Lyhyestä virsi kaunis: tässä teille välillä kirjoittamaani fiktiota. Tällä kertaa in English. Olen pantannut tätä tekstiä pitkään tekemättä sille mitään, vaikka minun piti. Ehkä antamalla sen tänne saisin itsestäni irti sen verran, että tekisin tähän ne muutokset, jotka aioin tehdä. Ehkä joku uskaltaa mielipiteensäkin sanoa? Onhan nämä omat tuotokset niitä "omia lapsia", jotka pelosta vapisten laskee maailmalle, mutta toisin kuin lasten kohdalla, tulevista teksteistä toivoo tulevan parempia. :D Lapsethan ovat siis täydellisen ihania juuri sellaisina persoonina kuin ovat.
Eipä kai tässä sen enempää esittelyjä kaivata. Tiedoksenne saatettakoon vain, että tämä teksti on tuotettu englannin kielen aineopinnoissa eräällä kurssilla. Tekstiä työstettiin hyvin eri tavalla, kuin itse normaalisti työskentelen. Tässä käytetiin mm. parityöskentelyä ja edettiin eri tavalla vaiheittain. Hyvähän se on kirjoittajan välillä kokeilla erilaista toimintatapaa. Maybe?
Lukekaa, kommentoikaa. Rohkeasti vaan. :) Olisi oikeasti kiva kuulla, mitä ajatuksia ja tuntemuksia teksti herättää, jos minkäänlaisia. :D
Tsemppiä loppuviikkoon toivotellen, Tiina
_________________________________________________________
Silenced
hearts
A light thump
broke the heavy silence of the forest. Tom bent over to collect the stone he
had just dropped on the dry moss. The stone was cold in his hand. A welcome
change in the sleepy warmth of the day. But he didn’t stop to enjoy it. The
stone was carried over to an old spruce. Under its squeaky branches were
already dozens of stones. Some different than others, some alike. They simply
lay there as if someone had just dropped them there and forgotten all about
them.
Tom placed the stone
among others and turned away. He followed the path that winded among the trees.
His gait was neither fast nor slow. It was automatic, just leading him from one
place to another. The forest around him was so much alive: birds singing to
warn each other about the boy walking by, squirrels running up and down the
tree trunks, flowers blooming and spreading their enchanting scent all around.
The whole world seemed to be full of vivid colours and life. There was life
even in the ones that just stood still.
Tom continued his
steady walk. One step after another. Left. Right. Left. Right. His face looked
gray and in shadows even when sun shone on it. His clothes were all covered
with dirt. He wore a gray coat even though the day was the warmest day yet that
summer. But he didn’t sweat. Nor did he seem to be cold. He was. Plain and
simple.
Nothing changed in
the boy’s expression when he reached his destination: a little gray cottage in
a small clearing. The door was open, the windows blurry. Even the grass around
the cottage seemed less green there than on the other side of the small road
that led from the door into the forest. Tom sat down on the steps. If it had
been like someone had switched him off, it would have been a change at least.
But Tom, he continued existing.
“Where were you all
this time?” asked a man leaning against the wall. The man looked very short at
first glance, but when he straightened himself, one could see that he was of
average height. His age was difficult to guess since his face was as much in
shadows as Tom’s. Shadows that were not cast by the shining sun.
Tom lifted his gaze
into the man’s eyes. “In the forest.”
The man frowned and
looked at Tom helplessly. It had been long since they had had a real
conversation. It was as if he had needed physical strength to pull out the
words from himself. Only a few days ago he wouldn’t have bothered. Now he had
no choice. The roles for both him and Tom had switched.
“You left so early.”
the man started. Tom didn’t answer.
“When I woke up, you
were already gone.” Tom no longer looked at him. His gaze seemed to have turned
to his own self. The man knew that look all too well.
“Tom. I’m talking to
you.” He continued, getting a little angry.
“Yes, you are.”
“Son!”
“Merely stating a
fact.”
