Tasting Another's Bread

Author's Note: I wrote this story a couple of years ago for the Snow Writer's Club I was in,

so they will have read it already (sorry). This isn't the story I was planning on posting, but

Danny and Jocelyn keep wanting the story to go on, so we'll see when it actually ends. So on

with the story!!! :D  

'TIS done -- but yesterday a King!

And arm'd with Kings to strive --

And now thou art a nameless thing:

So abject -- yet alive!

–Lord Byron

Tasting Another’s Bread

            Everyday you walk past a house on your way to work. It’s a normal house. It matches every two story other house in the neighborhood; a small yard, a few bushes and trees scattered around, neatly trimmed grass, effectively painted in proper house colors with what you would call a white picket fence surrounding it. The only odd thing being that the curtains are always closed when you walk past. You chalk this up, however, to the owners being still asleep in the morning and everyone you know closes their curtains when it gets dark.

            You’ve never seen anyone go into the house or out of it. You know that food is delivered every Saturday morning while you are out on your jog. The food is left on the front porch and by the time you come back around your route, it’s gone.

            You’re curious about the house, but not enough to seriously check into it. It would take too much time out of your already packed days. So months turn into years and you never think to take the time to find out who lives in there until one day.

            You are taking your daily walk to work past the mysterious house when you notice that one of the curtains on the bottom floor is open. It opens to a fairly large window that is about four feet by five feet and about a foot and a half off the floor. You don’t want to stop and appear nosy, but you can’t help but look in the window as you walk past. Inside you can see the living room of the house and beyond that the kitchen. Everything inside looks to be pretty modern and well kept. In fact, things are almost sparkly they are so clean.

            You keep walking as you will be late for work and try to put the house out of your mind. It’s just like anyone else’s house, you tell yourself trying to remove it from your mind to focus on your work.

            The next day, the curtains are again open and, unconsciously, you have gotten ready faster and left earlier than normal just to see if the curtains are open again. You look around before stopping to stare in the window. Everything is as it was yesterday. You stare for a few more minutes.

There are no pictures on the walls and no television as far as you can tell. You find this unusual, but shrug and tell yourself that not everyone is addicted to television. There is a wall of bookcases filled to bursting with books of every shape and size. It must be how the owners get their entertainment.

You are still trying to figure out what kind of person lives there when a face appears in the window. You jump and quickly walk away to hide your embarrassment at being caught staring in someone’s window.

You walk straight past the house the next few days, but nearly a week later, your curiosity gets the better of you and you stop once again to peer into the house slightly hoping the person will look out again.

You can’t remember if it’s a man or a woman, tall or short, fat or skinny. All you remember is dark hair and, if you’re honest with yourself, you can’t remember if that’s long or short.

            As soon as you stop, the person comes to the window. You have to tense your muscles to keep from running away. It’s a man. He looks to be fairly short possibly five feet and a half. He is wearing a loose button up dark blue shirt and tan slacks. He has short auburn hair that curls slightly at the ends and bright blue eyes. He has thin lips and a Roman nose. He smiles at you, his teeth straight and white, and beckons you closer.

            You look around and seeing no one else that he could be referring to, or that might see you, walk up to the window. The man behind the window seems friendly, but you stand a few feet from the window anyway.

            “Hello,” he mouths to you and waves slightly.

            “Hi,” you respond and wave back awkwardly.

            “How are you?”

            “Um, fine,” you respond uneasily. After all, you have never met or even seen this man before and you are standing in his front yard talking to him through a window.

            “Good, good,” he says, standing with his hands behind his back.

            You wonder why he makes no move to come outside. Wouldn’t it be easier than talking through the window? However, you think, maybe he has some horrible medical condition that prevents him from leaving his house and don’t say anything to him.

            “Uh, how are you?” you ask.

            “So very, very bored,” he says with a sardonic grin. “Where are you going?” He points at your briefcase and clothes.

            “Work. I work at a corporation in town.”

            “Cor-por-a-tion,” he says very slowly rolling the word over his tongue. “Ah, yes, corporation, as in Wal-Mart and the like.”

            You nod and you get the feeling that this man doesn’t get out of his house much. You look at your watch and realize that if you don’t hurry, you are going to be late.

            “Sorry, I have to go,” you say, turning around and leaving the man standing at the window. As you look back, you can see a look of sorrow on his face and he waves dejectedly.

            The next day, Saturday, you notice the grocery truck on your way past on your weekly jog. As you come back around, the truck and food are gone and the man is back at the window. He smiles jovially and waves.

            You wave back and, against your better judgment, walk over to talk to the man. He grins when he sees you walking over.

            “How are you?” he asks.

            “Pretty good, just out for my weekly jog. What about you? How are you?”

            “Better than yesterday. I have acquired some new literature.”

            “What kind?”

