A Modern Man in the Middle Ages

A short story about a man who wakes up in a village in the middle of nowhere, and tries to regain his memory while living with along with the townspeople

1

He turned over. The pillow was uncomfortably warm. With the little energy he had in the still-waking haze of the morning, he flipped the pillow over and was rewarded with the cool fabric against his sweaty temples. It felt like his brain had turned to mush, useless and sloppy. He opened his eyes slightly to see how early it was; he could feel the warm strip of sunshine across his legs. Something shifted upon the duvet on his lower legs. He could feel a weight above his ankles, small and loaf-like. Bread? He wondered. He couldn’t bake for his life, and bread wasn’t meant to be that heavy. He peered down towards his feet through droopy half-closed eyes and saw a thick black stripe at the end of the covers. He hazarded a guess for some sort of blanket. He didn’t remember having a blanket on his bed. As he moved about, he seemed to have disturbed the blanket, as it opened two spicy orange eyes. Blankets don’t have eyes. Am I now going mad? Great, just another thing to add to the dam of problems. He dropped his heavy head back to the pillow, trying to refresh his clouded mind, telling himself he was seeing things. He couldn’t remember what happened yesterday. Or the day before. He tried to, and got little flashes of a dark night and green bottles. Drinking, too. He was drinking a lot.

As he began to relax again, he paused and felt around him. The mattress was plump and soft. Not bumpy and smelling of grease. He could smell fresh thyme instead. This isn’t my bed. With sudden shock fuelling him, he scrambled out of the sheets and fell onto the floor. Even though his bedroom floor was carpeted, it hurt more than it should have, because this floor was uneven polished wood planks. He muffled voices from another room, and barely took in his surroundings as he hastily tried to make his way to the window, which had been left ajar for the breeze to drift in. He didn’t think twice to consider what storey he was on. His hearing was drowned out, and could only hear his heartbeat thumping away with adrenaline. In his haste, he stumbled on something beside his bed. He didn’t look back to see what it was. He only just made it to the white window frame when two small soft, but strong hands grasped him around the shoulders and chucked him gently back onto the bed. Although slightly dizzy still, he was fully awake now, his eyes frantically searching for a way to narrowly escape the crazy person who had kidnapped him. I can’t die now, he thought frantically, I’ve only just gone 20 last month, and I’ve never been abroad other than Guernsey!  He looked to his captor, expecting some big, scarred, deep-voiced figure that had every intention of having him dead. Oh, please oh please oh please oh please oh please don’t kill me!! I’m never touching alcohol again for as long as I live.

But when he looked to face this mysterious person, they weren’t who he had expected at all. Where the intimidating, manipulative figure should have been, instead was a tanned, white-haired woman with hundreds of freckles sprinkled over her features. She had hooded eyelids that sharpened her slanted eyes. Oriental. Her hair was short and layered, with streaks of silver highlighted by the sun peeking in through the glass. Her sleek pinafore glided as she moved.

‘Jinjeonghada.’ She coaxed, and held her hands out like someone trying to pacify a scared cat. He had no idea what language she was speaking, but understood that she needed him stop causing a fuss. He settled, his back against the spruce headboard of the double bed. He wanted to speak but struggled to form proper sentences.

‘Um. Hello?’

She softened her eyes but was silent, and seemed to realise where he was from, or at least what language he spoke, as she relaxed her arms and made a short wave.

‘Hello’. Ah, good, at least she spoke English. She did have a thick accent though.

‘Yeah, hi.’ He felt awkward. It’s not every day you wake up in a random lady’s bed. ‘Uh, could you tell me where I am?’ She smiled wisely as she let out a small puff of air through her nose, and closed her hands over her apron and sat down on the small wooden bench at the foot of the bed. As she came closer, he could smell a hint of rosemary.

‘You are in Kamesoun.’ Her voice was smooth and fluent. The accent emphasized the t’s and k’s. ‘I found you very late last night, you were sick and unconscious. I took you into my house, and I put you to bed.’

‘Okay… where did you find me?’

‘In a pile of hay outside the stables. Your forehead was very hot, and-’

‘Hold on, Kamesoun? A pile of hay?  Sorry lady, don’t think there’s a “Kamesoun” in Canada.’

‘Well, because you aren’t in Canada.’ She reasoned, unfazed. She looked pitiful. ‘You must have hit your head. Canada is not a real place, my dear.’

 ‘What- Of course it’s a real place!  I’ve lived there my whole life!’ He began to wonder if the elderly woman was actually a madwoman. Maybe he was in danger. Or maybe this was just some bizarre fever dream.

‘Well, you are certainly not in “Canada” anymore. There is no place entitled Canada on the map.’

This was madness. Not on the map? Canada? It’s practically one of the most recognised countries in the world. But the woman seemed positive on her belief, and he didn’t want to pester her any further in case of coming to a sticky end.

‘You must be hungry, yes?’ The lady stood up and looked at him expectantly. He froze. He didn’t feel hungry, he just felt numb. She seemed to take this as a yes. ‘I shall go prepare something hopefully to your liking, Colton.’

He sighed, giving up resistance. Something to eat didn’t sound so bad- then he hesitated.

He never told her his name.

