ONE-HUNDRED-SIX: Epilogue

ONE-HUNDRED-SIX: Epilogue

I don’t think it fair to conclude the prodigal’s story, without a hint of further redemption.

The days that followed Arous’ homecoming, though not all together easy or without pain for all of us involved, were richer in a way that they hadn’t been before. Before I could make it to the Diofe’s Willing room in the morning, Arous had beat me to it. Every morning, she drank hot tea and smiled at him. I don’t think I ever walked in on them talking, but just sitting there enjoying one another’s company.  Without looking away from Arous, I’d hear the Diofe whisper a warm “Miguel” in my direction as if all his energy was focused on me.

After spending a short time basking in his presence, we’d go out on the porch: Arous, Octavius and I. Octavius would take up the whole swing, with Arous and I on the steps. As soon as Arcadia would hear Arous’ voice, she’d run to the porch to grab a slice of apple from Arous. Then Octavius and Arcadia would engage in a game of chase.

It went like this for the remainder of the spring and throughout the summer; our mornings meandered slow and easy awakening.

Every other day, Arous would sigh, “It’s so efficient here.”  I kept waiting for more but it never came, though there seemed to be a deep something we were both waiting on.

I thought we were waiting to start the drawing of the twelve, but as it turns out, that wasn’t quite it.

Spring had chased summer and now summer insisted leaving on a crisp morning at the beginning of fall. Arous spent the summer dancing about time and things and waited for a new autumn.

Octavius sat in the swing, his hundred-pound plus frame swayed in the swing with the breeze. Arcadia raced up from the north pasture. Octavius’ tale switched. Arcadia had trotted up the lane a bit, her ears forward and her back leg relaxing and tensing, relaxing and tensing. She spun around in a circle and trotted up the lane a bit further. Without warning Octavius leapt from the swing, over our heads and ran up and positioned himself in front of Arcadia.

“He’s always protecting her,” said Arous. “Wonder what has got them all worked up?”

I stood up to get a better look on things. The light woke the world now. Even being Aclarid, I had sensed nothing out of the ordinary.  Then I saw it.

“Arous, there is someone walking down the lane toward the house.”

Arous stood.

“I don’t see him.”

“He’s not in view yet. He’s a ten minute walk still. There is a lame horse behind him. A white one. Dazzling white but lame,” I paused and noticed the horse wasn’t the only one who was lame. “The man walks with a limp, too.”

“A limp? That doesn’t sound familiar. What does he look like, Miguel?”

I couldn’t describe him, though he seemed familiar.  All of his inner life was scrambled with his outer appearance for me. His head was down. All I could see was the one on his mind.  I looked over at her; she was staring at me as if there was something she hadn’t told me.

“Miguel?”

“Arous, he’s coming for you.”

ONE-HUNDRED-FIVE: Home

As Arous began to walk the last bit home, her stomach began to knot. Tears began to flood Arous’ face as feelings of shame and remorse began to engulf her soul. Remorse soon turned to bitter anger: she had been self-center and spoiled. Arous’ mind rehearsed in her head just how it would happen.  Would he reject her? Laugh at her? Or pretend not to recognize her? Guilt and shame began to overtake her, almost stopping her in her tracks, paralyzing her from taking another step.

She fought over and over with herself.  Fake fights. Real fights. Useless self-flagellation.

She took control of her breath.  She stopped along the road to listen.  The Bob White’s were singing, “bob-white, bob-bob-white”.  Blue Jays and Robins gabbed and joked all around her. Soon, an entire school of blue, silver and green poisajos surrounded her, welcoming her, encouraging her on. They sung a harmonious song she had missed for a year; her heart fluttered.

“This is how you must’ve made my mother feel,” she said.  They paused and blinked a collected yes to her.

Just below her she could see people in the fields: Sasquatch, men, women, a Desperado on a horse. As if her ears were opened, she heard singing.  Those in the fields were singing as if this was the first song of spring. It was a song of celebration; Arous had forgotten that it was Spring Jubilee. Those old songs of faith comforted Arous. As she walked, she saw more and more beings. Children were running around, chasing poisajos, making new friends. A Sasquatch helped here, a Momo.  Sentient beings came from all outside of Alippiana; there were Muskogee, Eskimo, Nephilim, Desperado, Swahili, Zulu, Korean, Prussian, Irish, all the colors of the rainbow and every name they are called by. Every language a song of dance understood in love.

Arous rounded the bend in the road to see the two Weeping Willows which opened the two rows of strong and majestic oaks; the sum of which two glorious magnolias introduced the house.

At last, Arous was home.

As Arous’ first step christened the gravel drive, she could here shouting in the fields and commotion the half mile ahead at the house. Someone had finally recognized her, and it wasn’t me, Miguel.

