Ayu's Short Stories

Primal Landscapes

            Who would not love to be awakened by the sound of an incessant knocking at the door? Jonah had hardly awakened, yet he was already groaning. He glanced at his phone. It was only eight in the morning, who would be knocking at this hour? No matter. Whoever it was, it could not be important. Thus, Jonah hid his head under the sheets and forced his eyes shut, hoping the knocking would cease, hoping the fiend responsible would give up and think he was not home. The knocking stopped, bringing a victorious smile to Jonah’s drowsy cheeks. He took one deep, replenishing breath – though it staggered before reaching the deepmost part of his lungs. The violent banging returned. This time Jonah sprang up in a violent rage. He flung the covers to the side and they fell onto the floor. This only made him more annoyed – he would have to make the bed anew before sleeping that night. All the while the door trembled and boomed, Jonah put on his slippers and robe. He tied the knot, cursing at the crude feel of its touch on his skin. Have these old townsfolk never heard of fabric softener? There’s got to be at least a hundred different brands in the smallest of city shops. The banging pierced his ears once again, and by this time ‘angry’ was an understatement. Whoever it was, he decided he would kill them – well, at least in his own imagination for, despite his temper, Jonah was not really capable of harming anyone, even if he tried.

            Despite his anger, Jonah opened the door slowly and calmly, ready to greet anyone with fake kindness. There was no one there. Jonah’s nearly shot out of their pockets as he scanned up and down, stuck his head out of the door-frame and looked all round. No one. If he was angry before, one could only imagine how his blood was boiling now. His face was red, and fumes nearly shot out of his ears. As he slammed the door, the entire house seemed to tremble. Jonah growled at the old structure; oh, why did he ever leave the city? Here he was now, facing his door early in the morning for no reason, when he would most rather be fast asleep, dreaming of warm showers, soft fabrics, and non-intruding neighbors who mind their own business. No matter, those dreams are far gone, for he was much too riled up to go back to sleep – besides, his bed was too much of a mess to get into anyways.

            He cursed at the door once more before turning around and catching the biggest fright of his life. The boy was sitting on his mattress with a grin spread from cheek to cheek. He was probably the last person Jonah wanted to see: the being who most disturbed his peace ever since he came to this old town, the fiend who riled him every afternoon, who roiled his brain, and inflamed his last hopes for a quiet evening to work on his newest masterpiece.

“Wha- How?” he said, perplexed.

The boy swung his body gleefully back and forth with a grin that clearly stated how proud he was of his own accomplishment – to enter the house unnoticed and frighten its dweller that was. “You wouldn’t open the door, so I climbed in.” He giggled as if the task exerted no effort.

            The man opened the door and took a long, slow blink of his eyes as he fiercely stretched his arm out at the open path with one sole finger extended as the others curled into a fist. The boy c****d his head to the side with mock confusion, pretending he did not receive the man’s message loud and clear. I can’t know what you feel unless you say it, was what he always said.

            “Get out.” he ordered.

            “I will, once you get dressed and follow me.” The boy stuck his tongue out.

            Knowing he’d have no peace unless he obeyed, Jonah followed.

            “Where are we going?” the man asked his guide, though he was weary for he was merely a third of his age.

            “You’ll see.” The boy gleamed as the bright orange sun that swelled in the sleepy skies. “I’m going to take you through a typical day in this town.

            The entire idea sounded odd to Jonah, for how different could the daily routines in the town be from that of the city? However, he followed the boy, though not as unwilling as at first – a tiny bulb of youthful curiosity grew in his chest. From green to stone, they crossed the town center. It was Saturday and Jonah, having never left his new residence in the weekend, hardly recognized the scene around him. The empty pavement that overlooked a flowing river with bathing ducks was crowded. Portable tables were mounted with what seemed like junk to Jonah but priceless memories or newly found treasures to others. Around them were vendors in gleeful engagement with passersby – curious locals and tourists, all with smiles on their faces as if they’d known each other forever. The entire town seemed to have awakened hours before him. Jonah kept walking and following the boy as he looked back at the scene that was so strange to him. He watched his step as he nearly tripped over some sleeping dogs. His focus now fell on them. Their fur was grimy and untamed, their whiskers white, and their shapes varied, though even the smallest appeared strong and savvy. They appeared to be strays and most likely were so despite the collars round their necks – which most likely served to keep them free and safe from the pound. No one knew whose they were, how they came here, or where they came from. The only thing that was certain was that this pack always stuck together and belonged to the town as much as it belonged to them. As far as anyone could tell, they’ve been here for as long as the oldest farmer. No matter, nobody asked anymore, they simply accepted the dogs as one of them and treated them as neighbors.

