P a r i a ha pair of stories

pa-ri-ah [puh-rahy-uh]—noun1. an outcast.2. any person or animal that is generally despised or avoided.

“All writers, I think, are to one extent or another,damaged people. Writing is our way of repairing ourselves.”

-- J. Anthony Lukas

Pariah: a pair of stories

Author: Natasha EshooCover Art: Natasha EshooPublisher: Dasmüte Press

I would like to thank my brother Eramiah, my parents Debbie and David, my Omi, and dear friend Sally Bartlett for all their support and encouragement.

Please send all inquiries and comments to das_mute@yahoo.com.

© 2011 Dasmüte Press

Of Fractured Bargains

* * *

The Meaning of Value

1

Of Fractured Bargains

“Well this is just great!” Isabel Reinhard slammed her torn open mail onto the counter top in her kitch-en. “Another rejection letter and a final notice in the same day. Fucking magical.”

She leaned against the counter on her elbows, her hands buried in her hair as she ground her back teeth, growling to herself and the offending bills before her. “I’d give anything to not have to deal with this crap.” She moved to the fridge to take solace in liquid comfort, angrily pulling the six pack of Becks from the bottom shelf.

She moved to the couch, popping the cap off the first bottle and drinking it with more enthusiasm than necessary. She stared at her blank television, unmotivated to turn it on as she drank, quickly finishing a second bottle before she reached for a third. “Oh yeah, don’t even bother letting me set up payments on the damn electricity. Bastards.” She reached for her bottle opener, one with a wooden handle she had gotten from her grandfather. “Anything to make this go away.” She glared at the bottle in her hand before taking a long drink from it.

And it was at that moment that there was a small flash of color in front of her, like when a flare is first ignited. Her eyes widened behind her beer bottle at the sight of a short man—maybe four feet tall at best—appearing on her coffee table. “Perhaps I can be of assistance to you!”

Her mouthful of beer sprayed in the man’s direction in her shock, and she promptly began choking as she managed to avoid dropping the bottle she still held. The short man leapt back off of the coffee table to avoid being blasted with the alcohol, his own face wearing an expression of surprise to rival Isabel’s. “God, it’s in my nose!” Isabel clenched her eyes shut and frantically rubbed at her nose. “What in the seven Hells was that!” He pointed at Isabel. She glared at him, her eyes watery. “Who the hell are you!” “My name is of no importance.” He crossed his arms. “I came here to offer my services.” Isabel stared at him for a moment before glaring. “What?” “You are in need of help, and I am here to answer your problem.” He took on a smug look, though its effect was lost on Isabel as she took in his appearance.

He was thin and lanky, more than a foot shorter than Isabel, and his dark, disheveled hair was fairly long, nearly to his shoulders. He wore clothes that looked like he had just stepped out of the Dark Ages. He had on black pants and a black, waist length tunic, and a dark leather belt around his waist with a few leather pouches hanging from it. He had a cowl of the same color, though the hood was back, and a light blue trim was on the edges of it and his shirt, as well as the cuffs of his sleeves. “Yeah, is that so?” Isabel set her bottle on the coffee table before getting up from the couch. “This is the last time I drink Becks this late.” She went to the kitchen and snatched a dishtowel from the counter. The man followed her. “Perhaps you did not hear me the first time. I am here to help you.” “Sorry, I don’t listen to drunken hallucinations.” “You believe I do not exist.” He followed her back to the living room. “Nope.” She began sopping the beer out of her carpet. “Though I gotta say, I’ve never had one this talk-ative before.” He got back on the coffee table and crouched down so he was at eye level with Isabel, their faces barely an inch apart. “And how is it that I may convince you otherwise?” “How about telling me who the hell you are, and how you got in my apartment?”

