Speak Softly

The sound of rain hurts his ears. He winces conspicuously, and hides his head between his twisted knees, and bent arms. I rush to the window, and lock it, and pull the heavy curtains over it, blocking out any sound that might reach his too sensitive ears. I feel much calmer, as he straightens up, his distorted face, trying hard at something resembling a smile. A feeling rushes over much like one feels when a heavy burden is taken from their shoulders. Although I love the sound of rain very much, I must make this one more sacrifice from him. I slowly walk towards him, careful not to make any loud noises, and he cringes as I near him.
He is an ugly child, but I still love him very much. After all, he is mine. His eyes are bulging, and a thick yellow crust outlines them. They are always watering, and remain a pinkish color all the time, and to make it all worse, they are tilted opposite eachother. His nose is wide, and thick, and takes up a good portion of his face. Thin, white flakes are always peeling off of the bridge of his nose. He has a cleft lip, and deep laughing lines around his cheeks, which is ironic, because he cannot smile.
I reach to touch his cheek, the only undamaged part of his body, and he wags at me with arms too thin for any human. My eyes try to avoid his crooked fingers, but one cannot miss them, and suddenly, I’m depressed. Why is it, that the one child which had all the problems God could give, was given to me.
“Darling, it’s because He knew that you were the only one who could love, and care for him as much as you do!” My mother used to tell me this her every living day. Just two months ago, she left to meet her maker. And for me, this fact was difficult to comprehend, after all, she had been with me, and my child all the time. Helping us get through every day of life.
I hear him whimper, and he is squalling in his chair, his thin legs, and bulgy knees wiggling, his arms trying to reach my face. I near him. He winces as he puts his hands on my face, and gently makes an attempt to wipe my tears away. He falls off his chair, and I catch him by his waist, and lift him back into his chair. His eyes are even wider now, from surprise. They are a sharp blue, the color of his father’s eyes.
My husband, was a nice fellow,logical, rich, but very picky about his social status. He was careful to choses his words out in public, and often would send me to affairs scripted on what to say, and how to respond. He would tell me what wines to drink, which people to talk to, who to ignore, and who to treat with acidic satire. I didn’t like it much, but I listened to him, for his sake. Well, the day William, my child, was born, he took one look at him, and told me;
“You know we cannot keep it.”
He spoke about my child as if he were some diseased rat. I told him I would not abandon William, and, quite on the contrary, would raise him with love, with an attempt to make him a fine man.
That very instant, he stormed out of the hospital, with his expensive Giorgio Armani suit flying behind him, and his Berluti shoes clicking sharply against the floor.
I remember that night, because as I cried, the vile scent of sanitation equiptment, and medicine, clogged my senses, and had me vomiting everywhere. That night, everything was going wrong.
Thunder rumbles outside, and he sits up in his chair, as if suddenly interested by some new idea.
“Ssssss...” He makes a sound which I have never heard him make before. “Ssssss!”
I look at him, ignoring the fact that he is trying to get something across to me. It’s hard to believe this is a eight year old child in front of me, crippled, and bent like a paperclip. I want to cry, but something new has formed inside me. A renewed hope. And now I am proud to be a mother of this child. Of my William, because his being with me, and my being with him, shows that we both have the capability to fend off all the problems life hands us.
“SSSSSSS!” He yanks himself off his chair by flailing his arms, and he lands on his knees. Slowly he begins to crawl towards the tightly closed window. I’m worried that the sound is irritating him, so I draw the heavy curtains closer. He yells loudly, and shakes his head, repeating the hissing sound. Puzzled, I pull the curtains apart, and am surprised to see him try to smile. “Sssss.” He repeats. And I understand now. He wants to hear the rain. I grin and push the window open. The patter of raindrops fills our dimly-lit room, and I can see William bobbing up and down, hissing in joy. I reach out the window, and let the rain fall onto my hand, and lean forward to let the rain splash onto my face. William sees me doing this, and crawls up to the window, and sticks his weak hands out. I help him stand, his weight leaning against my leg, as I balance him by holding onto his shoulders, and as the rain splashes on us both, I cry, my tears amalgamating with raindrops. For the first time, I cry in joy. I cry at a brand new day, and a brand new hope, which shone on a dark rainy day.

