Prologue: Light's Feast - Pt.3 [Memento]
What happens in a child's mind when reality is obscure and hard to understand? Of things only understood in hindsight and emotional awakening happening much earlier anyway.
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This here is the third part in a series:
Prologue: Light’s Feast - Pt.3
[Memento]
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***
It was one of those days when their fighting was particularly vicious.
***
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”… you can’t seriously demand that…”
“… this THING! I want it to …”
“How you can even … …a child. Our child! ….an’t possibly…”
“… and what about ME?! You’re such a …“
„…, please! Please knock it off, already, you …“
“I HATE …”
“This is crazy! Can you even hear yourself!? How crazy you…”
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***
They’re arguing again. Deafeningly. I’m scared they’re gonna wake Feréll.
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Feréll is my little brother. He’s all new. Didn’t think I would ever get one, but he’s really here. A real proper little brother, just for me! Oh, I love him. He’s so tiny. Like a doll. And just as fragile. But he’s pretty. Like a ray of light through leaves. Or one of Ommá’s fire salamanders. The ones I can sometimes find when they’re sun-bathing. But only rarely. Not like normal lizards. Fire salamanders are rare.
My brother is just as rare. I need to take good care of him. He needs his rest. He’s still very tired from coming into this world.
.
Strictly speaking, it should be Ommá watching him. But Ommá is snoring.
Wish she would wake up. Ommá always makes all that super-loud fighting go away. You would think all the noisy racket would wake her up.
But Ommá is very, very tired.
Ever since I know her, she’s tired. And it’s only becoming more. Her bones hurt, she says. And:
“My eyes are not as good as they once were, dearie.”
But she can hear just fine.
When she’s awake, I can whisper with her, about everything I want to know. If Ommá knows it, she will tell me. Mamma gets upset about it either way, no matter if we whisper or talk loudly. But Ommá likes to have me close.
Maybe it’s because of her bad eyes?
The people everyone else says are my elders —what are elders even? I don’t understand the difference; the others are all olders as well, so what is going on there?— would rather have me far, far away; at least that is what it seems like sometimes, to me. Honestly… many times. I don’t know if that’s my fault or because they feel about each other in a way that… makes no one else fit in there at all, like, not anyone else, no matter who.
Not even for my dear Ommá—despite how she’s getting ever more tired and won’t be able to stay for long anymore. That fact is clear to me even back then. Even when I can’t say how I know that. I do know that she will have to go. And that it won’t be long now.
But my elders don’t seem to notice that. They even forget her medicine.
.
I never forget her medicine.
Ommá always pets my hair then and praises me when I bring her the agarit; dug out the root and scrubbed it clean, so she can cut it into super-fine pieces.
But sometimes her hands are shaking so much that she’s gotta put away the knife. Then she jokes: “My blood is really wild today,” and laughs.
—Her heart, she means. Her heart is pumping too hard and not doing what it should.—
Ommá’s laughter is beautiful. It could be bitter, but it is very, very friendly.
Ommá always makes the best of everything. I hope I will learn that someday.
But the knife, that she puts away, when that happens.
Then I take the knife.
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Tay says his father says that I am way too small for someone to give me a knife.
But I only laugh when Tay says that. Who else is supposed to do it? Mamma and Da certainly won’t. They are busy fighting. And busy with everything else. Although I sometimes don’t quite know what ‘everything else’ even is.
And then I get ashamed because Tay doesn’t deserve to be laughed at.
Tay is my best friend.
The neighbors always claim we are “like siblings—because they are”. Milk siblings, is what they mean. Because if Tay’s father has the right of it, he is two years older than I am. And of course he has different elders. But our amma, our wet nurse, is—was—the same. Therefore, Tay has about carried me around as much as I do Feréll.
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I think Tay is happy about having company.
He sometimes seems very lonely, without me. His mother’s said to have died during his birth, the neighbors claim. But they always say it in a very odd way, when they do. Mine simply had no milk.
I sometimes wish it were the other way around. I think it would be better for Tay. Tay’s Da is… there’s a reason why he is “father” for Tay and not Da. I think Tay’s Mamma didn’t die fast. And somehow Tay’s Da is angry at him because of it. There’s a lot of times he doesn’t want Tay around.
In truth, most of them.
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Just as little as Mamma and Da do with me. So that seems to be normal.
Maybe I should call my Da “father” as well… but somehow he only gets all the more angry when I do. Olders are all strange.