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“Doors and walls mean nothing to someone like me.” He touched her nose. “And as I said earlier, my name is of no consequence.” “Right, okay.” She returned to her carpet. “And how do you know what my problems are?” “Well, you have been ranting of them for much of the evening. It is hard not to hear.” “You stalking me?” She shot him an angry glare. “Hardly.” “All right, and how do you think you’re going to fix my problems? You have money falling out of your ass you plan on giving me?” “Money falling out of my what?” He looked surprised. “Why don’t you get to the point.” “I can provide you with enough gold to take care of your monetary issues.” A smug expression filled his face. “I only require something of payment in return.” She simply stared at him. “Prove it.” “Ah, but what will you give me in return?” “I write stories and I could be living out of my car by next week. I don’t have anything.” “Stories are a wonderful thing.” He smiled and touched her nose again. “And you may have something yet that I would accept as payment. A trade, if you will. Simply agree to bargain with me, and I will set straight away to providing you what you need.” “All right, I guess it can’t hurt. Not like I have anything to lose.” “So we have an agreement?” He held his hand out to her. Isabel hesitated. “Not if you plan on taking my soul or something. I do use it sometimes.” That drew a giggle from him. “Not at all. I have no need for souls or anything of the sort. A very in-tangible thing, a soul is. And people are so much more interesting and lively with them inside, rather than out.” Isabel blinked at him for a moment before shaking his hand. “So, now what?” “Now I set to work. I shall return to you tomorrow with the gold you need, so long as that is not too long to wait?” “Um, yeah. Sure. I think my notice said next week they’d shut my electricity off.” “Before I take my leave, may I have your name?” “When you won’t give me yours?” “Ah, touché, fair enough. Well, till tomorrow then, dear lady!” And with that, he vanished in the same way he had appeared.

Isabel stared at the empty space before her where the short man had been, a distinct smell of wood smoke, sawdust, and straw lingering in the air. She shook her head and finished with cleaning the sprayed beer from her carpet and coffee table before replacing her remaining Becks in the fridge and going to bed.

* * * The next evening she sat with her legs crossed on her couch, watching Comedy Central as she ate a meal of Mac ‘n Cheese, a long finished cup of instant noodles abandoned on her coffee table. She heard a slight ‘pop’ to her left just before a bright flash, and the darkly dressed man from the night before appeared just to the side of the coffee table. She stared at him mutely before dropping her fork back into her bowl. “Good evening, I have returned as I promised!” He held a decently sized leather pack. “And with the gold, as per our arrangement.” “You have got to be kidding. I haven’t had anything to drink tonight!” “Then that simply means that I was no mere illusion, as you so thought during our first encounter. Have you so soon forgotten me?” “I thought I was imagining things.” “Well, I am here now, as promised, and with the gold, also as promised.” He held the pack out to her. “Have a look for yourself.”

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Isabel set her bowl aside and took the offered pack before looking into it. Several spools the size of those used with holiday ribbon were inside, though instead of red, white, green, and blue ribbon, they were wound with glittering gold string, incredibly fine and unblemished. She held one of the spools up, staring at it open mouthed. “Where the hell did you get this? Grave robbing?” “Surely you jest!” He grinned and put his hands behind his head. “I made it, of course.” “You’re shitting me.” “That sounds most painful.” He crossed his arms. “This, however, happens to be my area of expertise. Gold, that is. Now, as to my payment . . .” “You never said what you wanted.” “This is true, and since you are without something worth my while—at the moment at least—there is something I would accept in trade, and be most patient in waiting for.” Isabel set the gold filled spools on the table. “I’m listening.” “Of course, I must preface this with a bit of truth. I am not a malevolent creature, nor am I a man not of my word. I also happen to be more caring than many would give me credit for—” “You’re a long-winded bugger, you know that?” She handed the leather pack to him. “Just tell me what you want.” “I want your first born child.” They stared at each other for a moment, a tense silence culminating between them before Isabel grinned and laughed. “That’s funny.” “I see nothing humorous in it.” He frowned. “It is part of our bargain. You agreed, and so you are bound to your word. I have fulfilled my end, and you must do the same, when the time comes.” “You’ll be waiting a hell of a long time for that.” “Perhaps, but perhaps not.” “And if I say no?” “And try to take the gold? You would be in for a disappointing surprise, I’m afraid. There are certain rules that must be followed in deals such as the ones made with me, and I doubt that you would be inter-ested in knowing the macabre details of what befalls those who do not fulfill their end of the bargain.” “Oh, what the hell.” Isabel left the couch and went to her bookshelf, quickly grabbing a thick book and flipping through it. The man snorted and put his hands on his hips. “Have you heard not a word I have said?” “Oh no, I heard you all right.” She held the book open and down in front of his face so he could see it. “What is this . . .’then the Queen began to lament and weep, so that the little man had pity upon her . . .’ How—” “You want me to guess your name next?” She grinned at him. “Rumpel?” “How. . .how dare you!” A crimson blush filled his face, though out of anger or embarrassment, none could say. “You cannot cheat me in such a way!” “How can I cheat when I don’t know the rules?” She snapped the book shut. “So what now, Rumpel-stiltskin?” “No!” He slapped both hands to his face and stomped his foot once against the floor. “No! This cannot be happening!” He grabbed the bottom of her Metallica shirt with both hands. “I was fair enough! I want equal fairness in this!” His voice reached a fevered pitch as he shouted up at her. “This is my game! Mine!” “Jesus, calm down before you have an aneurysm!” She grabbed his hands, forcing him to release her shirt. “What’s the big deal?” “Everything! This is not how it is supposed to be!” He slammed his foot against the floor again, panting as he balled his hands at his sides. “Tantrum much?” She went into the kitchen and to a cupboard above her fridge to retrieve a short bottle. “Here.” She held it out to him once she returned to the living room where he was still fuming, his knuckles white. “Drink this and stop shouting.” He snatched the bottle from her hand and took a long drink from it without a moment of hesitation.

