Von excused himself. Looking into the bathroom mirror he noticed one wiry gray beard hair out of place. Carefully taking a small pair of scissors, he clipped the hair. With a tiny comb, he raked his face back into perfect zen garden rows of gray and black. Placing scissors and comb back in their respective places, he gently closed the mirror, checked his face one more time and, satisfied everything was in order, returned.
Kyra reached across the table putting her hand on top of Von’s. “I didn’t know. Von, I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to imagine.”
Von smiled, the kind of smile beget in pain, of a path now revealed, that in the revealing, must now be walked. “There is more.”
“Von, you don’t--”
“No. If I don’t speak now, I may never speak of it again and, quite frankly, my shoulders are old and tired and the thought of sharing my burden is a comfort I hope, perhaps, you will indulge. Be my confessor Kyra. I need redemption in living eyes, not the cold dark of night, the taunting silence of one way conversations. I’ve had my share. I find them lacking.”
Kyra’s grip tightened on Von’s veined hand. It felt cold. “Yes. By all means. Please. Continue.” Her head tilted in the feminine way, the mane of her pitch black hair as curtain, her face as no face and every face.
“What I’m about to tell you I know in part from my own memory and in part from the records released with my freedom. The Javalinas were nothing if not thorough in their documentation.” Von paused. “Please don’t judge me for what I’m about to say.”
“One day," replied Kyra, "I will ask the same. Please. You have me, my heart and my ears. Say what you need to say. We'll leave judgement to Janus.”
“Okay. Once I had refused to divulge more information, information that I remind you I didn’t have, they called my bluff. You with me so far?”
“Got it.”
“Fair enough. Now this is where I need you. They didn’t just erase all memory of Cerulean in one fell swoop. I mean, what would have been the sense of that other than just pure hatred. Not to say the Javalinas were not capable of senseless hatred, but interrogators were a different breed, a higher order, so to speak. So, what they did was erase a few memories, starting with his birth. They took his birth from my memory.” Von’s cheeks trembled, quaked in little quakes, quivered as the dim light caught the creases like moonlight catches a shimmering ocean. “Without an ounce of compassion, the bastards took his birth. You with me?”
“Yes.”
Von straightened his spine and leaned his head back. Light caught the glossy lower rims of his bloodshot eyes. “So, then, they bring me back. Start asking me questions about the day Cerulean was born. I can’t answer. My mind raced. I felt like one feels when something is on the tip of the tongue. I could smell the memory, but, the memory itself was gone. Still, I thought, this is some sort of trick, that I am somehow being deceived, that maybe, just perhaps, my interrogator is my superior. At least these are the games I play in my own mind, some sort of self preservation reflex otherwise known as denial. Well, the questions come again. I deny I know anything. The threat is leveled, again. If I don’t give them the information they want, they will take his childhood. What say you.” Von pulled his hand away from Kyra’s and with balled fist, pounded the table, “What. Say. You.”
Von paused as his eyes stared into Kyra’s. She covered his fist with her hand and in gentle strokes massaged his hand open. “Keep going.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
“No.”
“Damn you. Do it!”
“I told them Damn you to hell. And I added a couple Frail You's for good measure. Do you understand? We weren’t talking a gamble. We weren’t talking about bluffing or a game or anything else. I knew they could do it. Mental gymnastics aside. I knew. I frailing knew. I knew they could take his childhood as surely as they had taken his birth. I knew it.” His voice faded into the blackness of the room, “I knew it as surely as if they were taking my finger, one knuckle at a time.”
“But you said you had nothing else to give them?”
“I had nothing they wanted. But I could have given them something. I could have made something up. I could have lied. I could have thrown myself on their mercy. Prostrated myself. Anything. Do you understand? Anything. But I did nothing.”
Kyra sighed.
“I know from the official records this scene was repeated seven times. They divided his life into seven. That’s what he was to them, his life. And seven times I denied them. And seven times I denied my son.”
Standing, Kyra opened her arms and pulled Von tight. She said nothing. Just holding.
“What do you say when your son says he understands but you know he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that I was given the choice. Doesn’t know I was given the choice seven times. What do you say to that.”
Kyra squeezed tight, her leather squeaking in the stillness of tremulous breath. “I hope you’re not expecting words from me?”
“No, but you know what is funny?”
“What?”
“I’m only here because I was meant to protect you.”
“I’m not so sure it’s that simple.”
Von started to respond but stopped. “Do you hear that?”
Kyra pulled from the embrace, “What?”