*

 

The throbbing headache came back, almost as loud as his heartbeat hammering away at his chest. Colton checked himself. Same trousers, same shirt, same jumper, same socks. As he leaned onto his side to look at the floor, something pointy jabbed at him. He rolled back over onto his tailbone and pulled out two strips of straw. Colton groaned. Is it true? Was he really passed out on a heap of hay? It required him to remember the previous day, but that did all sorts of horrible things to his head, so he dismissed the thought. He glanced back over the edge of the sheets, where his worse for wear shoes lay on their sides. So that’s what tripped me up.

He decided to get up again, to see if he was hurt anywhere. Keeping in mind his bothersome headache, he rose slowly from the mattress and used the wall as a support system as he regained his balance. Colton studied the bedside table, and all his possessions upon it: his keys; his phone; his wallet. Inside his wallet was his license, so he figured out how she knew his name. It sent shivers up his spine to realise that that woman had been going through his things.

He was brought out of his doubtful thoughts by the smell of something sweet trailing from outside his door. He poked his head out, and made his way slowly down the clean corridor. He came across a bathroom, a room that smelt of rosemary, a closed door, and a room with a made bed and an untidy desk. All sorts of books, pens and inks were the majority. The others were small greenery and flora. He followed the sweet scent downstairs carefully, gripping the banister tight. The elderly woman was at the old-timey stove, a short pot upon the heat was sizzling away. She must have heard him come down the stairs, as she began to speak as soon as he entered the plant-filled kitchen.

‘Feeling better?’ She asked, adding some sort of herb to her pot. Colton dropped into a chair and signed heavily. His breath tickled his throat and was followed by a coughing fit. The woman appeared in front of him with a small ceramic bowl, filled with what Colton assumed was a steaming broth. The steam swirled and meandered, it felt magical to watch. She placed a wooden spoon and fork next to the bowl, and looked at him expectantly. It turned out to be some sort of chopped fruit in flavoured boiling water.

‘You are hungry. This will help regain your health.’ She told him proudly. ‘It is my own recipe, and I am told it cures all.’

Colton inspected the food the unknown lady had served him. It looked so good, and smelled sweet and fresh. His stomach grumbled. When was the last time he had eaten something that was good him? The majority of this week’s meals had been a glorious combination of takeout and cold leftovers. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had salmonella. But, although his stomach was yelling at him to grab the cutlery, his head said no. He had woken up in a stranger’s house, they’d invaded his privacy, and now they expected him to eat something they had prepared just for him. His eyes darted to the bowl and spoon, resisting the urge to wolf it down despite its heat. But he couldn’t accept. There were too many possibilities. Dangerous possibilities. The steam was watching him as well, and lashed at him to say something; whipping its tail into his eyes and clouding his vision. He desperately tried not to let any tears fall, not to look vulnerable in front of the woman, and just when he had put tape on the newest crack in the dam, the freckled woman took a chair beside him and wrapped him in her caring arms. And that’s when the dam burst.

2

Maybe his head hurt more because he was sobbing, or maybe it was because he was so embarrassed to cry in front of a stranger. His hair was dishevelled and unconditioned, he’d meant to go buy some more today. But he wasn’t able to go buy more because there was no Asda’s nearby. He wasn’t even sure where he was himself. Colton let go of the patient woman, who had held him and rubbed his back, speaking words of reassurance in between English and the language she had spoken in before. When he had pulled himself together, and thanked her for the tissues, he leant back against the backrest of the chair, inhaling deeply to recover his breath. He glanced back at the bowl. The kind woman took his hand.

‘It is pears soaked in smoked honey and a bit of oregano. I make it for the people when they are under the weather.’ She explained, bringing the bowl closer to him. ‘The pears are full of vitamins, the honey makes it sweeter and easier to swallow, and the oregano has antimicrobial properties. It helps support your heart and sugar regulation.’

‘Quite the scientist, aren’t you.’ Colton replied, intrigued by how simple she made it sound. Maybe cooking came easy to some, but definitely not Colton. He realised the words had come out sounding harsher than he’d intended, and that it didn’t sound as polite as he’d meant to and tried to think of something to topple it, but the woman spoke first. She didn’t seem the least bit offended, if anything she looked quite flattered.

‘Yes, I take pride in my work. I am a food scientist, after all. Not only am I a fantastic cook, but I sometimes work with the farmers and the rest of those in the culinary industry. Not very many people notice at first, so thank you very much.’

Colton was surprised. He’d never accidentally complimented someone before. He felt quite pleased with himself despite being so hungover.

‘Oh, pfft, yeah, of course. Thank you, actually. For taking me in. Sorry about…’ he trailed off, not knowing what to call his almost-escapade. ‘…Earlier.’ He wanted to change the subject. HE knew what he wanted to ask, but didn’t know how exactly to phrase it. ‘You’ve been so kind, really, d’you think I could know your name?’

‘Oh my, where are my manners? Call me Fru Sommer, my dear.’

She chuckled. ‘All is well, my dear. It must have been such a fright when you woke up. But I just couldn’t leave you there all night, you would have gotten cold. Now, we can talk about this later. Eat.’ He did as he was told, but it was no secret that he wanted to wait for permission.

After he helped wash the dishes, and gratefully borrowed a hairbrush, she decided the next best thing to do was to give Colton some medicine for his headache and a breath of fresh air. She bolted the door behind them, put the key in her basket, and they set off for the town. There was a market tomorrow, so everyone was setting up their stands.

Author's Note

This is a current work-in-progress, so there may be some grammar errors, incorrect punctuation, etc. I just wanted to put this here to see what people thought so far, constructive comments mean a lot!