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Updated: 9/12/18
As a woman— child now— who lived through the beginnings of the golden age of technology, with new phones being released every few years, new Google glasses, and cars that were starting to drive themselves, imagine my astonishment when I laid my eyes upon a window advertisement for the "new electronic television" that now had "30-centimeter screens."
"Uh…. What year is this?" I leaned in to the doctor, whispering softly as we passed by the normal citizens unperturbed by how old this world was. There was so much stillness in the air, a sense of foreboding as if the people were on the edge of something happening. A sense so familiar to me. It was war.
"1940."
"19— oh shit." I breathed out in a harsh whisper, ignoring the astonished looks from the uptight old lady that had heard my rough language. "Seriously?"
"Yup," Erskine popped the 'p.' "I thought you had already asked Nancy the date?"
"Nancy?"
"The nurse who woke you up?" The doctor offered to me, raising a brow as we continued our way down the block.
"Oh."
"You might want to pay more attention, your majesty," Erskine teased, putting a slight edge on the honorific. "It could cost you your life."
"It already did."
Erskine paused in his steps, words obviously wanting to spill out, but he held them in, his self-control strong. He was calculating his words carefully, knowing fully well what I had meant. Carefully chosen, handpicked words as he was treading on cracking ice. He settled for a simple response. "I'm sorry."
"I am too."
"I don't blame you," Erskine stopped in front of a nice house, quite simple, but homely nonetheless. With simple bushes and bare flower beds, the home was looking quite neglected, an obvious sign that a busy man lived here. He gestured towards the front door. "This is it."
I stepped up the stairs, following after him as he scrambled to open the rusting door knob with the matching set of keys. He pushed the door in, allowing me a full view of his living room. And it was a nice living room with the handsome furniture sitting around. A couch sitting against the wall had a wooden frame and dark grey cushions with a small light grey blanket resting on the back. Two love seats surrounded the couch on either side and were made out of brown leather. Across the couches, there was a painting of a sleeping lion basking in the sunlight on a raised flat rock in grassy plains. He even had lamp stands that were made out of mahogany!
With a light thump of a suit case, Dr. Erskine set down the object against one of the love seats and slipped off his tie. "Would you like anything specific for dinner? I only have one ration book, but I'm sure we can get another one next month. We should be able to hold off for another month, yeah?"
"Ration books?" I followed him into kitchen, confusion slipping onto my face as took in the new information. The kitchen was as upkept as the living room. A small wooden table, meant to sit a family of four, sat in the center of the room. Pristine counters lined the walls of the kitchen and a sink was installed in front of a window overlooking a petite garden. A door led out to the side, presumably to the garden. The garden was as neglected as the front of the house, I dually noted.
"They're like coupons, only they're, well, rationed," he explained as he pulled vegetables and a type of meat from the fridge. There wasn't much I'll admit. "I'll make a stew. It's easier to stretch for two people with ingredients only enough for one person. That or we'll have beans and rice for the next month! And I'm sure you don't want that."
"Well, no. But, I wouldn't mind picking up another job to help out," I responded with a gentle smile. I'm sure I good find some kind of job out here in the goddamn 1940s. People can't be that sexist, right? I picked up a knife and started cutting the carrots on a wooden chopping board. "I could serve at a local dinner or help clean the hospital."
"No, it's best you lay low. I don't want people realizing you have no idea what's going on. Not to mention that American accent that you're not even bothering to hide," he pointed out. I touched my lips as if touching them would help the accent. I hadn't even remembered to hide that important detail of myself. What would an American be doing in England? He put the chopped carrots into a pot he pulled out from one of the cabinets. "You need to practice before you go out and try to find the new Kings and Queens."
"How I even find them?" I off handedly remarked as Erskine fiddled with the stove. The most recent Kings and Queens came from different time periods. Alexandra from the future, Gregory from the 90s, me and Scott from the 2000s.
"Well, there has to be at least one in the 1940s," Erskine exhaled, answering my question that wasn't directed towards him. He pushed around the contents of the pot, the boiling vegetables stewing inside as he nudged the roots. "At least close to this time period. Maybe he wants you to get older again."
"Then why didn't I arrive here in my thirties?" I countered.
"Well, it doesn't matter now," he turned to me, leaning against the counter. "You'll find them eventually. We just need to find out how you're going to support yourself until then. You can't be a single lady running around the 40s. It'll raise too many questions."
"Maybe they're just next door," I mused, smirking at the easy idea. "Like he'll ever make it that easy."
"Until then, you can stay here as my surrogate daughter."
"Why do you keep helping me?" I asked, finally getting to my important question. How does he know everything?
"I'm just a man trying to do the right thing in this sad world," he smiled, a sadness peeking through his cheerful smile.
"We do need more of those people."
"Why don't you go to your new room?" Erskine gestured to the welcoming stairwell with a nod of his head.
"Perhaps I will," I nodded and started to leave the kitchen. "Who knows how long I'll be here?"
"Aslan. Only he knows."
"And a bit too much, I'd say," I called over my shoulder as I ascended the stairs that lead to a small hallway. Down the hallway, a library filled to the brim lied to the left and a study to the right. Further down were three bedrooms and one bathroom. One bedroom was quite large, and I could only assume it was the master bedroom. I ignored that bedroom. However, further down were two smaller bedrooms, both with a teen sized bed.
I shut the door behind me as I chose the bedroom I'll be living in for the next unforeseeable future. Something flashed outside of the window, somewhere deep within the neglected garden. My curiosity got the best of me; I pushed aside the white curtains and peered into the decaying garden below. A small golden cat stared at me from an unused flower pot. The creature jumped off and skittered under the fence as it caught my gaze.
