Black Jack by Rani Manicka

of its horn into Black’s palm. The sliver was no bigger than Black’s fingernail. My gift to you. Black looked at the unexpected gift. It dazzled his eyes briefly before melting into liquid gold, which seeped into the skin of his palm. Black looked into the large, kind eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered, and the unicorn neighed as a horse does, but it was the most musical sound Black had ever heard. Then it walked away, a serene giant.
    Black felt Green appear beside him.
    ‘He gave me the tip of his horn.’
    ‘The pure and blameless may receive such gifts. When Earth was still a paradise, unicorns were not so shy. They lived openly amongst man. There was no spoken language then, but what you shared today with him. The Earth was different then too. It did not have an atmosphere so there was no decay or putrefaction, no electromagnetic field, no astral net cast around it. And man was not the puny thing he has become today, but a magical being. Bestowed with great powers and wisdom, he was the divine keeper of an astounding array of knowledge; a living library and a memory circuit for the mineral, vegetable, and animal kingdoms in Earth’s biosphere. He did not need to eat to survive, even the thought of eating the flesh of another being to sustain himself could never have occurred. He ingested only divine life force emanations and retained intact memories of all his past lives, and all the forms he had taken. He could enter and exit his body with ease very much as you are doing now.’
    ‘Are you referring to Atlantis?’
    ‘Do not think that human history is only a few thousands of years old. History is another great fraud perpetuated on mankind. It was millions of years ago when physical reality was in accordance with divine will.’
    ‘What really happened to us?’
    ‘Perhaps that is best explained to you by one of your own kind. Same time tomorrow?’
    Black nodded. He would hear Green out.
     

Auribus tenere lupum
    (I hold a wolf by the ears)
    He walked quickly into the minimarket, his body tense with anticipation, and waited impatiently for her. She was reaching for a carton of milk when he could bear it no longer. He walked down the aisle and brushed his body against her arm, firm, smooth - in his dreams - cinnamon before it was powdered.
    ‘Oh, sorry,’ he said.
    Their eyes met. Hers, he was profoundly disappointed to note, unlike his outrageously vivid fantasies were a void of sexual knowledge, almost that of an innocent child.
    ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered, apparently unsettled by his bold stare, and turned away hurriedly.
    ‘Wait, don’t you live in the flat opposite mine?’
    Bumi turned back slowly. Took in the thick, curly hair held down with a generous dollop of something greasy, the large, bulging eyes, the wiry moustache, the reddish tongue that flicked out to wet the puce lips that had been curved to appear as if they were smiling, but were not. And the great unwashed smell of him.
    Without welcome in her eyes, ‘Do I?’
    He flushed badly, but his dark skin hid it well. ‘Yes, yes, on Kessler Road. I rent one of the upstairs rooms in number 22, and you are in 5, aren’t you?’
    She looked at him cautiously, then. A neighbor, an unnecessary inconvenience. Of course, the window encrusted with pigeon droppings.
    It couldn’t have been more obvious, she was uninterested, but he ploughed on determinedly. ‘I sometimes see you going to work.’ A pause. Another odd smile. ‘I know the family downstairs, you see. We are old friends from Calcutta. My name is Veera.’
    Bumi borrowed the stiff, formal tone Lady Carrington employed in her dealings with tradesmen. ‘Well, nice to make your acquaintance, Veera, but I am late and have to rush.’ She turned away. Without the carton of milk.
    ‘You forgot to tell me your name.’
    He saw her hesitate.
    To be rude might bring worse consequences. ‘Bumi,’ she said, and before more could be gleaned, hurried away. Bothered,