Wearing his customary pristine white tunic, hair disheveled in a turbulent sea of grey swells and shimmering whitecaps, face warm bronze to match hands aged and weathered in the love of all things outdoors, shoulders symmetrically sloped displaying the strength and beauty of mountains in winter, Zeke listened with the patience of the sparkling ocean that glittered before his pale blue eyes. He leaned back, wooden chair kissing wooden desk like timid children out of teacher's sight, while the voice on the other end of the line spoke of matters important and urgent.
Questions sat, not asked. Just talking and listening. What the hellocks could be said that had not already been said? Words had been poured forth from father to son as water to stone. Familiarity bred not contempt, but accepted weariness, the kind of weariness that existed between husband and wife in the morning when love was a memory long faded and questions of endearment no longer offered nor expected. So the questions just sat, unopened, ignored, gifts forever unknown.
When the call ended, Zeke stood, drawing breath of brass and bergamot, wood old and leather worn; his hands held behind his back, softly, one into the other, fist into palm like ball into glove. He looked upon the waters of Valla as if in the looking a sign or signal would appear, and he could take his hands and do something. To do something to hold at bay thoughts of what had been done and, thoughts be damned, what had not. Take what you want, then pay for it. Is that how it is? Reluctant, with belly full, to pay for the meal. Blame the cook need only a mirror.
His son had succeeded, at work. Won prestigious awards, stood in the world on his own merits, had married and had two beautiful children, Kyra and Emily. Something changed when Emily died. He withdrew. Episodic bursts of anger as unpredictable as infrequent. His wife looked on with dead eyes, leaden tongue, their marriage held together by professional ambition; and the storm.
They had chosen Emily over Kyra, second born over first. Had taken her with them on their travels. Said that Kyra's schooling was the reason she was left behind. Damn the lies, the pretense. Parents tended to favor one child over the other, but the art of parenting was never to let either child know which was which. Perhaps he succeeded. Kyra never questioned or if she did, never gave voice to the doubt. Yet, still, the child seemed, at times, melancholy beyond her summers. What do we ever really know of the inner life of another, forever sifting clues and forming assumptions, drawing conclusions, forgetting that what we know pales in comparison to what we don't.
The call talked of things important and urgent. The planet was in peril. Changes had to happen now. Those in power were in denial. Zeke listened. Not once was the question asked. How is Kyra?
__________
A few years earlier . . .
"Papa," asked Kyra, "why are you crying?"
"When I see you, I see the most beautiful thing in the whole world and the joy from my heart expresses itself through my eyes."
"Is that why Grand is crying too?"
Papa looked over his shoulder, his beautiful bride leaning against the worn door frame, her hand wiping her nose. "Yes, Kyra," she said.
"Can I cry too?"
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13 comments:
Here is my official wow to be extended at the first decent opportunity, but what a story treat to after spending all this time with Kyra, knowing the facts of her background, knowing that her marine biologist parents were not around and really more by suggestiveness within than detail, here we delve a little, and not into Kyra, but into Papa, the person who became her world, so to speak, the person who loved and nurtured and guided and raised and knew her and a glimpse into his thoughts. Very suggestive, you capture heart and mind and imagination and the three are having a grand ole time between what is written and what my reading of it suggests isn't written. :-) I love this for more reasons that I will remember to list though they shall occupy my mind, I know, from now until I can come back again. Wonderful!
Messed with the first sentence again. Let me know if I need to mess it back. Even I get frustrated with my own overwriting if I can't justify it with a poetic bent.
I'm thinking the shoulder clause is one clause too far and although I love the turbulent sea of grey, it just doesn't seem to fit like I want it. I'll let it sit and see how it looks later. Give me your thoughts.
I like getting to know Kyra more through that description... As always, you have such eloquence, Tree.
One of your posts alone could keep a high school advanced english class busy for a month analyzing each sentence and discussing them, finding meaning, finding beauty, learning relationships are their intricacies, and the foibles and strengths of us as indivduals. as partners, as part of a family...