Tay’s father, for example, seems to be just as angry at himself as with Tay; maybe even more so. —How do I even know that?—
I don’t understand why. Maybe because there is no Mamma he could be angry with? My elders are much angrier with one another, I think. Well. That, and with me. At least I understand that much. Even though I don’t always understand why.
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Unless it’s about knotting the nets.
When it comes to that, I know what the matter is. At least by and large. Somehow dad doesn’t like what I’m doing, is what’s going on. I think? It’s probably because I’m doing so much wrong. Even though my fingers fit a lot better because they’re small. Da thinks that’s Mamma’s job.
But Mamma…
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Mother has no time for that.
I don’t know why. I mean, cooking doesn’t take that long? Maybe she should let me cook. Maybe we would both be happier then.
But she insists I do the knotting; the whole time. When she does, she always says stuff like “at least the brat is well in hands there” or “at least the little monster is making itself useful then”. But afterwards she’s only scolding me anyway. Sometimes even during. Yet another thing I don’t quite understand.
But hey—I understand very little anyway. I mean, I can hear their words, those of my elders… but they might as well be talking in a different language.
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“… only three. You cannot seriously…”
“The little monster is anything but…”
“…ou must be deranged! Seriously, what is wrong wi…”
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DONG.
Something is clanking and banging so loudly it drowns out even their screaming voices. Probably mother throwing something in father’s direction.
She seems to like doing that back then…
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They’re talking about… my age? And… I don’t know.
Something that Mamma should forget because she’s only imagined it.
And dad claims she’s an “old spinster”. But Mamma can’t spin at all. That’s what the neighbors do, those who have spindles, and the one who has a spinning wheel and even a loom. She hasn’t ranged anywhere either, not since a long time.
There’s just as much fog in my head as there is outside our door, on the water. A whole lake of mist as far as anyone can see.
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Except on the village side, of course. There’s the village, and behind it, the woods. Our cottage is right on the shoreline. Mamma and Da are fishers, you see. Well, Da, first and foremost. Mamma cooks and… sweeps the floor sometimes? I don’t know if she helped with the fishing in the past, before me. I guess she must’ve.
But these days, everything is different. She should be looking after Ommá, I think. But Ommá and her only end up arguing as well.
That is, Mamma argues with Ommá, mainly.
Ommá mostly just suffers through it and then looks sad. But I know that she’s mighty angry with Mamma inside. She just doesn’t say it.
Unless she finds Mamma scolding me—then she takes me behind her skirts and gives Mamma whole lectures, so Mamma is shrinking until she seems stooped.
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—Maybe that’s why mother doesn’t like me.
After all, who likes being small and getting yelled at?—
Besides, Ommá never sings anything for Mamma, like she does for me. She also doesn’t read anything to her. And she doesn’t take her into her arms.
Maybe she should do that for once.
At least I believe, Mamma is somehow jealous of me. Because Ommá, when she’s awake at all, is only ever doing all those things with me. And not with her.
But then, why is she so mean to Ommá?
I bet if she were nicer, Ommá would read her a story, too.
But Mamma rather screams all day, at anyone and everyone, if she gets the chance. And “rants and raves, the whole blessed day long”.
Like she does now.
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I don’t understand why. Not… what do you call it when you mean the whole time? Always. And also, not right now.
I probably don’t have the words to understand it.
—I am always lacking words back then.—
For finding out what I want, too, even just inside my own head.
I have all these feelings and don’t know how to let them out.
Or what else I am supposed to do with them.
I only know that I am simply still too small. I need to grow a lot yet, if I’m to understand more. Even more for being able to do anything.
I only know that Da is mad and Mamma, too, like almost always.
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Both at each other, and somehow at me as well. Somehow because of me.
What did I do wrong this time? But I did the nets today until my fingers hurt!
And then some.
In the end, there was this strange red stuff coming out. That was funny. A bit at least.
It’s a really pretty red, too. I tried painting my dress with it.
Well, that got Mamma into a rant! Probably because I forgot about the nets because of it… Are they still arguing about that?
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I’m a wicked child and a bad person, that’s for sure.
I even made Tay angry lately—and Tay is the nicest person I know.
Besides Ommá, of course. But Ommá’s not the like the others, you see.
Anyhow, Tay is a little lamb. At least that’s what Ommá thinks. Just like me, she says. But then she looks at me and starts laughing. And patting my head. It’s a laughter that says she doesn’t truly mean that. Cannot mean it. Because I’m way too different from a little lamb, so much so that the comparison turns too funny by half. For Tay, it still works. At least that’s how Ommá sees it; the way she looks when she says it.
