Memories Of Tomorrow
When the
sun warms her face,
As his
hands would wish to warm it,
As it
kisses her lips softly,
As he
would wish to kiss them,
And she
walks, silent down the cobbled streets,
By
buildings which have stood the test of time,
By roofs
that lean and windows not square,
By
towers improbable, and the most curious of beasts,
Past exquisite
fountains of tinkling cascades of crystal,
And the
most gentle of folk of striking aspect,
Then all
about her seems hushed so as to not
Disturb her
dreams, thinking then of his love,
Of
Him. He had been there, he will be
there,
He is
there with her, part of him wrapped
In the
deep crimson warmth of her heart,
As she
dreams her memories of tomorrow.
Long and
long ago it was that they had first loved,
Against
all the laws of wild, sweet chance,
And then
it was they had instant-like laid their hearts
Side by
side, entwined, touching, together as one,
No
matter the distance separating the spheres,
Or the fleet-footed
dance of the years.
Where
the silver light of the Moon,
Touches,
most gentle the paints of God’s palette,
The
soft, innocent blues, pinks and reds
Of the
rarest and most beauteous of sunsets,
And a
rainbow, inflamed with colour,
Seeps
into the languidly coming night,
There,
at that time, in those exact circumstances
A portal
opens, a weak point in space time,
And it
was through that portal he had slipped,
All unbeknown
to him, but not to her, no, not her.
She sat,
all unseen, morphed within her mighty oak,
Sharing;
reading its news and its heart,
The song
of the forest caressing her mind,
The
simple innocence of the creatures
Dwelling
therein softly touching her core
As she
and they and the trees
Breathed
they all in harmony.
She waited
and watched,
Then, in
silence, tensing
As she
saw the portal open
And an
alien and frightening
Desert vista
assailed her eyes.
It was
as she had been spun in mystic accounts
Unfolded
to her at the day’s conclusion by her mother,
The same
tales she spun and unfolded for her children now.
She had
not, until this moment, believed them,
And then
by extraordinary chance
They
were there and he appeared!
Tall he
was, head bent forward a little as he walked,
His mind
lost still within the pages of a book,
And then
gradually he came to a standstill,
As he
felt the presence of fresh, sparkling air,
The sounds
of the breathing forest gestalt;
And the fragrance
of uncountable blossoms seized him,
Their
scents competing to seduce his sensibilities.
His eyes,
unwilling still, dragged he from the pages,
Held as
they were by the unseen glue of fascination,
And lust
for learning, and fell straight upon
Such a
world as he had never conceived possible!
So
changed, extraordinary and beautiful was it,
Filled
with a wild riot of living things,
And
shapes that were creations of wild visions,
With
colour and harmonies of sound and space,
Those
only conceived when his mind had danced
Across
the truth of it all, ultimate perception
With God/ess-breathing
hallucinogenics and
Both
space and form showed their blends
At the
interstices of what was possible
And what
required the touch of the God/ess.
He
nearly toppled as overloaded his senses
Tried to
comprehend the fantastical world,
And
glorious place, in which he found himself.
Never before
had he experienced his birth planet
Gaia,
pour forth thus her pure and clear exaltation!
Whirled he
around and saw that he stood
At the termination
of a long boulevard,
Delineated
by ancient, marching oaks
Which
reached out into the forest
In which
he so oddly found himself.
He knew
he should be alarmed, at the least of it,
But the realm
which he had somehow entered
Was so
near to that which knew his heart
Was the
way it ought be,
He felt
that he had arrived at the last,
At that
place where he was always meant to be.
He
squinted slightly along the boulevard,
And in
the shimmering sunlight
Saw he
such buildings and constructions
As
defied the laws of physics as he knew them.
Towers
there were with half their height spindly,
Crooked
like a magician’s old hat;
Others
which, gravity defying,
Carved
an elegant arc,
Through
ignorance of physical laws,
Turning
back upon themselves,
And yet
more which spirals drew;
And each
with twinkling eyes,
A
thousand crystal, coruscating windows
Kaleidoscopes
of colour shouting out
Their absurd
and unreasonable beauty.
He
stood, his eyes captive of the vision
But of a
sudden whirled at a sound behind him
And thus
it was saw her for the first time,
As she
morphed from within the heart of her oak,
Returning
to her elfin form.