“That sound, do you not hear it?” said Von, his voice rising. “How could you not hear it?”
“Hear what?”
“Someone is crying.”
“What? Who?”
“A baby.”
Kyra looked at Von, their faces frozen in the strobe of recognition.
________
“Zeke, transmission incoming.”
Von was coming home. But there were "complications."
“Get Ceru here. Now.”
“Sir, he is out of the region.”
“I don’t care where he is.”
“Yes sir.”
“And by Janus, don’t say a damn word about his father.”
“Yes sir.”
“One more thing.”
“Sir?”
“I want no one else there.”
“Protocol?”
“Protocol is a tool. One we don’t need in this circumstance. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
14 comments:
Written on the plane flight to Phoenix. My only concern is the exchange where Von cannot go on. Might edit that out after sleeping on it.
Finally made my way back, to where I have longed to be for 36 hours plus. (Or should that be 3yrs+.)
Longed, but still wondering which way to sail the unwavering winds of wow. There are certain things that I tend to notice always, marvel at always. And, inevitably, comment upon always. The impact is such the demand becomes undeniable. It shall never cease to amaze, you see, just how masterfully you for example begin your chapters, allowing the reader to return, instantaneously, within the (I just happened to read this the other day and these are the words that come to mind), "inside the magnificent, mystical" world of The Story. Von has been the most salient of the characters these last weeks, his anguish apparent before it began to be spoken of, no, rather as a continuance to the months that preceded today, that have led him to this point. Alone he sat watching the leaves fall in complete anguish over the choice that he had been asked to make, here he sits with Kyra and there is the comfort of which he speaks, unconfirmed, that he has spoken, shared, without judgement, with compassion and understanding, with an open heart. For all the torment that he outpours, for all the years that he has borne this, for the gradual, degree by degree, recognition as one reads of the significance of what he is saying, there is this, there is Kyra. The emotion within is so intense, with eyes that are capable of turning, the choice may very well have been made, were it not for her. At least in theory, the truth being The Story is devastating in the best of ways but from each side of the spectrum, in words it may be written, but in the heart and soul it lives. Real by the standards with which we measure any attachment. And greater than most. Zen gardens, beget, redemption in living eyes, no face and every face, quivered as the dim light caught the creases like moonlight catches a shimmering ocean, Light caught the glossy lower rims of his bloodshot eyes, Now this is where I need you. are the in-breaths. With what we have learned and what Von relates here, what he knew then but questions now, so seems it to me, is that the only influence that Von had on his fate was time. Minutes, hours, days. The end result, the dissatisfaction of the Javalinas, the insistence that there was more, the challenge and the threat, the intention to harm, and not just harm but destroy, to take what was most precious, would have been unchanged. Regardless of what he said or did, so what we know would seem to suggest, they would have carved Ceru from his memory anyway, in pieces, thus Von would be forced to watch so to speak, would know and understand what was happening. But how does one equate what was with what might have been, how could there ever be peace of mind when there is possibility, regardless of how minute, that had he acted differently, he would have kept his son. Knowing that he did not try, knowing that he lost him in pieces, aware, the despair he feels is unimaginable and yet the writing plunges us as far as we are capable and more importantly allows us to understand the depths that remain. To have your memories taken, to have them taken in portions, knowing what is gone, knowing what is left will be gone too, knowing that essentially, in as much as it matters to him, allowed it to happen. What do you say when your son says he understands but you know he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that I was given the choice. Doesn’t know I was given the choice seven times. This sentence is archetypal of the power of your writing, suggestion that travels in ever-closer rings by evolving. By flowing and remaining between. And this is why, the story, whether the words stop or not, will never end. The touch is too deep not to leave a permanent imprint. How could one ever forget, not least knowing one could never completely understand, Von as here he sits. Deeply, eminently, moving. Kyra's hand upon his as he speaks, her face tilted, listening with her heart, his face expressing every word in quakes and quivers, like other 'snapshot' images (particularly remarkable, touching, unforgettable) within the scenes of this story, its colours could never fade. Those winds of wow have all but blown me away. :-) But I will come back, here, again, and I'll bring dinner.
I suppose what amazes me the most is this. Your comments make the me see things in the chapter that I didn't see before. It is as if you see with different eyes and I love what you see and what I see after reading your comment is better than what I read in the chapter before, if that makes any sense. My mind is mush after two full days of meetings. Your comment has been the highlight of my trip. Thank you. :-)
The image makes me think of x-rays, and if it were ever to become possible to look inside our souls.