But I still got Tay angry.
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All I did was try and comfort him.
Told him he “need not fret”.
—That’s a word I learned from Ommá; I was really proud of it, too,
of having remembered the word correctly;
but it was no use anyway—
Because he’s got no Mamma, you see, and because his da doesn’t expect much of him. I put my arm around him and told him:
“You know, it’s better that way”.
Because it is.
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But all Tay did was laugh. One of those short, mean laughs that aren’t real laughs at all. —As bitter as Ommá should be, but isn’t at all.—
And then he said:
“Count yourself lucky you have Elders.”
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So I tried telling him what Olders who are actually there are like.
That they argue the whole time and scold you and want you to keep doing things the whole day long that are horribly boring and most of all want you to not be in the way of their feet. That he’s lucky to have that much time just to himself.
Tay can go and search for salamanders whenever he wants to—and look at them for however long he wants, too. I always get jerked away and scolded, if I do that. Even by da. If da has an especially bad mood or has been arguing a lot with Mamma again, then you’ll even get a knuckle sandwich. Real proper ones, too.
The really whistling ones, I mean. That’s why they’re called whistlers over here. Because they whistle if you do it right.
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But Tay didn’t wanna hear a single word of all that.
Instead, he screamed. Really at the top of his lungs and from the bottom of his heart. Not with words; but him I understood anyway. Not like Mamma and da with all their many words that I never understand.
Any Mamma is better than no Mamma at all, is what he meant. And if she’s scolding, then at least she feels something; is there at least.
My da is never there, his heart screamed, not even when he is there. You have no fucking clue what that’s like. How GOOD you’ve got it.
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“You should be happy,” is what his voice screamed.
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And if Tay says something like that, then it’s gotta be true.
Seems it truly is normal that Elders are like that.
And somehow you are supposed to be happy about that.
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I don’t know how everyone else manages that.
I’m trying. I really am. I never said anything about it to Tay ever again. He is older than me and he is Tay. He knows better. Ever since, I’m holding my trap like they all want me to. And try to get my lips to form that stupid smile they all want; even when I don’t feel like smiling at all. But it hurts.
It feels like a scoop of glacier ice in my belly. An icicle that’s striking roots throughout my whole body; just as quickly as the small snakes in the Lake of Mist dart off if they get scared. A glaring pain in my ears, more piercing than even Mamma’s screaming. Similar to how my ears hurt when the both of them scream like they’re doing now.
I don’t know how the others all do that. Does it not hurt when they do it?
Mamma’s probably right and I’m just the sensitive plant she says I am. Good for nothing. Can’t even do the simplest things, much less do them right.
But everyone else seems to get it quite right! Just not me.
It even seems to be easy for them.
Just not for me.
Something about me is broken.
The others are all stronger.
Even Feréll, that little worm, can do it better than me.
If someone is leaning over the cradle, looking in, anyone, then he’s beaming; a smile so wide you start to fear his face will soon rip in two. No matter who it is.
He even does it for Mother.
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At first, I was a bit jealous because of that.
Blockhead that I am, I thought he is doing that only for me.
Until I saw how he did it for her, too.
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What’s more, she’s scolding him, too, if he cries when things get too loud in our hut. Or if he’s hungry. Or needs to wee-wee. Or… worse.
And he still smiles. No biggie. He can do it alright.
I don’t know how Feréll does it, but sometimes… sometimes she even laughs when he burps some of the milk onto her chest.
She would never do that with me, of that I’m sure. Certainly never did. Much less if I were to fart at her—while she’s pressing her nose right up to the little worm and nudging his nose with hers. I cannot even imagine she ever did that with me.
But around him, she only laughs.
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I wish I could do what Feréll can. If I could make her laugh, it would be way easier to hold my trap and always pull my lips wide and rounded.
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But when I bring her flowers, she scolds that I wasted time.
When I try to help her with the cooking, she’s shooing me out, “keep your grubby little fingers off my things, you only do everything wrong anyway”.
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I guess that’s the whole mystery, isn’t it?
I somehow do everything wrong the whole time.
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It doesn’t matter how hard I try; I will never be like the others.
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I’m not as strong as they are. I’m not as smart as they are. Or as witty or pretty or…
… or whatever it is that Mother likes about the others and thinks is good and pretty and right about them. And horrible and wrong and dumb about me.
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Today, I decided to give up on that.
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I can’t please anyone anyway.
So why should I even try any longer?
