Fountain of Youth

Fountain of Youth

Fadzlishah Johanabas Rosli

(1945 words)

For Constance, being old was a painful business. And a lonely one too. She couldn’t remember the last time she walked up the stairs without having to stop midway to rest her aching hip and knees, it was so long ago. She stood at the top of the staircase with a satisfied grunt, and then scanned the four closed cherry wood doors. Her two married sons would fill up the rooms once a year, on Christmas, and the house would come to life again with children running about, but on most days, emptiness echoed throughout the halls and rooms.

         Constance wiped away a stray tear and decided to clean the room she and her late husband used to inhabit. She opened the door, and a faint scent of lavender greeted her, flooding her with old ghosts. She smiled back, welcoming dear friends. Constance ran a finger across the vanity table. The furniture was clothed in a light coat of dust. Her sons had offered to hire a maid, but she declined, even for the sake of companionship. Despite her aches and pains, she could still take care of herself, of the house.

         Having cleaned all the furniture that did not require her to sit down, Constance looked at the trunk at the foot of the bed. It had remained closed and unattended far too long. Her fingers, deformed and stiff with arthritis, braced the solid mahogany trunk as she eased herself to the carpeted floor. She used both hands to lift the lid. Inside were journals and books and trinkets organized in neat stacks, some of them her husband’s, some of them hers, all belonging to an older era, when they were younger. She took out a framed photograph taken on their wedding day. He looked so dashing and handsome, and she looked…well, young. Her hair in the picture was shoulder-length and curly. She almost laughed remembering the painstaking process of pin-curling her hair, and the amount of spray used to hold it in place.

         Constance set the frame back and took out a leather-bound journal she had not opened since her sons were in elementary school. She used to write in it before she met her husband, before she started a new chapter in her life. The journal opened with a slight creak of stiff leather. The paper was brittle and yellow, stained brown at places, but the handwriting was hers, one of the only things about her that had remained unchanged. She put on her reading glasses and browsed through the entries. When she reached the middle, a piece of photograph slipped out and landed on her lap. She held up the faded photograph for closer inspection. She recognized her late-teen self, but the man hugging her was a stranger. She studied the face, from the deep-set eyes that stared into her soul, to the straight, perfect nose, to the high cheekbones and angular jaw, to the dimpled chin under full, smiling lips. He was striking, and even at her advanced age, she felt a thrill looking at his picture. She tried remembering; she found it odd not recalling such an unforgettable face.

         Memories came flooding in.

         It was summer. She remembered running away from her date. She remembered losing her footing and falling off into the cold river. She would have died that night if it wasn’t for him. Nathaniel. That was his name. And he wasn’t just her savior; he was more than that.

         Constance fought to keep herself afloat, but the current kept pulling her down. She gulped a lungful of icy water and before long bright sparks dominated her vision. She was about to give up when strong hands pulled her to the surface. She struggled against him at first, but he much was stronger. He eased her on the bank and laid her sideways, forcing her to cough out the river. When she came to, she saw his drenched silhouette framed by moonlight.

         “An angel,” she whispered.

         “No, far from that,” he said. She knew he was smiling. “Can you breathe fine? Do you hurt anywhere?”

         “Just c…cold.” She didn’t even realize she was shivering.

         He took off his jacket and wrapped her with it. She breathed in the heady scents of wet leather and something darker, something…primal. He carried her as she directed him to her house, half an hour away, but he never once stopped to rest. He eased her onto the cushioned swing on the verandah, and when her parents fussed out with loud concern, he was already gone.

         Constance could not stop thinking about him, but it was as if he were a ghost, the only evidence of his existence was the black leather jacket. Restless days gave way to sleepless nights.

         A week after her brush with death, Constance saw her mysterious savior standing in the garden under her window. Moonlight framed his tall figure like it did when she first met him. She could not remember why, but she snuck out of the house to meet him.

         “I thought you were just my imagination.”

         “First I’m an angel, now I’m an imaginary ghost,” he said with a half-smile that took her breath away. His dark eyes bore into hers, and Constance felt naked even though she was wearing a long-sleeved nightdress. She blushed and looked away.

         “You left without telling me your name,” she accused, her gaze fixed on his hands. The fingers were long, the nails meticulously clipped.

         “Nathaniel,”

         “I’ve never seen you around town before.”

         “I’m…” He paused. “Visiting relatives.”

         “Oh.” She slumped her shoulders, and her head hung lower. Constance felt deflated.

         “But I’m not planning to leave anytime soon.”

         Constance lifted her head and met his eyes. She was smiling, beaming brighter than the moon. He smiled back.