Cléa, about the same thing I saw. :-)
We can meditate upon free will and how we can perform any act, say any words, make any decisions and yet the freedom that we have is restricted by so very many different elements that in actual fact there is very little flexibility. If we are made up of everyone we have ever been, every hope we cherish and every conviction that we have, these are the boulders that hold us in place making sure that we do not stray too far beyond where we currently reside. Who we were yesterday is not who we are today, in short there are unknown and unrecoverable facts to whom Von was at that time and why when challenged he reacted as he did. It is perhaps hardest, as most of us would agree, to reconcile ones own actions and thoughts at times with the idea that one has of how things should be, how one should be, and the compassion that we know Von would have shown himself were he not himself in a confusing manner of speaking we can be convinced by what we know of him to have been truthful and embracing. In guilt there is little escape and logic, though it realistically is entitled to be heard, is most often ignored. Guilt deals with feelings, cloudy, debilitating feelings and when guilt is rife, little or nothing, logic, the support and understanding of others, or any such thing is going to make a significant difference. With someone like Von, his mind is a curse as well as a blessing, his ability to analyse, to look at things from different angles and as such in this case it is too easy for him to disregard the arguments that he makes, too easy to fob those redeeming thoughts off as simple denial. Just thinking aloud here, with no beginning and no clear goal and so publishing in parts.
What is so wonderful about this chapter, as the comment above poorly shows, is that it feels as though Von is just behind the mist, that if we keep watching, everything within this chapter will eventually be revealed. Or rather consciously picked up and examined where I would say at reading the mist permeates and there's an understanding of the level of his anguish, an interpretation of what he must be thinking based on what he says and what he must be feeling based on the same and there is so much information, given, suggested and beneath the surface, in what isn't shared directly, there is a very clear impression of the infinity of the heart.
To think now back upon the chapter where Von sat in the garden among the falling leaves, knowing now that as much as we thought we knew, as much as we agonized over the heaviness that surrounded him, there was more. How must it not have felt, how could he not have entertained the thought that he was being asked again to deny his son, deny existence, his son's love, his son's child, one would take the memories, and future, one would cease to exist, in effect he would be repeating the past. What comes to mind here is a new wave of amazement at what the spirit is capable of enduring. Von has lost his child many times.
Another indication of the impressiveness of this scene comes from the fact that though they hear a baby crying, it isn't until each time that I get to that part while reading that I am reminded of the fact that mention has not been made yet. This is one of those points, rare, where one simply, one being I, dare not begin to have ideas or develop possible theories as to what might happen next, what that cry could mean, but then again, given the reader knows nothing for sure there is really only one likely direction that those ideas could point. At the darkest points of the story, there has always been an offering, a balance, as here where Von shares with Kyra, his words tragic but held as they fall by Kyra and so to hope that there is more to be welcomed, more gladdening, well, it is so hoped for, so much what of that which is remotely possible could be wished for Von. Too far down the track on this one, pushed only by the fact that Kyra hears it too, otherwise one might have considered the sound to be something else entirely.
Imagine if Von could remove memory from his mind in the form of holographic cubes. And he could hold these cubes in his hand and manipulate them, like a puzzle, a rubic's cube so to speak, trying to recreate what was once there. And what if he were able to use the Book of Letters as part of the puzzle, as if Ceru left him the solution--if only he can find it. And imagine if Von spends hours working on these "memory cubes." Imagine what that might look like. The cube is the only light in the room and we see Von's face from the cube's light, working, working, working to see what can't be seen. Imagine that. :-D
I am, heartily. But if you write about it, I can read about it instead. ;)LOL I very much like the idea that there is the possibility that he can find these missing pieces in his mind, that they haven't been taken - early hour may have caused me to and in part deliberately misinterpret, mould what you said into what thoughts occurred as you said it - that it isn't possible to take completely but rather to bury, to close, to hide, just as occurs with memory loss as we know it, and that as you write the pieces are capable of being found, manipulated if you will back into shape, from the shadow back into the light. Fan*tastic idea, love the way your mind works, not talking of the above of course, but of the very idea as it is stated in your comment. A resounding ooooh for good measure.
Welcome home. :-)
Here is another thought. Along with all the good memories erased by the Javalinas, the bad memories, as they related to Ceru, were also erased. So, the question is posed, if he can get them back, is Von prepared to remember the pain as well as the joy? I have some thoughts on how this might unfold--the choice. :-)
I promise to come back and read soon. Just wanted to send you a {{{HUG}}} and tell you that you are special.
Be blessed Tree.
Jen, the light is always on for you. :-)
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