Small
she was, of most tidy proportions,
Somehow
neat, just the way she should be.
Her eyes
were both questioning and dancing.
Dark
they were. He was never to decide
Over all
the countless, wondrous years of her presence,
And the three
quarters-empty years of her absence,
Whether
they were brown as the bark of her oak,
Black hole
black, attracting all toward them,
Or
green, that green of an endless, roiling sea?
Her
skin, golden it was, a lot lighter than his,
And
though when on occasion she would ask of him
What it
was she wore when they first met,
And he
replied, obedient-like she wore a fitted,
Trailing
dress of greenest forest velvet,
It was
her face, always her face, which he saw
Or he
ached for, the dancing eyes, yes, and
The
smile which that first day and always thereafter
Was
enough to light the full dark of night,
And the lips
which always it was
That he
felt the need to kiss.
She
closed the space between them and,
All
natural-like, took his arm as if
This was
the most commonplace event and meeting
In the
world, gently turned him
And
stepped out, seeming to flow above the soft grass.
Her
presence beside him,
Their
relative heights,
The
slight press of her body against his
As they
strolled, gentle-like, down the boulevard
Seemed
to him just as it should be
Was, had
been and would be,
And he
didn’t understand,
Did not
want at that time to understand,
Just
wanted this to be, always.
As they
walked on, companionably,
She
spoke; her voice the sound of a joyful star,
The
mystery of the wind
Talking
to the trees on a moonlit night,
The
depth of the wild and rolling sea,
And the
whispering secrets of the deep universe,
And he
understood not what she said,
And at
first it didn’t matter,
Lost as
he was in the beauty of the music of her words,
Her
lips, her eyes, her smile and again her lips.
Then stopped
she and looked at him,
And it
was all he could do not to fall into her eyes,
And spoke
she slowly, a question he surmised,
From the
gently questing intonation
And mien
on her entrancing face.
He
forced his mind to more purposeful activity.
Somehow knew
he he recognised some of the words,
Or
thought perhaps it was so but was uncertain.
Then the
sensible thing he did,
Pointing
to himself and giving his name.
Similarly
she gave hers and thus he learned
The word
that was from that day unto forever
The one
which was to dwell,
Through
the good years and the bad,
At the
very centre of his soul;
The
sound that touched his last waking thought,
His
dreams, and his first breath when rousing
And he
whispered it unto the dawning light.
They
progressed thus, slow and contented,
Naming
this and that, repeating each the other,
Sometimes
with success, sometimes mangled,
Followed
by easy laughter,
And
sudden it was he realised what it was he recognised,
And his
mind all wild-like flew back to his boyhood,
And he
felt a rueful desire that he had more attention paid
To his cloak-flapping,
mortar-boarded, kindly
But more
than a little uninspiring Latin Master!
He
dredged his mind for memories shrouded now in time,
And
increasing impatient he was with his inadequacy,
But she
whose name was forever to be music gentled him,
Making a
fine and friendly game of word hunting
In the
dusty, spider-webbed nooks and crannies of his mind.
Thus their
most comfortable amble passed easy,
With the
pair oft taken with companionable laughter.
Difficult
he found it at times to think, however,
Of words
not spoken for it seemed a lifetime,
So taken
was he by his circumstances and company.
And soon
it was, far too soon thought he,
The pair
arrived at the edge of the settlement,
With its
buildings that most improbable were,
Being
built with great granite blocks which should not bend
As they
did, making shapes that delighted and confused.
They
were neatly set by cobbled streets,
And
obvious it was they had seen much in passing time,
Cobbles
shiny with the soles of the feet of years,
Great
oaken beams settled within their granite homes,
Sleeping
now in their twilight time,
At peace
with the granite,
Marriages
of many and many a year.
Folk
they met aplenty,
All
beautiful in their distinctive way,
Though not
a touch upon his companion.
All were
known to her, it appeared,
And
though they startled were by his presence,
Their
best they did to give formal greeting, “Salve”,
And not
stare, though his great height,
Night-black
skin and attire
Obvious
were in marking him out as alien.
Gentle-like
she navigated him through the busy folk,
Their
beasts, so many he had never seen the like of
Except
in books of fiction, here made fact,
And the
occasional vehicle which whispered along,
Platforms
upon which folk sat casual-like or placed freight,
And
hovered above the ground,
Propelled
by he knew not what.
