The Talk

I wake up to the sound of laughs from the living room and the delicious smell coming from the kitchen.

"AH! He's awake." I hear a woman's voice. I recognize it as Ms.Barley. The woman I would consider my mother. "You can help us then."

"Ms. Barley? W-What are you doing here?" I say surprised, didn't expect her here but happy nonetheless. Until I remember what I had planned for the evening, that is, I didn't plan to break her heart by telling her about my death. So she being here is quite troublesome.

"The funny thing is I don't really know," she spoke chuckling at her own words. " Just felt like coming here."

"Good thing she did." the old man said sitting at the table. His voice was quite rough, not a surprise really, in the last few years he has let go of his more rigorous rules and picked a pretty bad habit of smoking. It must be destroying his lungs as he speaks. "We need someone to make food for us, since you adamantly refuse to. And she makes a delicious stew."

"I would gladly make food if it wasn't your constant annoying, old man," I say annoyed by the smoke. "And for God's sake go smoke outside, ain't no one wanting your cancer."

"And no one wanting your whining, shitty brat," he answers. "But I'll oblige, only because she is here."

We both glare at each other as I direct towards the kitchen to help her and the old man goes outside.

"Seriously you two. Always bickering like two children. Even after 19 years."

"Not my fault that the old man acts like a three-year-old sometimes."

"You yourself isn't acting as mature as you could."

Fair enough. Indeed I could probably act in a more adult manner with the old man, but even I knew that smoking is pretty bad. I even think sometimes he is actually trying to kill himself.

Me and Ms.Barley finish cooking her delicious beef stew, a perfect blend of meat and vegetables served with a proper serving of rice to create one of the best dishes in the world. Or is probably just me being sentimental.

The three of us sit around the table in the dining room. We say our graces, something Ms. Barley always insisted on even though I wasn't really the religious type.

Around 10:30 pm Ms. Barley went back home in a taxi that I called for her. As she left she said to me 'Until tomorrow!' with her always positive attitude. I had completely forgotten about our plans of meeting at the library to see if a new interesting book arrived. It was as if a knife lodged in my heart hearing those words from her.

"So you dying huh?" I hear the old man the moment I enter back home. He was drinking a cup of whiskey as he always did after dinner. "No need to have that dumb face."

"How did you know?" Although I had prepared to have this talk with him I didn't expect the old man to come at me like this.

"Oh please." He took another sip of his cup. "I've been training you since you were eight. I could smell it in you."

I suppose he is right. Weirdly he always knew when something was wrong with me.

"Not at all creepy you talking about smell like that." I sarcastically point out as I join him. "But you are right."

He seemed to be reluctant to continue the conversation as if he didn't want me to leave. I couldn't be, right? He spent the last few years trying to make me go away and now that there is an opportunity for me leaving he wants me to stay?

"How's happening? A fight?" he asks while pulling again from the cigarette.

"Nope, a god told me. But I asked him to let me give my goodbyes."

"Which one?"

"What?" I ask stunned by his sudden question.

"You wouldn't lie about something like this. If you say you saw a god then it means you probably mean it. So which one?" he asks nonchalantly.

I was still in shock. I thought he would just dismiss it as if I was just lying or going crazy. Good thing he didn't.

"Hahahaha!" I can only laugh. Even after 19 years I still underestimate him.

"What's so funny?"

"The fact that even after 19 years you still manage to surprise me, old man."

"Humph! Easy surprising a brat like you."

That's more like him. The constant provoking. Now I understand why I didn't really like Janus. He remembers me the old man, a bit too much.

"You still didn't answer me."

"Does it matter which god?" Now it was my turn to take a drink from my cup. "It won't change anything knowing."

Although I had planned to tell him everything, I started to replan it after seeing Ms.Barley.

"Well, you right about that." with a last big swig from the cup he ended the contents in it, threw away the half-smoked cigarette, and turned around. "Well let's go then."

"Go where?" I asked puzzled.

"To the room. There is no way you dying in bed like a grandma."

The room is what we reference as the place we do most of the training. We never called dojo or something like that since it would seem too formal so the room became simply... the room.

It is located a the end of the hallway of the house. A big rectangular room that always seemed strange since from outside the house it looked like the room was built first and then the proper house. It wouldn't be a surprise if that was the cause.