            Jonah and the boy now walked over the streetcar tracks over and under hill. The former watched his step carefully not to trip over the wooden tracks or the disarranged rocks as he avoided the countless weeds that threatened to itch his ankles. The boy stretched his arms outward as he toddled over the metal bars, swaying from side to side one foot followed the other. The man observed him. They were merely feet apart, yet the boy seemed so distant, as though they were in the same place yet in different realities. What felt like an ordinary primitive town to the adult was a playground of unlimited adventure to the child. He somehow looked at the boy in a different light now, with a sort of admiration and with learning eyes. He had a sudden urge to copy the boy. He pictured himself stepping on the metal bars and failing miserably to balance himself, slipping off the rails and embarrassing himself in front of the boy and whomever could be watching. Jonah looked round, there was nobody in sight, though he knew someone was sure to see him and laugh if he acted so childishly. Thus, he left it up to his imagination and kept treading laboriously over the uneven path.

            The boy suddenly stopped and gasped. Though his eyes were glued to the ground, Jonah realized for the first time that they were no longer walking over railroad tracks. The stones under his feet were wider and, though weeds still managed to grow and find their way out of each and every c***k, the floor was better aligned and not quite as bumpy. Feeling as though he could now trust his feet to walk unguided, Jonah finally looked up at the world around him. With every inch his head rose, his eyes widened further and brighter. The boy bore the same expression as though he had never seen this view, despite it being a part of his daily routine. Now, for Jonah it really was his first time seeing it, and he had never seen anything quite like it. The bright sky melted into a deep blue as under the hill the waves swooshed through cliffs and mounds, turning rock to sand. A faint mist rested over the beach, but the sun’s rays made it through, they swam and paddled over the gentle waves, creating ripples of gold over the tides. Over the playful beams seagulls hovered, enjoying the spring breeze. Their calls augmented the serene vibrations of the scene. Like skyscrapers, the cliffs stood tall, yet much grander and more alive. The ochre giants bore markings and etchings on surfaces combed by the unforgiving winter tides. Like sculptures carved by a skillful artist, Jonah was amazed to think that nature alone could be responsible for such a masterpiece.

The boy giggled and suddenly jolted ahead. Jonah called out to him, but it made no difference, the only way to catch up was to run after him. He never felt quite so alive. The movement to which his body had grown unaccustomed energized his soul and he reached the halting boy panting. The salted perfume flowed through him in the form of a deep, clear breath that infiltrated his lungs and cleansed his smog-filled veins. All the way down his eyes did not leave the blue void. It swayed calmly with no sign of turbulence, and so its color was deep blue – almost like that of the pacific waters – and the tides were low, giving passage to the neighboring beach through the clam-covered rocks. Amidst these, an aged man and woman were hunched over, scouring through every curve and c***k. Around their waists a net was tied, and they ruffled through them whenever their faces buoyed up as if they had struck gold.

“What are they doing?” Asking this, Jonah felt as if he were the boy and the child was his superior. Ever since he arrived in this town, this feeling has often struck him.

“Why, they’re gathering clams, of course!” the boy replied as if it were the obvious answer – well, to him it was. “That’s Mark and Marsha. They sell all sorts of fresh shellfish to some of the finest restaurants around here.”

Like an inquisitive child, Jonah walked without looking where he was going, locking his eyes on the couple, wondering how they could make a living off of such an unstable job. Perhaps they each had a second job, and perhaps that was why they must come to the beach at the Sun’s waking hour. His mind then drifted towards the thought of a Mark and Marsha Junior, coming home from school – that is, if they even could attend school – to an empty dinner table. However, his imagination was interrupted by his slamming against a surface, hard and solid as a cliff’s rock.

“Ahoy there, Mister!” the rock spoke.

Jonah took a step back and saw that this rock was, in fact, a man smiling in a boisterous conviviality.

“G-good morning.” he stuttered politely. Though, before he could apologize, the nervous wreck stopped in perplexity at the sight of the broad man’s equipment. In one hand, he held a long, thin rod, and in the other lay a hook from which something indistinguishable dangled. He now saw that the man was not quite tall at all, though his heavy build gave off such an illusion. Beside his stump-like legs, over the stone wall, rested a large tackle box filled with items Jonah could not figure out. Speechless, he excused himself in the diplomatic politeness that was customary in the city but just plain weird to the humble fisherman. You see, where people accept each other as equals and there is no social ruling or hierarchies – as is the reality in this small, modest town – there is no need for fabricated courtesy, for everyone is treated as a friend. Thus, as the newcomer walked off, his trail was followed by the fisherman’s interrogative eyes. He laughed in amusement before returning to his task.