There
was so very much to look at, his eyes darting
This way
and that, always returning to she
Who
already held him in her thrall,
For
reassurance or help in understanding.
A relief
it was from the visual bombardment
And
cacophony of a language he little understood
Being
all about him, when she led him through
A gentle
arch into a courtyard where seats of stone
Were
scattered in an apparently random fashion
Around a
small pool in which a fountain played.
Random
was the thought which took his mind
Back to
his now seeming distant childhood,
Back to
the piazzas in his mock Italian home,
With
their jingle jangle fountains,
Only
with those the water
Downward
flowed, not as here.
And recalled
he all those originals
His
parents had shown him in pictures
And had
copied from sentimentality;
Both
originals and copies,
Smashed,
long since,
Now, as
with all his land,
His
adopted land,
His
family and friends,
Naught now
but melted memories,
Totally
and utterly destroyed.
Two
children emerged from the dwelling
Which bounded
the piazza;
One
older but both younglings.
(He was
to later discover that neither yet
Had
their gender chosen and,
As was
the way of her folk,
That was
not a decision taken lightly
And so
at puberty was accorded.)
Obvious
it was that these were of her making,
And sudden
it was that a pain reached deep within,
A
poniard sliding effortlessly into his heart,
Of her
making and another’s!
Absurd
he knew his jealousy to be,
For that
he knew it was,
Though
he was not of such a nature.
Swift
however his attention returned,
And he
smiled and saluted, “Salve”, with
The
slight bow he noted these folk gave.
They, he
further noted,
His
second learning of elven etiquette,
Lower
bowed with their greeting,
And then
both looked questioning-like
At she
who, most obvious, their mother was.
She
ushered them all within,
To a
room most spacious and light;
Furnishings,
ornaments and pictures,
All of
extraordinary beauty were.
Waved
she then at a seat, a lounger of sorts,
And then
disappeared she into an adjoining room.
The
children, now apprised of
His
appearance in their midst
Pressed
him as children do
To see,
he thought, if he was really just stupid,
Because
he spoke the tongue so little
That they
with ease spoke?
The elder,
it appeared,
Quick
was to decide that
He was,
in truth, a simpleton,
Bowed
and off elsewhere went.
The
younger, however, fascinated seemed,
And thus
started a long relationship of teacher and student.
Active,
the youngling was, in enjoying the superiority,
But
gentle and caring was in helping him to learn,
With
patience, and mother’s easy and gentle laughter,
Taking
from him any sense of foolishness at his ignorance,
And it
was thus that he relearned quick and easy-like
That
which had been so badly battered into him
All
those long years ago.
She who
already held his heart returned shortly,
A
platter in her hands, plates, knives and cloths
Piled
neat-like, surrounded by breads, cheeses
And an
assortment there of fruits, some new to him,
And as
she called her eldest, put the platter at a table
And all
washed their hands in the bowl their available.
Sudden
it was that he realised how hungry he was.
He
looked at her, and again it was hard to take care
Lest his
emotions, inappropriate as they were,
Did not
linger upon his face for her or the children to see.
In her
eyes, it was, he thought perhaps he saw something,
But clamped
he down upon that thought as her lips,
Her
exquisite lips, uttered soft the command, “Manducant!”
Thus it
was that they shared their first meal together,
The
first, though neither knew it, of oh so many to come,
In
pleasure and in pain, light and darkness both.
…………………………………………………………………..
And so
it was he remained thus,
For
obvious it was that he no other option had,
And commenced
he dwelling in
One of
the commune’s welcoming guest houses.
Days
into weeks and months rolled;
His
language became first adequate,
And then
fair fluent was,
Much due
to her younger child’s
Persistence
and patience,
And his
deep, driving desire
To be
able to share discourse with her
Whom he
accepted loved he with a passion
That
burned within, brighter than any star.
And as
the planet turned its round
His love
for her burned ever more fiercely within,
And he
saw, too, that she excuses found
To be
with him whenever it was possible
And a
flame of hope joined
The
inferno of flames within.
