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by
Geoffrey Kruse-Safford
Copyright 2012 by Geoffrey Kruse-Safford
Other Titles by this Author:
From The Other Side: Two Stories -
The Witness -
SUMMERLAND
He opened his eyes. The sun was warm on his face and arms. The hill sloped down from where he sat. He looked out at the valley, the river winding its way between the hill where he sat and the one on the far side. The trees were full of leaves. The air was full of the deep scent of high summer. Bees buzzed around him. He sat, his legs bent, his arms resting on his knees. Somewhere to his left, maybe less than a mile off, a hawk keened.
"I know this place," he said.
"You should," said a voice. Standing behind his right shoulder, the man was wearing an open-throated work shirt and carpenter's pants the color of an old house. His curly, dark brown hair giving the man a look that made him chuckle.
"What's so funny?" the man said.
"You look like someone I should know. Or maybe someone I've forgotten," he said. He turned to take in the view. "How do I know this place?"
"It will come in time," the man said.
"Can I ask another question?"
The man in the work shirt smiled. "Of course."
"Who am I?"
"That will come in time," the man said.
He nodded, not sure what that meant. He put his right hand on the ground, digging his fingers in to the soft, black earth. When he lifted his hand, it smelled of life, of secret things living out their lives in darkness. It was cool and fresh.
He closed his eyes, listening to the whirring of insect wings. Off to the right, an oriole called. The wind carried a scent of violets, the warm dampness of promised rain. The wind faded, and with it the fecund smells of summer. The warmth on his arms faded.
He opened his eyes. The room was dark. He looked to his right. There was a window. The curtains were drawn. Curled next to him, the sheet tucked under her arm, her long black hair spreading out behind her, was Gina. He was stretched out next to her. He ran a finger down her bare arm, then back up. He bent and kissed her cheek. He kissed her shoulder.
She sleep-mumbled. He felt her breath against his cheek as she rolled ever so slightly.
"What about now?"
The voice came from the foot of the bed.
He looked up. The man was standing there, his face revealing infinite patience.
"I can't stay here?"
The look shifted a bit, revealing not just patience, but compassion as well.
"I suppose you could. What would that mean for her?"
He looked down at Gina. He always told her how beautiful she was. He would give anything to lie here and stare at that dark cloud on the pillow, contrasting with the paleness of her skin. That soft skin, the smoothness of her back, the tiny curve of her sleep-smile were all there.
"I know what it would mean for them." He paused, not wanting to take his eyes off her. "I'm not ready yet."
Still smiling, the man in the carpenter's pants and work shirt nodded.
He rested his head back and closed his eyes. The weight and warmth of the woman lying next to him comforted him. He was safe here. He breathed deep her scent, and held it for as long as he could.
He opened his eyes. The room was bright and full of the sound of crying babies. He glanced around for just a moment, then walked over and stood by on of the bassinettes. She was asleep now, just two hours after coming in to the world. The journey to life, just those few short inches, had worn her out. The tiny shock of red hair, so much like her father's, clashed with the pale pink she was wearing. Her tiny hands, balled in to fists, were raised by her head, which was tilted left.
He ran a finger from the top of her head down her pink, puffy cheek. He bent and breathed in the smell of new-born baby, letting his lips brush the top of her head ever so gently.
"Are you ready now?"
The man was at the front of the nursery. Now, his hands were in the pockets of the gray carpenter's pants he wore. His face betrayed even more compassion.
"Do you have to ask me here? And now?"
He turned his head. The man was smiling at him, but it was the saddest smile he had ever seen. "It's what I do. What I have to do."
"Couldn't it just be over?"
The man shrugged. "It's over when you say it is."
He stood upright. Of course he knew that. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The newborn baby smell was on his hands as he lifted them to his face, breathing it in, holding it as long as he could.
He opened his eyes. He was sitting in a chair in a room lit by flickering, colored lights on a Christmas tree. Gina was on the floor, her feet curled up underneath her, smiling up at him. Tammy was opening a gift. Trevor, still in his pajamas, the ones with the feet on them, walked over, handing him the small box wrapped in plain, red paper, a small bow on top. "This is for you, Daddy. I picked it out myself."
He smiled and ruffled the boy's black hair. It was so much like his mother's. He knew what was inside before he opened it. The jewelry box held a locket. On the outside was an "N", for Nicholas.