         For months Constance and Nathaniel held their nocturnal trysts. Never once did he ask her to, but she kept their meetings a secret from her family and friends, a secret she shared only with her journal. Nathaniel may not have been an angel, but Constance was in heaven. She didn’t want the nights to end.

         But they did. They had to.

         Constance changed as the nights grew longer. She spent most of the day sleeping, and distance grew between her and her loved ones. Her parents were worried about her, but she was more concerned about Nathaniel. He never complained, but Constance could see the change in him. She could tell from his sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks that he was unwell.

         Constance recalled the night her world shattered. The moon was a silver crescent peeking between storm clouds. Nathaniel lay next to her in her narrow bed, holding her close like she was a precious gem. Not once had he smiled throughout the night.

         “What’s wrong?”

         “I don’t know how to say this, Constance…” his voice trailed as he looked at her with a pained expression.

         She sat up and fixed her eyes on his. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

         “I have no choice. I cannot bear to leave you, but –”

         “But you must.” There was finality in her voice. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks. “Take me with you. Please.”

         He shook his head. “I can’t. It would be unfair to you.”

         “I don’t understand.”

         Nathaniel sat up opposite Constance and held both her hands close to his lips. They were trembling as much as hers. “I love you, Constance. More than you’ll ever know. But I cannot have you live the cursed life I’m living. You have a whole life ahead of you, filled with happiness.”

         “How can I be happy without you?”

         He kissed her fingers. “One day you will understand.”

         Constance stood up and parted with him long enough to walk to her closet and back. In her hands she held the black leather jacket he left her with when they first met.

          “You will need this.” She was trembling as she wrapped the jacket across his broad shoulders.

         “Constance, I will come back. When night falls in your life, I will come back to you.”

         Their parting kiss was long and tender.

         The sky wept the whole night after Nathaniel left, but Constance wept longer. For more than a year, she cried herself to sleep, alone and lost without her other half.



Constance’s tears dripped onto the journal lying open on her lap. She brushed the tears away and looked at the window. Outside, the sun had already set, leaving her in the semi-darkness of her room. She pushed herself to her feet, her joints stiff from prolonged sitting, and hobbled to the window. She looked down, for remembrance’s sake, but she almost staggered back in surprise.

         Nathaniel was standing in the garden like he used to at her parents’ home.

         Constance rushed down the staircase. She ignored the pain; it meant nothing. She saw him framed by fluorescent street light, as beautiful as she remembered, as young as she remembered. She felt a sudden ache in her heart. She no longer was the young girl he knew.

         “You came back,” she said, pausing for breath after each word.

         “I made you a promise, my love.” His voice was deep and rich. Memory did not do him justice.

         “I’m an old woman now, Nathaniel. I’m not a girl anymore.”

         “In my eyes, love, and in my heart, you are always young and beautiful.” He held her in a gentle embrace. She breathed in his familiar scent.

         “You haven’t aged a day.”

         “It is a blessing, and a curse.”

         “I wish I were young, like you.”

         “Constance,” he said, holding her chin up to meet his face. “You don’t mean that. You have lived a full life. You have loved, you have a family who loves you back, and most of all, you have led a joyous, blessed life. In your heart, you are still that young woman.” He paused and caressed her cheek with his cool fingers.

         Constance blushed. She didn’t think she could, at this age. Then her expression turned somber. “Nathaniel, I am dying. One way or another, I’m dying.”

         He was no longer smiling. His eyes were heavy with understanding.

         “And I don’t want to die alone. I want to die on my bed, in your arms.”

         “But –”

         “I know what you are. I’ve always known.”

         “Yet you didn’t run away.”

         “I was in love. How could I?” She caressed his cheek and he held her trembling hand fast. “Will you do this for me? Will you grant me this request?”

         He looked deep into her eyes, as if imploring her to change her mind.

         “Please,” she said, not looking away. “For me.”

         Nathaniel nodded and lifted Constance off her feet, carrying her into her room. He laid her on her bed and lay next to her. He took off his leather jacket and wrapped her frail form with it.

         “Are you sure about this?” he whispered.

         “Without a doubt.”

         He kissed her then, long and tender, bringing her youth to the surface. She kissed him back with equal longing. He kissed her chin, her jaw, and finally her neck. He found her pulsing artery and sank his teeth, sure and true.

         Warm blood fountained from the punctured artery, promising Nathaniel his continued youth while it extinguished Constance’s life. She did not feel any pain, only heaviness like an encroaching sleep. Before she closed her eyes, she saw Nathaniel’s angelic face, filled with tears.

         “I love you, Nathaniel.”

         “And I you, my love. Always.”