Her
partner was, found he to his great displeasure,
Both
kindly and thoughtful. He hardworking
was,
An
excellent father and husband in his way,
Well
respected by those about him as he daily
Conjured
fine and complex charms
To bend both
granite and oak
To the
mind, will and imaginings of his employers.
In
himself he found also a talent lay,
One of
which ere now
He had
nothing known of,
And one,
gloriously, he shared with her,
Thanking
whatever Gods or Ancestors
Of
influence there may be unseen at his side
Who
helped in bringing it about thus!
He a
mender was.
Started
he by chance, in truth,
When a
chair he sat upon
Commenced
to collapse beneath him,
And his
mind twisted, grasped it somehow,
And it
returned to that form for which it was designed.
From
thence forward, when the folk heard of his gift,
Oft it
was they brought things to him,
Things
both obvious
And
mysterious in their function or form
And his
mind reached into them,
Feeling
for their essence,
Grasped
and twisted and each one returned as new.
Later it
was he mended a foal,
Its
mother distressed,
Its horn
broken at its forehead.
He came
upon them thus as alone he walked
Through
the forest thinking on she whom he adored,
Aching
for the sight of her, for her company.
No
thought had he of fixing the little creature,
But took
he, instinctive, the damaged horn is his hand,
Moved it
to the young foal’s head,
His mind
touching it, whispering
Words
and phrases that came to him
As easy
and unthought-of as air to his lungs,
And the
horn that had shattered was whole,
Shining
sharp and fine in the blessed sunlight,
A pride
for any little foal,
And its
mother leant forward upon one knee,
Her horn
gentle upon his forehead,
And the
lightening ran through his body,
Fierce
and joyous, it was,
And as stood
she, he knew her,
Knew she
had gifted him her sacred name,
A name
which if uttered, be it ever so quiet,
Would
call her to his side, instantaneous-like.
From
that time forward
Happily
made he his bread restoring things,
Creatures
and elven folk, young and old,
And happiness
was his in work in every way,
For
there could be little that was more satisfying,
Than to
serve those with whom he shared the world,
And in
doing so, to give them joy.
Life was
good,
Deep
down inside good,
Purposeful,
rewarding and right;
And great
joy was his
When
together they were,
Some-when
for but moments,
Wonderful,
intense, bright shards of life,
In the
midst of a scorching star of instants
That lay
protected for eternity within his deep soul,
With glorious,
marvels of times extended,
Times
within and outside of time.
And she
filled his dreams by both night and day;
He burned
for her, his heart an aching knot
When she
was not there,
Unless
it was he did not
In work
immerse himself.
Life, it
steady was, however,
Under
some kind of control,
A sort
of desperate happiness
Which
made him both skip with joy
And want
to howl mad-like at the Moon.
And each
day and much of the night
Was filled
with unvoiced hopes,
Hopeless
hopes … and then one day
As
worked they together,
Mending
a mechanism
Most arcane
and complex,
Their
hands touched
And they
did not move,
The Sun
did not move,
Nothing
moved,
The
World turned not …
And he
kissed her!
…………………………………………………………..
Time
passed, as it is fair bound so to do,
And they
knew their love,
Acknowledged
it fully,
And more
and more together were,
And all
the time in each other’s thoughts and hearts;
And so
it was that others noted their love,
For both
were deep changed by it,
And at
times they despairing were
Because
of the pain to others it gave.
But
their feelings burned within
And drew
them on an inexorable path.
And took
she him to her oak
And
showed how he too could morph
Within
it, and it welcomed him without judgement,
For in
its long wisdom it saw the light of love
And knew
its purity and control,
For it understood
destiny,
Had
talked of it, in a slow deliberate way, as trees do,
And
absorbed the knowledge, experience and wisdom
Of the
forest entire. And it taught him of
Inevitability,
and the futility of guilt,
And so it
upon them placed its blessing.
And then
it was that one night she came to him,
Her
partner and children elsewhere
Until
the coming of noon on the morrow,
An
infinity of time it seemed to them both,
Until,
all too soon, infinity expired.
And when
it was that she lifted from her body
All her clothing,
he could not breathe,
Overwhelmed-he
by her sheer perfection of form.