I know, I see everything, me, Miguel: I missed it all. I was out at the pond, sitting with that stupid cat while he watched the catfish, Watusi. But at that moment, I felt. Octavius and I watched it unfold in the reflection of the muddy pond water.

Her stomach tied itself up.  She could feel bitter gall rising. Shame glued her to that spot, her paralyzed legs wouldn’t take her one more inch.  But Arous had taken all the steps she needed for reunion with her Diofe.

At the end of the drive Arous noticed a figure running toward her.  Unashamed and unhindered by his robe and slippers, the half-naked man ran toward her. She could hear the faint sound of sobs between his excited gasps for breath. In an overwhelming instant, the large, warm grasp she’d remembered since a baby engulfed her.  He said nothing but sobbed and laughed on her neck.  Arous’ tears met him with muffled sobs, cries softened by his strong yet tender embrace. For so long, she had missed calling the name she loved most.

“Daddy, oh Daddy.  I’m home.”

ONE HUNDRED-FOUR: Man without a face

ONE HUNDRED-FOUR: Man without a face

She woke up to something nudging her, shaking her gently.

At first, the misshapen figure frightened her and she tried to push away.

She felt silky hair in her hands.  She tried to focus her eyes on the face in front of her.  Warm sweet breath poured over her.  A soft chirping vibration filled her ears.

A Momo’s arms were lifting her. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried.

She was sat back down in a shade and felt the breeze of a fan.

Gentle fingers pried open her mouth. She felt something cool and wet on her tongue.

“Hey,” a man said.

She tried to open her eyes. 

“Just a little. Whoa!  Too much’ll make you sick.”

Arous stomach resisted the cool liquid.  She gagged.  She felt something cool on her neck and face.

“There, there.  That should help cool you down a bit.”  Arous forced her eyes open to see a thin, rugged faced man bending over her. His dark skin wrinkled into carved kindness and wisdom about his face.

The Momo was just beside her.

“It’s you,” she said to the Momo.

The Momo chirped and attempted to sit her up a little straighter.

“Maybe I should get you out of here?” The man said and the Momo nodded.

Arous looked over and saw that she was leaning against an old rusted and red pick-up.

“Let me guess,” Arous voice cracked. “It has the name Ford stamped into the tailgate.”

The shade of the man’s hat obscured his face but she could see him laugh.

“Doesn’t come with AC but at 55 MPI it’ll be cooler than this dessert.  Take my arm.  Now that’s it.  Easy up.”

“I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

“Few have said it better than that,” he said.

They both smiled.

The Desperado helped Arous walk to the truck, ever patient with her stumbling steps.

The Momo opened the door and secured Arous before shutting the door.

“This is where we depart, my friend,” said the Desperado to the Momo tipping his hat.

The Momo leaned in and kissed Arous on the forehead.

“Thank you,” said Arous.

They began to drive away.

“I sung her back to life,” said Arous.

“I know.”

The bumpy road refused to befriend her as she sipped bit after bit of water. They had already had to pull over once because of her body’s stubbornness to guzzle. The jostling of the truck didn’t help her struggle any.  They rode in silence for many miles, nothing but the squeaking and rattling of the truck ever voicing its opinion about the sorry state of the roads.

“I make it a point never to ask anyone where they’ve been. None of my business to remind you of that.  But I do need to know where you’re going.”

“Home.”

“I’m sure the folks will be glad to see you.”

“I hope.”

Soon they had agreed on a drop off point: Chara’s Crossing. He had already planned to take a route that would pass Chara’s.  She didn’t say where she was going only suggested Chara’s Crossing as a place they both knew.

They were less than a couple of hours from Plateaus’ Edge and the lift there. They drove the rest of that day and through the night before reaching the coastal plains that Arous knew to be home.  She could smell the faint salt and the strong sent of pine and cedar. As the sun began to rise and turn the sky above the treetops pink, Arous recognized her drop off point.

“There! Chara loves to sit on the porch in that rickety old rocking chair.”

The red ford came to a slow and deliberate stop.

“Here you are young lady.  It was my pleasure to serve you,” he said.

“Thank you.” Arous slammed the door.

“I would offer you some water to take but,” he paused. “Never have to drink much there do you? It permeates to your very soul.”

Arous mouth gaped speechless.

“Take care of yourself, young lady and give my regards to your father, the Diofe,” the Desperado said.

Arous began to walk away from the truck when she turned to ask his name.  The truck was already in gear and rumbling down the road as she looked through the rear window at him.  He stopped, turned to look back at her from the cab, smiled at her, put on his wide brimmed hat (which he had not donned for the entire trip) and drove away. He just drove off leaving Arous to wonder how he knew her name.

“Impossible,” she whispered. “The man without a face.”