungrily. She pleasured herself, the whole time imagining that her hands belonged to the man, her cheek burned from his touch. He’s left his mark on me, she thought and smiled.
The next day seemed like a century to the young woman. She only had three more weeks in Dublin before her flight home, and she didn’t want to waste any time being away from the man. She didn’t even know his name, yet she had picked up drugs for him. No matter, she thought. She had never felt a connection like this before. It must be magic.
To pass the time, she walked into an antique shop, perusing the jewelry. There were some pretty Celtic pieces. One, in particular, caught her eye. It had three spirals that seemed to chase each other around. It was very worn down, and she thought the wear made the piece even more beautiful. The piece seemed to speak to her. It was much too expensive for her, but it would make a great souvenir. The young woman was drawn to it, and placed her hand on the glass above it.
She lifted her head and asked the shopkeeper, “May I see this piece?”
A fragile, elderly woman came to her assistance. She had white hair, pulled back tight into a bun and strangely youthful eyes that twinkled as she spoke. “Of course, my dear!”
The shopkeeper opened a drawer by the register, took out a key, and slowly approached the case. The American woman noticed that the shopkeeper’s hand was shaking as she tried to place the key within the lock. She also noticed that even though this old shopkeeper was ancient and fragile, she carried a beautiful elegance.
“Would you like me to open it?” the American woman asked.
“Oh no, dear. I’ve almost got it.” The old woman successfully opened the case and drew out the pendant. “The pendant is quite ancient, but the chain is fairly new.” She handed the necklace to the American.
It felt heavy in the American woman’s hand. “It’s awfully expensive,” she said.
“I am sorry, but the price is firm. It’s a triskele and a very rare one.”
The American looked at the pendant. Get it, just get it. It’s for protection, a voice said in her head. She looked up at the woman, shocked that she would say that to a customer, but the woman was just smiling at her expectantly. The voice wasn’t even her voice.
“So what do you think, my dear?” the old shopkeeper asked.
“What does this symbol mean?”
“Why, it’s the trinity, of course! Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,” the older woman replied. “It’s for protection from evil.”
The American woman held it up to the light to get an even better look at the swirls carved into metal. As she did, the voice returned. The maiden, the mother, the crone.
The American looked around frantically. “Did you hear that?” she asked the shopkeeper.
“Hear what, dear?”
The American put her hand to her cheek, it was burning.
“Dear?” the shopkeeper asked. “Are you alright?”
“I’m a bit dizzy.”
“Let me get you a chair and a glass of water. You’ll soon be right as rain.” The old woman went around the counter, and came back with a chair. The American sat down. Then the old woman left to get a glass of water. The American held onto the triskele. The old woman came back, holding out the water.
“What’s your name, dear? Do you have someone I can call?” she asked with concern.
“Julia, my name is Julia.” Julia took a sip of water. “I’m ok, my mind was just playing tricks on me.” She had been hearing a lot of voices lately. She picked up the cup with shaking hands and took another sip as the old woman looked hopefully at her. “This water is just what I needed,” Julia smiled. “I feel much better, and I would like to purchase this necklace.”
“Well, alright dear, but be sure to sit for as long as you like.”
Julia left shortly after, the triskele wrapped up in paper and string in her purse. She wasn’t sure how she would pay rent when she returned home, but she had to have the triskele. She just had enough time to freshen up in the hotel before meeting the man. She had a headache, and realized that perhaps she had overindulged a bit on the Irish whiskey last night to get up the courage to pick up the drugs.
When she got to the hotel, a newspaper had been shoved under her door. The headline read, “Liam Cosgrave wins Taoiseach”. She tossed it on the table, knowing she should be more aware of “The Troubles” and the “IRA”, but she was more interested in the handsome smoking man. She showered and changed into her favorite brown corduroy bellbottoms that showed off her curves. She pulled on a tight white sweater. No bra this time. Her breasts were her best feature, quite large for her frame, unaffected from age and gravity. She admired herself in the mirror. She was stunning, brown hair cascading over her shoulders, breasts free under the sweater with just a hint of nipple peeking through the fabric. She fluffed her hair a bit more, fixed her makeup, and pulled on her leather coat. There is no way the smoking man would be able to resist her. Finally, she unwrapped the triskele and placed it over her head. It had a long chain and the pendant fell right between her breasts like a focal point.
She took her time walking to the pub. Suddenly, she didn’t seem as frantic to see the man. He can wait a bit, she thought. In fact, he could wait a while. She was a powerful, independent woman. She ducked into a different pub down the street, two musicians on the stage playing folk music. She didn’t want to appear too eager for the man, and decided to buy a Smithwick’s and have a seat. The music was cheerful, and the vibe of the pub was friendly. A young man sat next to her.
“Where are you from?” he asked in a familiar American accent.
“You’re American?” Julia asked. “I’m from California.”
“Me too!” replied the man. “Huntington Beach in So Cal.”
“Wow, we’re almost neighbors! I’m from Norwalk.”
“Groovy,” the man smiled. “My name is Craig Arthur.” He reached out his hand for her to shake.
“Julia,” she replied, placing her hand in his. He was all warmth and smiles. He seemed nice enough, but she already had a date. She sipped on her beer. Craig had an Olympus camera hanging from a strap around his neck.
“Mind if we take a picture? I’m taking pictures of all the fellow Americans I meet in Europe.”
“Sure,” responded Julia. “That’s a neat idea.”
“I hope so. I’m making a book.”
He smiled at her, then looked at her breasts.
“My eyes are up here, Mister,” Julia laughed coyly.
