Dark, menacing storm clouds the colour of old, dried blood jostled like demons in the sky. Purple lightning, like veins pumping radioactive blood, flashed in a fever pitch. The air smelled rotten, like the fermented remains of a plagued city, pregnant with rage. Wind colder than ancient hatred blew into every crevice of the distant mountains to the north. A solitary path, yellowed and dry as prehistoric bone, sliced the black plains that surround the mountains. In the world that most people thought of as the only real world, there were many roads, leading to many cross sections and dead ends. But in his world, there was only one road. The Old Man walked alone, the only traveller left on the only road that ever was and that might ever be. As a silver sun sunk behind the distant mountains, he pulled up his hood and pulled his thick woollen coat closer to his body to hold what little warmth his body had left. A broken beam of pale yellow light snuck past the demons in the sky and draped the old man, having lost its warmth along the way.
Creased leather boots scraped and dragged him forward as he made his way to the mountains up ahead. Thick leather pants wrapped around his muscled legs and a loose woollen shirt covered his heavy torso. He was a figure in black, shuffling ever forward. His face lay hidden in the darkness of the hood. He walked hunched over against the blowing wind, his hands held under his armpits for warmth. With each passing flash of lightning, the rage in his eyes blazed forth from within the hood, like twin pits of hell. If there had been any other being in this world capable of or daring to observe his face, they would’ve noticed that with each flash, his face was revealed that of a lost man, a fuming ape and a screaming woman. As his body carried him forward, his mind and soul were lost in contemplation. Long, long, long time ago, he had company on this path. Companions, even friends. But now, their shallow, unmarked graves lay littered on the path behind him.
“Ouch!”
The Old Man, shaken awake from his reverie, looked around, confused and unsure. What was he thinking? Where was he? It felt important that he not forget.
“You kicked me! Ouw! It hurts..”
He looked down and saw a small furry animal at his feet, shaking and sobbing. With calloused hands on his hips, he towered over this mongrel who dared hinder his path, with dread judgement. In the fading golden light from up above, he saw its small body curled on its side, facing away from him. A shock of thick black hair poked out from a torn, faded shirt of orange and two small dirt-caked, shoeless feet from a pair of loose green shorts. The Old Man, furious but with rising curiosity, circled around the feet of this creature and noticed the broken nails of its feet. As he inched around, he saw dry, cracked skin the colour of dirty, diluted mud on its legs and skinned knees poking out of his shorts. Above his untucked and crumpled shirt, a small, bruised face contorted in pain as it shed hot tears that glowed like pearls in the light. His thin, reedy hands, with fingers chewed to stubs, covered his head protectively.
The old man stopped and the world held its breadth. The lightning and wind froze. The yellow light seemed to grow wider, thicker and brighter to cover the sobbing body of the young boy in his path. The Old Man let out a loud, long sigh and bent down to pick up the boy. He put both of his hands under his body, one to cradle his neck and head and the other his tiny body, with the ease and care of a loving grandfather and held him in front and close to his warm body, cradling him. As he began to walk forward, he hummed a sound deep in his chest. The world, begrudgingly, resumed its pace and the wind and lightning continued their mad rhapsody in the sky. After a time, the boy’s sobbing seemed to change and he surfaced from the ocean of pain in his mind and body. He released his hands from around his head and smeared his tears on his already dirty face and opened his brown, wet eyes and looked up into the Old Man’s empty hood. The Old Man pulled back his hood and revealed to the young boy his clean shaven face with a kind and warm smile. He had thick, white hair, comically big ears with tufts of white, curly hair sticking out of them and a prominent nose. A hint of pink health seemed to suffuse his pale, sun burnt skin. His entire face was covered in wrinkles and when he smiled, it looked to the boy as if he was smiling from his whole face. He held the boy’s brown, muddy eyes with his own clear, bright blue eyes and apologised, “Hello there, son. Sorry for kicking you.” The boy, sniffling, exhausted from crying, looked at the Old Man and said “It’s not nice to kick people, you know. It really hurt! ” The Old Man’s face seemed to turn sad at this admonishment, the thick, bushy white and grey eyebrows turning downward. The young boy, noticing this, quickly forgave this stranger and said, “It’s okay.” At this, the Old Man’s face immediately lit up and broke into a broad smile and he said, “Thank you!” The young boy found himself mirroring the old man’s smile, comforted by his honest face. As they both smiled at each other, the yellow light seemed to grow golden around them and ensconced them, protectively holding them in their own private world.
