Jordan Gravette Part 3 of 6

The Haven was a small single fronted café with a steamed-up window and a sign in the door indicating the premises were open. Inside, the air was gloomy and musty, like a damp cellar. A row of booths ran along one wall, each as empty as the next, except for the one furthest from the window where a shadowy figure was sitting at a table laden with food enough for a feast. Jordan approached the booth and took a seat opposite the figure. There was so much food spread out between them there was not an inch left to spare of the wooden surface. There were pitchers of wine, roasted beef, roasted chicken, and practically every other type of roast meat imaginable. There were clusters of plump juicy grapes, great slabs of cheese, piles of delicately sliced charcuterie, golden chunks of crusty bread, clusters of glistening red cherries and ramekins loaded with pâtés and olives. And, strangely, in the middle of it all was an hourglass. Jordans mouth watered as he realised only then how ravenously hungry he was. The temptation to dive in was almost overwhelming, but even by his own selfish standards, the small matter of his long-deceased father sitting opposite him needed addressing first.

His father looked almost exactly as Jordan remembered him, with a few explainable differences. His grey hair was long and matted. His skin had the pallidness of death, and the dark eyes were less intense. They were dull and didn’t glisten as they had in life, but the wedge-shaped pugilistic nose had not changed. Nor had the slightly crooked mouth that always made him look as if he was about to give voice to a thought that had just occurred to him. Not that he ever did. In life Samuel Gravette had been an unforthcoming and distant man who was not given to wasting words. All in all, Jordan thought, he didn’t look too bad for someone who’s been dead for so long. 

His father was the first to speak.

‘You’re looking well for a man who has recently experienced a major cardiac event.’ His voice was raspy and breathless, lacking the deep resonance it once had in life. It was as if he was permanently about to burst into an uncontrollable bout of coughing.

‘As do you…considering,’ Jordan replied. He was sure he saw his father’s dark lips twitch. It was the closest thing he would get to a smile.

‘Do you know why you’re here?’ his father asked.

‘I am beginning to presume it is because I am dead, like you.’

‘Not quite. For you the coin is still spinning. Until it lands, you are neither dead nor alive.’

‘Then I must wait for it to land, I suppose.’

His father leant forward, disturbing the air around him so that Jordan could smell the vestiges of wet earth. ‘You mean trust to fate? Wouldn’t you rather you had your fair say in the matter?’

‘Is that possible?’ Jordan asked.

‘Of course. Why else do you think you’re here?’

‘Then what must I do?’

‘You must complete three challenges. Each challenge shall be followed by a vision. Learn from those visions what you will. They will either guide you or destroy you.’

‘Tell me, father. If I’m here to face these challenges, why are you here?’

‘I cannot leave this place. I failed my challenges. If you fail yours, you will remain here also.’

Jordan looked at the feast before him.

‘Looks to me like you’re doing alright here.’

‘This is not for me,’ his father said. ‘This is all for you. This is your first challenge. It is called the Feast of Plenty, and you must complete it before the sands run out, unless you wish to spend your eternity keeping me company.’ He reached for the hourglass and turned it over to set the sand running. ‘Bon appetite, boy.’

A second invitation was not required; Jordan laid into the spread like a man who had not eaten for days. If this is a challenge, he thought, bring them all on.

His gastronomic enthusiasm was short-lived, as he discovered very quickly that this was no ordinary meal. No sooner had he quaffed half goblet of the ruby wine and set the goblet down, the goblet was full again. When he plucked a handful of grapes and stuffed them in his mouth, the bunch on the plate seemed no smaller than it was before he had plundered it. When he carved a mouth-watering slice of beef, the joint was no smaller than it had been before. Whatever he ate or drank, replenished itself immediately. The sand in the hourglass continued to fall. I must eat more quickly, he thought, and began to eat faster and faster. By the time half the sand had fallen into the lower half of the glass, he was cramming handfuls of food into his mouth one after the other. He tore the chicken legs from their carcass and ripped the meat from the bones with his teeth like an animal. Before he had finished one mouthful, he was cramming in another. Grapes, meat, pate, cheese, bread, chocolates, dainty French fancies, they were all jammed in together and mashed into a pulp as his jaws ground away until they ached. At times his mouth was so full he could barely move his jaws at all. The hourglass was almost done and still the table showed no signs of depletion, and still he kept going, spattering food down his front and all over the table. Soon the floor around him was inches deep in the waste that he dropped and spilled in his determination to complete the challenge. Yet, no matter what he did, the food on the table diminished by not one iota. His eating became slower and slower. One more mouthful, he thought, and my stomach will burst. The last dregs of sand were trickling down in the hourglass when he reached out and knocked it onto its side. He slumped back in his seat and threw his hands up in defeat. 

