|
|
The sunset cast a small shadow on a crude gravestone.
He was no more than four. It was a terrible age to be orphaned. Their words gave no comfort. They knew he was young, but by himself, he was already too old to pretend that he drew relief from their condolences.
"He does not even understand the war," they whispered, shaking their heads. But they were wrong. He knew it well. He knew the guns, the cries, the blood, the smoke . . . and most of all he understood what it had done to the people he held dear.
As he looked up at those who helped him bury her, the sea of unfamiliar faces melded into one in his tear-filled eyes. They were the ones who did not understand. He waited slowly, painfully, for all of them to leave. The sun was sinking beyond the trees before he was all alone.
Alone.
He stared at his shadow on her gravestone for a moment before the misery forced itself out of him. He fell to his knees, his brown hair in his face, and hugged the cold slab, pressed his hot flushed cheeks against it, knowing it would never hug him back and smile and sing a lullaby he would sleep to that night.
"KAACHAN . . . !"
-*-*-*-
A cool, calm evening. All was peaceful, save for the pattering of tiny feet on the wood-paneled floor. A small fist knocked with all its might on the door. "Papa," she called in her soft voice."Papa!"
"What's wrong?" came her father's strong yet gentle voice as the door opened. Suddenly she was sitting on her mother's lap, leaning against her shoulder as they fussed over her.
She removed her thumb from her mouth, having kept it there in a moment of reflection. "Tumbuddy wuss tryin'."
"Crying?" her father prompted. "Where?"
"Hear tumbuddy - klyin," she repeated. "Out there."
Her mother pushed back the bangs that covered her forehead. "Are you sure,dear? Mama and Papa didn't hear anything."
She squirmed a little under their disbelief. "Yes, 'Lena heard em. In my room."
Her father took her back to her room and they sat a while. She looked out the window. "He 'topped klyin." Her voice was a mix of pity and disappointement.
"Goodnight, Relena," her father whispered moments later as he tucked her back into bed. He paused in the doorway. "Maybe - the one you heard- isn't sad anymore."
-*-*-*-
He gave one last look at her grave. Then an larger hand pressed on his shoulder, and when he turned around, his face, his eyes - they had changed.
"You ready?" the older man asked.
"Hai," he replied in a sure, strong voice, unexpected of one so young. They walked into the night.
That was the last time he cried.
"Papa!Mama!" she cried, quite out of breath. "I won in the spelling bee! I-" She stopped, her shoes almost skidding on the marble floor. She gulped in air. "I-"
The hall was empty and quiet. The tall statues in the corners seem to look at her with sympathy. She turned her back on them and circled the house, pretending she was playing hide and seek. "Papa, Mama," she called softly at every turn, every floor, but all she turned up with was one of their servants.
The girl wrung her hands in her apron. "They've gone, Miss," she said, looking down at the floor. "Sir Darlian said he was gonna attend a Federation meeting. Madame went with him. They won't be back till t'morrow morning."
"I . . .see,"she replied calmly. She spun on her heel. "Thank you."
Her head was throbbing as she silently entered her room and stared at the ceiling. "I won first place," she declared aloud, forcing a smile. "First place . . ." she echoed in a softer tone, blinking, gasping, trying to stop the tears that accompanied the loneliness.
-*-*-*-
He jerked up suddenly. "Why?!" He looked around the room, grave blue eyes seeing, searching, for-what? He ran a hand over his face, and looked the room over again, as though he had not been using it these past seven years. He flopped back onto the small bed.
"A dream." He closed his eyes as if he didn't believe his own words. Suddenly he bit his lip. This was no time to let his imagination run wild. They had so little time left until . . . .
"A dream," he repeated.
