A NEW YEAR LIKE NO OTHER!

Finn Audenaert

 

for my mother

Rosa Holderman is nodding off on the sofa. Around her, confetti in festive colors lies scattered across the carpet. After the fireworks, the silence has come. It is well past one in the morning by now. The new year has begun.

In the drowsiness of those late hours, Rosa thinks of her family. Her son Eerhard is eighty and still single. Whatever will become of that boy? She worries less about her daughter Heraki. Heraki lives with her husband in New Mauritania and suns herself blissfully on endless beaches in the company of her children and grandchildren. If only Rosa could once again visit her bronzed offspring like she did back in 2072. Unfortunately, New Mauritania is not exactly around the corner. A journey across two star systems is quite something at her blessed age. And for Heraki the trip in the other direction is too expensive; wages and pensions in New Mauritania are dismally low. Heraki refuses to accept money from her mother.

Eerhard softly opens the door.

“Mum, are you asleep already?”

A typical Eerhard question. Well meant, but a little awkward. It does not surprise Rosa that the boy still lives with her after all these years.

“No, Hardje, I’m enjoying the afterglow of the joy that lights up the whole world. Come sit with me.”

Eerhard remains standing in the doorway, tilting his head. “It’s so quiet, Mum, after all the festivities and fireworks outside. Shall I turn on the blaster? A bit of holo-music would fit nicely right now.”

Eerhard doesn’t like silence, Rosa knows. All those years with only his mother for company… The boy must be longing for some music, a bit of excitement and cheerfulness. Why did he stay home again today instead of going into town? His legs aren’t what they used to be, but still. Does he even know what he wants? She studies him thoughtfully. Ah well, she loves her son just the way he is—of course she does.

“All right, son, pick a nice ultra-channel.”

Rosa prefers books. When she thinks of the best thing she read last week, a warm feeling spreads through her. Paris in the Pandemonium was devilishly good. And Diederik Thinks Himself Into the Abyss was deliciously tragic. She is addicted to postmodern fairy tales, whimsical stories in which princes suffer identity crises and frogs ask for advice, while princesses watch from the background with a pout. Rosa chuckles. She enjoys a generous splash of despair, followed by an unexpected happy ending.

Ever since she was able to take early retirement five years ago, Rosa reads the hours of the day away. Three meals and preferably two books per neo-day—she won’t settle for less. At the age of one hundred and sixteen she reads a little slower than she used to, but she does her best. Hmm, nothing like getting pleasantly lost in dusty leather-bound tomes. Rosa clings to long-abandoned habits. Her son prefers newfangled things. He immerses himself in holo-music and enjoys watching non-expressive dance on the televisor, especially when ladies in tight costumes perform their solos on stage. Ah yes, the frivolities with which today’s youth occupy themselves. Rosa was young once too.

Eerhard shuffles toward the blaster with small, laborious steps. In truth he walks more smoothly than Rosa, who spends most of her time on the sofa. Eerhard’s ankles crack so loudly that even his mother—whose hearing isn’t what it used to be—can hear the sound from across the room. She nods encouragingly as he bends over the large vintage device.

“Give it a good twist, Hardje. The knob’s a bit stuck, I think. Hmm, perhaps we should listen to music more often.”

A moment later the ultra-channel Roostalgie fills the living room. Ah, the hits of the past! Mother and son just catch the end of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“So you think you can stop me and spit in my eye…”

The familiar figure of Scaramouche casts shadows across the living-room walls as the final notes fade. The clown dressed in red gives Rosa and Eerhard an elegant farewell wave, then slowly dissolves into the sober old-fashioned floral wallpaper. What a classic.

“Oh, we used to sing this at the academy, Mum, at the start of Imaginary Geography classes. ‘Caught in a landslide / No escape from reality-y-y!’ Thanks for letting me go to the Academy of Fantasy. Business studies weren’t for me.”

He carefully sits down beside her on the sofa.

“Yes, dear boy,” she winks, “everyone has their talents. Your late father was an excellent businessman, and you live for art. I’m very proud of your ultra-casts on the blaster. I can’t wait until your series on philosophical alchemy appears in book form.”

Eerhard laughs broadly. Rosa knows the poor boy receives very little feedback on his ultra-casts, and his pay is nothing to write home about. Yet Hardje spends a great deal of time on them. Her neighbor Alba—also one hundred and five by now—told Rosa some time ago that she had run into Eerhard at the vintage shop around the corner, where he had his books printed at his own expense. He had made Alba promise not to tell his mother. And of course that was exactly the sort of thing Alba would swear to! What a sweet son he is. Rosa knows almost nobody reads books anymore, and that he does it only for her.

The stream reader on the blaster switches to shrill advertisements for hyper-tomb bunkers. Fifteen percent off the standard models. There goes the atmosphere! Must this really happen at the start of the new year? The cruel war with the Fardazor Empire—fought mainly five dimensions away—shows no sign of ending. Rosa sighs deeply. In one hundred and sixteen years, not so much has changed.

“Mum, are you all right? You suddenly look downcast.”

