Jenk’s Companion

Late September, the mist curled over the old municipal cemetery on the outskirts of Bristol. A funeral procession shuffled slowly behind a black coffin, the mourners heads bowed like wilted flowers. Victor lowered his eyes, his steps unsteady, staring at the ground as if trying to read a secret written in the soil, unable to grasp what had become of his life. His mind was a hollow echo, emotions drained away, as if he himself lay dead inside the casket that seemed to await his own corpse.

Eighteen years earlier, in the dusty playground of a primary school, Victor and Ethan tangled during recess, launching a fullscale scuffle that sent chalk dust spiraling into the air. They rolled on the grass, their uniform shirts smeared with grime, while a crowd of boys roared encouragement.

Come on, Ethan! Give him a hit! shouted one side.
Hit him, Victor! Go, go! yelled the other.

The climax arrived when Ethan snapped at his opponents ear. The boy clutched his ear, shrieking, and the fight halted. Both lads sat panting on the ground, Victors cheek slick with blood as the school bell rang.

From that moment the two became inseparable. Victor, a straightA student, always raised his hand first; Ethan, a perpetual average, fidgeted and drew the teachers scolding glances. For ten school years they shared a single desk, finding more common ground than they ever imagined.

Then they both fell for the same girl from the neighboring class, a slender blonde named Ethel, whose eyes shone like twin lakes. She danced, and the boys raced to meet her after rehearsals, each hoping she would choose him. Ethel never hurried her decision, keeping both boys in a delicate limbo. The years slipped by, the graduation ceremony thundered, and each set off on his own path.

Victor dreamed of university, but the fierce competition and his modest familys lack of funds forced him onto a technical college instead. Ethan, coming from a comfortable background, could have afforded any tuition, yet he recoiled from scholarly pursuits. He chose an apprenticeship at a garage, a decision that would later prove prescient.

Ethel, too, turned away from academia. She joined a dance troupe that toured abroad, chasing a onceinalifetime chance to earn money overseas.

Even as they scattered to different corners of the country, they kept in touch, phone calls stitching together the frayed edges of their shared past. Victor and Ethan met most often, drifting from cafés to nightclubs, Ethan always hurried to tempt the next venture, while life swirled around them like a kaleidoscope.

After college, Victor took a job on a factory floor while enrolling in a parttime degree. Ethan, after years of handson work, opened his own garage with his parents help, hiring a couple of mechanics. Within three years he owned a sleek car and a respectable business, earning the nickname the bloke with the garage.

Ethels overseas contract ended after five years, and she returned to England. The trio arranged a reunion, each nervous about which of them she would favor. They gathered at a small table, Victors heart drumming a frantic rhythm.

Ethan, look, Victor whispered, tugging at his shirt collar, does this look alright?
Dont worry, mate, Ethan replied coolly, just breathe. Have a drink for courage.

A voice floated above them, bright as a sunrise. Hello, gentlemen! You look dapper! Ethel sang, stepping into the room.

Good to see you, Ethel, Ethan said, pulling out her chair and kissing her hand with exaggerated gallantry.

Hi! muttered Victor, his tongue tied in knots for the whole evening.

They fell into reminiscences of schoolyard battles. Ethan spent the night dancing with Ethel, while Victor watched, an invisible spectator. What are my chances? he whispered to himself. Ethans got a garage, a fancy car, cash flowing. Im still living with my parents, pockets empty.

As twilight deepened, they escorted Ethel home, just as they had done in their younger days. After four such evenings, Victor felt ready. He stood at her doorstep, rehearsing words, rang the bell, and to his astonishment she answered with a smile.

You really mean it? Victor stammered, disbelief curling his voice.

Yes, yes, yes! Ethel exclaimed, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Later, Victor confided in Ethan.

What did she see in me? I have nothing to offer.

Ethan chuckled, I once tried to ask her too, but she turned me down outright.

Victor frowned. But youre successful, steady, financially sound.

Ethan waved his hand. She needed a steady hand, not a philanderer. Youre the hard worker, the reliable one. Thats why she chose you.

They laughed, clapped each other on the back, and the conversation drifted to trivialities.

Ethel and Victor married in a boisterous ceremony. Using the savings Ethel had amassed abroad, they bought a flat in London. Victor felt slightly out of place in the new domestic stage, but Ethel teased, Dont fret, youll be making breakfast in bed soon enough. She opened a dance studio, turning her passion into a profitable venture, and their married life settled into a comfortable rhythm.

Ethan stayed close, becoming a family friend. He was so involved that Victor sometimes felt a pang of jealousy, as Ethel would confide in Ethan about household plans. Ethan never refused a favorwhether delivering groceries on a rainy day or driving her to a medical appointment when Victor was swamped at work. Once, when Ethel twisted her ankle during rehearsals, Ethan paused his own rest to drive her to the hospital and lingered for her followups.

Neighbours, whispering in the culdesac, began to tease Victor, calling him a softie for letting his wife lean on Ethan.

Victor, why is he always glued to her? they muttered.

Just stop it, love, Ethel laughed, what would we do without him?

Victor sighed, pulled Ethel close, and let go of any lingering resentment. The days rolled on like a carousel of chores.

One autumn afternoon, a knock sounded at the couples door.

Victor, its me, a familiar male voice announced, Im Ethans father.

Ah, good morning, Mr. Harris! Victor replied, surprised.

Ethans dead, the man said, his voice hollow, he crashed yesterday. Hes in the cemetery

Victors breath caught, his throat tightening into a knot of grief. The world dimmed, sweat beading on his forehead, his vision blurred. Ethel, eyes watery, took over the conversation, explaining the details and giving the date of the funeral.

The loss struck Victor with a weight he could not comprehend. Just yesterday, his friend had been full of life, and now he was gone. Ethel was eight months pregnant; to protect her and the baby, Victor stayed home, attending the funeral alone. After the burial, as the crowd dispersed, he lingered by the fresh grave, his legs trembling, his eyes fixed on the smiling portrait of Ethan, clenching his fists.

Ethan, my friend, he whispered, choking back tears, thank you for every moment, for those endless schoolyard wars. Ill never forget you.

He recalled their youthful mischief, his heart rebelling against the finality. Ethan, you know Ethel is due any day, he begged the heavens, if theres any spirit left, let Ethans soul join our family when the baby arrives. I miss him so much.

A year slipped by. Their son, ten months old, was christened Jonny in honor of the departed friend. Victor stared at the infant, noting the striking resemblance: the same dark hair, the same mischievous glint, even a birthmark on the same spot of the hand. He found comfort in the likeness, though a part of him doubted whether it was truly Ethan returned.

Jonny, tell us youre him, Victor pleaded, holding his child to the window, you were always the cleverest of us. I need you.

A sudden shriek tore through the silence.

Aaa! Victor cried, clutching his own ear the very ear Ethan had once bitten.

Is that you? he asked the infant, halfmad, halfhopeful.

The baby scrunched his nose and giggled, oblivious to the sorrow that swirled around him.