Inside it was wooden-floored, to the right after you enter there are the targets for bow practice, and to the left dummies for sword training. In the center, is a raised circular area that we use for training duels. Most resulted in me getting my ass kicked by either the old man or some of his acquaintances.

"Here you go."

He throws me a sword in a scabbard. It was one of the swords we had in the deposit that the old man forged himself. The blade was nothing abnormal, a simple two-edged blade you could find in renaissance fairs. It was the type the knights used back in the medieval age. Around 80 centimeters long and 5 centimeters wide.

I thought this was strange since we only used blunted swords. However, this time it had an edge that could easily cut through a person's skin.

"This time we are doing things the way I was taught."

"Let's do it then."

I was smiling, excited. This would be the first time we properly fight. There were times we took things seriously but never like this.

We both drew our swords and took our stances.

The old man was perfect, even at almost 70 years, he was positioned in a manner that I couldn't find a single plan of action that gave me a weak spot to exploit and attack him.

Nonetheless, I decide to go to the offensive with a swift strike from my right. As expected, the old man easily parries my attack and quickly counterattacks. I'm barely able to evade myself. Not bragging but I would consider myself quite capable of wielding a sword. However, the old man is in another category of his own, his movements were fast and precise, his strikes fluid and powerful, I couldn't compete in a frontal assault against him.

"Come on you brat show me what you learned!" he taunts provoking me to go against him. "Didn't I teach you anything!"

This was a bit unusual. He would always pick and annoy me but never during training, it was always 100% serious time. The old man would even punish me for acting up during these times.

But it was nothing I could really think about it since he continued his attacks, from slashes to stabs he was desperate to strike me. Soon my body was filled with small injuries, in my face, arms, and legs blood started to flow lightly.

"Damn old man," I say jokingly on my knees trying to get some air. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you trying to kill me."

"What if I was?"

His voice was chilling. Now he was creeping me out. When I turn to him I see him with the sword ready to hit my head with full force. I pull every last bit of energy I have to roll away from his execution.

"What the f**k? Have you lost..."

His eyes were somewhat cold, they were looking at me with murderous intent. The old man was really trying to kill me. Strangely, I should probably run away, but something in my mind felt like it was the wrong choice.

I pick up my sword that lay on the floor and I take on a defensive stance. I wouldn't be able to win if I went directly into the offensive, my best shot would be to defend and then counter-attack.

"Good, at least you can use your head."

"Shut up you crazy geezer."

He smiles and he charges into an attack. His strike came from my right. I'm able to parry it, but the moment I try to counter-attack he quickly retreats. I see... he won't let it be so easy.

He continues his assault as I can only block or evade his sword from hitting any vital spot. However, after a significant time passed I was seriously tired and so he manages to attack me significantly in my right thigh with a sudden thrust that goes completely through my leg.

"AAAAAAhhhhhhh!" I scream in pain, blood starts flowing quickly through the wound. "God f**king damn it!!

"Hahaha!!" he was laughing as I stood on the floor in pain. " Ah, that was how I learned from my father. He even stabbed me in the stomach once. Keep pressure on the wound."

He must be crazy to be laughing at this moment.

He then turned and went away from the room. He returned after a few minutes with a first aid kit in his arms and a bottle of vodka.

"Here drink this," he gives me the bottle and I take huge swigs from it while he treats my wound "Don't worry I have done this a million times."

"You stabbed your student's leg and treated it a million times?"

"Bah! Who cares? Aren't you dying at night?"

"Yeah, PEACEFULLY!!" I give him a slap at the back of his head. "Ain't no one wanting to die in pain."

He doesn't answer me but chuckles.

"Why?"

I was unable to see his face, but I knew my question had him surprised.

"Why not? You dying anyway. Leaving. Who cares?"

He was acting strange, even more than when he seemed to be trying to kill me. A strange feeling inside was buzzing to stop the following question, however, I couldn't help myself, I needed to know.

"Are you sad? That I'm dying?"

Again he was jolted from my question, turning around and holding the bottle.

"Sad? No, more disappointed exactly. I always expected to die before you so I could throw it in your face."

He chuckles once again but I knew he was lying. Although would probably never admit it in my face no matter how forcibly I try to instigate he would never tell me he was sad.

I decide to stay behind and sleep right there on the floor of the room. The old man left after finishing the bottle of vodka together with me.

"Goodnight, Father." I whisper for him not to hear me. "Thank you for everything."

I sleep completely aware of what would happen next.