But hardly has Eerhard voiced his concern when the next song blares through the room. Whew, no more commercials for a moment. Rosa is about to reassure him when she recognizes the opening notes. A genuine old classic!

The song takes her back to her childhood—one of her earliest memories. She must have been about six. She vividly recalls blowing up balloons that afternoon until she was out of breath. Her mother had laid her down on the sofa to rest, and then the radio had played this very song. It was a wonderful moment, one Rosa still cherishes after all these years.

“No more champagne

And the fireworks are through”

Eerhard sits up straighter.

“Ha! I know this one too!”

They look at each other. Rosa smiles. She savors the feeling of deep connection.

“Agnetha!” Eerhard cheers. He once told Rosa he thought she was the most beautiful of the two singers. The boy has always had a weakness for blondes.

“And Frida,” Rosa whispers, raising a teasing finger.

“Yes, and the boys too, of course, Mum. Benny and Björn, I think. Didn’t they write the songs?”

“Hey, son, pull the rewind cord. I want to hear the beginning again—it’s so beautiful.”

Eerhard hauls himself up from the sofa and walks in small steps toward the blaster. Several vibration cords hang motionless from the device. The large machine had been a gift for Rosa’s one-hundred-and-tenth birthday. After it was delivered from the vintage shop around the corner—far too heavy to carry himself—Eerhard had cleared his throat and shyly told his mother he wanted to offer her some variety. She had suppressed a smile when he said she couldn’t spend all her time reading. For her sake he had asked Zazi, the friendly shop assistant, to install vibration cords on the front of the machine.

Rosa remembers how Eerhard described every detail of the modifications—and how handy Zazi was. Perhaps he should tell Zazi that himself… In any case, from the sofa you can operate the cords by waving your hand in the right direction. A terribly outdated system, but practical. Because Rosa rarely uses the device, the cords sometimes stick.

“Sorry you have to cross the whole living room again, son.”

“It’s fine, Mum,” Eerhard says halfway across the room, slightly out of breath. “I’d like to hear the song in all its glory too.” His eyes light up. “With the choreography, of course.”

Right—Agnetha. Rosa chuckles. Boys will be boys, no matter their age.

The magical music begins again. What a wonderfully melancholy opening. Mother and son immediately hum along. Eerhard sings a little off-key, but that doesn’t matter. Soon the chorus will open the song into joy and hope; Rosa is already looking forward to it.

They sigh blissfully. In front of them, Agnetha sings enthusiastically. The carpet seems to flow seamlessly into her white party dress—the colors match so perfectly. The blonde singer winks at Eerhard, making him shift awkwardly. Rosa notices her son blushing furiously and giggles. Agnetha is only a hologram… She quickly listens to the lyrics again.

At the chorus, Frida walks straight through the door into the room. Her curls sway with her melody lines. It becomes quite crowded in the living room when Benny climbs through the window and Björn steps out of the televisor. It feels like a second New Year’s party.

During the next verse, Rosa’s and Eerhard’s feet turn into lumps of clay. Ha! Just like in the song.

“Dragging on, feet of clay.”

Well thought out! The two tap their brand-new clods to the rhythm. Their stiffness seems to vanish. Bits of clay splash onto the carpet. No matter—when the music ends, everything will dissolve back into nothing.

“Seems to me now

That the dreams we had before

Are all dead, nothing more.”

Rosa gets an idea. She reaches into the pocket of her colorful dress. Aha—her multi-pen! She raises the gadget into the air and waves it. A small solemn flame now sways to the rhythm of the music. Eerhard quickly follows her example. Automatically, the living-room lights dim. How atmospheric.

“May we all have our hopes

Our will to try

If we don’t we might as well

Lay down and die

You and I.”

A beautiful ending. The four musicians take a deep bow. Rosa and Eerhard applaud enthusiastically. Now that is a wonderful start to the new year.

Eerhard makes as if to stand.

“Mum, does singing and swaying make you hungry too?”

“Certainly. Excellent idea. I think the box of instant pastries is on the kitchen table. Could you bring a few packets?”

He nods and takes a step—almost falling forward.

“Mum, look!” he cries, pointing down. “My feet are still made of clay. How is that possible?”

The song has long since ended. The stream reader is listing an end-of-year chart on the blaster.

From the sofa, Rosa gives him a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry, son. It will be fine soon enough. Just look around you.”

Agnetha, Frida, Benny and Björn are still in the room!

Seeing Eerhard’s astonishment, Rosa bursts out laughing. Her son sits back down beside her.

What an extraordinary evening. Rosa wonders what else may happen. She is completely ready for it. At her age she is not easily surprised anymore—but this truly is a surprise beyond compare.

“We sense so much love in this room,” Agnetha begins.

“Your bond is very strong,” Frida adds.

Benny and Björn nod vigorously.

“Only such strong love can keep us with our dear listeners a little longer,” says Agnetha. “Tonight you may make four wishes—one for each of us.”

There is magic in the air, that much is clear. In a world full of technological wonders, there is still room for another kind of miracle. Rosa pats Eerhard’s knee contentedly. He smiles at her.

Benny steps forward. In a raspy but friendly voice he asks, “What is your first wish?” He looks at Rosa.