Tom glanced at his
father, who now stood with his mouth open, gazing at his son as if he had
punched him in the stomach. As if there was no air left in his lungs. Tom had
lost interest in him. He stood up and placed his hands in the cozy pockets of
his worn out coat.
“May I go now?”
“What? But… Where?
Why?”
Annoyance lifted
Tom’s shoulders near his ears.
“Into the forest”,
was his answer. He turned his back to his father and headed back into the green
lap of the trees, his gait as calm as ever. His father leaned back against the
wall and shrunk into a gray invisible creature.
“I made soup.” He
mentioned to the fading sight of his son. It was his apology to his son, to
himself. To the one that had left them.
“I made soup.”
What’s your name? Do you live somewhere near? Can I
get you back home?
Tom’s gray eyes were
fixed on a petite violet growing in a tiny spot that was not covered with
stones. The brave plant beamed happiness, but Tom didn’t really see it. The
soft female voice echoed in his head. It bounced in his heart, drummed its
walls. He didn’t know whether he wanted to hear it or not. If he could only
hear that voice and not the other that was risen from his memories.
It was a good day, Tom. It really was. At a day like
this I believe I can be happy again.
Happy
again. Happy again. I can be happy again.
“No. Please don’t. Don’t be happy. Just don’t.”
Tom’s dirty little
face was striped with crystal clear tears. The stones glistened in the mellow
light as if trying to comfort him. Tom sat there, his chin resting against his
knees. He didn’t really feel the tears. Not on his skin. He felt them tear up
the wall that he had been building for weeks now. He couldn’t let that wall
fall down. Not now. Not ever.
“No.” He wiped the
tears with angry movements. With a swift sweep of his hand he pushed over a
small tower of stones. His face looked hard and all too experienced. His eyes
sparkled with ice cold fire. He reached his hand to rip the mocking flower from
its roots. He would do it! Then suddenly all expression disappeared from his
face. He looked at the flower that shivered in front of him. He touched its
delicate petals with his fingertips. Still here. It was still here.
Tom stood up and left
the old spruce. Now he walked slowly. Like an old man whose feet ache after a
long day’s walk. But it wasn’t his feet that were aching and heavy and slow. It
was his heart. His young heart that pumped blood into his vital veins. A heart
that remembers when the mind doesn’t want to, is the heaviest kind of heart.
For
a few weeks Tom, who now lived with only his father, had had to be the adult in
the house. He had taken care of them both. A little boy who knew more than he
understood. He had collected wood and kept the cottage warm for them to live
in. He had cooked meals the best he could and cleaned the house so that his
father didn't need to lift his finger. For Tom knew that his father was not
able to do all those daily things. He was so afraid of living that Tom believed
that he hadn't even noticed that Tom's mother had left. She really had left
them. She was not coming back.
Tom didn't even
remember a time when they had been a normal family. As long as he could remember
his father had been afraid of things. Afraid of everything. At first Tom's mom
had explained that his father was sick. But when it only got worse and weeks
became months, Tom didn't believe it any more. It was no sickness. It was a
permanent condition. For him those two were different things. They could not be
the same. To a sickness there could be a cure. He did not see any cure for his
dad.
Still, life had been
good when his mother had been there to take care of him. There had been colour.
There had been light. Even song on a good day. What was there now for him? Gray
shadows and dull twilight. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere.
Tom sat down on a
flat stone near a small creek. It was a peaceful place. For a normal little boy
it would be a happy place. A place for splashing and screaming, jumping and
giggling. It should have been that for Tom too.
Tom took of his shoes
and looked at his dirty socks. When had he changed them? He didn't remember.
His mom would have told him to change them. Immediately. Tom saw the stains on
them. He saw them. Black and brown spots and stripes, and when he tilted his
ankle a little, he saw blueberry stains on his sole. He stared at one dark blue
spot. It was colour after all. On his dirty gray sock. Like a sign of hope. How
silly.
Tom placed his feet
in the creek and let the water flush them. It felt good and calming. Like a
mother's touch. A sad smile rose on his face and for the first time in ages he
really saw what was around him. He saw the long trees that were humming around
him. The blue sky that covered everything like a soft blanket. Yellow and red
flowers that made the air smell fresh and full in the same time. It really was
a beautiful summer day. On a day like this one could believe that happiness was
still achievable. Perhaps.
