The Weather Man Read online

guessed yet lad? I'm a Weather Man."

  "What? You mean like a meteorologist?"

  Aimsir guffawed, "Hah! Don't compare me with those so-called weather experts. They study their fancy radar pictures and what does it get them? A guess, that's all, just a guess at what the weather will be like tomorrow."

  Geoff scoffed at the insult. “Well I think it’s a little better than a guess old man. There’s a lot of science behind those radars.” He was about to defend his profession but decided to keep it a secret for now. "What then? So you use more old fashioned methods? I have an aunt who can tell if it’s going to rain by how much her feet ache."

  Aimsir laughed again, a hearty, bellowing laugh from deep in his chest. "No my boy, I don't predict the weather. I make it."

  Geoff smirked, but saw the man was quite serious. "Yeah right, and you're Santa Claus at Christmas."

  "Do you deny what you just saw, lad? The storm isn't over of its own free will. I moved it."

  "Well, I won't deny that I saw um ...." All right, he thought, just what did I see? What is the scientific explanation? One escaped him at the moment. "Uh, a lucky coincidence between your actions and the storm ending."

  "Bah,” the man spouted and started down the stairs again. “It was no coincidence, and in your heart you know it to be true."

  Geoff was surprised to find himself half believing the old man. But the scientist in him had to play the devil's advocate. "O.K. then, how's it done? What kind of tricks do you use?"

  "It's no trick," the Weather Man said gravely. "All I need is my staff and a good strong back."

  Before he could ask another question, Geoff let out a loud sneeze. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, but it was already soaked with rain.

  "Good Lord lad, you're soaked to the bone. Let's get you inside before you catch your death."

  Geoff's answer was yet another sneeze.

  "You go change into some dry clothes then come on over to my place. I'll fix us both a nice hot pot of tea."

  Geoff was about to say no thanks, but the chance to check out the strange man's apartment peaked his curiosity. "Sure, that sounds good. I'll only be a minute."

  Geoff ran into his apartment and peeled off his second set of wet clothing that night. He tossed them on the floor next to the first set and grabbed a towel for his hair. He made a mental note to hang those up in the bathroom, but knew he’d forget and find a slimy pile in the morning. He quickly changed into some dry sweats.

  The Weather Man's apartment was totally different from when his ex-girlfriend lived there. Gone was the Scandinavian dining room set and high-end furnishings. Instead four oak bookcases lined the living room wall, stuffed full of old, thick books. They were all hard backs, Geoff couldn’t see a single paper back in the bunch. On a low table, where a television would usually sit, was a radio instead. Not a modern portable, but a polished, 1940’s-style wooden radio. By the windows, a large wooden globe with an old world map sat in an ornate three-legged stand. On a simple kitchen table sat an ancient, black typewriter, the manual kind with round ivory keys. Who the hell still uses a typewriter? Geoff puzzled, and a manual at that. On the wall was the portrait of some European king, dressed a ruffled shirt and waistcoat.

  "Uh, nice place Mr. Aimsir."

  "Thank you," the old man said, "and please, we’re neighbors, call me Eli." He gestured towards a 1960s-style plaid couch. "Relax while I bring us out a nice hot pot of the best tea you've ever tasted."

  Geoff made himself comfortable, continuing to marvel at the contrast between the old man’s style and his ex-girlfriend’s high-end tastes. In a few minutes, the Weather Man returned with a real tea top, a white porcelain one with two cups and matching saucers. Geoff had never seen anyone use saucers before. Eli poured them both some dark tea and handed one over. “Sugar or cream?”

  “Neither, thanks.” Geoff took a small, cautious sip. It was delicious and he drank a larger gulp without hesitation. It was unlike anything he’d ever got from the supermarket. "This is great, thanks. So where exactly are you from anyway? I can't quite place your accent."

  Aimsir took a sip of his own tea before answering. "Oh you've probably never heard of it. It's an island off the coast of Scotland called Skye - a beautiful place in the summer, but cold hearted mistress the rest of the year."

  Geoff grinned and nodded. With a name like MacLeod his own roots were Scottish as well, but he knew next to nothing about the country or his family history. His father never talked about it and Geoff never thought to ask.

  "And what about you, Geoffrey?"

  "Me? Oh I've always lived here. My parents moved to the city when I was just a baby. Never knew anyplace else except when I went to college.”