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“Gah, what is this?” His eyes widened and he visibly shuddered. “Schnapps from my grandpa. He used to brew the stuff a long time ago.” She took the bottle back and screwed the cap back on. “Look, I appreciate you helping me, I do. Now, technically you lost, though you didn’t actually offer me the chance to guess your name to keep a kid I don’t have. So.” She crouched down and rested her elbows on her knees as she looked at him. “Is there something else I can give you in ex-change for the gold?” Confusion filled his face. “What?” “Is there something else you want?” “I do not understand. We never truly began the game, though you already knew my name . . .” “I think this is what’s called a ‘consolation prize’. What else can I give you? So it’s fair.” “I . . .” He looked away from her. “I believe I should go.” “All right, suit yourself. Don’t say I didn’t try.” She stood up. “Thank you.” He did not look at her, his voice quiet. “Glad to have been of service.” He vanished, the strange organic, smoky scent wafting up from where he once stood.

* * * Isabel was sprawled out on her bed, her sheets a mess and pillow under her arm rather than her head. It was late, though her alarm clock was still playing a CD of the ocean, the soft tones of a piano and cello drifting through the sounds of the surf. She muttered something incoherent in her sleep as she began to wake up, groggily opening her eyes and blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of her room. She found herself staring at Rumpelstiltskin standing by her nightstand, watching her. She came instantly awake then, trying to move back in surprise, though became tangled in her blankets. “What the hell are you doing here?” “I did not wish to wake you. Sleep is such a peaceful thing.” “What are you doing here?” “I thought of something you could offer me in exchange for the gold, if you would still be amenable to it.” Isabel relaxed slightly. “What is it?” He looked away from her and linked his fingers together before putting his hands behind his back and staring at her. “I would ask for your hospitality.” “Huh?” “I am unable to return to where I belong, though I am unsure why. I would like to stay here.” “You want to live here?” “This is a strange place to me, and I have no other place to go. You seem kind enough to offer such hos-pitality, especially after offering me something else in trade for the gold, despite my loss.” “You left earlier. What happened?” “What I did is simply my way of moving to the places I wish to be. Room to room, house to house, so on and so forth. It is slightly different to return to my true place of residence.” He scowled. “If you can call it such.” “And you’re stuck here.” “In a word, yes.” “I guess, why not?” She left her bed and went to her closet. “You can sleep on the couch, though.” She handed him a couple blankets. “I’ve passed out on it a few times, and it’s comfortable enough.” “You have my utmost, deepest gratitude.” He accepted the blankets. “Though there is one more thing.” “What’s that?” “Now that you have mine, I would like to know your name.” “Isabel.” She smiled and scratched her side. “You mind if I call you Rumpel for short?” “That would be all right with me.”

* * * * *

5

The Meaning of Value

“Why is it that I am always portrayed this way!”