Once Jonah caught up to the footloose child, he had reached the birth of the sand. He stared at the arid surface in conflict. If he stepped on it, he might as well say farewell to his expensive dress-shoes. These were more than simple shoes; he bought them with hard-worked money, and they ensured his spot in the business world, they were his key to impress the suits who paid him and, in part, they were his success.

“What are you waiting for? Take them off.” The child said without breaking a sweat. He made it seem like it was the simplest of acts, meaningless, and trivial. The man frowned and argued with the boy in his mind. There is no way a mere child could understand such critical matters. What does a child know of the financial world, of the adult world, of what’s really important? He froze at the thought of that word, important. What is important? Just like the question, the gentle sound of the crashing waves and the whooshing breeze infiltrated his mind. His eyes drifted towards the ocean and he seemed to drown in its waves, rocking back and forth with their cradling motion. Somehow, at that moment, nothing else felt quite as important. Suddenly there was nothing to be done, no urgencies, no obligations. There were only the waves. Only the wind. Only the present moment. This gift, this present from nature to mankind. The boy smiled as if he could read his mind. This was enough to convince the man to kick off his shoes. Placing his socks in them, he left the loafers at the beach entrance, trusting the boy when he told him that no one would steal them.

They strolled along the shoreline, feeling the cold water tickle their toes. At first it felt frigid and painful, but the chill shot a refreshing jolt that dove within him in the form of a deep breath. He felt rejuvenated – a form of rebirth. At this point, Jonah was walking freely, without depending on the boy’s lead. His feet led him to the end of the beach, only stopping once they reached a stack of fallen boulders. He eyed them with curiosity, wondering if they concealed some hidden beauty. This very thought surprised him, for Jonah could not recall the last time he had felt such childish curiosity. This surprise then shifted towards the boy who did not stop at his side. Employing his hands and feet as equals, he climbed over the smallest boulders, rapidly vanishing from sight. Jonah clumsily followed without much of a thought. Unfamiliar with the natural world, he did not know to avoid moss-covered stones, causing him to slip a few times, but he kept on. He feared for the child for the tide seemed temperate but unpredictable. By the time he reached the final hurdle, saying his legs and arms were bruised would be an understatement, but that was the last of his thoughts. Right now, all he could think of – no, he could not even think. His eyes, mind, soul, all of him was caught by the beauty of this secret hideaway. The boy stood at its center with arms spread high and wide as his head faced the sun bearing a broad smile, as his body and soul were one with the Earth. The Sun shone on his skin in sparkling magnificence, the wind caressed his hair like a mother combing it back behind his ears, and the sand hugged his legs like brothers and sisters who swore to never again let go. The grand cliff and its fallen boulders surrounded the boy as protective ancestors, and the waves and ripples shone like never before, as if it were thanking the child for reasons unknown.

            In this secluded beach, the tides were kinder and the sands whiter. The entire scene was bewitching, and Jonah had to return to consciousness to seal his gaped lips. He felt an urge to be a part of this world, this real-life Neverland; yet to enter it seemed like trying to jump into a dream, and it all appeared so distant. The boy was a mere arms away, but worlds apart.

            Once they returned to land and faced the hill, Jonah felt a strange urge to see what the rest of the day had in store for him. He was eager to follow the boy, yet he felt it was a pitty to leave the delicious scent, the soothing melody, and the divine appearance of the beach.

            They walked up a hill and took a turn off the main road. The path was winding, trees surrounded it leaving few space to walk along the way. However, hardly any vehicles passed by save a couple of wagons carrying goods, a tractor, and a man riding a horse. The latter caught Jonah’s eye. He followed him with his gaze as if he had spotted Bigfoot or an alien until both creatures disappeared around the curb. Had he stepped into a time machine without even realizing it?

            At last, the trees gave way to a wider path that split into two roads, along which a few houses hid amongst ancient stone walls. The resonating of voices gave trace of civilization as did the sudden image of cars parked over the sidewalks on each side. Turning through the winding path, Jonah could now see an assembly of people – locals and curious tourists – standing around trailers and walking through stands displaying all kinds of fresh goods, from cheese to fruits and vegetables, as well as flowers. Is this what they call a farmer’s market?

