[TM] 245 - First Memory
NOTE: Due to the fact that Artie lives in an alternate world, I'm taking a few liberties with history. The encounter cited in this ficlet actually took place after an event that occurred in 1915, three years before Artie was born. As a result, I'm moving it up to 1921, when Artie was three years old.
He would never forget the eyes. Those were the one thing he remembered most clearly about the encounter.
He was three years old, and Pappa ran into the dark man on the street. He said sorry, then looked at Little Artie with those eyes that, in later years, he would marvel at in pictures. Photography didn’t do the gaze justice, didn’t capture the essence of that enigmatic stare.
The dark man bent and smiled at the little boy toddling beside his mother, staring that stare which frightened and excited him at the same time.
“Have you a name, little soldier?”
Silence didn’t seem to be an option…and the dark man was gentle, warm with a kindly voice even if his eyes were harsh.
“Ah-tie.” He declared respectfully, his baby’s tongue stumbling over the pronunciation of his own name.
“Artie…a fine name for a fine boy. Do you know who I am, Artie?”
Artie knew all too well…it was the whole reason his parents had brought him to Oakland. Nodding emphatically, he tilted his head up and pointed as high as he could at the building across the street.
“That’s right! You saw me way up there? Excellent eyes, this one has, darling! Sharp as a tack, and just as bright!”
“Harry, come on…Dash is waiting.”
”In a moment, sweet Rosabelle! Artie, my boy, do us a favor and put out your hands.”
Obediently, little Artie put out his hands and watched as the dark man passed his own over his pudgy, outspread fingers. The hands were dark and thick with calluses…a laborer’s hands, but attractive and strong looking.
When the hand moved away, a single shining key lay in the toddler’s palm.
“Tonight, some men will truss me up and see me fail, and that key is to my bonds. You’ll hold on to that for me, won’t you? Give it to your dear sainted mother, whom you can always trust to protect all you have. She loves you wholly. And one day, when you’re grown? Maybe you’ll unlock something special with that little bauble.”
Artie nodded, clutching the key greedily, then promptly turning to Mamma and offering it to her with both hands.
“A good boy, you have, Mrs. Jackson…he’ll grow into a good man. And now I must leave you, lest my wife have at me. Sir, madam…it’s been a pleasure. And you, little soldier: take care of your mother. And mind that key! But bear in mind, the greatest key you’ll ever have is in between your own ears!”
He could remember watching the dark man walk away, but the eyes and words stayed with him the most. He didn’t get to see the show, it was on far too late for little boys, but when he was six his mother gave him the key on a ribbon to wear around his neck.
Artie Jackson lost many things over the years, but he never lost the key…and he never forgot the eyes that stared at him out of Harry Houdini’s head on a clear afternoon in 1921 in front of the offices of the Oakland Tribune.
Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 524
He would never forget the eyes. Those were the one thing he remembered most clearly about the encounter.
He was three years old, and Pappa ran into the dark man on the street. He said sorry, then looked at Little Artie with those eyes that, in later years, he would marvel at in pictures. Photography didn’t do the gaze justice, didn’t capture the essence of that enigmatic stare.
The dark man bent and smiled at the little boy toddling beside his mother, staring that stare which frightened and excited him at the same time.
“Have you a name, little soldier?”
Silence didn’t seem to be an option…and the dark man was gentle, warm with a kindly voice even if his eyes were harsh.
“Ah-tie.” He declared respectfully, his baby’s tongue stumbling over the pronunciation of his own name.
“Artie…a fine name for a fine boy. Do you know who I am, Artie?”
Artie knew all too well…it was the whole reason his parents had brought him to Oakland. Nodding emphatically, he tilted his head up and pointed as high as he could at the building across the street.
“That’s right! You saw me way up there? Excellent eyes, this one has, darling! Sharp as a tack, and just as bright!”
“Harry, come on…Dash is waiting.”
”In a moment, sweet Rosabelle! Artie, my boy, do us a favor and put out your hands.”
Obediently, little Artie put out his hands and watched as the dark man passed his own over his pudgy, outspread fingers. The hands were dark and thick with calluses…a laborer’s hands, but attractive and strong looking.
When the hand moved away, a single shining key lay in the toddler’s palm.
“Tonight, some men will truss me up and see me fail, and that key is to my bonds. You’ll hold on to that for me, won’t you? Give it to your dear sainted mother, whom you can always trust to protect all you have. She loves you wholly. And one day, when you’re grown? Maybe you’ll unlock something special with that little bauble.”
Artie nodded, clutching the key greedily, then promptly turning to Mamma and offering it to her with both hands.
“A good boy, you have, Mrs. Jackson…he’ll grow into a good man. And now I must leave you, lest my wife have at me. Sir, madam…it’s been a pleasure. And you, little soldier: take care of your mother. And mind that key! But bear in mind, the greatest key you’ll ever have is in between your own ears!”
He could remember watching the dark man walk away, but the eyes and words stayed with him the most. He didn’t get to see the show, it was on far too late for little boys, but when he was six his mother gave him the key on a ribbon to wear around his neck.
Artie Jackson lost many things over the years, but he never lost the key…and he never forgot the eyes that stared at him out of Harry Houdini’s head on a clear afternoon in 1921 in front of the offices of the Oakland Tribune.
Muse: Artie Jackson
Fandom: Original Character
Words: 524