Click here for Kaeru: Part #1
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The wind blew, and the sun shone.
His face was like a map of a land that no longer exists - battered and creased and scarred with the markings of a battle someone forgot. Like the match that burns the map and the flame that burns the memory, his cheeks brightened a little and the shadows of his dimples deepened.
He sat on the edge of his wagon, counting the half hour out with long, slow breaths, then stepped down and picked up one of the empty crates nearby. His arms tensed and trembled and his legs made a wobbly path towards the shop. The heals of his thin, canvas shoes dragged along the ground with a steady, prolonged scrape.
Times like this were nice, even if slow. He liked it here. The wind blew, and the sun shone. Treasure the small things. He always did.
He added this one onto the other pile of empty crates that lay outside.
The shop had been left empty for so long the windows were misted with dirt and cobwebs had clotted in the corners. Our mother had said it was probably inherited or given to someone rich who just never found a use for it. Bere had helped paint the doorframes and windowsills, which now looked as odd as a golden watch on a paupers wrist. He was going to return soon to help move the last of the stock in.
Vast was short, even by my standards. His hair was white and tattered, and looked like it had been held up and cut with a dull razorblade, his skin like creased leather. The calluses on his hands were as tough as plastic.
Up at the top of the road he caught a glimpse of the boy who moved at a pace slower than his own, lulled by the spring air and eyes as careless as a child chasing leaves in autumn. He carried with him a large bag over his shoulders and a few stray envelopes in his left hand.
That’s me, as I was a long time ago. Sometimes I wonder, would I have still been walking so casually if I knew what I was about to walk into? Probably. Some habits never change.
Vast lifted his hand to wipe his brow and block the sun from his gaze. He picked up the only crate that wasn’t empty and started the long, slow journey across the road again.
I stepped out of his way just as he moved in the same direction and we smacked into each other, the crate slipping straight out of his bony hands.
The box was full of twists and spindles of wires, book shaped pieces of brass and silver stars that splintered and glittered across the pathway in an assortment of shapes.
‘I’m sorry!’ I dropped straight onto my knees to scoop them back up. ‘I should have been paying more attention.’
Vast slowly lowered himself into a squatting position and reached out to pick the pieces up, carefully avoiding the sharper points.
‘Thank you,’ he lifted his head, his dark eyes like splodges of ink on an old, crinkled piece of parchment. He seemed too old to even be alive.
I felt strange when he looked at me. It was the way a person might look at someone who is already very familiar to them. He carried a slightly eastern accent, like he was from the midlands somewhere. ‘Running errands for your mother again?’ He asked.
I nodded. If we had met before, I would have remembered him. Vast wasn’t the kind of person you forget. As he reached over I caught the smell on his weather-beaten jacket, like damp stones - like a quarry. Or a cave. Or a dungeon.
‘Your brother, Bere,’ he said. His voice was raspy and carried the tone of a corroded music box. ‘A good helper, and a strong worker he is. He spoke well of you.’
With the contents back in the box I lifted it back up, pretending not to struggle with the weight of the metal. As I slid it onto the other boxes he spoke again. ‘Perhaps you can be of aid to me too.’
‘What with?’
‘My shop is due to open soon, and I could do with some hard working hands.’ He held out his own, his fingers and palms trembling. The wrinkled skin looked like it had been dried and crumpled by more than just time and work. ‘Well, they’re not what they used to be.’
‘I need to finish my errands, I’ll come back when I’m done.’
‘I don’t have much money to pay you.’
‘I only have school three afternoons each week. It‘s good for me to keep busy, otherwise I‘ll get lazy.’ I had heard mother say those words so many times I didn’t even think twice before repeating them.
The dimples in his cheeks darkened again, a brief indication of a smile.
‘Come by tomorrow morning then.’ He coughed and the wrinkles in his skin tore his lips back into a tired frown. Something was taking its toll on him.
‘I will,’ I bowed to him lightly. ‘See you soon…’
‘We’ll make introductions tomorrow, shall we. You have things to do, as have I.’ He turned and lifted one of the empty boxes, walking backwards to push the door open into the shadow of his shop.
Time was something I had plenty of. Damson, the youngest of my brothers except me, was like Bere in that he was a tough talker. He was always getting into mischief and was getting too old for mother to use the ignorance of youth as an apology when people came knocking on our door to complain about him.
When he wasn’t working he would go out with friends, of whom he seemed to have an infinite amount. Myself, I had none. Many acquaintances, never friends. I believed I would even be fine if I lived on my own in the most remote place in the world.
I guess I only thought like that because I had never known what it was like to be alone before.
Vast knew all too well.
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