            From the breeze that travelled past the market stands emerged a scent of incredible sweetness that could make a full stomach grumble.

“What is that smell?” he c****d his head back with dreamy eyes, allowing his nose to guide the way.

The boy laughed. “Why, it’s only bread, you silly old goof. Don’t they make bread in the city?”

“They certainly do, but it sure doesn’t smell anything like this.”

He approached the baker’s stand – or rather, an old, detached trailer with a glass display filled with all kinds of breads and pastry.

“What can I do you for, pal?”

The man inside thundered in a voice as powerful as his arms. He waited for his customer’s order, eager to acquaint himself with the newcomer’s tastes and preferences. However, the latter was still much too dazed by the strange perfume and the odd way of setting up a shop to even take a look at the display. Once he snapped out of this stupor, he was caught by something else.

            “Hey, buddy, you alright?” The baker’s firm grasp caught his shoulder. “Or have those city fumes crawled through that skinny head of yours?” he laughed as did the two women behind him and the customers around the trailer.

            Jonah’s cheeks flushed, but he was much too caught by the way he had been addressed to take great notice of the merriment around him. The boy was nowhere to be seen, which left him feeling like a child who had been abandoned by his parents to run his first errand, and to be devoured by strangers’ eyes.

            At last he placed his order – ‘a bit of everything for tasting’ was his excuse, the truth was he was too flustered to think straight. The man placed the bread inside a paper bag, which Jonah found quite odd, for in the city plastic was all one could see. Plastic everywhere. He noticed the man’s hands for the first time. They were, without a doubt, a baker’s hands. Sturdy and rough, with sausage-like fingers that could crush the thickest of doughs as well as caress the gentlest of butterflies. But what caught Jonah’s attention the most was the baker’s right hand. Its index finger was shorter than the rest, smooth and round at the tip with no nail – why, it appeared to have been cut off! Jonah’s mind wandered once again, as it appeared to have been doing quite a lot lately, ever since the first day he arrived at this town, but especially today. It pictured different scenarios that could have caused the loss of this man’s finger. Perhaps he mistook it for a loaf while slicing it for a customer – I sure hope he didn’t place that in a bag to go! – or perhaps, or perhaps… Now his thoughts had wandered too far in the strangest adventures that not even his conscious mind could follow. Once he realized where his brain had drifted, Jonah shook his head and scolded himself for letting his imagination run wild. However, he could not deny the fact that it did feel quite pleasant to think like a child for a change, and the mysterious loss of the vendor’s finger only enhanced his humble appearance. It brought an honest smile to his face.

“Now, let’s see… That’s one rustic loaf and two buns which makes two-thirty, and a Berliner makes…” The baker counted the goods aloud, naming them one by one as he thought out the math. Jonah wondered if he did this so the customers would not take him for a liar. His respect for the man grew ever so greatly. He counted faster than the best schoolboy, though it was likely that he had a short schooling. The respect for the older man grew with every thought. At last, this reminded him. Perhaps if he asked him, he would receive an honest answer, the baker being so fair and sincere.

“Excuse me, sir, just how do you give your bread such a delightful smell?” his head c****d to the side just like a child, revealing an air of innocence of which he himself was oblivious.

“What do you mean?” The man blinked twice, unable to comprehend his customer’s question. The women behind him did the same. Their bewilderment matched one another’s with tilted heads of confusion.

“It’s only bread, pal. Flour, water, yeast, and a pinch of salt. Honest to God, there’s nothing to it.” he managed to answer once he snapped out of the confusion. His wife and daughter nodded along; their eyes still filled with bewilder.

“You must add something else. The bakeries below my flat smell nothing like this. It’s simply heavenly.”

“You calling me a liar, boy?” The baker burst out powerfully with both fists on his hips.

Jonah waved his hands defensively before he could perceive it as a mere joke. The vendor, his family, customers and all turned into a laughing fit. The baker patted the newcomer’s shoulder in what felt like a hammering pound to his frail and meatless structure.

“Relax! Boy, you city folk sure are tense.” He stuck his belly out with fists back on his hips, letting out a powerful “Ha ha ha!”, pronouncing the H’s just like the bearded man from the North Pole.

“I assure you there are no flavor enhancers or any of those unnecessary crap they put in supermarket bread. But I’ll let you in on one simple, secret ingredient.”

