The black angel and the seventh son

The first time he saw the black angel was not long after his wedding. He was walking in the park on a hot summer’s day and she was barely visible under the trees. She glided towards him.

‘I’m not coming,’ he said.

‘You must,’ she replied, reaching out a skeletal hand.

‘But I’m a seventh son, like my father – you can’t force me.’

She vanished.

***

She appeared to him on two further occasions in the same place, but on each of these he turned her away. Once was when his second child was due; the other was just before his retirement party.

***

Many years later, he was sitting on a bench there alone, feeding bread to the pigeons. He had been widowed for five years and rarely saw his children. After the stroke he had struggled to take care of himself and a nursing home move was looming.

She sat down beside him.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said. ‘I was wondering when you’d be back. I’m ready now.’

But she shook her head sadly. ‘It’s too late – you refused me three times. I can’t help you.’

He nodded, and then thought for a moment.

‘How about a game of chess?’