He was
not some naïve, untutored or inexperienced
In
loving and beauty in its many forms,
But
different this was, utterly and extraordinarily,
In no
ways similar to aught in his experience;
Her
perfection and his feelings of awe
Made him
wish to shout out his bliss,
Weep his
joyous wonder,
Pour a
river of loving words into her,
As his
heart thundered within his chest,
Fit to
break free and to her fly,
And he
had to force himself to exhale.
By
instinct it was, that he opened his arms
And she
came, and filled she them to perfection,
And her
body fit against him so easy-like
As
though it had always been thus and always would be,
And at
first their passion took them,
And as they
joined together, wildly he laughed,
And she
nonplussed was, momentary-like
And then
she joined him,
For it
was indeed a wild and astonishing thing
That
they fit together so perfect-like,
And then
their passion and the waiting,
Commanded
their bodies onwards to ecstasy;
And
hasty, frantic they were at first,
Wild and
frenzied as they crashed together,
And soon
it was they cried out,
A
marvellous harmony of climax,
A
rolling, crashing climax,
Setting
them both ashuddering, twitching
Uncontrollably
and holding each other
With a
sort of desperation which made no sense
But was
the answer to everything
In that
moment of endless time
Outside
of time.
And
through the night they learned of each other,
Their
hands and lips giving and taking pleasure;
They
explored their bodies and made love.
Quiet
and gentle they were, lusting and satiated;
Talking
between times of a future they sought
But knew
within was possible
Only as
a maybe, and that maybe only
At the
end of a painful journey;
And they
would hold each other,
Forcing
from their minds all else but
This
room, this bed, this now.
And
dozed they, at times,
And then
he or she would reach
With
lips and hands,
Into the
other’s slumber and soon
Awake
they would once again
Come
together, and oft times come together,
And if
not, then come with shared joy.
And soon
it was that the unwelcome dawn,
Insensitive-like
forced its way upon them.
At first
it was that he his eyes closed,
Tight
like a child, wishing away the light,
Reaching
with his mind to extinguish
That one
by his bed which had illuminated
Their
exploration, passion, loving, exhaustion
And the
tender words, all indelibly writ upon their hearts;
Then it
was that he looked at her sleeping by his side,
Of a
sudden thankful for the light of the day,
That he
may see her, natural-like,
Her
mouth slight-open, her hair across her face;
And listened
he to her breathing,
And each
breath blew as a gentle breeze,
Across
the oceans within his heart,
But of a
sudden he was in a state akin to terror,
His
heart feeling crushed within him,
His old
night and daymare flooding through him,
That
just as he had arrived to this sphere by chance,
Chance
might return him to his own!
As
chance had it, it was then she opened her eyes
And saw
she the terror and knew it well
For it
had often-times been hers also,
And she
reached out and drew him to her,
And
quietly, deep in their love,
Their
hearts full and fearful, together they wept.
…………………………………………………………………
As had
to be,
Written,
some might say, in the stars,
No
longer could they bear to be apart;
The pain
was as though a limb had been lost,
And so
they together came, living in his home;
The
younglings their mother accompanied,
For such
was their desire,
Especial-like,
the younger, his tutor of old
For
whom, if he were honest, he had the greater love,
Though
he would have killed for either,
Were it
necessary so to do,
Or his
life lay down for them,
For they
were part of her,
And each
had part of that
Which he
loved in her,
Growing
within them,
And it
was deep within his heart,
The need
to nurture that, to watch it grow.
The
opprobrium was not universal,
But her parents,
they it difficult found,
And her
partner of old,
The
father of her two beloved younglings,
He his
best did to make life problematic,
Serpent-whispering
half-truths and salacious lies
In the
ears of all who would, prurient, listen,
And thus
soon it was they established
Who
their real friends were,
But
nought was there could dampen
The
fierce, burning joy of their love,
And
their wild lust for each other;
And so
it was that as the younglings
Took
themselves off each morn for academy
They
instant ran, laughing,
Tearing
off their clothes
And
throwing themselves into a
Glorious
and frenzied union,
Generally
in their battered bed -
Oft
times in need of repair as the days flew by -
But not
infrequently on the stairs,
On the
kitchen floor,
Or
leaning over, in and above
Various
pieces of the more robust furniture,
It being
off-putting in the extreme,
Having
to pause their thrustings and lungings
To reach
into some object to mend it
As it
betrayed them and attempted to collapse!
Such was
not always the way their bodies loved.
