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A Chapter
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A Chapter |
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Martie
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Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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A Chapter (Part of a longer work of fiction) “When you were born, I was just a wet-behind-the-ears teenager. But, I remember how proud your dad was. He and Dancing Water were so young themselves, not much older then I was. They were so in love, couldn’t keep their hands off each other. Your mom back then was such a beauty. She had this quiet radiance, and she was proud. She stood so straight and walked with purpose. There was a lot of prejudice towards the Indians. People thought that all Indians were like Tanto on the Lone Ranger. Dancing Water was determined to prove them wrong. She went to school and she read so many books. Her nose was always in a book. And your dad….he was like a light in a world of darkness. He had so much power, even when he was young. You could just look at him and know that there was something about him that was special. He was an artist through and through, born one, I think. Wherever he looked you could tell he was creating a canvas in his mind. He painted your mom once. I don’t know what happened to that one. It was as if he’d painted his love for her too, and you could see it shining just out of reach. She was pregnant with you when they got married, did you know that? They had a special ceremony at the reservation. I’ve never seen so much singing and dancing. It was a happy time. Your dad insisted that they get married in a church too. I guess he wanted to be sure all the knots were tied and blessings secure. You were born to special people, human people. Your mother was of the earth. She loved to feel apart of what she called her mother. She would plant the most wonderful gardens, remember? I remember her out there sitting in the dirt. She liked to use her hands to dig, liked to feel the ground. She always had dirt under her fingernails. You would run through the rows of corn and squash and tomatoes with your little watering can, watering this and that, including yourself and your mother." Samuel’s heart yearned for that mother that Roger had described. Yearned for those simple child-happy times. “She’s changed a lot since my dad died,” Samuel told him. “It seems like the spark has gone out of her. It’s hard for me to talk to her. She stays at the reservation all the time now, and she busies herself with basket weaving, not gardens. Why does life have to be so brutal?” “Well, that’s just the way life is. Just like the song, ‘the world’s ever changin’, I heard on the radio just now driving out here, nothing stays the same”. “Hey," Roger said, “Now that I’ve had my eggs, how about going for that ride up the canyon. I want to see that good old girl, Sheba.” Roger got up and took his plate and Samuel’s to the sink and rinsed them off. When he turned, Samuel stood up and smiled, trying to shake-off the thoughts of his mother and wife. They walked out into the warm spring morning. They had been riding some time in companionable silence when Roger suggested that they stop. It was the same sandy beach where Samuel had taken Teague on their first ride. “I’ve always liked this spot,” Roger said. You can get a drink of water here without drowning.” They dismounted and went to the river to drink. “Yup, Samuel replied, “the river is pretty accommodating in this spot. You want to set for a spell?” “Just what I had in mind. There’s something I need to talk to you about.” “Well, shoot, I’m all ears.” They sat down in the sand and leaned against a large rock, their boots stuck out in front of them. “I should have talked to you about this a long time ago, when I first found out about it, but so much was happening and you were so sad, well, I just couldn’t,” Roger said. "This sounds like pretty serious talk,” Samuel said. “Well, I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, seems like serious is all there’s been lately.” “I don’t know any other way to say this, except to just say it, Okay?” Samuel nodded, so Roger continued. “Well, the day that your dad and I came up here, the day that he died, I told him that I knew that he was having an affair. I don’t want to hurt you Samuel, I hope you know that, but the truth is always better then lies and cover up. Your dad was having an affair with your wife, with Morning Cloud. She was pregnant with his child.” Samuel looked down at the water and the swirling pattern it had made on the sand at his feet. A tiny ant was trying to climb out of the imprint. It managed to gain a little ground, only to have the sand move and slide it back down to where it had begun. Then an errant swirl, pushed by a small wind, caught the body and plucked it effortlessly into the current where it disappeared. “I found a letter,” Samuel told Roger. “Morning Cloud wrote it. I gathered from it that she was pregnant. How could my father have done that? I don’t understand.” Samuel stood up, he took his hat off and threw it down on the sand, then ran his fingers through his hair. “She was my wife. Oh, my God, Roger. I don’t think I can handle this. It’s too much, too much for me to take in. How can I hate two people that I love? How could they love me and yet do what they did?” Roger got up and walked over to Samuel. He put his arm around his shoulder and awkwardly patted the plaid flannel of his arm. “Listen Samuel. I know that your father loved you. He was so full of guilt that he was sick from it. He told me she’d put a spell on him, that there was magic here in the canyon, malevolent forces, he said. They met up here, up by the warm pool. He said he couldn’t help himself. I got real mad at him, Samuel. I wanted to hurt him, say something or do something to him that would make him pay for what he’d done to you, to me, to himself. He grabbed me, was trying to get me to look at him, and I pushed him. Samuel, I pushed him real hard and he fell and hit his head on the rock. I killed your father.” Roger’s voice broke and moisture flooded his eyes. Samuel stood there looking at Roger for a long time. “You didn’t kill him,” he finally said. “It was an accident. If anyone killed him, he killed himself by doing what he did. That’s what led up to it.” he thought of the ant. The river hadn’t killed the aunt. It had only done what rivers do and there was no more sense or reason for that small death then there was for his father’s. The currents of life killed him, drug him down to the rock, and the rock, strong and sure, just happened to be there. [This message has been edited by Martie (02-25-2002 10:33 AM).] |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
A good, imaginative start. In the second paragraph, do you want "paining" or "painting". In the first paragraph, you start with " to begin the conversation of one. You need to keep " at the beginning of each new paragraph for the one person to continue talking. At the end of the fourth paragraph, you need end " to finalize that conversation. Now you need to share more  |
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Janet Marie Member Laureate
since 2000-01-22
Posts 18554 |
It was as if he'd painted his love for her too, and you could see it shining just out of reach. ======================================= that line just went thru me... this seems very different from other pieces of your prose/fiction that I have read. Maybe because its a portion of a larger piece of work, and comes in the the middle? (maybe just mothy minded me)  anyway...the imagery in this, the sense of nature, and the spirit of the characters are what stood out for me...wonderfully portrayed.... "You were born to special people, human people. Your mother was of the earth. She loved to feel apart of what she called her mother. She would plant the most wonderful gardens, remember? I remember her out there sitting in the dirt. She liked to use her hands to dig, liked to feel the ground. She always had dirt under her fingernails. You would run through the rows of corn and squash and tomatoes with your little watering can, watering this and that, including yourself and your mother." ======================== I loved this part....such a wonderful picture your words painted for us. Someday...I'll be able to buy the book right?  |
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