            “A little of everything. Some military, I like to see the advances that have occurred since I was in the army.”

            You nod. “That makes sense. What else did you get?”

            The man shrugs. “Entertainment books with no real value. Such things like horror books and adventure books.”

            “Sounds interesting to me,” you reply.

            “And how many books have you read?” he asks with a smirk on his face. “I have read all the books you see in this room, plus the entire library upstairs and then some.” He smiles sadly. “When that’s all a person has to do, reading can get boring awfully quick.”

            “I believe that,” you respond. “If I only had books to entertain myself, I would go insane.” You shift your weight trying to find a more comfortable way to stand.

            “Would you care for a chair? I don’t believe there is one out there, but I might be able to have one out there tomorrow.”

            “No, it’s fine. It’s better exercise for me. Stretches out my calves,” you lie.

            The man nods. “What is your name?”

            You tell him your name and he smiles. “What’s your name?”

            “Lionel Ramolino,” he replies.

            Your cell phone starts ringing and you take it out of your pocket. It’s your work. You hesitate in answering.

            Lionel watches you curiously as if he hasn’t seen a cell phone that often. You talk to your co-worker that called and sigh. You hang up and turn back to the window.

            “I’m sorry, Leo – you don’t mind if I call you Leo, do you?”

            “Oh, no, please do.” He smiles again.

            “I’m sorry, but I have to go. My work has gotten so busy that they need me to come in on my day off.”

            He nods solemnly. “I know how that can be. The army used to call me out of my bed to leave my wife and young son.”

            You file that bit of information at the back of your mind for further investigation tomorrow. “Well, I gotta go. See ya later.”

            “Goodbye and good luck. Will I see you later?”

            “I’ll come by tomorrow.” You smile and walk away, still very curious about the man, but at least you know his name.

            You get up bright and early Sunday morning to talk to Leo. He is waiting at the window when you arrive.

            “Good morning,” he says brightly.

            “Good morning yourself,” you reply and notice he was as good as his word. There is a brand new comfy lawn chair next to the window. You sit down grateful for the chair as you intend on being there until you can figure everything out about Leo. Leo sits in his own chair inside the window.

            “It took a bit of convincing, but I was able to secure you a seat.”

            “Convince who? Your wife?”

            He smiles sadly. “Oh, no. She’s been dead for many years.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” you say embarrassed.

            “It’s quite alright. It was a long time ago. Also, I only married her for an heir.”

            “Oh,” you reply unsure of what to say to that. The practice certainly isn’t unheard of, but it’s weird to hear someone come out and actually say it.

            “So was it your son you had to convince about the chair?”

            “No, he’s dead as well. I’m the only one left in my lineage.”

            “Oh, I’m sorry.” You blush.

            Leo laughs at your discomfort. “They’ve been dead for so long, I have only memories left.”

            You nod still embarrassed.

            “I had to convince your government to let me have a chair.”

            “Why?”

            “I’m under house arrest.”

            “For what?” you ask despite your best attempts to keep it to yourself.

            Leo smiles. “I believe that the official position was ‘enemy of the state’.”

            “What did you do?” You are too curious now to keep your mouth shut.

            “I was leader of an enemy nation that I wasn’t born in. I was ruler for quite some time until I was deposed and exiled. After I was buried to them, I returned to the country. Few remembered me and even fewer would listen. I wandered desperate and alone for years. Eventually, I washed up on your shores. Once your country realized who I was, I was put under house arrest and relocated here.”

            “How long have you been under house arrest?” you ask.

            He waves the question away. “Inconsequential. More years than I care to count.”

            “Wow. I noticed that you don’t have a TV. Do you have any contact with the outside world?”

            “You are the first person I have talked to in decades.”

            “That sucks,” you respond.

            “Quite,” he replied with a smile. “Everyone I come in contact with has been told not to talk to me as I am an insane man who will kill them if they look at me wrong.”

            “That really sucks. Do you have access to the internet? Have you ever tried to escape?”

            “No contact with the outside world, although part of that, I admit, is my own doing. Things have changed so much since I was free. I prefer to stick to my books.”

            You nod again and wonder how old Leo is. He doesn’t look very old; mid to later forties perhaps. He must have been fairly young when he took charge of some nation that you assume you’ve never heard of.

            “So have you tried to escape?”

            “The first time I was captured, I tried to kill myself.”

            You are startled. Leo sure doesn’t hide much.

            “I drank some poison. I was not going to let them question me and I wanted to die a hero. Unfortunately, it only gave me the hiccups and I vomited it out. That’s when I first realized there was something wrong with me.”

            “Something wrong with you?” you ask.

            “It doesn’t matter anymore. Enough about me. I know all about me and I find myself boring. Tell me about your life.”

            “It’s really not that interesting,” you try to dissuade Lionel.

