"Physkin."
"Yes," she called.
"Physkin."
"Yes, who is it?"
"Physkin," again, then silence but for footsteps sneaking away.
So that was it, the fairy Physkin thought, the silly superstition: invoke her name three times in the presence and good luck follows.
She knew no one really wished to talk to her. No mortal ever had. But sometimes, when she heard her name echo, she wished, she hoped, she was really being called.
There was no magic in her name, but it was hard to convince a mortal population when luck did follow the ritual. Luck that would have come anyway, brought confidence, and confidence brought more luck, and so on. And thus the saying of her name hung over a lucky man or woman for all to see.
Over one hundred years ago a great writer had invoked her name and written it into one of his first stories, but for the spelling. His talent was his luck, but Physkin could not have convinced him of that.
His was a long name, but he soon became known by the last. At least, Physkin thought, I have had the satisfaction of hearing his name used as a curse. Serve him righteously.
Physkin was tired. She was tired of seeking the elusive something that mortals had, the thing that drew her to their world. She knew not the name of the thing it was, but the name of the lack of it was loneliness. She was tired of immortality. After six hundred years she had seen everything, felt everything, smelled and tasted all there was to smell and taste. But mostly, she was tired of her name.
It was with great trepidation that Physkin approached the Council.
The chief elder asked, "What would you of us, Physkin of-that-name-and-no-other? It has been four hundred years since you last came before us, and it was just a little thing you asked."
The second elder sighed, "Ah, yes. The answer was loneliness as I remember it, but I cannot recall the question."
Physkin said, "I fear my request is not a small thing, Chief Elder. I fear I ask the impossible."
"And what do you ask, Physkin of-that-name-and-no-other?"
"Just that, Most Revered One. I ask that I have another name."
The eleven elders gasped as one.
"It cannot be done," the second elder said.
"It has never been done," they all echoed.
The chief elder held up his hands. "Physkin of-that-name...and-no-other, we will think on this. We will consult books, we will spell and chant, we will invoke a thousand...names." He smiled. "We will try our best, child. I have found very little in our world...or theirs, that is impossible. Return in a year."
A year is but a little time to fairie, but in that short time Physkin heard her name invoked thrice and the desire to have it gone stood before her eyes like a lighted torch as she flew into the Council Chamber.
"Have you my answer?" she asked.
Several eyebrows raised.
The chief elder answered kindly, "We have your answer, Physkin of-that-name-and-no-other...for-now." He turned to the elders and they nodded solemnly. "Come forward and I will whisper to you, for this secret is from the mortal world, though condemned by many of them. Do not do this lightly, child. It brings pain and is full of misery."
Physkin listened and grew pale. "Is there no other way? Is it not whispered that a mortal may change his name for gold? Is this not so?"
"For a human, this is so. But you are not human, child. You must have a human name before you may change it."
"I see."
"Do you?"
"There is no other way then." She walked from them and the Council Chamber echoed with the sighs of the elders as Physkin hid her wings away.
***
Physkin sat on a park bench and waited. She waited a long time. She waited while a woman pushed a carriage many times along the winding path, and Physkin smiled at the tow-headed baby that shook its rattle wildly. The baby, its great blue eyes joyful, smiled back. Many times.
She waited while a young boy, blond hair sparkling in the sunlight, bounced a ball toward her. Threw a ball. Kicked a ball. She picked it up each time and placed it in his hands. She smiled. The boy smiled also and thanked her each time with his blue eyes.
Physkin of-that-name-and-no-other...for-now...waited while a fair haired young man walked by with a young woman and almost fell off the path as Physkin smiled at him.
His companion asked, "What are you gaping at?" and Physkin laughed and the young man laughed also.
The young man walked by often, each time with a different girl, each time a little older. And each time he laughed when he passed Physkin, his blue eyes shining with merriment.
And one day, as she waited, a man walked by, stopped, turned, and sat down beside her. His hair was the color of sand and his eyes the ocean beyond.
"I say," and he impulsively grabbed her hand, "haven't we met before?"
Physkin looked deep into his mortal soul and trembled.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Yours first," she said.
She smiled when she heard it. She almost laughed. The chief elder was right. Very little was impossible.
***
There were days of pain, days of great misery. But there were also days of great joy when Physkin knew the name of the elusive thing she had sought for so long.
Her husband grew old while she stayed young. But he seemed not to notice, or if he did, he enjoyed the idea of having such a young looking wife and listened to the gossip with pleasure.
Some said it was good living and some plastic surgery. One man suggested she was an automaton, and many laughed. But most said, "It's magic."
When her husband died at the young age of ninety-three Physkin discovered she could keep her new name for as long as she lived. Which was a very long time.
Widow Dickens was often lonely.
But she remembered love.
This story has been read [an error occurred while processing this directive] times since 05.01.00.