The Bluff

I recall the day as if it were yesterday. I turn it in my head, and try to get the feel of it, but every time I reach for it from my bank of memories, it’s thorns poke me in such a manner, that tears spring from my eyes. Harsh, stinging tears. And yet, as I coax it out, I find a small picture in that film of memory, of an angel of sorts, dressed in a tuxedo too small, a soft wrinkled face, and two grey eyes that never seemed to tell a tale. Tom. I know the name of the angel. He is the one that starts this story. And the one that ends it.
I never doubted the old man. He only always wanted what was best for me, working me through any obstacle that came my way. He never let an evil eye set on me, and treated me as if I were his real child. On the day my father died, Tom came over to me, a frown set on his face, and his eyes somewhat misty.
“Son,” he’d said. “Now don’t you go thinking you’ve lost y’er father. There’s another old man willing to take y’ in any day you want ‘m to.” He pointed at his broad chest, his voice crackling as tears streamed his eyes. From that day on, Tom and I became as close as any father and son get. My mother had gone half mad since the loss of my dad, she would speak in clipped sentences, staring at the floor as she spoke, her hands shaking wildly. In her sleep, she would scream, and wake up panting, telling me to stay away from Tom.For some odd reason, she didn’t trust Tom enough to let him care for us. I lost my faith in her, and then slowly began to worry I was losing her too.
As soon as I came of age, Tom gave me a small job at his farm. The pay was meager, but enough to get by on. He fed me twice a day, and even sent me home with a measurable box full of food for my mom. I really enjoyed my work. I was out in nature all day, cutting weeds, planting seeds, and feeding animals. The one place I enjoyed most was the stables. I had no job there, but the cool musty air brought me much salvation. I would lay in the large stacks of hay, and stare at the shaft of light that broke in through a small gap in the ceiling, just thinking. And then, before anyone could catch me, I would run from there, back to work.
So many instances occurred, in which I realized how humane Tom was, and how I was so unlike. One of them has embedded itself in my past like the blue in the sky.
Halley, one of the older cows at Tom’s farm had become ill. Her knees had become thin, and she wouldn’t eat one blade of grass. She turned her head at water, and would often fall to the floor in exhaustion. One day, when Halley began to foam slightly at the mouth, one of the other workers decided it was time to get rid of Halley. He walked into Tom’s home, and walked out with a small revolver gun which glinted the sunlight of it’s shiny metal skin. Just as the man had cocked the gun, Tom came flying from his front door, his rubber boots squishing with every step he took, and threw himself over Halley.
“You shoot Boy, and you’ll kill us both.”
The worker was much too take by surprise, and dropped the revolver into ankle-deep mud, his mouth gaping open, and his eyes as wide as an owl’s.
“Tom. She’s dying! Let’s put the girl outta her misery.” One of the older workers piped up from behind me.
A fire glinted in Tom’s eyes, and I thought I could hear him hissing. “We’re all dying! Bit by bit everyday! Why don’t you put all us folks in this world outta their misery while you’re at it.” He waited a moment to let his words sink in. I saw the other men look at their feet in shame, but I was still confused. The cow was in pain. Wouldn’t it be doing the cow justice by killing it soon? I asked Tom.
His face softened as he answered my question. “Boy, how d’ya know the cow’s in pain? Didn’t tell y’ did it? We gotta try n heal’er.”I followed suit of the other workers.
Tom wouldn’t hurt a fly, I had learnt that much. But his character was much beyond that, and now I was sure there was something he was hiding.
It was a cold day, and my fingers felt they were going to snap off in the cold. I sprinted from the fields where I was supposed to be harvesting the cotton, and ran into the stables to find refuge from the biting weather. I heaved open the heavy door, and sighed in relief as the warm air rushed to meet my face. I was careful to shut the door behind me, just to make sure that this secret of mine would remain a secret. As I nimbly made my way to the haystack, I found a figure laying atop the tower of dry grass.