Oft
times it would most gentle and considerate be,
The
culmination of slow touches,
Teasing
tongues and fingers,
Massage
or slow, tempting encroachments,
Taking
the slow road,
But
whatever the speed,
Ending
in a desperate need
And
absolute commitment to mutual satiation.
And oft
it was they lay, companionable-like,
Touching,
this way or that,
Talking
of the events of the day,
The
concerns for the younglings
And all
that it is that lovers discuss;
Or sit they
would, close and comfortable,
The
younglings abed, a good fire filling the hearth,
Telling
each of their own worlds,
The
different laws of physics, most remarkable
Operating
successful-like in each;
Shared
they happenings of the days past,
Childhoods
so different as to be
The
stuff of storybooks,
Truths
which no longer were;
And explored
they their future hopes,
For
themselves, the younglings, the world,
And too
they beauty discussed,
Art and
music, philosophy and
The vast
enigma that was life and the God/ess.
And as the
days and the nights
Took
their natural course,
Their
happiness did nought but grow;
As the
time it passed,
So did
much of their need to speak
Of aught
but the most complex of things,
For as
with their hearts, their minds became
Enmeshed
in each other,
But for
him he with words struggled
To try
to her explain the depths of his awe,
Which
retained he from that first moment
When he
had turned and seen her.
It in no
way had diminished,
Indeed,
with every passing day
He in
the glory of her company spent,
It grew;
for always there was mystery,
Always a
beauty which still
Made him catch his breath
Made him catch his breath
At
unexpected moments,
And
there was too the labyrinth of her mind
Which
each day more complex grew
As he
learned more of her,
Her
thoughts, abilities, skills,
Her
love, empathy, compassion,
And the
way it obliged him,
Happily,
to goodness!
Such was
the joy that filled their world
That
with each passing day the lurking terror receded,
And he
forgot the circumstances which brought him
To this
wondrous place, to her and a life of glory,
And one
evening it was that they chose to stroll
And make
communion with her beloved oak,
And
there it was that the silver light of the Moon,
Touched,
most gentle the paints of God’s palette,
The
soft, innocent blues, pinks and reds
Of the
rarest and most beauteous of sunsets,
And a
rainbow, inflamed with colour,
Seeped
into the languidly coming night,
There,
at that time, in those exact circumstances
A portal
opened again, a weak point in space time,
And
there it was he lost hold of her soft hand,
And found
himself back in his sphere,
And his
heart almost stopped with horror and fear,
And
turned he and dived back, but too late,
The
spheres touched no more,
And his
head went back
And long
and loud howled he out
His
tortured soul, his stupidity, his loss.
………………………………………………………………..
Naught
had changed in this his home realm,
No time
had passed
And all
was the sorry mess
It
increasingly had become.
His
friends thought him quite mad
When he
sold all that was his and
Disappeared
back to that place in the desert
Where the
spheres would at times touch,
And
bought he that worthless and most precious land
And
built he a cabin of logs,
And each
eve he watched to see if the Moon
The sky,
the colours and the hand of God/ess
Would
align for him,
That he
may return.
By day
he wrote of his memories,
And at
all times that journal kept to hand,
So that
he might tell her of his experiences,
His
thoughts, longings and love,
For he
had to believe reunited they would be
For to
keep himself at least half sane.
And on
winter nights when the desert
Cold and
chill, biting, scratching wind
Reached
into his aching soul,
And
there was no moon in the sky,
Then it
was he would take his hover
To the
nearby, dying little town,
There to
buy he supplies and sit he
Long and
lonely in a bar he felt
Some
sense of belonging in,
And as
time passed, folk curious were,
And
insensitive to his misery and loss,
Sat they
and broke through
The pain
of loneliness and grief
He wore around
him
Like a
blanket, a shroud
And they
would talk.
And as
the days turned their course,
Weeks
turning to months,
Started
he to listen and discuss,
And when
they asked what it was
That oft
he would be seen writing in his book
And he
told them a story, a love story,
And then
they left that thread alone,
For
most, as was normal in his world,
Considered
it a thing most dangerous
For it
gave unto others,
A key,
leverage that against them
Could
later be used.
But
learned one friend and he,
By
chance as in her realm,
That he
was a mender;
It came
about thus:
One eve
as joined he was
By a man
he now knew well,
A good
enough man who
Lonely
was also, and filled with loss,
Dropped
an old fob watch on the table where they sat.