            “More interesting than me talking about my house arrest,” he points out.

            “Not more than your life in the military or your life up to your house arrest… I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it that is…”

            “I don’t mind. It’s simply nice to be able to talk to someone, but I still want to hear about your life. We shall execute a trade. You tell me about your life and I shall tell you about mine. Does that sound like a fair trade?”

            “Well, I don’t think so.”

            Leo smiles at you. “It is. Now, tell me all about your life.”

            You heave a sigh and tell him about your life up to that point. You don’t leave out any details as you think that if you do, Leo will leave out details about his life. He nods along with you occasionally asking questions to clarify your story.

            When you finish, night has fallen. Lionel quickly checks a clock behind him and stands up. “I’m sorry,” he says, “But I have to go.”

            “But what about your life?” you whine.

            He smiles softly. “I will start next time you come back to see me.”

            “I can come by tomorrow at lunch. Do you care if I eat my lunch here?”

            “Of course not, I would be happy for the company, but I must go.”

            “I’m sorry. Don’t let me keep you.”

            Lionel takes one more look at the clock, stands up and closes the curtains.

            The next day, you are fidgety at work. When your lunch break comes, you are out the door as quick as possible. You grab something to eat on your way out of the city and jog to Lionel’s house.

            He is sitting in his chair inside the window reading and you notice a patio umbrella over your chair outside.

            He looks up when you walk inside the yard. “I had an umbrella installed for you. It looks to be fairly sunny outside and that generally means it’s hot.”

            You can already feel yourself sweating inside your clothes. “Yes, it’s very hot outside,” you pause, “I assume, your house is air-conditioned?”

            Lionel nods. “This is the most modern house that taxes can buy. It’s also very ‘green’, as your generation says it, or so I’m told. In my time we had environmentalists too, but most of them spent their time writing about nature instead of crusading for it.”

            You laugh. “That’s what most people do now.”

            Leo nods again. “I see. I don’t know what actually transpires beyond these walls. I only know what I read about in my books.”

            You hesitate unsure if you want to ask him or not, but venture the question anyway. “How old are you?”

            “64, at last count,” he responds.

            “Wow, you’re old,” you say before you can stop yourself.

            Leo laughs as you try to explain yourself.

            “Uh, what I meant was that you don’t look to be that old. You look very young. You, uh—”

            “I have aged quite well,” he pauses and looks thoughtful. “Quite well…”

            You sit in the chair and take out your fast food.

            “That will kill you,” Leo says.

            “I know, but it tastes so good.” You take a huge bite of your hamburger.

            Leo smiles. “I’ve never had a French fry.”

            You barely stop your mouth from falling open and the food falling out. “What?”

            “I was taken into house arrest before they became popular.”

            “What? I’m fairly certain that fries have been popular since they were invented in like the 1800s. So, that doesn’t make sense with your age.”

            “You’re correct. I apologize, but I still have never eaten one.”

            “Well, you’re missing out, ‘cause fries rock.”

            “I assume so because everyone seems to eat them.”

            “Wait, why can’t you have fries in there?”

            “I’m only allowed healthy food. No greasy or spicy foods.”

            “That sucks.”

            “Very. Now, what would you like to know about me?”

            “Everything. Who was your wife? Who was your son? What country did you run?”

            “Which wife? The one I loved or the one who bore me a son,” Lionel asked.

            “Either or both.”

            “The one I loved was, Joséphine de Beauharnais, whose husband was killed during the revolution I fought in. She was six years my senior. While we both had many lovers, we always only loved each other.”

            That’s romantic in a twisted kind of way, you think

            “I divorced her when it became apparent that she could not bear me any sons. I was devastated, but I knew what my duty was. The next woman I married, Marie Louise, was twenty-two years my junior. It wasn’t long into our marriage that she bore me a son. I wanted more, but this was a very turbulent time in my career and we were not able to produce any more.”

            “That’s sad.”

            Leo’s eyes had taken on a faraway look and he snaps out of his reverie to look at you and you realize that you should just let him talk.

            “Start at the beginning. Where were you born?”

            “Ajaccio, Corsica, to a noble family. When I was young, I was sent to a military school in a foreign country. I worked hard to learn the new language, my original being Italian, but I was still ridiculed for my accent. While this would discourage some people, it only invigorated me and I excelled at all of my subjects.

            “After graduating, I was accepted into a prestigious military college and began training to be an artillery officer, despite being more adept at naval. Upon this graduation, I was given the rank of second lieutenant.

“A revolution had broken out at this time and I carefully adhered myself to the winning side. I was given command of the forces at a city occupied by a foreign power and after driving them from the city, I was promoted to Brigadier General.

“Unfortunately, while the revolution was going on, I had chosen the correct side, but as it began to wind down, it lost power and I was imprisoned. I was released not ten days later, but remained on the wrong side. I was passed around, demoted, until the side I had been against in the revolution remembered my military exploits and gave me command of a handful of soldiers. I successfully repelled any and all attacks against the area I was given command of.

“Suddenly, I was everyone’s favorite person. I was promoted to Commander of the Interior and given my own army. It was during this time that I met, my love, Joséphine. I married her not long after.

“The next few years, I spent in battle. I traveled far and wide, but whispers reached me of dissension in my country. I quickly journeyed home. I worked with a few allies and became First Consul. I sold off a major chunk of the empire to a foreign country for very little as I knew it would be extremely difficult to defend.

“My power continued to grow and I helped to draft a constitution that named me First Consul for life. I, then, made myself supreme ruler over the country.

“It was five years after my coronation that I married Marie Louise. I was excommunicated from the church and proceeded to imprison the leader of the church.

“All my life, I had heard of a nearby country that was unconquerable. I had had so many victories and so few losses that I assumed I would win. I proceeded to this country and while, technically, I did win, I count it as a loss. Too many of my soldiers died to count it as a success and there were whisperings of a new leader for my country so I hurried back.

“I enjoyed a peaceful life for a number of years, but peace didn’t suit me then. I was anxious and tried to take over the enemy country once again. I was soundly defeated and forced to abdicate. It was at this time, I attempted to commit suicide to no avail. I tried to leave the country to my son, but the dissenters refused and I was exiled to an island.

“I stewed on my island and waited for my chance to escape. When the time came, I took it readily. I was met on the shore by some of my former troops. I walked up to them unmistakably within gunshot range and told them that if they felt they needed to, to kill me. There are two clear reasons I did this. I knew they would never shoot their beloved general and I was beginning to believe I was immortal.

“They marched with me to the capital where I reigned for one hundred days. However, in hindsight, I should have seen that the country was done with me and stayed on my island. I was soon forced off the throne again and after contemplating escape to the Americas, I surrendered.

“I was exiled again, this time to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. I lived on that godforsaken island for near ten years. The only pleasure I obtained was shooting the neighbors’ wandering chickens. Needless to say, this did not endear me to them. Once I was dead and buried to my counterparts, I set out in a boat I had created. I landed in the Angola province of Africa. I journeyed to my country to make my triumphant return only to be disappointed when few people remembered me and even fewer cared.

“I wandered around the world the next few years. I washed up on the shores of North Carolina, where I was captured and taken to Washington D.C. Your senators could not decide what to do with me and I was carted off to southern Nevada where I lived until being moved here.”

You have sat entranced by Lionel’s tale and realize that all of your fries are now cold. “Wow. Your life is definitely more exciting than mine. Did you really do all those things?”

Nodding, Lionel says, “I have been called a genius and my military accomp-lishments are studied around the world. However, I was also once told that my laugh sounded like a ventriloquist’s doll and parents used to tell their children that I ate naughty people.”

You laugh. “Yeah, definitely more exciting than mine. You must have changed a lot in your days of house arrest.”

“Yes, being alone all the time gives a person a chance to take a look at their life and see what it is they have accomplished and what they still need to. I have become a more jovial and hospitable person.”

“I bet,” you reply and happen to glance at your watch. You are late!

Lionel watches you and smiles sadly. “I’ve kept you too long. You are late. You should go.”

You stand up. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ll try to come over after work, but I gotta go. See ya.” You grab your food wrappers and run off down the street.

“I can only hope so,” Lionel says as he watches your receding figure.

At work, which, as always, is boring, you decide to look up Lionel’s story. If he’s telling the truth about his life, why haven’t you heard of him before? You type in a few key phrases you remember from his story and wait. The results are quite surprising and at first you don’t believe your eyes, but as you look up the facts, you come to realize that you are correct. Lionel can’t be his real name.

You are kept late at work and don’t get back to see your new friend. The next morning, you rush over. A man is outside and he waves to you. He is a little taller than Lionel with dark curly brown hair. He has an athletic build and a movie star face. He limps on his right leg and you notice he uses a cane as he walks to the fence.

The lawn chair and umbrella are gone. The house is painted a different color and has different curtains.

You walk up to the man who clearly isn’t Lionel. “Do you know where Lionel Ramolino is?”

“The previous owner? No, my girlfriend and I just moved in yesterday. His real estate agents didn’t tell us where he was moving or leave a forwarding address. Why?”

“Just wondering. He was my friend and forgot to tell me where he was going.”

“Apparently not very good friends, eh?” the man says. “If I get anything for you – what’s your name?”

You tell him your name with a sigh. Why would the government have moved him?

“Well, if I get anything for you in the mail, I’ll be sure to forward it to you.” The man held out his right hand, which you notice has slight ink stains on it. “By the way, I’m George Gordon.”