Jane was here

That was all she wrote. In all her graffiti and murals, she would keep a corner safe for a small inscription, "Jane was here." Sometimes it would be a riot of colours, sometimes just black and white lines intersecting each other to create a simple yet intriguing design, inside which three words shined like a divine announcement.

"Jane was here."

The girl who drew them was hardly in her adulthood. She was not really a difficult person to find. They were always active online, in different social circles, and could be easily tracked. The girl in question had made a name for herself in the online art communities. Once she was contacted, and told the purpose of the interview, she was sceptical. It took some convincing to finally set an appointment.

"I don't know if I can actually help you out, but let's meet. It will be just one meeting, and then you'll leave me alone." Emma had no option, she had to agree to whatever terms the girl dictated. "Jane is my grandmother's best friend. I am her caretaker. I will ask her if she wants to talk to you, but if she refuses I will not force her in any way. Is that clear?"

Emma had said 'yes' at that time, but now she thought she should have worked harder, convinced them better. If the woman refused to talk to her, she would have nothing to do about it. She couldn't possibly kidnap the woman and torture her, could she?

When the girl brought the old woman out, Emma couldn't help but feel the reverence and admiration towards her. She was beautiful, undoubtedly, almost to the extent of being a regal figure out of a vintage photo album; but it was more than that. It was the way she talked, behaved, smiled, and listened to Emma as she explained why she wanted to know about her and David.

"You see, he was my grandfather's friend for a long time. My grandfather was indebted to him. Now I don't know the specifics, but my grandfather always told me that he owed his life to him. I need to find him out. It was my grandfather's last wish." Emma was surprised how her voice didn't falter while she blatantly lied.

"I understand. To be honest, I can imagine how your grandfather must have felt. David was like that, a generous person, the soul of a saint. He helped so many people back then, without any expectations, it would make anybody love and revere him." The woman smiled gently, reminiscing about her old acquaintance.

"Grams, you don't have to talk about him if you don't want to. She is here to ask his address, and nothing else, right Miss. Emma?" her granddaughter protectively stood between the two of them, raising a brow.

"It's alright darling, I will be okay. I will stop when I feel uncomfortable." The woman replied. Her grey eyes tried to search Emma's seat. Those eyes had no light in them. It took Emma all this time to understand that she was blind.

"I am okay with that."

"So, you may ask now. What do you wish to know?"

"How did you come to know him?"

"That is, something of a, what do you call it nowadays? A sob story, yes, something of a sob story. I was actually his maid. You see, my mother was a prostitute. I was expected to join her when I turned of age, but I had my own dreams. One morning I left my home, and came to the big city. Little did I know, I was treading one misfortune for another. I shall not venture into the long, sad story, but I can tell you that someone, somewhere must have been praying for me that I found him. Or I should say, he found me, literally on the streets. I was trying to steal some food from a dumpster, when he saw him. He came up to me, asked me if I needed help. That was how I knew him."

"What was he like? I heard he was very beautiful. Is that true?" Emma asked eagerly.

"Yes, that part is true. He was, in fact, the most beautiful man I had ever seen. Not the hollywood style handsome man. He was something else, like a man created carefully by divinity. Or like a flawless statue sculpted by someone gifted, with a heart full of love. Your grandfather was correct, he was beautiful."

Taking a small pause, she continued, "It was not simply physical. He was a genuinely kind person. He took me in as a maid, but he brought me up like a younger sister. He helped me study, learn about the world, even though he gave me new name--Jane Cassandra Maxime. He knew where I was from, yet, not for a single moment I felt naked infront of him, unlike many other men who claimed to be my well-wishers. At it was not only I who received his kindness; I remember him going out of his way to help people who were not even close to him."

"What was his profession? My grandfather told me that when he met him, he had a small business."

"If I remeber correctly, he had a business of antiques. It was highly profitable. He would also write in his free hours. He wrote two novels, one of them was banned, but it had a very specific following."

"Banned?" Emma shifted in her place. Finally, she had a new piece of information.

"It was because of the theme of the novel. He wrote about two men, who fell for each other. Can you imagine, how brave it was at that time? Now when I hear these children talk about the right to love, I can't stop thinking about him. Who knows how many more Davids were there, hiding in the shadows while fighting for the right to love the person they loved. He also had a book, that he would read from time to time, always when he was alone. I wanted to see it once, and he just smiled. 'Not something that would interest you,' he had said."

"What happened next?" Emma asked. Her disappointment might have been a little too visible, which warranted a scowl from the young girl. She was still there to guard her grandmother's best friend.

"When I turned twenty three, I met James. He was a doctor. It was love at first sight. David arranged our marriage. After marriage, we shifted to New Orleans. Then I realised what I had done. I had given my heart, body and soul to a monster of a man. After three years, I suffering from anaemia, with a child to take care of, and taking men in my room in order to survive. I had become what I dreaded the most."

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," Emma voiced the young girl's concern. Listening to the poor woman's story was not going to bring her anything, unless there was David involved.

"I would not tell you what I dread to talk about, but this concerns your grandfather's friend too. I had not seen him for three long years. One night I received a letter, about a wealthy man who had specifically wanted to spend his night with me. He had offered thrice of what I usually was paid. I needed the money, obviously. Imagine my shock when I saw my client."

"He came to you as a client?" Emma was shocked. The young girl stared at her nonchalantly. She must have heard this part of the story multiple times, Emma thought.

"He had heard of my downfall, and made it possible. By that time , my husband was completely out of the picture. He stayed the night and let me cry. After two days, I still don't know how he did it, but he got me and my son out of that hell. He must have gone through a lot to make that possible, but he did. That was the last time I saw him. We were still in touch though, for a long time."

"So that means, you can tell me where he is now?" Emma sounded hopeful.

"Sorry, my dear. I don't know where is he now. I haven't known for a while now."

"No?"

"I think it was alzheimer's or something similar. After a couple of years, when his letters came, I realised he was not himself anymore. He would forget small details, small words or inside jokes we had, and slowly his handwriting started to change. He forgot the name he gave me one day. I wrote to him, 'Are you going to forget me?' He wrote me back, "Mark your name wherever you go. I will remember you, maybe one day come back to see you.' Oneday, my son left me alone. Stacey here brought me home with her. By then, my eyes were losing their light. Eventually, she became my caretaker. And here we are today."

"And hence, the Graffiti and murals with that signature." Stacey, the young girl spoke finally, in a much softer voice, "Most people think it is my brand. I don't correct them."

Emma could tell there were more unspoken chapters in this story, but she was also aware of the fact tha those stories were not for her. Abruptly, she was captured by a surge of compassion, guilt, and respect. There, in front of her, was sitting a woman who had seen many seasons, many ups and downs, many rains, many storms, and many sunrises and many moonlit nights. Still she had her head up, voice strong, and heart soft. Why couldn't she become someone like that? Was it too late to even try?

When she was leaving the house, Jane held her hands and pressed them warmly. "If you succeed in finding him, please tell him, Jane is waiting to see him one last time. You will not forget, yes?"