The Heart Shop

The smoke shop was damp and dark as old woods. Through the shadows, the old piano leaned like a drunken sentinel. The shop was once a funeral parlor, before that an apothecary and further back a speakeasy during the war. Everyone who passed through his doors had stories the smoke would pull out of them. All except Lily. Her stories were locked deep inside or behind the window with blood-purple drapes.

The stars could be seen from the shop windows if only the asphalt didn’t grow so high, Lily once said. She adored his old-fashioned sensibilities, his knowledge of politics, literature, the world. He told her it had taken a long time to learn such things as he subtly self-deprecated the bold graying at his forehead.

He always knew when a person’s smoke would turn stale. You’re always right, she would tell him. Be careful it’s late, he would warn. The loneliness of her absence would quiet the room before she had walked out, the door chimes like bird-song behind her.

“You’ve been stalking me?”

“No. It isn’t like that. Lily, I love you.”

She had been a pulse above the city but it all seemed like a remnant of dream-stuff now. He was tired like all men are after many wars.

“Love? You have no idea who I am.”

“You’re wrong. I know. I see you.”

Sometimes, when the quiet of her absence threatened to spread so deep into the evening that he would dwell on death, he would close the shop, take the table in the café across from her window. He was close enough but in the shadows where she couldn’t see his eyes. She felt safe in this corridor, always renting the same window. He tried to make sure she was safe. He watched her tease and blow kisses to the passersby because they didn’t know who she really was. They didn’t know her like he did, that she was so much more than this. That she belonged with him even if she didn’t know it.

“Liar!”

“You have no one, Lily. Me too. We are both tired, and lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“Liar.”

⸙

Lily had not come to the smoke shop for many months, he had not returned to the café. She had left him to drown or rescue himself and he was still unsure which he would choose. On Thursday, he closed the shop for the last time. He sat alone in the shying light, the damp pressing into his muscle and memory.

It had taken six men to lift and carry out the old piano, its two back legs dragging by the matchsticks. The deed had been transferred, fixtures sold, all debts paid or collected. The shop would sell for a nice sum. The place had been good to him, he’d made a lot of money. He had discovered the new young dreamers of Amsterdam, a place that would always re-invent itself even against its own will. There had been laughter. And Lily. He couldn’t pretend she was not who she was or that he had anything more to give except old stories and quiet hours.

He hadn’t realized how far he’d wandered until the familiar sounds of the café found him. Like a faithful pet, he’d come back by instinct. With a ticking fear, he looked to the little window where Lily would be. His heart thrummed almost in pain. The window was dark.

The night fast deepening, the city hushed, he burned hot and loud through the streets, stumbling from the first of the three red-light districts to the next to find her. Nausea rose in his throat, and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a sleeve.

“In time, you’ll forget me. That’s the truth.”

“Never. It’s too late. I won’t be able to forget you, Lily. I won’t.”

Even night creatures were dimmed with sleep save the lone pair of youth bathed in the light spilling from one of the windows. He paused to will his breath to slow, his throat opening and closing with each heartbeat.

The two boys threatened to bring around the authorities with their wanton disregard for the hour.

“Look! Toss her a quarter!” The shorter one pointed at the window, stumbling into his friend. They congratulated each other on their crudeness then weaved away, too inebriated to realize how narrowly they had escaped his violence.

He approached the window cautiously, his head hammering with need and fear and love. When she turned again to the window, her eyes were unable to hide the surprise. For a moment, they stood suspended, his pulse of breath frosting the glass between them. Lily lowered her head. She lifted her arm to draw the heavy drapes closed. He pressed his trembling, panicked cheek to the glass and rapped on the window. “Lily! Lily!”

“It would never work for us. Just forget me!”

“Oh, Lily, don’t you understand yet? The time to love is so short.”