The Inch (Rewritten) - Chapter 1

The Inch

Chapter 1 – The Meeting

Are you here, Mother? I asked in my head, standing alone in the middle of a meadow, in front of her gravestone. I held in my left hand the violin she gave me on my ninth birthday, resting it on my shoulder like she would carry me when I was still a little baby boy. And in the other, I held the bow, and I moved it back and forth upon the strings as gently as she would stroke my dark brown hair.

Golden leaves had fallen on the ground, glowing as bright as the ones that still clung on twigs, radiant like the setting autumn sun. The grass underneath bloomed and blended in – ‘twas a sweet harmony of orange and green.

It was only hours ago when the meadow was filled with people. They stood still, surrounding the gravestone in the middle. Their heads were bowed down in reminiscent despair, and so was mine… and so was my father’s. But his eyes, his eyes now dulled by seven years of loneliness, had streams flowing from them, down to his cheeks. Little were his tears but I knew the anguish in his heart and to me, they seemed like roaring waterfalls.

My eyes could shed not any more than my father’s. After all, they had been together for much longer. His tears trickled down from his face onto the grass, and after each teardrop, he placed a flower upon the gravestone – a red rose, a marigold, a yellow chrysanthemum, a green gladiolus, a blue hydrangea, a blue false indigo, and a violet orchid – from left to right. They were all Mother’s favourite flowers. A rainbow after a drizzle of tears – it seemed like magic how he did it.

Father promised himself he would do it that day, for it had been seven years since Mother passed away. Mother had always loved rainbows. I could remember her hurrying out the house as soon as the rain stopped, looking for a rainbow in the sky, never letting her head down. Whenever she would find one, she would sit down on the grass, on a rock, or on whatever that’d be beneath her at the time, and she would stare for a seemingly infinite number of minutes at the rainbow she found. Her long dark brown hair would fly along with the wind so gracefully that it seemed like it was part of it.

“Heart!” Father would call her as he’d rush after her. “The chicken will get overcooked!”

“Oh, sorry, dear,” she’d reply with a soft voice, and soon stand up to return hastily to the kitchen.

When she would finish cooking, I knew she had poured on the chicken the wondrous flavours of the rainbow as if rainbows had flavours at all. Sweet to sour, ‘violet’ to ‘red’ – the buds of our tongues would dance across the flavours. I could remember when the three of us would put our first spoonfuls in our mouths, chew, swallow, and then—

“Wow! Mother! This is amazing!” I’d exclaim, grinning with my mouth like an inverted rainbow, and the bits of food stuck in my teeth would show. But no one fortunately seemed to notice.

“I knew this’d be amazing again, my Heart,” Father would say to her with a very pleased look, and then give her a furtive smile.

Mother, on the other hand, wouldn’t understand any of our reactions. “What are you two talking about? I always cook like this!”

And then we’d burst out into mirthful laughter.

Mother… I can remember the moon and how we were mesmerized by its glow. I can remember when I was still a little boy, when you’d look out the wide bedroom window with me, staring at the moon. Then you’d sing me a lullaby…

“Moon river…” she’d sing, her voice sweet and gentle, “wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style someday… You dream maker, you heartbreaker, wherever you’re going, I’m going your way…”

—!

I quietly gasped, a slight frown forming in my face. I had stopped playing, and I found my hands trembling for a little bit.

“Darn…” I exclaimed under my breath. I keep on getting lost in my thoughts…

“Forgive me, Mother,” I whispered. “Will I ever finish playing Canon without making a mistake…?”

“You didn’t have a mistake,” said a girl’s cheerful voice from behind.

My eyes were wide in surprise as I turned around at the sound of her voice to see her.

“But you indeed did not finish it,” she continued.

She giggled as I faced her, and then ended up with a consistent smile. Then I looked at her, like a baby would when he’d meet a stranger, eyes shaking constantly, not knowing where to look, but at the same time locked on the stranger’s eyes.

The girl—the… young lady rather—was wearing a sleeveless spring green blouse and a cream white skirt. Her wavy blonde hair flowed like water past her shoulders. Its pale colour glowed like moonlight. Her face and her body were small, but she looked hale. Her eyes were luminous and green, and her skin was fair, smooth and… bright... Almost everything about her seemed to overflow with radiance.

But then her smile faded. She bowed down immediately, holding wide the sides of her skirt. I realized that it was a curtsy.

“I apologize for surprising thee,” she spoke, her head facing downwards. “Please let me bid thee my condolences for thy late beloved mother…”

She stood up again and gave me a timid smile, but gaiety always seemed to emit from those lips. I was surprised by her sudden use of Archaic English, but then I thought that perhaps that was how rich people speak, in formal situations at least. There I was, a mere stable boy in a cheap white polo standing astonished by her very presence.

“I’m Elina,” she said, breaking that awkward moment of silence with the returning cheerfulness in her voice.

She stepped closer, holding out her right hand for me to shake it. But I was too nervous.

“Come on,” she insisted. “Do you not shake hands here in Eaglescliffe?” She grinned out of humour.

I timidly stepped forward, and slowly took her hand. She shook it and smiled.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Uh…” I stammered. “I…”

“You needn’t look so scared,” she said and giggled. I realized I was trembling and I didn’t know why to be honest, considering I was only meeting someone new… well-spoken, nicely dressed… Isn’t she from the Chancellights’ mansion?

“I’m Haniel,” I said finally, pushing my thoughts aside.

“Well, nice to meet you, Haniel,” she said and curtsied once more. She suddenly looked behind her, startled. I realized someone was calling her.

“Elina! Elina, where are you?” called the man’s voice, a rather undesirable impatience was in his tone.

“I have to go,” said Elina quickly and ran towards the path behind her.

I ran after her but stopped immediately, seeing that she had already found the man calling for her and reached his hand. It’s probably her father…

I turned around, looked back at Elina’s direction, and turned again, my head low and my hands in my pockets. Will I see her again? I asked myself, and headed back to my mother’s gravestone. The wind blew softly as I walked in silence, staring blankly down my path. The violin and bow in my hands were nonexistent.

“Did you see her, mother?” I asked as I stopped in front of the gravestone. “Wow, I never imagined I’d meet someone like her…”

I looked up at the sky and saw the sun beginning to set. “A lovely sunset, isn’t it?” I said.

“Haniel! It’s getting late!” Mother said, at least from my memory. I remembered how I’d disagree and say that it was still early. And I found myself smiling.

“I should probably go home,” I finally whispered. “Farewell, Mother.” Then I slowly turned and walked away, almost dropping the violin in my hand.