His
father’s it had been and his grandfather’s
It had
been before him,
And
precious to him it was,
Though
it functioned not,
Had not
for many a year.
He
picked it up, curious, looked upon it
And
instinctive-like reached into it with his mind
And
twisted it the way he did,
Returning
it now in perfect working order.
His
companion on discovering this delighted was.
He
thought nought other than a lucky fall had
Shaken
it in such a way as to correct its fault,
But as
homeward he wended his weary way,
Of a
sudden he took it from his pocket,
And
again looked upon it
And saw
what he had not full noted firstly,
That the
cracked glass was most perfect now!
And so
it was from thence forth
Carried he
with him each night,
As to
the bar he made his normal sojourn,
A small,
deftly decorated, thimble which
He had
long since given to his now dead wife
And had
repaired with glue when it dropped was,
And
pleased he was with his repair but irritated he
That a
small chip remained.
His wife
happy was and said she that the chip
Barely
discernible was but he knew,
And saw
it first, each time he picked it up,
Which
he, himself, knew was somewhat stupid
Like
poking a tooth that pain delivered,
Whenever
you poked it.
And one
dark night
When no
moon was in the sky
And rode
he to the bar,
The
thimble to him was passed.
He
looked at, admiring,
As he
thought he was expected to,
The fine
workmanship.
Noticed
he, too, the crack and chip,
And
mended he them to perfection,
Then
noting he the touch of triumph
Upon the
benign face opposite,
Knew
what had just taken place
And
handed it back with a bleak smile,
Which with
his dark mood,
Was in
accord.
His
night previous
Had been
filled with horrors,
Dreams
of loss and pain,
And his
day was likewise.
He had
noted the calendar and calculated
How long
it had been since his arms had held her,
Since his
lips had caught that place upon her neck
Which
made her gasp and press hard against him,
And his
body ached as he had shaved,
Trying
to believe, but
Seeing
now the grey in his stubble.
So as
the thimble he returned,
Knowing
of the trick upon him played,
To his
new friend he him informed
That he
was Italian,
Born he
of Italian parents
Who late
had left after the first bombing,
Then
they to England fleeing,
As luck
would have it.
He had true
lucky been,
Or they
had had foresight,
For when
it too was eaten
By the
vast mushrooms,
He with
his friends was residing,
Here in Brazil,
And here
he remained,
A
misplaced Italian mutant.
He
fortunate or instinctive-wise was
In the
person he chose to share his story with,
For he
was not of the ‘witch’ hunting tendency,
Knowing
too, that a mutant mender
Could
easy a mutant breaker be,
And thus
the ignorant fear
Which
motivated their hunters,
And so
it was the friendship grew.
And luck
had intervened, or chance
Or some such
unmeasurable,
For his
friend made his bread in a repair shop,
And oft
it was in these times of shortages,
Quite
simple objects were impossible to mend,
And so
it was the surreptitious-like
He took
these objects to the desert
Where
repairs were exchanged for
The
necessities of life,
And so
he continued
To
exist.
But …
his desperate longing
Was
turning to grieving,
As time
greyed his hair,
Wore at
his muscles,
His back
began to bend,
And
hopelessness
Increasingly
darkened his soul.
And he
conscious was of his absolute need
To try
to fight that darkness
Which
offered surcease for his
Near
all-consuming pain
And
sense of hopelessness.
And hid
he from himself
His
revolver which had he
To
fright away those creatures of the desert
Who
would wish his food store to plunder,
For over
fond he had become
Of playing
Russian roulette,
And half
hoping for its peace.
.
……………………………………………………………….
Then it
was as sat he one summer night,
Poking
with little enthusiasm at his meal al fresco,
Taking note
of moon and the sinking sun,
His mind
returned to the long lost past,
And recalled
he the little foal
Whose
horn he had mended,
Wondering
how it had grown?