Tom touched the
surface of the water with his right hand. The water made him feel something. At
least something. He took water in his hands and washed his face. He felt it
wash away some of his weariness. It rinsed away the shadows and the sunshine
reached his skin again. He felt its warmth. It almost felt good.
Tom didn't notice
that he was being watched. A woman riding a stallion, black as the deepest
shadows, had come near him. The woman had stopped his horse behind some tall
pine trees and was now wondering whether she should approach the child or not.
When she just sat there on her horse and hesitated, the boy started singing. It
was an old song. A forgotten one. Sad but hopefull. The still air scattered his
voice into small pieces that reached the woman's heart. They worked as a key to
her lonely soul. How comforting that felt. How right and yet strange.
The woman carefully
dismounted her horse. Yet for another minute she waited, unsure of how to
proceed. Her palms sweated inside her riding gloves. She had to take them of
and swipe her palms on her breeches. It was something that she seldom did. A
fine lady like her never sweated and never ever swiped her hands on her
clothes. But she didn't think of herself as a fine lady there. Not now, not in
the woods with her horse and the boy. She was nowhere. She was no one, at least
no one she knew anymore.
She took a tight grip
of her horse's reins and started to approach the boy. He seemed to be at the
end of the song. Its melody seemed to be fading as the child's voice as well.
Some separate sounds and words. Pieces of a completed puzzle torn apart and
thrown in the air. The boy sat still and lifted his face towards the sky. He
closed his eyes and smiled faintly. The woman felt the sight of that little
smile warm her heart. She had almost reached the boy when he opened his eyes
and looked straight at her. The smile was no longer there, but neither was
sadness in his eyes. Maybe that was improvement, she just didn't know whether
she had anything to do with it.
“Oh”, was everything
the boy said. The expression revealed no emotions, no thoughts. He didn't seem
to be surprised nor annoyed any more than happy. It was a statement. He was
pointing out a fact.
“Yes.”
For several minutes
those were the only words they said to each other. The boy turned his gaze from
her eyes and studied her appearance. She was like a delicate rose in a royal
garden. Fresh and vigorous. It was obvious that she had been riding for a while
already. The horse's clean coat was wet with sweat on the side of its neck and
as polished as the lady looked some hair had escaped from the disciplined bun
and touched her cheek. She was smiling just a little but the smile still
reached her eyes. A trimmed garden rose never looked as warmhearted.
“I was dipping my
feet in the water. It feels nice.” said Tom smiling. The reserved adult in him
was gone and he sounded like a small boy that he was after all.
“I'm sure it does. It
looks really refreshing.”
“You should try it
too. You can sit next to me, the stone is big enough for two.”
The invitation was
made on a whim and it was sincere. The woman could not resist such a request.
She had to embrace this opportunity. It were moments like these that she had
been missing for years. So she bent down and took off her boots and her socks.
Tom waved his legs and little drops of water glittered in the air. It was
magical.
“I'm Charlotte.”
“I know. You told me,
remember?”
Charlotte's smile
showed how pleased she was to hear that. The boy had seemed so lost and
extremely sad when she had met him for the first time that it had broke her
heart when she had thought it could not be broken anymore. For her it was a
small miracle to know that the boy had been able to remember. There was the
possibility that she had meant something for him.
Charlotte carefully
dipped her toes in the water. It felt cool but not cold. She placed her feet
under the surface next to the boy's. How small his feet seemed. How young was
he actually?
“Heavenly”, said Charlotte
and smiled at Tom. Tom grinned, which felt odd since he hadn't done it in
weeks, maybe not in months. He splattered some more water and bursted into
laughter. The sound of that scared him at first but when Charlotte started
laughing as well he felt more secure. They laughed together and the sun shone
and water glistened. For a little moment there was joy in their life. It lasted
as long as the sunshine.
The laughter died
when clouds hid the sun. Wind blew through the forest and made the water ripple.
