Friday, March 31, 2006
Coming Home
A blaze of gunfire rattled behind him, allaying, then erasing, the fear that gripped his soul. Breath, ragged and torn, would not slow: Exhaustion took him as he fell to the ground on hands and knees trembling: Ground rushed up, tiny creatures visible in the tangle of green affirmed his own life.
Soothing noises just over there: Voices, criers, boots on pavement—a thousand feet chattering a conversation of trade, prosperity, perhaps desperation—the far from home looking for answers, guidance, a quick deal to make them rich.
Head hanging down, he looked behind him, past tattered orange, past the satchel laying on the ground, at the upside down world that a little while ago was pure panic: A beast lay on its side, holes burned in its back and side, wisps of smoke long gone in the air above, escorting life away, but lingering still among the charred flesh as if unwilling to leave. He turned toward it sitting up and considered: Another hundred meters or so and he would have died instead.
Nerves still jangling made him shiver and laugh a little with that giddiness that comes with any near miss.
And now the release and realization of safeness made him flop back on the ground and howl the roaring laughter of relief.
----------
Door slides open upstairs, a few footsteps, door slides closed.
More footsteps from the ceiling, muted by the winding path between here and there: Carpeted stairs and rooms—books and magazines on every flat surface—one after another, children's toys kicked aside to be picked up later. Sounds travels down while thought travel up.
In my mind, I can see her silently standing, at the kitchen counter, a single light overhead to help her examine the business of the day, lingering on an article, shuffling scraps of paper, now looking for a snack in the refrigerator behind her. Through the front wall of glass—the door was only a small part of it—the pale glow of another light across the street throws long shadows of trees and a single wall into the gloom outside. Stars glisten coldly on the pond—breeze rustled the water—father away out front, beckoning under the branches of oaks, maples, and pines.
Deep night arrives, the day almost done.
----------
Laughter having run its course, heart and nerves wound down, standing now, he walked toward the yellow walls, the teeth on the top biting the sky—were they there before? Incessant chatter from the market blankets his mind with possibilities: Buy a gun, a sword, minerals—to do what with?—gadgets, cheap pistols, hunting rifles costing a year’s pay, dung, everything imaginable. Through the gate into town and before him the bustling market of of the city. High and to the left, over a building, a globe, a model of a planet: This one?
A man tugged at his sleeve offering cheap axes, paradoxically beside some sort of pistol that used unfamiliar energy packs instead of ammunition he knew as a child. He held his satchel a little tighter after turning to face the man, looked at the ax.
“No, thanks.”
“It good price. You need. Two for price of only one. Look here.” The man held the ax to he could see it more closely: Very worn. Still sharp, but how long would it last?
“No, thanks, I—“
And the man was already turned away, loudly yelling to the insensitive crowd about his axes and pistols. Others echoed back the same refrain about their own.
In the noise, he heard now a different message: Standing on some boxes in a corner, a long, lean silver-haired woman in blue was buying, as well as selling. He started toward her, elbowing through the crowd, holding the satchel tight.
“Hi.” Unusual eyes regarded him, unmoving in the cacophony, flat without emotion: Simple business.
“Hi. I have a few things for you.” He smiled. She didn’t.
“Show me.”
He pulled out some odds and ends, holding them before her.
“One large bottle of this. Some hides. Some skins.” He arranged them so she could see them. "What’s the rate on the bottle?”
“1.1 per.”
“I need 1.3.”
“Sorry, 1.1. People bring me this stuff all the time. If you can get 1.3 somewhere else, do it. 1.1.” She was bored.
“This took me a week. Please. 1.3.” He smiled again. She didn’t.
“1.1 or nothing on the bottle. Now, I will give you good price on the hides, though. Say,...8.50 for the lot. The skins, I don’t need.”
He thought. And thought a little more.
----------
Footsteps down the stairs now, headed his way, soon to be coming around the corner in the dim light.
----------
“Very well.” He tried the smile again. The faintest hint of a grin flickered across her face. He saw it and caught his breath. He looked again and it was gone, replaced by a flat business presentation with one small difference: A certain knowledge, deep in the eyes.
She made change quickly, the way someone who does it for a living does, and gave him the money. He left the bottle and the hides with her, walked down a long wall—one person after another singing out the names of items and prices. He worried about selling the skins. No one cried the need for them right now.
Stairs going up the wall drew his attention. He climbed up, stood on the catwalk surveying the wilds outside of town on one side, the market on the other. The noise was a little less insistent, the view was a study in humanity on another world, both sides exhibiting elements of civilization and barbarism.
----------
Footsteps closer, I looked up and saw a familiar smile. I returned it as I always do, indeed am compelled to do.
“How was class?”
“Very good. We talked about...” And I was quickly lost in the minutia of an unfamiliar topic, but the light in the eyes, the beauty on the face—lined now with laughter decades old. And worry. Beautiful nonetheless, in fact, even more so to me since I had witnessed the genesis of most of those lines—they drew me in as so many times before.
She paused.
I offered: “It’s a quiet night here. The kids are in bed, I’m just relaxing down here.”
She moved behind the chair. Warm breath on my neck, strands of hair fall across my face. I feel lips I’ve known for twenty years ever so gently on my ear. Then teeth. Again, ever so gently.
“Mmmmmm...”
I reach forward and press the escape key.
----------
The light in the sky looked the same now for the past hour. People came and went, popping in and out of thin air at the transport terminal near the market.