“I had a feelin’ you’d be here.” I jumped as I recognized Tom’s voice, but I was surprised to hear his tone so rough. I saw his shady figure tumble off the stack, and as Tom came near me, the profane smell of liquor made me gag. In the low light, I could barely make out Tom’s face, but by the way he put his heavy hand on my shoulder, I knew he was inordinately drunk. The rough manner in which he shook my shoulder, scared me enough to make me run from there. But I was sure, that no matter what, he would not remember this incident.
Two days after the day I found Tom in the stable, he asked me to stay with him for dinner.
“I’m an old man, and would like to eat dinner with some company before I topple into my grave.”He winked at me.
Although I had grown slightly wary of him since I found him in such a disapproving state, I still trusted him enough to stay late and give him some company.
After we had eaten dinner, Tom told me he had something he had wanted to show me. Slowly, he walked me towards the stable, and my eyes narrowed, and I feared something bad was going to happen. Tom pushed open the stable door, and motioned inside, smiling as if there was a huge pot of gold inside. I realized that Tom did not recall the incident we’d had just recently. I took enough care to look surprised, and walked in tentatively, as if there were large shards of glass on the floor, and I was scared of getting cut. Tom walked ahead to the haystack, and I lagged behind as if in awe.
“It’s a great place!” I said, scolding myself for the puzzled edge that found itself in my voice.
I heard him laughing, and a small pop of a bottle cap. “Come here boy. I’ve got something greater.”
I slogged up to him, and was taken aback to see him handing me a bottle of liquor.
“Take a swig. And then tell me. Tell me you don’t feel good.” He laughed loudly, and took a large gulp of the stale-smelling liquid. He looked me over as I stood there awkwardly, holding the bottle between two fingers as if it were sin itself. “Go on boy.” I heard a growl, almost anger in his voice. Scared, I took a small sip, and coughed loudly. The taste was unsettling, and yet....
Two hours later, I was sprawled on the edge of the haystack, drunk, and talking loudly with Tom. I didn’t know the time, but I knew it was a bit too dark outside. I laughed loudly at a joke Tom had told five minutes ago, and as my laughter died away, I found the stable silent, except for me taking swigs of liquor, and Tom tossing away a bottle, only to open another one.
“You know your father?” Tom began.
“He’s dead I think.” I said stupidly.
Tom ignored me. “He hated me.”I stopped drinking. Even though I was in a state of no comprehension, I was shocked to hear this. “It was because I was a nobody as a boy. And your father was my idol. I always tagged alongside him, finishing his homework when he told me to, cleaning his shoes, making excuses to save his hide at every curve in the road.” Tom took a long drink. “He used me like one uses a sock. Once he outgrew me, he tossed me. Just like that.” Tom spit on the floor. Then there was a moment’s silence. “I’m glad he’s dead. And you should be too, otherwise, think, where would you be now, in another school, like a little school boy? You’d never learn to be a man.”
“My father was a good person.” I said loudly. I heard him throw his bottle to the ground, and it shattered.
Feeling uncomfortable, I staggered as I stood up, and told him I needed to go home. He just grunted.
When I got home, I saw my mother sitting up in bed. “Home!” she shrieked. “You’re home. Ohh! Trust....don’t trust him. He killed your father boy! He’ll hurt you!” She screamed. I ignored her, lay down and closed my eyes. Before I fell asleep, I heard her say something about a foul smell.
The next morning, I woke up feeling foggy. I realized I was late, and began to run towards the farm. As I reached the cotton fields, one of the workers turned and said Tom was calling me. Unable to clearly recall what had happened last night, I was scared that he would be mad at me for being late.
“In the stable.” I heard the man call after me.
When I walked through the doors of the stable, the smell of last night’s liquor hung heavy in the air. “Tom?” I called.
I saw him standing next to the haystack. He turned around, and the man I saw was so unlike the Tom I knew. His eyes were crazed, and his white hair stood up in every angle. His face was stretched into a horrid grimace, and he resembled the devil himself.
“You are your father’s son.”He growled, and pulled his pistol from behind his back. My heart began to beat fast, and as I tried to run towards the door, Tom grabbed my arm, and pushed me to the floor. He growled, and cocked his pistol which was aimed right at my heart. All I heard was a short blast, and felt a sharp pain in my heart. I heard my mother’s words ring in my ears. My vision began to blur, and it faded entirely, just as I thought for the fifth time in a row, I hate that man.