Isabel looked up from the bathroom floor at the shout from the living room of her small apartment, an Ajax saturated sponge in her hand as she leaned into the bathtub. A moment later, the source of the shout stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a deep scowl on his face. Even in his anger, however, intimidating was the last thing he appeared. With his height barely four feet, his thin, lanky frame, unkempt hair, black sweatpants, and light blue shirt with a cartoon polar bear on the front. Isabel leaned against the tub on her elbows and raised an eyebrow at her short, malcontent companion. “What’s the matter now?” “Tell me, please. Does everyone in this damned world believe me to be some sort of perverse baby eater?” “That or a pedophile. I have no idea.” She returned to the tub. “You know—if I remember right—I think it was your turn to do this tub.” “I did it last week.” “Lies.” “Speaking of lies.” Now he stood next to her, still scowling. “How is it that you can say you are unaware of the way I am portrayed? You know plenty else about me—” “I told you to stop looking yourself up on the internet. Didn’t I say that could only end badly?” “Yes, well, I like to see if perhaps things change over time.” “Who the hell would be on top of that? The fairy tale brigade?” “That sounds well enough.” “Ugh, there is no such thing! I was being sarcastic!” She frowned up at him. “Why don’t you go do something productive, like the dishes.” “Now, Isa, you know I cannot reach the counters . . .” “Oh for the love of fuck, Rumpel, I bought that step stool for a reason. Go use it.”

With a melodramatic sigh, he turned and left the bathroom, muttering under his breath as he went. Isa-bel shook her head and began scrubbing the drain, soon able to hear her ‘roommate’ singing in the kitchen. It was nonsense rhymes that often slipped into German—it always was—but she found herself smiling nonetheless. His presence was one she preferred from the previous roommates and ex-boyfriend she had gone through before he had arrived, his tactless honesty something she considered refreshing. His wit and sarcasm was something she enjoyed playing off of, he being the only person who could mete out the same jabs and remarks without batting an eye. She enjoyed having the company of someone who was nearly impossible to offend.

* * * “Forever and never, and never, and never, the answer is the same!”

He was leaning over the sink when she entered the kitchen, still singing to himself as he washed the dishes, blotches of soap suds blasted on the counter just around the sink. Even standing on the step stool he was barely waist high to the counter’s edge. “For so few know, this little game, that Rumpelstiltskin is my—” “I’m going to the store.” Isabel leaned over the sink beside him, washing her hands off. “Did you want to go along?” “Ah, and which are you planning on going to?” “Target. We could use some groceries, and I’d like to get some warmer pajamas since it’s getting cold.” “I could be tempted into going, if you wanted my company.” He smiled at her, squishing bubbles be-tween his palms as he pressed his hands together above the water. “Have you something in mind you

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would persuade me with?” “New clothes?” “Come now, Isa. You know I prefer and . . . require something more tangible for my companionship.” “You’ve got a strange definition of tangible.” She crossed her arms and sighed. “An Icee or coffee, whichever you prefer.” “And you have sold me there, my dear!” He unplugged the drain and washed the remaining suds from his hands and arms before hopping off the stool and skipping out of the kitchen.

Isabel was pulling on a black sweat jacket when he returned from the bedroom, changed into a pair of dark jeans and a grey long sleeve shirt. He stomped into his tennis shoes before pulling on a blue hoodie he had left on the couch, Isabel checking her phone as she held the door open for him. He was straightening his hair as he stepped past her and began heading down the stairs, Isabel soon on his heels. Isabel unlocked the door to her jeep and held her hand out. “Here.” “Ah ha, many thanks, my dear.” He accepted the hand up into the car. “Your sympathy for my stature is noted and appreciated, as always!” He grinned at her through the window as she shut the door. She smiled back at him once in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m sure.” “You know as well as I do that I have always meant every word I have ever said. My appreciation is truly genuine, believe me.” “All right, fair enough.” She adjusted the volume of her radio once they were on the road. “Did you de-cide on what you want?” “Not quite yet. I will, however, take you up on your offer of new clothes. Perhaps something without cuddly animals on it.” “Pfft, it’s all based on what fits you.” “Why is it that there are no clothes my size that are not meant for children?” “Probably because there aren’t enough gold-spinning midgets shopping at Target for someone to make a line of clothes for that demographic.” “Pah, there ought to be!”