  “And your family?”

  “I’m an only child. My Dad died in the Iraq War and my Mom somehow managed to put me through college. She passed away last year … cancer."

  Eli’s eyes softened and he nodded slowly. "The loss of family is never easy. It leaves a hollow feeling inside you. One you never can refill.”

  “What about you, are you married?” He doubted it as the apartment had a decidedly masculine feel to it.

  “Widower, I’m afraid. My dear bride passed away some years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And what is your vocation Geoffrey? A much better topic of conversation."

  No it wasn’t, Geoff thought. He paused here and answered hesitantly. He didn't know why, but suddenly he felt ashamed of his profession. "Uh, meteorologist."

  Aimsir grinned, seeming not in the least bit surprised. "Really? And there I was not ten minutes ago condemning your profession as being no better than a sideshow barker. Well I do apologize, my lad. After all, we have the same love don’t we, just different ways of approaching it."

  "Yeah, I guess so.” Geoff glanced out the window at the bank of low drifting clouds. “I’ve always been mesmerized by the clouds. I used to drive my Mom crazy cause my favorite thing is be outside just before a thunderstorm hits. You know, when the wind has just started to kick up but the rain has yet to arrive. The thunder is close enough to make your chest rattle but the lighting’s not quite there yet. You can smell the moisture and the air feels electric. I just love it!”

  The old man smiled approvingly. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “What about you? Are you retired or still working?"

  "Semi-retired, you could say. I was a professor of history in Edinburgh for many years. But as far as being a Weather Man, well, as long as my legs will hold me I'll be doing what I do."

  Geoff humored him for now. "A Weather Man, right.”

  "I can see you’re still not convinced, but that’s quite alright. What about yourself? Do you enjoy your work?”

  "Me? Yea. I mean, most of the time … except for days like today."

  Aimsir paused for a sip of tea, gracefully brushing his moustache to the left and right afterwards. "And what was so wrong with today?"

  Geoff snorted in disgust. "Oh nothing, other than the fact that I told the entire city on television that we’d have no rain today. Plan a picnic folks cause the weather’s to going be perfect, absolutely perfect. And instead, we got the Storm of the Month Club."

  "Ah, and I suppose that made you look a little less than capable with your viewers."

  Geoff chuckled loudly. "Yes, you could say that."

  "Well, that would be my fault. I apologize for the predicament I placed you in."

  "Your fault? What do you mean?"

  "Well I brought the storm that caused you all this trouble."

  Geoff smiled at the man’s statement but could see he was dead serious. "It was my own incompetence that got me into trouble. For all our technology, meteorology is not an accurate science. Some days it’s like predicting earthquakes."

  "Then why did you choose it as your profession?"

  Geoff answered from the heart without hesitation. "Because I've always loved weather. When I was a kid, I used to stare at the clo
uds. And somehow I’d able to, I don’t know, sense whether it was going to rain or not that day. My Dad said I imagined it and it was just a coincidence, but I don’t know. I’ve never considered doing anything else."

  Elijah continued to smile approvingly. “I doubt it was coincidence lad.”

  Geoff realized Aimsir kept shifting the conversation over to him. He put down the empty tea cup and leaned forward. "You know, you still haven't told me how you did those tricks on the roof."

  "I told you Geoffrey, they were not tricks. I'm a Weather Man. It's a time-honored ability, passed down from generation to generation throughout the centuries. There are only a few of us left though, scattered throughout the world.” He let out a mournful sigh. “Not as many as there used to be."

  Geoff glanced over at the long leather case by the wall. "Is that what the bar is for?"

  Aimsir seemed genuinely pleased by his curiosity. "In a way, yes. The staff acts as a link between the forces of nature and the Weather Man. It's the most important tool of the trade, you might say."

  The scientist in Geoff was still skeptical. "All right then, how come no one has ever heard of you guys? I mean, your type of Weather Man."

  "Oh there are references to us in book and stories, Rainmakers and the like. But we never show off our skills or use them for profit. To do so would break the Code."

  "The Code?"

  "The Code of the Weather Man."

  Geoff snickered a bit. "I'm sorry, but if you only knew how crazy that sounds."

  Aimsir put down his tea cup. "Do you think I'm crazy?" he asked seriously. "I've