Fontane Di Roma

by Jeff Baker

I stood and stared out the window at the small garden with the trickling stone fountain in the middle like a birdbath.

“You’re not seriously telling me you think you’ve got the Fountain of Youth out there are you?” I said.

“That’s what the Realtor said,” Giles said. “It all belonged to the couple who used to live here.”

“Okay, but why would somebody who has the Fountain of Youth in their backyard sell it?” I asked. “Don’t tell me it’s because they were going to retire? I mean, why retire if you can stay young?”

“Stay young and stay in the workforce forever,” Giles said. “You hit on it. They didn’t want to do that. Besides, they were way past retirement age.”

“How way past?” I asked.

“Well, he was born in the 1890s and she, well…” Giles said. “I didn’t ask.”

“Have you used that thing?” I asked pointing at the fountain.

“No, and I don’t think I’m going to.” Giles said. “Too many drawbacks.”

“Drawbacks?” I said. “Like what?”

“Well, if you aren’t rich you’ll have to work to pay several centuries worth of bills to say nothing of taxes.”

“You’d have the Fountain of Youth.” I said. “You could charge people to drink from it. Even at a couple of bucks a glass, this could…”

“We try to keep this low-key,” Giles said. “Too many people find out about this, the neighborhood would be overrun by a mob. All kinds of things could happen.”

“Does this thing cure disease?” I asked.

“Not really,” Giles said. “Just keeps you young. Which is a nice benefit.”

“Have you tried it?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. “Just a sip.”

I stared out the window at the fountain.

“What do you have available in a nice condo?” I asked.

—end—