‘Enough,’ he moaned. ‘I’ve had enough. No man could complete this challenge.’

On seeing his son’s despair, his father’s face began to twist and curl, his body started to convulse, and a strange noise rose from his throat, like bones being rattled in a bag. At first Jordan did not realise what was happening to his father, and thought he was in discomfort. Nothing could have been further from the truth. His father, Samuel Gravette, was laughing.

‘Then you have completed the challenge,’ his father cackled. 

Jordan could not hide his confusion. ‘But the meal, I’ve made no impression on it. I was always doomed to fail.’

His father, still convulsing had enough control to say ‘I said you had to complete the feast. No one said you had to eat it all. Once you had eaten enough you could have announced the meal was complete and the challenge would be over. But the idea you had to eat it all was yours and yours alone.’ 

Slowly, the room began to spin, the walls and ceiling began to peel back and the floor beneath them fell away. 

‘Your vision approaches. Maybe you will learn from it,’ his father said

They were falling through space, tumbling over and over …

* * *

Jordan is standing opposite a farm gate. A younger version of his father, as he was in life, is standing by the gate in conversation with two thick set, balding gentlemen in jeans and white tee shirts. Beyond the gates there is a farmhouse, surrounded by outbuildings and a barn. In front of the house there is a removal van with its rear doors open. From the door of the farmhouse at regular intervals, figures in brown coveralls emerge toting chairs, and lampstands, boxes, and tables. They carry their burdens into the back of the removal van, like ants carrying their trophies back to the nest. While this is happening, the farmer and his wife are watching the proceedings from the farmyard. They have their arms around each other’s shoulders as if trying to comfort themselves. Their children cling to their legs, crying.

In time, the removal van is full. The doors are closed. It pulls out of the gate and disappears down the road. The farmer and his family follow in their beat-up Volvo estate, its boot jammed full and roof rack piled high with their possessions. As they pass through the gate, the farmer scowls at Jordans father and mouths some words Jordan cannot hear.

One of the bald men in tee shirts and jeans hands Jordan’s father a clipboard. His father signs it and hands it back in exchange for a bunch of keys. They shake hands and the bald men climb into their white van and they too drive away.

At this point, the vision disintegrates momentarily and then reassembles itself. This time, the farmhouse and the outbuildings, along with the surrounding fields, are gone, replaced by a vast ocean of new houses, each one identical to all the others. His father is standing where the farm gates used to be. He is surrounded by men and women, all dressed in their finery. They have champagne glasses in their hands and waiters move among them with trays of canapes and other tasty morsels. A woman in a Versace dress with a Gucci handbag slung from her shoulder, steps forward and cuts a ribbon which has been stretched across the freshly tarmacked road leading on to the new estate. There is cheering and applause.

Behind the group, as the woman cuts the ribbon, a funeral cortege drives by unnoticed. A wreath in the hearse says DAD. A face stares out from one of the cars. Jordan recognises her. It is the farmer’s wife. As they pass, she is staring at his father. It is a stare full of loathing and hatred.

The vision fades and he is back in the Haven with the ghost of his father, who is no longer laughing.

* * *

‘Do you condemn me for what I did?’ his father asked. ‘You of all people should know that in business, the winner takes it all. The loser loses everything. That’s how it works. If you want to succeed, you have to take, take, take. And keep taking until there is nothing left to take, regardless of the consequences. By those rules the farmer was a loser.’ 

He paused and tapped the tabletop with his finger. ‘If you condemn me for that, you must also condemn yourself. Why did you think you had to devour the entire feast? All you had to do was take only what you needed to satisfy your hunger. There was no need to take it all. Lucky for you that you gave up. Had you still been eating when the sands ran out, you would have failed the challenge. You are no better than me. Perhaps you should save your disgust for yourself.’

A dismal silence descended upon them as Jordan considered his frailties. Jordan did not have time to dwell upon his shortcomings. The image of the farmer’s wife was etched deeply into his thoughts; so deep it revealed a sliver of something that had been oppressed in him since birth. Shame.

His moment of introspection did not last long. The café jolted violently, as if struck by an earthquake and once again the walls and ceiling began to melt away.

‘It is time for your second challenge,’ his father said.