And he
dug into his memory
For the
mare’s name,
And as
it came to him
So spoke
he it out loud
With no
thought
As to
the consequence
And a
crackling there was,
A smell
of ozone,
And
there she stood,
And upon
her back
She who
he had thought
Never to
see again,
Though
his heart had held true,
And
slipped she down from the mare
And most
fleet ran she to him
As he
astonished stood from his chair,
And took
her into his once strong arms,
And they
embraced with desperation,
And he
laughed and wept, an old man’s weeping,
Great,
gasping sobs of joy, love, sorrow and loss
Whirling
in his mind, heart and soul, uncontrollable they
Until
she had held him long and tight
And then
it was she stepped back a little
And
looked she at his aged face,
With
grey beard and sorrow lines marked
About
his eyes, and her heart was fit to break,
For his
suffering and his love,
Both
were writ large,
And she
his face took in her hands,
And
kissed she most gentle-like
His eyes
and his lips,
And
smiled she then as she held him still
And told
him she that he looked a mess,
Asking
what in Chance he’d been doing with himself
And why it
was he hadn’t sooner called?
And he
stared, smitten afresh by her beauty,
Confused
by the meaning of her words
And
suddenly then she laughed,
And so
glorious was it, so madly infectious,
He
laughed in return,
And both
cried and laughed they
With
mad, desperate, wonderful joy.
And then
asked she him if he was ready to come home?
…………………………………………………………………
He his
preparations to leave made,
Leaving
neat and ready those things
He
mended had and a note for his friend
Explaining
that he was at the last going home.
He left,
too, keys to his chest which
In his
secret cellar was for safe keeping;
Full of
money and gold coin it was,
Near the
total for his sale prior to his
Purchase
of this desert place,
For rarely
had he made use of the stuff
Except
for the purchase of supplies
And in
the bar, and oft it had been
That his
friend he pressed upon him more
For all
that he did in mending.
He moved
as though in a dream,
And with
near every step he glanced across
To see
if she was still by his side,
And so
she was, for she said with some force
That she
never was going to lose him again,
As he
took far too long in coming back!
And then
it was that he had finished
All the
small tasks he needs must do
And
turned he to her and asked he what next?
And
spake she then a name, most quiet,
And
again there was the crackling noise,
And
before him stood another unicorn,
This
larger by far than she who had brought
Back to
him the one he loved more than life itself,
And
bowed he to the beautiful beast,
And the
beast the bow returned,
But
lower went and then touched its horn
Gentle
upon his forehead.
And
lightning ran through his body,
Fierce
and joyous it was,
And with
it came the gift of years,
As the
little foal now grown large
Gave him
his most sincere thanks;
And he
felt his back straighten
And
looking at his hands he saw
The
lines and colour of age roll away,
And his
youthful vigour returned,
Running
through him like a benevolent fire,
And he
stretched and throwing aside etiquette
Threw
his arms about its neck
And
poured all the power of his mending
Into it
in return, that it may live
A long,
healthy and happy life.
And so
it was that he leapt upon its broad back, easy-like
As his
most beloved did likewise with the mare at his side,
And his
eyes fell again upon her face
And his
heart felt it would burst with joy.
She
stared at him, likewise, and honoured
And
humbled was he by the look of love she returned,
And then
the air crackled once more
And they
returned to that place
Where
they had first met
In front
of her oak -
Except
it was not quite that place,
For that
place was taken by a dense thicket
Of
thorns and stink plants,
For as
she told him,
Had he
returned he would have done so
To
scratches and foul smells, but no worse,
But he
would never again stray there, accidental-like!
And he
breathed deep the pure, crystal-clear air,
Thanked
with his heart entire his steed, turned
And
taking his love’s soft hand, looked once more
Upon the
settlement which his home had been,
And he
had missed as he had died and died again
A death
of a thousand cuts as he had unceasingly
Yearned with
entire being for his only love;
And once
again she took him by the arm,
Most
easy, familiar and companionable-like
And
strolled they down the boulevard,
Looking
at each other all the while,
Their
hands tight clasped together.
At the
last they arrived at the house,
Which so
familiar and welcoming was,
And
walked they into the shaded courtyard
Which he
had with his own hands built,
And
there by the fountain
A
beautiful young woman sat,
And his
heart threatened once more
To fly
from his body,
As looked
he back and forth
From her
to she who must her mother be,
And then
stood the young woman,
As his
true love took his hand and nodded,
And the
lass bowed, smiled her mother’s smile
And
spoke. “Salve Pater. Grata donum”*.
*Hello
Father. Welcome home.