She doesn’t need to think long. “I would love to catch up with Heraki and her family after all these years. My daughter. My son-in-law. My dear grandchildren! And the little ones.”

Behind the sofa a sound is heard. The wall slides away. Heraki, her husband Thorhes, and their daughters Mirate, Cantate and Hecate walk into the room. The young women carry their toddlers in their arms. Heraki throws her arms around Rosa’s neck and then embraces her brother. Thorhes—always a quiet man—stands beaming beside the sofa.

It has been an eternity since they last saw each other. Rosa takes her time hugging her granddaughters and great-grandchildren. Eerhard does the same, his eyes sparkling. For a moment it overwhelms Rosa; she bursts into tears. What a night!

Benny smiles and nudges Björn, who steps forward.

“And your second wish?” Björn asks.

Rosa points to her son. “Your turn.” She thinks she already knows what he will ask…

Her son coughs. At first he looks at Agnetha, then changes his mind and turns to Björn.

“Well, um… around the corner there’s a vintage shop, and Miss Zazi helps the old owner there. Zazi looks at me so nicely whenever I buy a little gift for my mother. But whenever I want to tell her how much I like her, my voice fails me. So I was wondering, Mr. Björn…”

Eerhard hasn’t even finished his sentence when a loud click sounds above them. Zazi descends through the opening dome in the ceiling, seated on a purple cloud with a golden rim, landing right in the middle of the living room. She wears a chic silver gown with matching earrings.

“I—I…” Eerhard’s mouth falls open.

Zazi steps elegantly from her cloud and sits down on the sofa between mother and son. Rosa finds it all marvelous. Her son looks shyly at Zazi, who smiles kindly at him, and then at the others, who are now lined up on the sofa, which seems to be growing longer.

“Well, Eerhard,” Zazi says playfully, “did you want to tell me something?”

Rosa nudges her son. At first he stammers, but soon full sentences pour out. How he has always liked her. How kind she always is.

Zazi beams. “I’m glad you finally told me. Honestly, I already knew. A woman senses such things—but she still likes to hear it from a man. You have to dare in life. That’s very important to me.”

Now Eerhard cannot stop talking. He has become a true chatterbox.

“How lovely,” Rosa murmurs happily. At last her boy is a little less timid. While Eerhard and Zazi talk animatedly, Rosa nudges her daughter and whispers, “Look at those two. Something might come of it.”

Heraki leans closer and replies, “There’s music in that.”

“And the music isn’t over yet!” Frida raises her arm gracefully. “Do you have a third wish?” She nods toward Heraki.

“Oh, may we too? We’re already so spoiled.” Heraki closes her eyes briefly. “Well… then I wish there were more room in this world for old-fashioned values and pleasures. When I read Mother’s virtu-letters, I see how much joy she gets from her books.”

Suddenly bright sunlight shines through the window—even though it is the middle of the night. Across the street a shop appears, beautifully painted yellow. The abandoned factory that once stood there has vanished. Rosa peers through the window but cannot quite read the letters on the sign.

“Book Paradise, Mum,” Eerhard says cheerfully. “Book Paradise!”

Then he glances at Zazi and quickly asks, “Not competition for you, I hope?”

Zazi shakes her head. “I’d gladly buy books there myself. It looks like a lovely shop. And… I know you’ll still visit me even when you don’t have to print your ultra-casts anymore.”

Rosa immediately adds, “Oh, I’ll still happily read them on paper in the new year.”

She sinks back into the sofa, quietly daydreaming. All those beautiful novels surely waiting for her in the Book Paradise. And the shop is so close! With the help of Eerhard—and, she fervently hopes, Zazi—she will surely manage the walk across the street and back.

Agnetha opens her arms and steps toward the family. With a broad sweep she makes Rosa’s and Eerhard’s clay feet vanish.

“Before we leave you, dear listeners, we wish to grant one final wish.” She looks at the quiet man on the sofa.

“A son-in-law is also a dear member of the family, Thorhes. What is your wish for the new year?”

Thorhes points at himself. “Me? Well… let me think.” It doesn’t take long. “If it isn’t asking too much… world peace—or, um, rather intergalactic peace—would that be possible?”

Agnetha, Frida, Benny and Björn laugh softly. They wave to the family and dissolve into nothingness.

Before they recover from their astonishment, Rosa, Eerhard and the rest of the Holderman family hear the familiar jingle of the news on the blaster.

“Dear listeners, this message has just come in. We are pleased to bring you joyful news. The Terra Alliance and the Fardazor Empire have just announced official negotiations. Both sides report that exploratory talks have already taken place over the past week. After a war of more than sixty years, hope finally glimmers on the horizon. What better news to ring in the new year?”

“That calls for champagne!” Rosa says. Luckily she had asked Eerhard that morning to chill plenty of bottles. She had already had a feeling when she woke up…

Finn Audenaert (Ghent, Bélgica, 1977) writes short stories: SF and horror, absurd stories and occasionally fantasy as well. He edits In Tenebris, a Flemish magazine on SF/F/H and mystery, and books published by Poespa Productions. In 2025 he will release his first book with stories of his own, Happiness: A How to Guide.