Maybe the shoulders are unnecessary, I don't know.... Ask Zeke :)
Thank you Annie. I get so caught up in the work of writing and so locked into the measuring and cutting and sanding and polishing and then the recutting and resanding and, well, you get the point. At the end of the chapter, all I see is sawdust and lumber not used or bits of wood shaved here and there and my hands hurt and my head is numb and it all looks like one big glob. In other words, kind words like yours is the aloe on my ego. :-D
I think Zeke wanted me to say his tunic covered his board sloping shoulders like fresh mountain snow. :-D
gifts forever unknown
I'm not sure that it is concretely written anywhere, but the assumption at least has been that Papa and Grand had one child, Kyra's father. This chapter has taken me on a long journey though possibility and potential reasons, through thoughts that might have been, emotions that might have been felt and the hundreds of shades of grey that can exist between one persons interpretation of something and another's. Zeke, a very special man, did not rise to the 9th order without sacrifice of some kind, be it mere time so to speak, his being who he is has meant that there has been demand upon him, personal, professional. Being who he is, the kind of person that he is, one wonders what brought about this divide, emotional, between father and son for there can be no doubt that both do and did love the other, that Zeke could have been anything else than a loving father knows no place in reason and so one wonders why. I've had that young boy on my mind, wondering what made him the man was(/is). I very much like the theory that children are born from their parent's souls and it is said that this alternates, at the point of conception i.e. children unborn have their place in this too and I mention it for it is an interesting thought in regards to this young boy, first, only child, born of his father's soul were we to believe and as such would need his father more than his mother to put it simply and as such every absence, every time that he needed his father and perhaps had to wait and one might imagine a hundred other scenarios that somehow, to lesser or greater extent, affected this boy. His great success in his chosen field, the words on his own merits but before that also, in the initial pondering in regard to previous chapters leads to thoughts of the kind of shadow that Zeke cast, shadow sounds so negative however, Zeke would cast a circle of light, but interpretation is an entirely different thing. Perhaps here too were reasons, causes of the divide. On a different track for a moment, hoping that I remember to come back to the above, one wonders also if Kyra's aptitude, her intelligence and her gifts, her affinity to Zeke was a reason why she was less favoured. Perhaps Kyra inherited what her father did not and though Papa may not have thought anything of this, then as later, other than in terms of it being so, his son may very well have. Things that one cannot ponder too far for as we have seen, as Kyra has expressed, Emily was a very special child also. More than ambition therefore, more than simply not being suited to parenthood for whatever reasons, for Emily was with them. Very interesting it is too that Kyra did not question it and Zeke making the observation that perhaps they succeeded, not because they did or that Zeke really believes that could be the case, but more for it suggests that to some extent, successful or not, they attempted. They attempted to explain which shows consideration. Did they explain to her however or only to Papa and Grand, this would be significant also. Sometimes of course things just go wrong, irrespective of the amount of love between two people, blood doesn't always mean that we understand each other any better, so perhaps the two of them, Papa and his son, were just, simply, very different. I love that sentence let me just say right away, the one that reads What do we ever really know of the inner life of another, forever sifting clues and forming assumptions, drawing conclusions, forgetting that what we know pales in comparison to what we don't.
Most parents are going to accept, greys aside, that fundamental issues in relations developed over time and that have their root in childhood are their mistakes come back to haunt them. He may, one wonders, as he speaks of blame do so without being able to pinpoint or comprehend how whatever 'mistakes' he made, as all parents do, brought them to this. Of course once a set pattern, smiling here for I'm not writing to tell as it sounds, only to tell of places that thoughts delved while reading, has been established, and the longer it lasts, the more difficult change becomes, one reaching will not reach all the way. Somewhere there was something, if memory serves, of Zeke having asked, having spoken, having commented upon their choices, though it could be that it was directed at no-one, but a mere thought, yet even thoughts and especially if his son felt some remorse at his decisions and/or lacks in regards to his eldest daughter could not remain untold even if unvoiced. Anyways, that was a small, messy excerpt of how thoughts branched from the event within the chapter.
It is so very welcome, as said above, this beginnings of an exploration, long since we learned of Kyra's background, the facts were given and touched very lightly upon from time to time, which is not a complaint but a compliment rather to your storytelling skills
Break as I listen to your audio on this chapter...
Magnificent reading and commentary.
I love the bookend comparisons of the title and the observation, Important and Urgent and Not once was the question asked. How is Kyra?
More in a bit. But a quick summary would be that everything that you said in your commentary was understood on some level when reading and that the reading showed that the writing reads as written, for your reading of it was close as can be to how I personally read it, which has happened so often when you have read something and shows what an extraordinary writer you are.