Tom fell back into his usual silence. He lifted his feet from the creek, took
his wet socks off and put his shoes on. He stood up and placed his hands in his
pockets. The child in him had silenced. The moment was gone. It had changed
nothing, not really. But it had been beautiful. It had encouraged him.
“I have to go home
now”, Tom said and looked at Charlotte. It was as if he wanted to apologize.
Charlotte felt her heart ache. This child was not hers and could never be.
“I understand”, she
answered and stood up too. Her boots lay in the grass and she was still holding
her socks in her hand. She had never felt more naked than at that moment. The
good manners could not help her there.
“Maybe we get to see
each other sometimes in the forest like this.”
“Perhaps. I don't
know.”
“I know I would like
that. I hope that if I happen to bump into you you won't run away.”
“I won't”, Tom
promised and took one last look at Charlotte. Then he turned away and walked
quickly towards the treeline.
“I wish you all the
best”, said Charlotte. The boy didn't turn. He knew that he was a little rude
now but he couldn't stop. He needed his strength for something else.
Charlotte stood there
when the sun peeked behind the clouds. She stood there when the birds started
singing. She stood there holding her socks and seeing nothing, feeling
absolutely nothing. It had been a beatifull dream, just not for her.
Tom's father was
inside the cottage eating cold soup. Tom suddenly felt shy when he entered the
room. He went to the cupboard and took a plate and a spoon. He scooped some
soup into his plate and started eating. The soup would have tasted better if it
had been warm but it filled his stomach anyhow. After they had finished their
meal they sat there in complete silence looking at their hands. It was a huge
distance between them. They were two broken souls left alone together. Gray
characters with similar looks. Dust coloured hair and gray eyes. The same
lonely look in their eyes. The same surrendered posture. Were they willing to
give up now? To admit that they had both given up a long time ago?
“Son.”
“Dad.”
“I was worried you
would not come back.”
Tom looked like he
was about to stand up. But he didn't. He swallowed tears that were climbing up
his throat. It was not time for them yet.
“She said that she
can be happy again”, Tom nearly whispered. Once again there was silence between
them. Tom's father sighed heavily. He put his hands on the table and stood up
like a much older man, supporting his weight on his hands. He stood there a
moment, gathering himself. Then he walked determinately to the other side of
the table. He sat down next to his son, took his hand into his and squeezed
gently. It was the warmest touch Tom had felt since her mother had left.
“If she could be
happy again, why did she leave?” Tom asked, tears running down his cheeks.
His father looked
crushed. It hurt him to see the boy like that. This was a conversation they
should have had weeks ago.
“I guess that was the
reason why she left.” A hint of warmth was visible in his voice.
“She just couldn't be
happy here. With me. And she loved you so much that she had to give you an
explanation, even if it was an unclear one.”
“Why didn't she take
me with her?” asked Tom and the anger that he hadn't known he felt broke his
voice.
“I guess she loved me
too”, his father answered and smiled tiredly.
Tom cried silent
tears. He had shrunk into a little child, younger than his years. His father
took him clumsily into his lap and rocked him humming meaningless words. For
himself. For his son.
They sat like that
until Tom's tears dried and his sobs faded. The day had turned into night. It
was silent outside and moths had started to gather against the window. Tom felt
exhausted. He hold onto his dad until his arms were aching. And still he kept
holding on. He could not let go.
Tom's father stood
up. For the first time in ages he felt strong. He was the one carrying his son
into bed. He would be the one for Tom. He had to. He needed to. He wanted to.
Tom felt so sleepy
but he fought against it. He suddenly felt so scared. He had to be sure.
“Dad. Don't go.”
“I won't. I'm here
son. I'm right here. Sleep well, child. Dad is here.”
Tom's fear shrunk
until it disappeared entirely. He was almost asleep when he had to say
something. Just one more thing.
“Will she come back?”
Several competing
emotions choked his father. But there was only one answer that was ok.
“She might. She just
might.”
Tom fell asleep with
a lightened heart.
Good. Good.
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