Dreamer-sensei

Pre-lesson, Part Two: Crackles, of His Life, and Himself

Cold.

It was the first thing that crossed his mind.

Be it the damp soil he stands on, or the chill blown by the Anemoi.

Both attest to the change of climate as the place where he lives tilts further from Helios’ embracing rays.

Surrounded by man-made gardens of vegetables carved into the rich, warmer lands of the southern half of the country, this lone soul stands and squats back and forth, tending the vast span of lands inhabited by greens.

His sole companion, albeit not as powerful as it is during spring, lends its strength to him—even now as it starts to retire way beyond the zenith, towards the western horizon.

He squats, almost sitting on the soil; he grabs on a tuber plant--hands enveloped by his trusty pair of gloves, firmly grasping its stalk which sprouts out from underground.

“Ngh!”

He pulls it, putting his body weight backwards and wringing his legs dry for strength to drag out this firmly-rooted crop.

Crackles. He could feel the vibration of splitting earth and roots through the stalk in his grip; slowly, surely, he wrings out a white crop the size of his arm from the fertile soil.

Sigh. He blows a heavy breath out of exhaustion—he’s been doing this even before his companion woke up.

Thud. Nimbly he smacks the r****h he just pulled against the ground, handling it with utmost care so as not to damage it.

Thud, thud, thud. Time and time again he beat it against the ground, and the damp dirt which covered the r****h gradually fell apart, revealing a very delicious-looking vegetable behind the mask.

He stands, with the r****h in one hand, and throws it into a basket already choke-full with radishes.

“Phew. This should be good”, he monologues, measuring the basket on the ground by eye.

He pulls the dirtied towel hanging around the back of his neck, and wipes the sweat off his face. Staring at his loyal friend up in the sky, he harbors one hand in front of his forehead, forming a canopy.

He can still make it for another round of harvest, he thought, counting on his partner and believing he might still be able to go on a little bit more.

“Rikuooo!”

Reflexively, he swings his head towards where the crackled voice comes from—and sees an old woman standing in front of an old wooden house just beyond the vegetable bed to his right.

“Granny!”, he replies, shouting even louder than the old woman—signifying the difference in both age and energy.

Rikuo swiftly slips both his arms to the basket’s belts and hoists his harvest on his back, striding along the small rocky path which divides the two sections of the farming beds formation.

As he walks towards his grandmother, he glances to his right—to the field next to the one he harvested from, stealing glimpses of ripe vegetables ready for harvest.

“Rikuo”

As his steps steadily lead him towards the house, the old woman approaches him.

“Granny, you shouldn’t be out at this time of day, the wind is cold, and you haven’t been well the past few days”

Rikuo undoes his gloves and throws them over his shoulders, so as not to dirty his grandmother’s clothes with dirt as he tries to guide her back into the house—becoming the replacement of a walking cane himself.

“Aha-ha”, his grandmother laughs; her voice hoarse, befitting an elder, though she sounds very happy.

“Rikuo”, she speaks, softly, clasping the back of Rikuo’s hand which is holding her other hand, squeezing what strength left in her, grasping his hand as she stares at him with a bright smile.

“Yes? Granny?”, he replies, slowing down his feet and awaits attentively to what she will say.

“Ah-ha-ha-ha”, she laughs, “Rikuo, ye’re a good boy, aren’tcha” she slows down, and eventually come to a halt right in front of the door to their house.

“Ye needn’t try so hard, y’know?” she continues, wobbling her voice as she puts a hand against the wall and pulls her feet one by one from her slippers.

“What are you talking about, Granny? I’m not trying hard at all”, Rikuo says as he quickly puts down the basket hoisted on his back and resumes his walking cane-replacement duty.

“Nonsense!”, she interjects, raising her voice. “Ya kept peekin’ on the field ‘long the way”, she pauses for a moment, catching her breath. “Don’tcha be getting the idea fer ‘nother round now”

“But the sun is still up, Granny, I can do a bit more, we still have a lot to do before the Harvest Festival”

“Sigh. Rikuo”, Rikuo wanted to say more, but stopped as soon as a heavy breath blows out of his grandmother’s mouth.

“Yer grandma and grandpa are both old”, she speaks, her voice sounds as if it were swallowed by the deep sea. She walks into the house, wobbling on the wooden floor and towards a sliding door just a few steps beyond the entrance.

Rikuo slides the door open without a word, the smooth friction sounds the door makes is clearer than his grandmother’s voice.

“Ha-ha-ha”, again, she laughs, Rikuo thinking that it might be out of frustration for needing help for every little thing she wants to do.

But truly, he must be mistaken, for her laugh was so full of joy, although her condition might have failed to deliver it across.

He helps her seated on a cushion by the kotatsu table, hiding her legs extended under the warmth of the kotatsu’s heating device, and pulling the blanket so as to protect her from the chilly air.

Rikuo sits on his knees, by the table-side to his grandmother’s left.

“Rikuo”, again, she calls his name; her voice as weak as ever, she continues.

“We may be old, it’s too late fer anything fer us”, she puts her hands under the blanket as she preaches her grandson. Rikuo, fully understanding the meaning behind her constantly reminding him of his grandparents’ age, simply sits there and stares blankly at the surface of the table.

“But ye are still young. Ye young ‘uns ‘afta see more of tha world”

“Don’t worry, Granny, I have been around enough—the time for me to see things is over”, Rikuo speaks up, intending to put his grandmother at ease.

“Just listen, won’tcha?”, cutting Rikuo short, his grandmother continues her lecture as she gradually tilts forward; taking her hands out and on to the table, she rests herself against the kotatsu.

“Ye musta’ been ‘round the lands, aye, but that mighta’ just been in yer head”

“Y’see, when ye travel, ye should’a taken yer ‘eart with ye”

When you venture, take not thy body, but thy soul. Those were the words of his grandmother, leaving Rikuo speechless—for he understands, more than anyone, what those words mean.

“Rikuo …”, clasping Rikuo’s hand on the table, she looks at his face, her eyes glassy and her cheeks wet.

“We were glad ta ‘ave ye ‘ere, thank ye fer caring us”, she says, facing straight to Rikuo, albeit her eyelids are now too wrinkled and sagged that she can barely see his face.

With a very warm smile and drenched cheeks, she left Rikuo with one final message:

“We are okay, now, Rikuo. Ye need’ta live yer own life. A bird with nay wings ain’t no bird”

“Rikuo, go; find yer wings”

Rikuo, who had been living with his grandparents for over five years—taking care of them, and also the farms, alone, in his grandfather’s stead, finally cried for the first time, with nary a word.

He thought, with no one to take care of them, he was the only one who could and should—not wanting to regret a parting without memories with them.

But his grandparents—or at least, his grandmother, didn’t think so, she didn’t want to put the young hatchling in a cage—quite the contrary, she wanted to set it free.

The next morning, Rikuo’s grandfather, who had been bedridden for the past few months, finally took his last breath, and his grandmother followed suit after a few days, leaving Rikuo alone.

Thus, the cage holding the hatchling broke, setting the baby bird free, albeit being a little confused and overwhelmed at first, but it has to learn to fly on its own regardless—as the world is unforgiving.