“You can put me down, now.” the boy said, after they had gone some distance. The Old Man looked down at the boy, smiled and asked, “Are you sure? I don’t mind holding you.” The boy squirmed like a slippery eel in his hands and said, “No, I want to walk on my own.” The Old Man let out a short laugh and half dropped, half placed the boy on the path. The boy stood and started to dust his shirt and shorts and unbuttoned his shorts and started to tuck in his shirt. The old man noticed a proud and cruel red handprint on his right forearm that the boy seemed adept at hiding in his movements. With his shirt tucked in, he ran his fingers through his hair and combed it till it came to lay flat to one side of his head. He rubbed at his face and tried to clean his face. When he seemed satisfied that he was only going to be able to tidy himself so much without a mirror, he turned to the old man and said, “My name is Raj.” and asked, “What’s your name?” The Old Man thought, smiled and said “My name is Dev.” The young boy stuck his hand out as if for a handshake and it took the Old Man a second to extend his own hand forward and shake hands with the young boy. The young boy and the old man continued to walk down the path. After a few steps, the young boy turned to the Old Man and while walking, said “I used to have a friend like you at home, you know. He was my grandfather. He would tell me sooo many stories! But now…” The Old Man looked down and inquired, “But now?” The boy slowed down, looked at his feet and whispered, “He passed away recently.”
The Old Man looked at the boy and asked him, “Who else is there at home?” The boy answered, “My father. He’s a big businessman and travels all over the world. He sells leather that people use to make beautiful shoes! And then there’s my mother. She stays at home and helps me with my homework, when she can. She’s always busy in the kitchen or out of the house, running all the errands that nobody else is there to do.” The Old Man nodded along as he walked and asked, “Anybody else?” The boy walked along silently for some time and then said, “Oh yeah! I forgot.” and slammed his palm on his forehead. “There’s also my mother’s brother, my uncle, who came to live with us last year.” The Old Man nodded sagely and continued to walk alongside the boy and continued his humming. After walking alongside each other for some time, the Old Man turned to the boy and asked, “What were you doing before you came here?” The boy looked down to his feet thinking and looked up at the Old Man with bewilderment in his eyes and said, “You know, I don’t know. I was sleeping. Umm. At Least, I think I was sleeping.” As the boy said this, the Old Man found himself feeling curious about this boy who seemed to have come to his world, seemingly in his sleep. He focused his energy within and opened his inner eye to really look at the boy. He immediately noticed the thick, dark miasma that seemed to emanate from the boy’s whole being. Around the boy’s body, he saw currents of black smoke and tar. The Old Man looked at the young boy next to him, scarred and bruised and wondered at his story. He bent close to the boy and ran his hand into the miasma. He brought a cupped hand filled with smoke and tar to his mouth and drank deep. And, as he did, the life of the young boy played out in front of his inner eye.