Jonah was intrigued, knowing there must be something else he hadn’t mentioned. The baker leaned in close to his customer until his whiskers tickled the other’s bare cheek. The amused grin on his face told him it was a mere joke, but Jonah’s eyes still widened with a twinkle and his lips parted as this secret was confined in him.

“Love.” The baker’s voice suddenly grew soft and brushed his customer’s ear in a soothing blow that, to Jonah, seemed to harmonize with the swaying petals upon which his eyes fell. “That’s what’s missing from city bread.”

The baker stood upright once more, and now Jonah could see how his eyes had softened with a warm smile that made the growing crowd around him grin as well.

“Those businessmen (for that’s what they truly are at heart) worry so much about money that they forget that dough, just like you and me, craves for the nurture of loving hands to awaken its full capacity. Under the care of apathetic, mechanic hands, a babe cannot grow into its true potential. Right now you are thinking, ‘what is this crazy old man talking about?’, but love is the most important ingredient of all. And that goes for everything. Don’t you forget it, lad.”

The baker’s words pierced everyone’s hearts, but especially Jonah’s. He finally understood his editor’s advice to visit the country. He had cursed at him, and he cursed at the critics who claimed his works had grown lifeless and stale. He had gotten angry at them all and scorched at them for not knowing what they were talking about, but it was he who was wrong. And he now saw it. It was just as the baker said, the main ingredient was missing. No wonder his new writing could not match his celebrated masterpieces. There was no love in them. He only cared about royalties and on the survival of his name. Love and passion were missing from his voice, just as they were missing from his heart. He wondered when he first lost the touch with these emotions, but he smiled at this revelation, and the older man needed no words of thanks to know how he felt. The boy, who had run off to pet a stray saw the lively change in the man’s face and grinned proudly. Such were the effects of nature and a small, humble community to touch a man’s heart and speak to him truly.

“Tell you what, Jonah, lad,  since you are new here, I’ll throw you in a discount.” Jonah gaped at the sound of his name, he had no time to thank or even process the kind act. He had only come in from the city a couple of days ago, during which he hardly left the cottage. How could a man he had never seen before know his name? The man, who now seemed stronger and grander than ever, chuckled at his reaction, as though he could read his customer’s thoughts. “That’s right, I’ve heard all about you, city boy. We all have.” he waved a hand across the gathering audience and, as Jonah looked round, mostly everyone nodded. “’Tis a small town after all. If a newcomer’s here to stay, we ought to hear of it.” The baker now leaned closed and winked as he nudged his customer playfully, “Even if he’s a shut-in who doesn’t greet his new neighbors.”

Jonah blushed and the older man leaned back once more in a powerful laughing fit. The bystanders joined in. The outsider felt embarrassed – though in a somewhat pleasant way. It was nothing like the humiliation he felt when the critics appeased his latest works. Although they were teasing him, he could sense their affectionate intentions, and it felt like he had known these people his whole life. Speechless, he paid the man and was sent off with a slap on his back whose soreness lingered for a few hours.

            As soon as he stepped off the counter, the boy ran towards him to join him once again.

·         Just like the baker, he’d never seen someone doing math so quickly. These were people who had probably only completed the mandatory years of public education yet experience and basic survival needs proved greater than any book or tutor.

·         Fruit and vegetables are larger and juicer than that of the supermarket.

o   “But if it’s so much better, why don’t large retailers help support these farmers and local business instead of importing tasteless goods from other countries? It’s way more ethical.”

“They don’t mind about what’s right, and that’s the sad truth.”

By the end of the day he was tired and his legs weighed, but it had all been worth it. For the first time, or so he thought, Jonah was eager for the morning and to discover what the next day had to offer. And for the first time he felt like being alive was a gift outright.

After they have a fight and he sends the boy away, “you bring me nothing but trouble…” he realizes how much the boy has helped him and how much he has taught him. Now he wants to see him more that ever, but he can’t find him.

Now I see how much I have learned from him and how that pest has made me realize the important things in life, what’s really beautiful, and not to let futile matters weigh on my heart. He taught me to love everything as a gift and to embrace every moment with open arms. He taught me to _______. He taught me the true meaning of life. And for that, I have got to find him, and I must thank him. I must tell him how grateful I am for all the things…

But, come to think of it, I do not know where he lives. For the first time, he realized how he was never the one who fetched for the boy – the latter always came to him in times of need. So, how was he to find him now that he did not need him, but wanted him?

It is said that when you lose your way, the spirit of your past will come to guide you. For you may forget your past, but it never forgets you.