Still no one sang for skins. He waited, watching the people.
That woman in blue, though. Those eyes. What was her na...
Soothing noises just over there: Voices, criers, boots on pavement—a thousand feet chattering a conversation of trade, prosperity, perhaps desperation—the far from home looking for answers, guidance, a quick deal to make them rich.
Head hanging down, he looked behind him, past tattered orange, past the satchel laying on the ground, at the upside down world that a little while ago was pure panic: A beast lay on its side, holes burned in its back and side, wisps of smoke long gone in the air above, escorting life away, but lingering still among the charred flesh as if unwilling to leave. He turned toward it sitting up and considered: Another hundred meters or so and he would have died instead.
Nerves still jangling made him shiver and laugh a little with that giddiness that comes with any near miss.
And now the release and realization of safeness made him flop back on the ground and howl the roaring laughter of relief.
----------
Door slides open upstairs, a few footsteps, door slides closed.
More footsteps from the ceiling, muted by the winding path between here and there: Carpeted stairs and rooms—books and magazines on every flat surface—one after another, children's toys kicked aside to be picked up later. Sounds travels down while thought travel up.
In my mind, I can see her silently standing, at the kitchen counter, a single light overhead to help her examine the business of the day, lingering on an article, shuffling scraps of paper, now looking for a snack in the refrigerator behind her. Through the front wall of glass—the door was only a small part of it—the pale glow of another light across the street throws long shadows of trees and a single wall into the gloom outside. Stars glisten coldly on the pond—breeze rustled the water—father away out front, beckoning under the branches of oaks, maples, and pines.
Deep night arrives, the day almost done.
----------
Laughter having run its course, heart and nerves wound down, standing now, he walked toward the yellow walls, the teeth on the top biting the sky—were they there before? Incessant chatter from the market blankets his mind with possibilities: Buy a gun, a sword, minerals—to do what with?—gadgets, cheap pistols, hunting rifles costing a year’s pay, dung, everything imaginable. Through the gate into town and before him the bustling market of of the city. High and to the left, over a building, a globe, a model of a planet: This one?
A man tugged at his sleeve offering cheap axes, paradoxically beside some sort of pistol that used unfamiliar energy packs instead of ammunition he knew as a child. He held his satchel a little tighter after turning to face the man, looked at the ax.
“No, thanks.”
“It good price. You need. Two for price of only one. Look here.” The man held the ax to he could see it more closely: Very worn. Still sharp, but how long would it last?
“No, thanks, I—“
And the man was already turned away, loudly yelling to the insensitive crowd about his axes and pistols. Others echoed back the same refrain about their own.
In the noise, he heard now a different message: Standing on some boxes in a corner, a long, lean silver-haired woman in blue was buying, as well as selling. He started toward her, elbowing through the crowd, holding the satchel tight.
“Hi.” Unusual eyes regarded him, unmoving in the cacophony, flat without emotion: Simple business.
“Hi. I have a few things for you.” He smiled. She didn’t.
“Show me.”
He pulled out some odds and ends, holding them before her.
“One large bottle of this. Some hides. Some skins.” He arranged them so she could see them. "What’s the rate on the bottle?”
“1.1 per.”
“I need 1.3.”
“Sorry, 1.1. People bring me this stuff all the time. If you can get 1.3 somewhere else, do it. 1.1.” She was bored.
“This took me a week. Please. 1.3.” He smiled again. She didn’t.
“1.1 or nothing on the bottle. Now, I will give you good price on the hides, though. Say,...8.50 for the lot. The skins, I don’t need.”
He thought. And thought a little more.
----------
Footsteps down the stairs now, headed his way, soon to be coming around the corner in the dim light.
----------
“Very well.” He tried the smile again. The faintest hint of a grin flickered across her face. He saw it and caught his breath. He looked again and it was gone, replaced by a flat business presentation with one small difference: A certain knowledge, deep in the eyes.
She made change quickly, the way someone who does it for a living does, and gave him the money. He left the bottle and the hides with her, walked down a long wall—one person after another singing out the names of items and prices. He worried about selling the skins. No one cried the need for them right now.
Stairs going up the wall drew his attention. He climbed up, stood on the catwalk surveying the wilds outside of town on one side, the market on the other. The noise was a little less insistent, the view was a study in humanity on another world, both sides exhibiting elements of civilization and barbarism.
----------
Footsteps closer, I looked up and saw a familiar smile. I returned it as I always do, indeed am compelled to do.
“How was class?”
“Very good. We talked about...” And I was quickly lost in the minutia of an unfamiliar topic, but the light in the eyes, the beauty on the face—lined now with laughter decades old. And worry. Beautiful nonetheless, in fact, even more so to me since I had witnessed the genesis of most of those lines—they drew me in as so many times before.
She paused.
I offered: “It’s a quiet night here. The kids are in bed, I’m just relaxing down here.”
She moved behind the chair. Warm breath on my neck, strands of hair fall across my face. I feel lips I’ve known for twenty years ever so gently on my ear. Then teeth. Again, ever so gently.
“Mmmmmm...”
I reach forward and press the escape key.
----------
The light in the sky looked the same now for the past hour. People came and went, popping in and out of thin air at the transport terminal near the market.
Still no one sang for skins. He waited, watching the people.
That woman in blue, though. Those eyes. What was her na...
# posted by goldpython @ 9:08 AM 