It is quite a thought to think upon what you mention as one of the first things in your commentary. After almost 3 years of story, this is the first time that we are hearing more than a single statement or a single fact, the first time that we get beyond the surface or beyond what is implied or suspected, the first time that we are hearing Papa's thoughts on the whole situation, detailed at least, as said, I do believe at some point, near the beginning, when the reason why it was the two of them, grandparent and grandchild, together always was being revealed, there was an admonishing tone in something thought. Not admonishing, regretful.
Regretful. Parent to child and parent to child, gifts forever unknown, this sentence quoted for the second time for it's poignancy. Listening as I write. I agree wholeheartedly with the statement that this chapter adds depth to both Kyra and to Papa, but although this chapter does for the first time scout further under the surface, the impressions upon her character that their absence had is as much a part of her, as we know her at this stage, as Papa's love, for each time that we have heard of them, for all the warmth, for all the happiness, for all the love and for all the many times that as a reader one has thought her blessed to have such a presence in her life, the other has always been there in the background, a silent presence for the most part, but an indisputable, significant fact. The sentence that remains always is the one, and I do not recall where it was, whether it is in the who's who, whether it was part of a chapter or whether it was part of a comment, that spoke of a place that Papa couldn't reach though he tried. Like the Chapel chapter of long ago is the mouth of the river that has flowed sometimes visibly, mostly subtly, through so many chapters, this sentence is the definition of the feeling that comes through in many of Kyra's chapters. Perhaps more is seen for knowing in some cases, but I do not think so, I do believe it is detectable in many a given were it the only one read.
hair disheveled in a turbulent sea of grey swells and shimmering whitecaps Was it Annie who wrote that your writing should be studied in the classroom. I could see a classroom full of literature lovers falling for this sentence on mass, along with so many before it, even after it, characteristic of your writing, it is so visual, simple and dazzling in equal synchronized measures, evocative, as one reads questions arise and are answered in the imagination, in other words with what you say, you say and suggest and spark. There are certain phrases, favourites of yours are a safe guess, and thank goodness for that for they are like hot chocolate before a roaring fire on a winter's day, full of warmth and goodness and comfort and all things good, to end that spiel quickly, of which aged and weathered are a part of the group, these words, partly for how you use them, partly for their standing connotations, and it is always a special sentence when you describe something in this way. hands aged and weathered in the love of all things outdoors is a perfect example of a hot-choc sentence. Listening I cannot help but want to mention loved phrases, except looking out upon them, I quickly realize I would be quoting near every one, but I will do the one that I was about to, which is in continuance to the above but including the entire so that the quote becomes hands aged and weathered in the love of all things outdoors and I'll leave it at 'lovely', but add a 'wholly' in the name of whole truth. :-)
tbc
A theme emerging like a lone oboe from the back of the orchestra, carried to the shoulders of Zeke, is, for lack of a better way to express the concept, parental regret and doubt. On the other side of the stage, a solitary violin lyrically, mournfully, sketches fate as acorn and tree. Then the strings as chorus builds the tension between free will and determinism. And Zeke, as conductor, is stuck in the middle, his orchestra divided, revealing secrets like darts.
In other words, Zeke wonders what he could have done differently, if anything; and he wonders to what extent his son is falling into his footsteps, a fate destined by natural law such that he can only listen and observe, a patron rather than participant. His fear is that this is not fate but an unfolding by his own hand, actions forever down the well, only the haunting echoes remaining.
My dear Sunshine, your comments are the sun on my beach, the tree that shades my yard. What more can I say but thank you. :-)
The mountain shoulders was my favorite simile.
Lacey (oui, c'est moi, a tip-toed return ...)
Lacey, so wonderful to have you back. You've been missed. :-)
Not the words for me in reading this, but the emotion. Regardless of how you say it or what words you string together to create it, I can read the emotion clearly.
It is wonderful to live life outside of the Blogosphere (it demands to be lived you know) and then fall back into the Story and not be lost. Your advice (loosely translated) to just go with the flow of the Story was spot on.
Jen, I can't tell you nice it is to read this comment and to know that the emotion (if you were to listen to the last third of the audio you'd hear it in my voice) can be felt from the words alone. Also very nice to know the story is comfortable to wear one chapter at a time. Thanks for sharing.
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