"What an odd cat," I murmured, hearing my words slur together as I grew tired from the long day. I sat down on the soft cushions of the bed, appreciating the way the fabric felt against my skin. Even with being unused for quite some time, the fabric felt soft. I relaxed, letting myself take in a few hours of needed rest after this unusual day. "It had red eyes."
I was sitting on a makeshift futon, legs crossed and reading a book as I ignored the heavy pattering of the rain against the thick tent fabric. The dying candle light flickered across the pages, illuminating only certain words as loud thunder rumbled in the distant as rain poured down from the heavens above. I sighed and set the book aside, rubbing my eyes as if I could rub the soreness from the strained eyes.
Leaning back into the soft fabric of the futon, I spread out into the fluffy fur— gifts from the Qoy Tribe— as the last light from the candle blew out. It was just me, the darkness, and the overwhelming sound of the icy rain. It was not a good omen. Who knows what the next day will bring? The war between the splint country was nearing to an end, I could feel it. It might not be in a few days nor a few months, but the end will be in a few years, that much I could tell. And a bloody end it will be.
"You really should stop that," a deep voice started me. "You're going to hurt your eyes reading in this dim light. You'll need those pretty eyes for the battle tomorrow." The familiar, teasing voice came from tent flaps. I shifted my head towards the opening, watching as the man closed the tent as a strike of lightening flashed, illuminating his face. He smiled at me, his warm, beautiful smile. His crystal blue eyes gleamed with mischievous fun. "They won't be able to hear us with the thunder…. I can join you tonight."
I sat up, returning his smile as he moved towards me. His strong arms wrapped around me from behind as he started whispering, the whispers as soft as a light breeze. His longish black hair brushed against my check as he leaned over. "So…." He whispered. "What do you say?"
I turned to kiss him. "I think you already know, Gregory." He smiled in return and pushed me down on the futon, whispering sweet nothings as he left gentle kisses down my neck. "You know I love you?"
"I know you do," he smirked as he kissed me. "I love you, too."
"Bitti, majesteleri,"* a nearby faun murmured into my ear as I held out my hands to feel the ice rain.
"Haklisin,"* I whispered back, unable to speak louder in fear of my voice cracking. "It is over. Just this battle."
Rain thundered down from stormy clouds hovering in the oppressing skies, the water soaking into my clothes as I faced the weeping heavens. The water was cold; its harsh, stinging drops landing upon my bloody skin as the rain attempted to clean myself of my own sins. It wouldn't help. Water can only wash away so much. But it didn't help how the rain felt like ice, like harsh, miniature ice shards piercing my skin.
The swelling ground beneath me couldn't take in anymore water; the mud was slowly becoming more and more like a liquid. Soon it will freeze into a dirty red block, locking all the dead in it as it frozen them in ice. I let the dark red mud slop around me, ignoring everything else around me as I let in the events sink in. In all the years before I was here, in all the years of him spilling blood, he had never even come close to being killed. But now, the Narnian heavens cried, and only I was left to know what they were crying for: the death of its king.
"Leave the dead, the ice rain is too hard. She knew what she was doing." I commanded the faun. Because of Jadis's deadly magic, we would be unable to collect our dead, to mourn them.
"But, majesteleri, King Gregory—"
"I know," my voice cracked, "and he would have done the same if it was me."
Late April, 1940
Day after day carried the same routine with it, except Sundays when he would drag me to a little chapel for Mass. Dr. Erskine would wake up at six and make a ruckus going to the bathroom to wash his face, waking me up in consequence. We had already gotten my ration book earlier in April, so I was free to cook almost whatever I wanted. I would make a basic breakfast while he got dressed. After eating, he would gather his things and pack them into his suit case and wish me a good day. After he left, I would either read or practice on my accent. I personally think I was getting quite better, however, the doctor still thought I was quite bad at the whole British thing. Sometimes, I would take a moment in the garden in attempt to find that odd cat again. It felt familiar. Although, it never wanted to show its face again to the world, as if doing so would cause a chaotic end to the world.
After lunch, I would work on my squishy body. I had to start all over since my body wasn't used to any work out now. It had only been a month, but I could feel myself getting stronger even if it was just a little. I still had to reteach my body the martial arts Gregory had taught me decades ago. I was getting the hang of it though, and fast. I don't think I could go against a body builder, but I would be able to handle myself. I still had to be careful, my lungs were still weak.
Dr. Erskine would usually come back around 5 o'clock. I would ask him what he would like, and we would work on dinner together talking about our days. Mine would usually be droll and repetitive, but his would be somewhat more interesting. We were okay together; slowly getting through our endless days as they melted together. However, today would be an odd day, an outlier in our repetitive routines.
He was late.
It had already passed six and he never this late. Something had happened. I prepared a meal just in case it was just someone at the hospital holding him up.
The clock almost hit seven when I hear the door unlocking. The work worn doctor set aside his suit case and stalked over to the kitchen. He grabbed a plate out of the cabinets and gathered his food. He sat down on the table across from me and started eating without a word. He was eerily silent today. Almost like he wanted to tell me something but couldn't get it out of his mouth. Starring down the man, I sighed and leaned back into my seat, folding my arms. "Why were you late today?"
He breathed a heavier sigh and put down his fork. "I found out that I got drafted today."
"What?" I paused. Fuck. Where the hell would I go now? "What are we going to do?"
"I visited a friend today. He agreed to take you in and take care of you…," here he paused. I could tell he wanted to continue. However, something was holding him back.
I was sensing another 'but.' He's starting to remind me of Aslan. "But…?"
"But," he sighed another deep sigh. "You and his son are going to be married in June."
….
What?
"Excuse me?"
So, television really started to boom in the late 1940s, just ignore that.
Bitti, majesteleri- it is over, your majesty
Haklisin- you're right