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“He thinks he is because he is.”
I froze. The pot of soup I was boiling bubbled up as I left it. My mind was trying to comprehend the madness coming out of my grandfather.
“I’m sorry, the reception is a little spotty…what did you just say?”
“Esther, Malachi isn’t insane.”
“He’s just over four hundred years old?” Was I surrounded by lunatics? “I love paranormal fiction as much as the next person but this is going too far. What is he then? A vampire? A coffee-addicted, meat-loving, fang-less, four hundred and eighteen-year-old Caucasian vampire who was once a prince in India? That’s the story you’re trying to sell me on?”
“I need you to be open-minded when I tell you this.”
“Sure!” I turned off the stove and moved the pot to another burner. “I’m open, please go on I’ll try not to turn into a bat and fly away.”
“Are you done?”
I kept silent so he could talk though a part of me wondered if there was a two-for-one deal at the mental hospital.
“Now that you’re silent I don’t know how to explain this to you.”
“Grandpa! I’m already on edge, you cannot make jokes—”
“I’m not joking. Malachi is the former prince of the Mughal Empire.” He repeated and it sounded no more believable than it did a minute ago.
“I have no words.” In fact my brain wanted to kick open my skull and make an escape because apparently rational thought was no longer needed.
“It was hard for me to believe too.” He coughed once and I heard what sounded like a beep but he spoke a little louder. “Esther, Malachi isn’t just the prince of the Mughal Empire. He was once Romeo Montague to Juliet, Obinna the Great to Adaeze, Lancelot to Guinevere, Wei Xiao to Princess Changping—”
“Grandpa.” I smiled only because I was so sure he was messing with me. “You’re trying to tell me, that Malachi Lord, the romance novelist, is the reincarnation of all of the most tragic and iconic heroes in all of history?”
“Yes.” Came the reply. But not from Grandpa.
I turned to see the very man…the tragic hero himself, leaning against the railing of the stairs. “Can I have some of that?” He nodded to the pot.
“He’ll explain.”
“Grandpa!” But he was gone leaving me with the man he’d just told me had lived five different times. Holding onto his side, he slumped towards me—no—towards the pot of food, and I stepped aside as I held the phone to my chest staring blankly at him as he took the spoon I’d been using to stir and filled the bowl until it was just barely overflowing. Putting the pot down, he lifted the bowl to his lips and drank deeply until there was nothing left but the rice, beef, and carrots. Then he turned to me, the circles around his eyes were still there but they weren’t as dark as they’d been before.
“Do you mind if I finish this?” He pointed to the pot.
Without saying a word I nodded that he could go ahead. And he did. He poured the rest into the bowl, grabbed a spoon and slowly sat on the floor, this time using the spoon to feed himself.
“Is it okay?”
“It’s horrible but I’m hungry,” he replied stuffing his face again.
“Hey! You didn’t have to eat it you jerk! Put it back if it’s so horrible.”
He snickered finally looking up from the bowl. “How are you going to make me when you’re too scared to move?”
“I’m not scared.”
“You circled around me slowly as if I were a monster you were trying to escape from.”
“Sorry—”
“I’m not hurt. I’m actually relieved you have the sense to be wary of men like me.” He stuck another bite into his mouth.
“I’m not sure if you’re praising or insulting me,” I replied as I slowly sat down opposite him.
