Posted by: jolantru | December 19, 2011

Path Of Kindness: Six

Sounds wake me up. I simply roll over, pulling the blanket over my ears. Morning sounds, people talking, someone sweeping the pavement outside, women preparing the breakfast meal. We do not have thick walls here. Whispers carry over. Sometimes, I hear the sounds of lovemaking.

Oh, I recognize the sounds. I have seen it happen before too, when I was little. I had just started sleeping on my bed. It was terrifying and I dreaded going to sleep. So I lay in bed and simply listened. I could hear Pa and Mother laughing in their bedroom, followed by low moaning and soft chuckling.

This morning is no different. I spy the figures of Pa and Mother cuddling beyond the cloth separating their bedroom and mine. But this time, their faces are sad. Pa holds Mother as if she is crying softly.

I tuck myself deeper under the blanket, letting my eyes glance over the small altar. Mother’s altar, with oyster shells and a little blue urn. I have long known it holds ashes. But whose? Was it someone close to Mother? Who was he? Who was she?

Mother’s sobs permeate the air and turn it to gloom. My mouth tastes like stale bread.

We eat breakfast in silence. I am quick to leave the table and head for the beach.

A swim cleanses everything.


We live close to Mother’s village. The water is the same jade-green with crystalline tones. The oyster beds are a duplicate from Mother’s family and I check them regularly. As I swim, I scan for any anomaly. So far the oysters look like oysters. Nothing. I kick past a shoal of finger fish shining brightly with their silverish skin. Sounds are muted where I am. I feel as if I am in some gigantic cave or something.

I break the surface of the sea just as the morning sun rises above the horizon.

It is time I start my day and my planning.


The sea whispers in sibilant voices, the wind winding through the cracks and scars. Something rattles like a congested chest, something beating metal long gone. Ghosts lingering in the dead ships.

Aurum. Or. They are in englis. They are from the past. Ghosts.

I taste the names and roll them on my tongue. Sweet. They both taste sweet.

Slipping through, the sounds of ghosts echoing around me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: