Kyra sat on the bridge, alone, the flow of the universe washing over her. As if waves on the beaches of Valla. As if she were canvas and Papa's brush the nebula. She listened the way one listens to wheat in the field, or crickets at night, or even to the ticking of a clock in a still house."What are we looking for Papa?" asked Kyra.
"We're not," said Papa, his canvas blank, brush in hand. "Life is not about looking. If I could I would pluck the vile jelly, such deceit does it weave."
"What are we doing then?"
Papa drew breath and stood a little straighter. His white tunic, pristine among the brandonian oils, white as his canvas against the blue ocean beyond. "To look is to deny our reality, to step from the flow that we are part and parcel, to facade, pretend and traffic in stories. We don't want that do we?"
Kyra turned her nose up. "Sounds to me like you are talking too much. And showing too little." She crossed her arms, mimicking his stance.
"Is that so?"
"I think it is."
"What pray shall you have me do?"
"Paint."
"But my canvas is blank and I don't know what to do."
"Put paint on the brush silly. And put the brush on the canvas."
"But what shall I paint?"
Kyra smiled, took the brush from his hand and began to stroke blues and reds and yellows across the canvas. When she finished, she stepped back, hands on her hips. "There. That is how you do it."
"Yes. I think it is," said Papa. "Do you know what you have done?"
"Knowing is overrated."
Papa laughed.
"As you always told me, any fool can hold a thought."
"True."
"But what you see here, my dear Papa, no pun intended, is . . .
"Kyra? Kyra? Can I have a word with you?" asked Von.
"Certainly. What's up?"
"Tracking device is in place and working."
"Good. Keep me updated. I want to know the moment anything goes other than it should."
"Of course."
"Oh, and Von, does she know we're watching?
"No."
10 comments:
For those not following The Story, this post starts with Kyra alone, on the bridge of Bravo and as the universe slips over the main window, Kyra slips back in memory to Hyneria, to the beaches of Valla where her grandfather (Papa--retired Zing Tao) has a villa. The end of the post has us back in present time, on Bravo, with Von interrupting. The "she" in question is Mairi, who has left Bravo to pursue Dr X, her love interest. Kyra has kept Bravo in orbit, unbeknownst to Mairi, just in case she changes her mind or something goes terribly wrong.
For the sake of transparency, this chapter is built around this quote from George Bernard Shaw:
Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself.
I loved being in the presense of Kyra and Papa again. Will visit some more with this post asap. And the posts beneath.
Love to you.
My dearest Autumn, for you, an extra snippet:
Arc'teryx came into view, a marble on black felt, swirls of blue and green, wisps of white, hanging as if by some divine hand. Slowly the transport became smaller, the planet larger and what was round began to look flat. Nothing looked as it had. Nothing felt as it had felt before. And everything taught in The Garden of Eternal Falling was ignored, if not forgotten. Her compass spinning. As useful as water in the depths of this ocean.
As with all aliens, she was assigned a mechanical, not all that unlike Goldie and Pinkie.
Trée, I'm new to your blog, so I'm not so familiar with the background of this story, with the exception of the blurb you included in your comment. However, let me just say this - I love the dialogue, love the way you made me feel very familiar with Kyra already. You've got my attention, so I'll be looking back on your blog for more info on who Kyra is and what she's all about. In the meantime, thank you for sharing this. It was a delight to read!
Nevine, awhile back I did a Who's Who for The Story. You can find it here:
Synopsis
If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask. And thanks for the kind words, always appreciated.
I am loving to be with Kyra, Papa, Von again.
This wickedly apt phrase -"...to pluck the vile jelly, such deceit does it weave." Is this yours?! The yin-yang universe in a short and perfect string of light and dark pearls.
I love to read the perennial philosophy in plain English, after decades of metaphysical language that in time fades into parroted mechanical lingo. (Re. Papa's "talking too much".)
Most affecting, to me, is the closeness shared by these two human beings.
Constance, the phrase "vile jelly" is Shakespeare--King Lear--as uttered by Cornwall. The rest of that phrase is mine but the nod is to William, for without vile jelly, the rest of it is rather mundane.
Cornwall:
Lest it see more, prevent it.—Out, vile jelly!
Where is thy lustre now?
[Tears out Gloster's other eye and throws it on the ground.]
Perhaps Papa was a fan. :-D
oh yuk!
I was going to say Is it Shakespeare? - that unmistakeable ring; you segué'd in kind, Trée! (Everybody must have recognized this .. time I got back to the bard...)
Perhaps, for sure. :=D
I like the creativity at work here in this piece and the one above - now I need to read the back story to get caught up!
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