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I tried to break up the fight, like Ommá does. Instead, I got whistlers, from both of them. Got told I should “stay out of matters belonging to adults”. All I wanted was to remind them that we did not make the damn candle boats yet.
Feréll is supposed to get his first candle today! Today is Light’s Feast; did they entirely forget about all that?
Okay, alright… and maybe ask about the stories…
All the others are allowed to go to the storyteller on the day of Light’s Feast.
And I want to take Feréll with me; he just learned to walk. That means he’s old enough to listen to stories. I mean, surely I can go and watch him there then?
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Someone has to. And Ommá is sleeping.
She’s sleeping the whole day already.
—I believe it won’t be long now until she doesn’t wake up aymore.—
And these two will not even notice when it happens.
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Great.
Now I feel like crying again.
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But who’s gonna make the damn boats for the candle then? Dumb, oversensitive me.
Stop the crying already and make the fucking boats.
Why do I still hear Mamma?
And not even in my ears. Seems Mamma can even talk inside heads.
I wish I could just not listen, like all the other times.
But I don’t know how to close a head.
Ears at least work.
Kindly concentrate, you little monster.
Candles and boats.
Candles and boats.
Candles and boats.
Candles and boats!
Concentrate!
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All children get a candle come Light’s Feast. Our trader is giving them away, just this once. He never gives anything away for free.
But the little flower boats, those we need to make on our own. —Boats because they will carry the candles. Flowers because people fold them to look like flowers.— Normally, that’s something the Elders do. But ours seem to have forgotten all about it. Again.
I can’t remember them ever doing it, in truth. I always got my boats from Ommá.
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But I don’t wanna wake Ommá when she’s this tired.
I don’t even know if that would work at all.
Somehow I thought Mamma would make Feréll’s boat. I mean, what with her being all happy with him, if she makes time for him, that is.
But right now, she even forgot Feréll again.
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Who’s laying on our bed and cooing. Woke after all by now, did he.
He’s not crying—yet. But he’ll soon start if no one goes to look after him. I’m scared to go outside again and ask if we can go to Uhland. My cheeks still burn. All four of them. I hate having to feel this body like this. It feels just as wrong as everything else.
So I rub my hurting behind all stealthily and look over at Feréll.
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“Guess it’s just us then, eh dear baby brother?”
—Well. At least that’s what I wanted to say.—
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The words don’t come out right, once again, like they do so often. Shitty words. They’re as hard to make as if my throat weren’t made for that.
Throat is a word of Uhland’s.
That one was real easy to memorize. It’s from the story where he talks about the throat cutter, you see. How is anyone supposed to not remember that? Not even I am that dumb. —Fear is a good teacher.— I have no idea where I got that quote from.
But Elders seem to absolutely believe in that.
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Maybe they’re even right about it.
I know exactly what I’m supposed to do, and what not to do.
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This here, for example? That’s a what not to do.
But I don’t care. They can go where the sun don’t shine, for all I care. They won’t notice anyway; as much as they forget themselves as well as anything else in their nuts and bonkers, much-too-loud bickering.
And I can already see Feréll doing that face. The one he makes just before he starts screaming. If Feréll starts blaring now, then the best I can expect is them coming in and starting to scold me about what I did this time to make him scream.
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So what I’m doing is to quickly cross over to Feréll with a few big steps, as big as I can make them. And I can make pretty big ones if I have to. Especially if no one’s looking. No one but the great Patpat in our hut.
The one that always has me wondering how the hell no one but me and Ommá can see it—and even more how they even manage to get past it.
But I think they might not actually have to.
Namely, ‘cause I know it can just go through the wall.
As it does right now, when I swoop for Feréll. —I lift him up like Ommá always does, of course.— Caress his little head to get his attention, stretch out my arms so he knows what’s coming. Lift him up carefully. Prop up his head before I climb through the window. And talk to him all calm and quiet like all the while.
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“Mamma and da are still a bit busy. But today is Light’s Feast, Feréll.
That’s when all the children are allowed to go to the storyteller. Even the little ones.”
—That’s the feeling I try to get across, anyway.—
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And it’s not a lie either.
Everyone else is allowed to go there. On other days, Uhland often shoos the little ones like us away, at least after a while. But not on Light’s Feast.
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“Would you like to hear some stories, hm?”
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Whatever leaves my mouth is a lot more mumbly. I still have problems to form the thrice-darned words. The same words all the others manage to do just right long since.
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But, oh well. Feréll heard me anyway. He understands.
At least the most important part:
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Everything is alright. And the two of us are going to have a bit of fun now.
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