* * * “Oh, surely you jest.” “Why don’t you just get in?” “I refuse.” He crossed his arms and glared at the cart Isabel had a hand on. “I absolutely will not.” “You’d rather walk? I figured you’d be all over getting a free ride through the store.” “Not in a cart like some sort of helpless infant. So yes, I would rather walk.” “All right, just try to not do or say anything that’ll make everyone notice that you’re a vertically chal-lenged perverse baby eater.” “I resent that. You and your slanderous lies.” He fell into step beside her as she pushed the cart into the store. “You ought to appreciate me more. You would be living out of your car were it not for me and my generous kindness.” “Generous? You wanted to trade your ‘services’ for my first born kid. Which I probably won’t ever have, just so you know.” Rumpelstiltskin frowned. “You cheated.” “It’s been seven months, so don’t be so immature about it. You show me a rulebook, and I’ll say I cheat-ed.” “It is not as if would mean a baby any harm.” “Well, you still can’t do that kind of thing nowadays. It’s a little on the illegal side.” Rumpelstiltskin stuck his hands into his pockets and watched her for a long moment. “Why is it that you always say you will never have a child of your own? Are you . . . unable to bear children?” Isabel looked at him as if he had just kicked a puppy in the face. “What the hell kind of question is that?” “An honest one I ask out of both curiosity and concern.” He began watching his feet as he walked. “I

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have always been under the impression that having children is something that women live their whole lives hoping for. From what I have seen, it always seems to be the case.” He glanced at a woman they passed, looking at a rack of sweaters as her two children sat in her cart. “Forgive me if I offended you in some way.” Isabel shook her head and ran a hand back through her hair. “No, you didn’t offend me. And yes, I can have children. I assume. I’ve just never had a serious enough relationship to get married and have kids. I thought . . . that maybe my last boyfriend and I would get married, but it didn’t work out. I don’t really want kids that much anyway.” “I see. So, even if you never knew my name, I likely would have still not received a child out of our deal.” “Something like that.” She leaned on the cart as they stopped in front of the aisles of groceries, Isabel pulling a hastily scribbled list from her pocket. “You have a preference for dinner?” He stared at her for a moment at the sudden change of subject. “Not at all, my dear. Whatever you hap-pen to decide to cook always seems to turn out wonderful to my tastes.” “You’re getting something without the flattery, Rumpel.” “But I am utterly sincere, Isa. For all of my other skills, cooking has never been one of my best abilities, and your meals far surpass anything I could hope to create.” “What about the whole ‘today I bake’ crap?” “I said nothing about being able to bake well.” He crossed his arms, content to watch as she began gath-ering frozen foods into their cart. “What exactly did you have in mind for tonight anyway?” “Pizza. Cleaning the apartment put me off for anything that requires effort.” “Fair enough. Perhaps we could have pizza of the Papa Murphy’s persuasion?” “Of the what?’ She raised an eyebrow at him. “Why can’t you just say you want Papa Murphy’s?” “I did.” Now he took his turn at being confused. “Gah, nevermind.” She shook her head. “Feel like looking for some clothes for yourself while I finish with groceries?” “I could do that. You will meet me there when you finish, I assume?” “Sure. Just grab what you want.” “All right, I will see you shortly!”

* * * Isabel rested her chin in her hand as they sat at a table in the small seating area of the Starbucks within the Target, their cart of bagged items to the side of the table. Rumpelstiltskin was squinting, his eyes crossed as he sucked on the straw of his Icee, holding the damp cup with both hands. Isabel tapped her fingers on her own drink, a steaming chai tea latte, before taking a drink as she stared past her companion at the check lanes they had just vacated. “You appear quite distracted, and dare I say, troubled, Isa.” He set his Icee aside and tilted his head at her. “May I inquire as to what is on your mind?” “I just realized that most of the people shopping here are women with little kids and babies.” “And this is troubling you?” “No, it was just something I noticed.” He sighed and used his straw to jab at his blue Icee. “I still wish I had one.” “Had what?” His head snapped up from his drink, as if he had not intended for her to hear him. “What?” She raised an eyebrow. “You wish you had one what?” “Nothing.” “Forget so soon the number of times I’ve read my copy of Grimm’s?” “That has nothing to do with anything.” She tapped her fingers on the tabletop. “Today I bake, tomorrow I brew—” “Stop that!” He slapped his hand on the table. “This ceases to amuse me.” “I see that.” She took a long drink of her chai before crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.

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“You know I don’t judge you for anything, right?” “Yes.” He was quiet, absently wiping condensation from his cup. “You have always been kind and fair to me. Never just accepting things you read and hear, and instead thinking for yourself.” “In the old story, the one I showed you. Did that really happen?” Rumpelstiltskin looked intently at his hands before speaking. “I spun the gold for you as I did for her. When she was still just a poor miller’s daughter. The king planned to execute her if she could not do as asked.” Rumpelstiltskin’s face was sad, as if the recollection pained him. “I wished to help her, but there must always be a trade. I did all of it for her, you must understand. I have never meant any harm. She was so distressed when I came to collect the child she promised me. It is only because I cared that I let her guess my name to keep the child.” Now a sad smile crept into his face as he stared blankly at his Icee. “A beauti-ful little girl, it was. So small, so innocent, and lacking the world’s cruelty . . .” Isabel reached out to touch the back of his hand. “That’s why I like dogs more than people and kids. They don’t judge or demand, and they just love you. Being loved unconditionally is better than anything.” “Was that something you have shared with someone before?” “Not with people. Just dogs I’ve had. People are too selfish, no matter what they say, to really love un-conditionally.” “You have a bleak outlook on humanity.” “It hasn’t shown me a reason to be positive about it yet.” He stared at her for a long moment, not withdrawing his hand from hers. “I have never had an animal of my own. Nor the company of another person.” “People and kids are overrated, I think.” She pulled her hand back and returned to her drink. “You . . . want to head home?” “Perhaps we should.”

* * * The rest of the day, Rumpelstiltskin brooded. Isabel could practically taste his sour mood as he sat on the couch watching television, with rare trips to the refrigerator for food or something to drink. They said little to each other, Isabel going about her own business and giving her little roommate his space. She focused most of her time to writing, trying to sort out thoughts into a cohesive story that made sense instead of some mangled, failed articulation of her ideas. She was, however, distracted by the lack of usual distraction from Rumpelstiltskin. She could not help but think of the reason why he was being so quiet, instead of his usual loud and outgoing self. He had fallen asleep on the couch the following afternoon, and Isabel took the opportunity to head out and leave him undisturbed. When she returned nearly an hour later, he was still passed out, face down on the couch with his arm hanging off, his hand resting on the floor. Once she had placed her bags on their small kitchen table, she carried a small cardboard box over to the couch before kneeling next to it. “Rumpel?” She rested her hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. “Rumpel, wake up.” He muttered something incoherent and turned his head to blink at her as he came awake. “What? If something caught fire, it was not me.” “I got something for you.” She opened the small box as he sat upright. “Here.” He took the box, his eyes widening as he watched the small head of a rat poke out above the edge of the box, whiskers flicking. “This is—” “It’s a girl.” She gently rubbed the top of the rat’s head with her finger. “You like her?” “You . . . got her for me?” “Sure. She’ll be easier to take care of than any dog or cat, and she won’t raise my rent. I was thinking that maybe, you know, she’d make a good first pet for you. Since this’ll probably be the closest you get to getting a baby from me.” Rumpelstiltskin picked the rat up, revealing that she was a cream color, like warm butterscotch. “I be-lieve you have rendered me speechless, Isa.” “Then you like her. I’m glad.” She pat his leg with one hand as she watched him gently pet the small creature. “I’ve got a whole set up and supplies for her on the table when you’re ready.”

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Holding the rat in one hand, Rumpelstiltskin embraced Isabel, who returned the hug. “Thank you, Isa. Thank you so very much.” “You’re welcome. Any ideas for a name?” He smiled brightly and brought his new pet up to his cheek. “I shall call her Nixie, I believe.”

* * * * *

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Colophon

Pariah, a pair of stories, was completed in February 2011. The cover font is Angelic War. The inside fonts are High Tower Text and MingLiU. The cover and end papers are Recollections cardstock, hand sewn into

25% cotton lazer ivory paper. The photograph on the cover is by Natasha Eshoo.

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