That was his name.
Nicholas.
"Kenny G," Nick said.
"Hm?" said the man.
Nick chuckled. "That's who you remind me of. That horrid saxophone player." Nick continued chuckling. "It's the hair."
The man continued smiling. He said nothing.
Inside the locket was a small picture. Tammy and Trevor, taken at the end of the summer.
"Thanks, kiddo," he said, taking the boy in his arms.
"I love you, Daddy," the boy said. He closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the small boy.
"Are you-"
"Go fuck yourself," he said. He opened his eyes, and Trevor pulled back, smiling up at him. Nick turned. The man was standing next to the Christmas tree. He hadn't stopped smiling. Nick regretted being so rude to him. The man's expression of compassion was deeper now.
"Hey, Nick, what's wrong?" He turned and Gina was looking at him, a question in her eye. Could she really see? Did she know?
He smiled down at her, resting his hand on her shoulder.
"Nothing, babe. Just that was so sweet of him," Nick said.
She smiled. "He felt like such a big boy. He picked that out after looking at several."
"It's perfect," Nick said.
He looked up, and the man was still standing there. None of the others seemed to notice.
"Why can't it just stay this way?"
The man sighed. He lifted his hands. "It can. Would you do that to them, though?"
Nick looked around. Tammy was deep in to yet another package. Trevor was trying to puzzle out how to make a Transformer turn from a car back in to a robot. Gina was sipping a glass of wine and laughing.
Nick sighed, and his breath caught. "No." He tried again. The sigh worked this time. "No, I suppose I wouldn't."
He closed his eyes, the sounds washing over him, in to him, through him. He breathed in, smelling the tree. He smelled the candle Gina always lit on Christmas morning. He held it as long as he could. When he let it out, he couldn't help the sob that came with it.
He opened his eyes. The sun was warm on his arms, his face, his legs. He looked down, and saw the skinny shanks of the boy he once was poking out from beneath cut-offs. His arms were thin, freckled sticks. The hillside was alive with the sounds of birds. Off to his right, he could hear the racket of the frogs in what he knew was the small pond he'd just fished. If he walked over, there's be a stringer with a couple nice looking perch, and a bullhead, 18" long, he'd dredged off the bottom.
"It'
s my hill. Where I grew up," Nick said.
"Until you were fourteen, when your Mom left, taking you and your sister and brother to Baltimore," the man said. He was behind him again.
Nick looked around. "It's the last time I was here. High summer."
He sat, relishing the warm sun. He listened carefully. In the still air, he could just make out the sound. Turning his head to the left, not ten feet from him, was a doe. A fawn, still spotted but no longer tottering, was just behind her, perhaps a foot closer to him. He sat and looked at the doe. She seemed to eye him with suspicion. She made no move to run off.
The fawn took first one step, then another. It bent its head, cropping some of the grass. Nick sat there, waiting.
The doe kept her eyes on him as the fawn took one more step.
Ever so slowly, he raised he left hand, resting it on the fawn's neck. It jerked, but didn't jump away. The doe didn't move. It looked to Nick like she stopped breathing. He felt the warmth beneath the matted fur on the animal. He ran his hand down to its shoulder.
For just a moment, beneath the fur and warm skin, he could feel its living heart. All that lay ahead for this young deer, the winter hunger, the panicked escapes from the hunters, the rushing fever of the rut, lay right here, an inch or two from his hand.
Then the fawn jumped back and away from him. The doe let out a small bark, lunged at him, then bounded off in the opposite direction, the fawn hot on her heels.
Nick raised his left hand, inhaling the wild animal scent. He held his hand to his face, drinking it in, holding on to it as long as it could.
He sighed. Lying back in the grass, he closed his eyes. "OK. I'm ready."
The man, who had stood just to his right the whole time, said nothing.
The feel of the grass against his back, the warmth of the sun on his skin, the sounds of the living forest around him faded.
Nick opened his eyes.
About the Author: Geoffrey Kruse-Safford, 46, is married to Rev. Lisa Kruse-Safford, father of two girls, and lives with several animals as well. He is currently working on the first draft of a novel under the working title "The Music Never Stopped".
Contact the author at:
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/geoffrey.krusesafford
Email -
[email protected] Twitter - https://twitter.com/#!/gkrusesafford