“Oh sorry, it’s not that,” Craig blushed and held the triskele between his thumb and pointer finger. “It’s just—where did you get this?”
“An antique shop.”
“Funny, I found one just like this at a job.”
Julia straightened up. “Is it common? Maybe I paid too much for it?”
Craig leaned in and turned the triskele over in his hand. “Odd, but this looks exactly like the one I found. What antique shop did you get it in?”
“The one right on the corner, with the old lady.”
“I sold it there!”
“Are you serious? That is a trip!”
“I’ve been doing odd jobs here and there, so I can extend my time abroad.” Craig was very close, and Julia could smell his aftershave, Old Spice. “I was working on the new hydro plant in Wicklow, digging out the rubble from the dynamite blasts in the side of the mountain. We found all kinds of weird stuff. One guy found a human skull.”
Julia took the triskele out of his hand and looked at it. “And you found this?”
“Yeah, or one just like it. Just the pendant, no chain.”
Craig got an older fellow, sitting next to them at the bar, to take their picture. He put his arm around Julia’s shoulder, and they smiled in frozen bliss until they were blinded by the flashbulb in the dark bar. Julia thought they must of looked like a cute couple, both in sweaters, both with straight, toothy relaxed grins that come childhood braces and being slightly buzzed. Craig removed his arm, took back his camera, and leaned close to Julia.
“Julia, may I buy your next drink?”
She peered at him from behind her glass. He was a babe with sandy blonde hair. She could tell he surfed by his tan and his relaxed demeanor. “I’m sorry, but I already have a date.”
“Oh, meeting here?” Craig smiled, looking disappointed at the same time.
“No, at another,” Julia replied. ”I’m actually about to leave.”
“Would you mind if I snapped a few photos of you, before you go?”
She posed for him. Drinking from her pint and looking up with heavy eyes. He took some close up shots, with the people of the bar surrounding her but out of focus. Craig was fun, and she wanted to stay, but she was a woman of her word.
She paid her tab and left, feeling hopeful about seeing the smoking man again. She couldn’t wait to learn more about him. He was darkness and mystery, just like a creature out of a fairytale. She pulled her coat tightly around her as she walked down the cold cobblestone street.
She stood outside the entrance of the pub, drunk people streaming around her in groups, entering and leaving like an endless tide. She inadvertently clutched the triskele in her hand. She wondered if it was such a good idea to go meet with this guy again. Perhaps one drug smuggle was enough? Was that really the direction she wanted to take her life? She let go of the triskele. What the hell, she thought, and walked through the door.
Inside, more musicians were playing, people were cheering, and drinks were flowing. She could smell the beer and whiskey that had spilled onto the floor during the course of the evening. She looked around the pub, and it seemed that she had been stood up. She elbowed her way up to the bar and squeezed onto an empty stool between two working class men with thick accents and thick boots.
Julia caught the bartender’s eye with a little assistance from her tight sweater.
“What can I get you, lass?” he asked while pouring a whiskey for another patron.
“Whiskey,” Julia replied, still looking around for the smoking man. She paid the bartender and asked, “Have you seen a tall man with a pipe, tonight?”
The bartender grinned. “Lass, look about will ya?”
Julia noticed that the bar was filled with smoke and tall men. She laughed in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said, but the bartender was already helping another customer. She sat there, sipping on her whiskey, taking in all the sights and sounds. Maybe she should go back to the other bar. Craig seemed like a nice guy. I must have been crazy last night to act that way with a perfect stranger, she thought, shaking her head. Then she smelled it. His smoke. It smelled different from the other clouds of smoke that emitted from cigarettes and hashish.
She turned around and saw him lurking in the corner. Oddly, as handsome as he was, she no longer desired him. A cold chill crawled up her spine. He was staring right at her, and her cheek burned where he had stroked it the night before. She got up to leave, and all of a sudden, time stopped. All the bar sounds faded away. Even though the musicians were playing and people were drunk all around her, she could hear nothing. It was as if she had suddenly gone deaf. The smoking man seemed to be drawing her to him with his smirk. He never moved, but she felt a strong desire to throw herself at him. He didn’t open his mouth, but a voice inside her head whispered, You’re a bad girl. I’m going to fuck you until you bleed. She put her hands over her ears. She was looking right at the man, and even though he never opened his mouth, she knew the voice was his inside her head. She got up off the bar stool, and started making her way through the silent, lively crowd. As she walked, she unknowingly grabbed the triskele, all of a sudden another voice inside her head screamed, Run!
Woken from her trance, the bar sounds came back to life, and she ran out of the pub. She had no idea if the smoking man had followed. She didn’t dare look back. She kept running, pushing people out of the way. Desperately, she tried to put as much space between herself and the bar as she could. All of a sudden, someone grabbed her arm. She screamed, thinking it was the smoking man.
“Whoah!” Craig said and dropped her arm. “Are you ok?”
Julia had never been so happy to see another person that she knew, even if she barely knew him. She leaped into Craig’s arms and started sobbing.
Craig held her there for a moment. “It’s ok. It’s ok. I got you.” He rubbed her back, and Julia felt at home in his arms. “Let’s get out of here, ok?” Craig asked.
Julia nuzzled her face into Craig’s broad chest. She worried that the smoking man wasn’t real. She worried that the smoking man was real. She looked up at Craig with a tearstained face, nodding her head to leave. She hoped the voices were gone for the night.
Chapter 17 is coming soon!
If you care to tip or make a small donation to the author, Laura Ellis, AKA WiseWomanWickedTongue, it is always appreciated but never necessary. Donate here.
Jacob’s Mother is an original publication by Laura Ellis. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law and fair use.