They'll Never Take the Good Years [Charade]
Jan 24, 2019 1:30:50 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 24, 2019 1:30:50 GMT -5
Vasco Izar
Yani plucked a stitch of purple heather flowers from the edge of one of the Rhodes’ wooden fences. She twirled a piece between her fingers, and closed her eyes as she breathed in its sweet scent. I knelt down beside her and placed my hands atop her soft little ones, carefully measuring out strips, whispering (ten cuidado) and clucking my tongue. She is wide eyes and gentle brown curls, mystified by the plants that continue to thrive through winter (¿por qué no están muertos?). We walked, hand in hand, along the gravel road, sizing up snowdrops and jasmine. Before long, Yani’s hands held a bouquet of yellows, whites, and purples wrapped together with a strand of twine. A second, smaller bouquet rests in the back pocket of my jeans, tucked underneath a heavy wool jacket.
She did not know the depth of change around her – that she lost a sister before she was born, that her father intended to be mayor, that the world was fragile as the snow at dawn – only that in front of her stood a metal gate leading to a place where her father came to talk to someone that she cannot see. She’s old enough now to read the headstones and trail her little fingers along the stone to feel the etchings. Today we told Gero that he would have hated the winter (too cold for your old bones). We whispered to Salome that Emma is knitting a scarf for her. We were silent for Iago, staring at the leaves that rustled across the yellowed grass. (Te Amo), we said to Raquel, kneeling close, my forehead cold against the stone, eyes closed.
I wondered what world I could have known in a place that did not see death in terms of tragedy or glory, reduced to base and simple things. There are a thousand threads that bind us; death is cutting a single strand. Perhaps I have been lucky to know in my heart that there is more to life – that we live through one another, rather than for ourselves. She will be the same way, I prayed. To what, I wouldn’t know, but something bigger than myself.
(¡Basta!).
We ambled across the gravel path, and crunched the rocks underneath our boots. At the edge of a patch of trees, we sloshed through hills of brown and red leaves, and then covered ourselves in huge piles to hide from the day. She told me that she felt like hiding because of all the people we’d had to say hello to that morning. (I want you all to myself), she said, leaves tangled up in her curls. I kissed her forehead and smiled.
The afternoon sun glared yellow when we arrived along the edges of the Victors Village. Yani’s head lay across my shoulder, and I kept having to shift her along the front of my body as we walked. I never had much a reason to come this way, but the empty houses meant peace and quiet. No one to bother us, no hands to shake or questions to answer. Just an empty path with streetlights that would burn bright after sundown. I paused at a corner to stare at the sight of a woman in a garden, busying herself with what looked like overgrown weeds.
I untucked the flowers from my back pocket and debated whether or not to bother her. I’d intended to hand them to Emma as a nice little surprise (well, Yani was going to toddle in and give them to her) but somehow, that didn’t feel right anymore. None of us had said much about her being gone – I tried not to bring it up to Courtney, at any rate. I know what loss feels like when you have to relive it over and over again. Especially if you never thought you’d see the day to have someone come home again.
I cleared my throat and pressed Yani closer. I held out the set of flowers with a grin.
“Ms. Persimmon? Vasco Izar.” She is younger looking than I remember supposing to be, or perhaps I don’t quite remember what being that young looks like anymore. “I wanted to extend a welcome from the Izars, on behalf of all of us. I trust you don’t much want visitors, but I hoped to let you know that if there’s anything I can do – that my family can do – to help you settle back, well… you can just say the word.”