In a cascade of images that flashed before his eye, he saw the young boy as a baby, loved and adored by his parents and grandfather. He saw the poverty around them and the love that blossomed within. He saw the grandfather with a kind and wizened face, telling the boy stories as he bounced him on his knees. He saw the sudden and tragic death of the grandfather. He saw how this changed the father, who grew distant and absent as he threw himself into his work and travelled far abroad. He saw the mother, forgotten, burying herself in household work, often forgetting the boy herself. He saw the arrival of the mother’s brother, to help take care of the boy in the father’s absence. A thin man, with a smile too wide, big, red lips, always wet and large, lingering eyes. He saw the way the uncle smiled at the boy in the company of his mother and always insisted he sit on his lap, with his hands possessively on his shoulders. He saw the uncle come into the young boy’s room, late at night, when his mother was asleep. He felt the wetness of his lips and the burn of his cold hands in every part of the young boy’s innocent body. He saw the grip of the uncle on the boy’s forearm, as he twisted it behind his small back and held him down, grunting hungrily over him, sweat dripping down on the boy’s back. He saw the light in the boy’s eyes flicker and start to fade as he lay there, night after night. He began to feel the paralysing fear, burning shame and cold anger of the young boy crawl into his whole being. He started to shake with a rage, cold and hard. The entire world seemed to impossibly darken around him. The young boy, scared, whimpered and drew close to the Old Man. With a shake of his head, the Old Man broke out of his visions, eyes burning. He rubbed his eyes with his calloused hands and slowed to a stop. This time, the darkness of the world melted around him and fell in a gentle rain.
The Old Man knelt before the young boy and drew him closer. As the boy looked curious at the Old Man, he unclasped a thin silver chain with a golden locket from around his neck and clasped it around the boy’s neck. He said, “This is my locket, son. Please wear it on you at all times.” The young boy looked down and held up the locket and noticed a small, fury cat engraved on it, with magical emerald eyes. As he admired the cat’s fluffy coat and long whiskers, it winked at him and the young boy let out a startled laugh, delighted by this little trick. The Old Man said, “His name is Franklin. He will always be by your side and look after you.” The boy ran his fingers over the locket and felt the soft, warm fur of the cat and started to scratch him between his small ears. To his amazement, the cat started to purr and he could feel it seep deep into his heart. As the warmth of the locket and the vibration of the cat’s purr spread to every corner of his being, he closed his eyes and felt himself held in the warm embrace of his parents, from a time when his father was present and his mother was always smiling. His bruises began to lighten and disappeared and colour returned to his cheeks. The murky dark circles under his eyes lightened and faded away. The white and red mark on his forearm began to burn with an acrid smell and let out black smoke and evaporated. The natural caramel skin of the boy began to shine through his body. The young boy opened his eyes and looked at the Old Man with clear, bright brown eyes and beamed with love at him and at his gift. He jumped up and flew into the Old Man. The Old Man held him close to his chest. With his chin planted on the old Man’s chest, the young boy looked up and smiled at him. But the Old Man noticed that the shadow under his eyes remained. Sensing that their time together was coming to a close, a phantom of worry passed before the young boy’s eyes. The Old Man looked down at him and shook his head promisingly and said, “Now that you have my locket with you, no one can ever harm you, Son. He’ll look after you. And remember that as you walk in your world, I am always right there, walking alongside you.” The young boy, still uncertain, demanded “You promise?” and the Old Man solemnly declared, “I promise.”
The Old Man stood and they took their last few steps together in this world. After a few steps, they came to a stop together and stood silently, rejoicing in each other’s company. The young boy turned to the Old Man and asked “Will we meet again?” The Old Man, unsure, replied “Maybe.” The young boy turned and extended his hand in front of the Old Man and said, “Goodbye, Dev” The Old Man knelt on the path and pulled him into a loving embrace and whispered, “Goodbye, Raj.”
The boy blinked his eyes open and rubbed the sleep from them. He looked down and saw the silver necklace and the golden locket glowing warmly against his chest. Franklin, with his green, emerald eyes looked back, smiling at him. The boy smiled, gave it a scratch between its ears, making the cat purr, and tucked him protectively under his shirt. As he tried to remember the dream he had just had, his mother ran into his room, finding him awake, said excitedly, “ Oh! You’re awake. Come quickly! Your dad has come home!” The young boy jumped out of his bed and ran out of his room. He ran down the lobby, past his uncle’s empty room and flew downstairs. He jumped over the last few steps and landed with a thud, looking up to see his father standing just inside the house, with a suitcase by his feet, his arms wide open. He yelled, “Papa!” and ran into his embrace.
As the young boy returned to his world, the Old Man stood still, the golden light fading once again. He looked at the world around him and judged that he had slumbered long enough. It was time for him to awaken and lead his flock, once again.
Leave a Reply