The Keeper of Memories

Sometimes pain is so strong that nothing can be done about it. It’s like a splinter in your finger: if you pick at it, it hurts terribly, but if you leave it alone, it will become inflamed and and fester into an infection that will sooner or later consume you. They say that time can help heal all wounds. Wounds heal, and scars appear — inelastic and unsightly patches of skin that you want to get rid of because they disfigure you. You constantly want to tear them off and destroy them, but it only makes things worse. Sometimes people are so hopeless that they’ll do anything to forget. They take pills to forget, they drink alcohol to cloud their judgment, and many have become addicted to drugs to achieve a temporary, vivid picture of euphoria. Some people lock all the doors to their homes and read books in complete silence. Of course, there will be plenty of advice everywhere on how to cope with pain, and even some ancient book will likely describe the most murky solution. And only a grandmother can offer strange advice: "Talk to the mirror. Sooner or later, it will take away your pain. Perhaps you will be able to meet the keeper of memories. Or perhaps not. But then, when you realise it’s all over, break the mirror." He was the one who heard these words from his grandmother — his only support and helper in life. Every time he passed the mirror, he remembered her words. Each time it brought pain. Each time — as if it were the first. She’d been gone for three days, but he still felt her presence in the house, as if she would emerge from the kitchen at any moment and call him to dinner. But no, she’d gone. To cope with the weight, he opened a bottle of rum — one so strong it was sure to blow him away. He couldn’t stand it. Glass after glass, and he could no longer stand. He drank the whole bottle without even noticing. This time, he didn’t bother with a glass, drinking straight from the bottle. The TV played in the background, and a rainstorm poured outside. Even nature mourned this loss. At the end, when the bottle was empty, it slipped from his hands and shattered. Tiny shards scattered all over the kitchen. "Damn!" the man spat. He went into the hallway to get a broom and dustpan, where he’d left them earlier. For a second, he was transfixed by the mirror, which for some reason was now too visible in the darkness. He recalled his grandmother’s words. He doubted it, but moved closer. His palm was bleeding—he must have missed it. Ben only hissed as he flexed his fingers, but decided to do nothing about the bruise. Stopping by the mirror, he began to examine it. The old mirror reflected a man full-length. The frame was made of wood and covered in a thick layer of black paint. His grandmother loved to look at herself in it in the evenings, especially before going to the theater or just shopping. Even in old age, she never ceased to be the young girl she once was. Her things were still on the dresser: lipstick, a comb, and perfume. Ben casually picked up one of the bottles and sprayed it into the air. He inhaled the trail of perfume with deep lungs. The scent of perfume momentarily made it seem as if she were back there. Grandma always used it. She never changed her habits. Putting the bottle on the nightstand, he began to examine himself in the mirror again: a boy who hadn’t slept for three days, with huge bags under his eyes, staring back at him. Suddenly, he felt really bad — he started crying. Cry like a child. For three days, he’d held himself together, not allowing even a trace of emotion to show on his face, but now he couldn’t take it anymore. He wiped his wet eyes with his palms. Crimson blood smeared across his cheek. He looked at it and then asked: "Why did they take her from me? She was the only person I cared about!" He sobbed even louder. "Why? Just why? I can’t bear this burden." The house was so silent, the likes of which had never been seen before. If he listened closely, he could hear the dripping of the kitchen tap. Everything had simply frozen, just as it had been when she was gone. Ben didn’t want to change anything. "Listen, if you can hear me. I’m asking you to take me away! Take my memories! I don’t want to remember how she died." He grabbed the frame with his hands and squeezed it with all his might. A small dent remained in the wood. He closed his eyes for a moment and counted aloud, hoping it would calm him, but nothing worked. Ben suddenly opened his eyes and saw something in the mirror’s reflection he had never seen before. A creature woven from smoke and light. It had no face—only two shimmering spots that looked like eyes. "Sono poro!" it says. Ben rubbed his eyes, thinking he had imagined it. But the creature moved even closer to the reflection. "Duno foreró? Am, fii. Et foreró nie!" the creature tapped its forehead with a small hand that appears out of nowhere. Then, a clear voice with a slight, unfamiliar accent was heard: "I forgot that you humans don’t understand our language." "What are you?' Ben askrd, crawling back to the wall behind him. "Is jest emelék őrző," he said, proudly sticking out his chest, and then caught himself. "Nos, I’m a keeper of memories." "Are you dangerous?" "Absolutely not. I’m a being of positive energy. I can’t hurt anyone because of my origins. Although there are other memory keepers who can harm you, but I’m not like that. What do you people say? 'Take my word for it, ' right?" "Um… Yes… Right. And what are you doing here?" "How can I put it? Each mirror is home to a unique memory keeper. We are the eyes of the mirrors. We remember everything that happens in front of us, down to the smallest detail. So, I can even show you something, if you want. Just remember that afterwards I’ll have to destroy this memory so you don’t give us away." Ben listened, mesmerized by this mythical creature. He had surprised such a thing even existed. Maybe it was all a joke? Maybe he had completely lost his mind? "Can you show me anything?" "Yes, if the mirror witnessed these events," the keeper answers calmly, pacing in the reflection. "I would really like to see Grandma… How she nursed me — little and foolish." "Are you sure about that? Then I’ll have to erase your memories of it." "I… No…" Ben hesitated, but then confidently sat closer to the mirror. "I have nothing to lose." "As you say," the creature disappeared, slipping away as if behind an unseen veil, and the mirror began to show the scene again. It was winter. Ben was reluctant to go outside. He tried every way possible to take off his shoes, pants, and jacket. But due to his age, he couldn’t do it on his own. Grandma, putting on her red boots with a small heel, turned to her grandson. "Listen, it’s not that scary outside. There’s so much snow. Things could change later, and you’ll never see real winter again. But if you go out now, this memory will stay in your head forever," she always spoke with such wisdom, as if she knew more than was permitted. The little boy stared at her, lost in thought. Then he pulled on his mittens and grabbed his sled. "O-o-kay, I’m r-r-r-ready!" he answered after half a minute. He hadn’t yet learned to speak quickly, but he was already putting words together syllable by syllable. His grandmother looked at him lovingly and picked him up. Then the light in the hallway went out, and the front door slammed. Ben sobbed. It was about eighteen years ago. He truly remembered that winter, which he will never see again. Such thick snow hadn’t fallen since then. Now he felt like a small, lost boy. He was in so much pain he couldn't breathe. He thought life is unfair. But then a voice interrupted his hysteria: "Nos, I must take this memory from you now," the keeper informed him of the price of what he had seen. "No! You won’t take the last thing I have left!" Ben rose to his feet, completely enraged. He had not ready to lose his memories. "No, you have to. That’s the deal!" the keeper began to rage. "I won’t give them up!" The man took a broom, swinged it, and hitted the mirror with all his might. The glass cracked, as if it shrieked, and hundreds of memories scattered across the floor. The shards reflected his eyes, mouth, blood… He was horrified by what he had done. He had shattered it — a piece of his grandmother’s life now lying in fragments. He stood there, frozen, afraid to step on the shards. He waited, frozen in time, for what felt like an eternity, until he opened his eyes and saw the mirror before him, whole and unharmed. But now he was not reflected in it.