Days of Wonder
by J.D. Harlock
I no longer fear the darkness now that I know the Phoenix will rise from the ashes
No one said anything. No one needed to. I was sent home early that day, and I knew the instant that I'd stepped through that creaking door that he was gone. When my mother finally told me herself the next day, I didn't say much. I just nodded before she broke down again and left the room, excusing herself and trying her best to keep it all in until she was out of my sight and didn’t have to pretend that it was all going to be alright. Purely out of obligation, the others asked me how I felt about all of this, and the awkward silence being a bit too much, I didn’t know how to respond. I just turned away, hoping they would think I was tearing up or being torn up and would leave it at that. There just wasn’t much else I could do to stop them from giving me those looks when they realized that I hadn’t once cried or even frowned at what they assumed was the worst thing to ever happen to me. Because try as I might to play along and force myself to act out the scenario that would ease their concerns, I couldn’t. At that moment, it was hard to feel anything. I'd already had a day to process it.
#
I lived in my room for the next couple of days, wanting nothing more than to isolate myself from the cruelty of the world I was forced into. But that was easier said than done because guests from all over Jdeidet came over to the house to give their condolences, and, at the insistence of my widowed aunts and grandmothers, I sporadically made the trip downstairs to greet them. The formalities were a blur and my obligations a burden, but I tried my best to fulfill them, if not for their sake, for hers. Because the day that it had all happened that warmth in her soft eyes had been taken from her. Just another casualty of the war that no one accounted for and that, in hindsight, would matter more than any of the damage to our homes or the money we’d lose in the financial crisis.
As for me, in spite of myself, all I could do was try not to think about it, and at times, I succeeded. Sometimes, when I was lucky enough, I could even forget that it had happened and move on, if only for a little while…
Those were the moments that I would come to cherish the most.
#
During this period, when I was allowed to skip school as I saw fit, I finally took the time to explore the valley near my village. They called it the Valley of Ashes, but that wasn't a name you could find on any map. Granted, southern Lebanon in the late ‘70s hadn't been tamed yet, and the valley with its sap, and its bloom, and its hardiness, was untamable. So lush and full of life it was that I could've sworn I'd heard a pulse when I first entered it. It just didn't have that human stain that would permeate it in the coming decades until, like everything else before the war, it was all gone and forgotten.
Without saying a word, I left the relentless gloom behind me in a rush that left my aunts and uncles wide-eyed and the elder shaking their heads in disappointment. I made sure to bring a bag of the things I would need to survive for as long as I could, thinking, in my naivety, I would probably move there and try and make it out on my own in one of those grand adventures I would read about in the school’s library. But, having never left the confines of that sleepy village, I was overcome by a creeping fear that worried me with thoughts that were rather morbid for a girl my age. Still, I carried on. I always did, thinking I was rather brave to be leaving it all behind. In truth, I couldn’t have possibly made it more than an hour or two away from my home.
That fright, thankfully, would come to pass as soon as I entered the valley and found myself excited by every new flower and plant I'd come across. Things I'd never seen before were, somehow, only an hour's walk away from my home, waiting for someone, anyone who was wise enough to take the time to discover it. Wanting a memento of the first visit of what I expected to be a regular pastime, I decided to bring back a piece of bark from the most beautiful tree I could find. With my trusted pocket knife in hand, I scouted the valley looking for it with an appetite for exploration and adventure that I’d thought I’d outgrown a long time ago when I was younger and more foolish and didn’t know any better.
When I finally settled on a sturdy oak, near the vale that towered over me, I looked around as I studied it and noticed that some of the trees nearby had been badly burnt. At first, I thought that lightning fire might've had something to do with it, but it soon became apparent that someone, or something, engulfed in flames had passed through with a wind that tore down some of the trees by the sheer might of its force. And so, with a chill in my spine and a spring in my step, I followed the charred trail that led me up a hill of cinnamon trees that were consumed by a magnificent fire that burnt so bright they were like lavenders dancing in the sky under the warm evening sun.
Little had piqued my interest during that time, but as I got closer to the center, I found myself genuinely intrigued by what I'd stumbled upon. Pillars and spires abandoned to the decay of time started appearing on both ends of the path I walked. Slowly, the moss-covered tiles gave way to a glistening pavement of exceptional craftsmanship that led me to believe that I was making my way up the hill onto something strange, something wonderful.
And I was not disappointed.
At the hilltop, I stood witness to a majestic creature that was larger than life itself and attired in crimson and murex feathers — feathers that the rich and powerful of the ancient world would have done everything within madness to get their hands on, or at the very least make sure that no one else could.
But it was the fire… the fire that engulfed it that awed me. So wonderful, so strange that I was certain no humans had ever laid their eyes upon it. Burning so bright, it was in a color inconceivable to the mortal mind, and I, I alone, was there to take it all in.
It was all just… wonderful…
Never before had I seen anything that had put the fear of God in me. Nothing about what was happening, what had happened, seemed possible, but in those days, the inconceivable had become my reality.
"You have finally arrived," The magnificent bird finally turned to me with eyes that pierced into my soul and spoke into my mind.
And I was ready for it, ready for it all. I’m sure I was, but...
But I… I looked away... in shame, trying to cover my eyes with my arms lest I be burnt to a crisp.
"What... are you?" I mustered. I wanted to know. I needed to.
"I am known by many names...”
“Yes,” I suddenly realized as if I had known this the entire time, “yes, you are…”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Yes,” I found myself saying as if these were not my words.” yes, you have…”
“What have you to tell me, child?”
"Forgive me..." was all I could muster, and then I fell to my knees as its fantastical fire overwhelmed me.
“That is not my decision to make.”
"Why am I here then?”
For some reason, I needed to know.
"The ritual must take place..."
Though I had never been told of this ritual before, somehow, someway, I understood and nodded my head with an odd feeling that I had not stumbled upon this creature but that it had beckoned me here.
#
That night I had a dream. My parents and I were at a picnic. Mother had prepared some kibbeh and tabbouleh for us, but no one ate a thing. No made a scene either, for once, and when we were finally at peace, my father, as if possessed by some silent spirit, seemed to spot something far off in the distance, something I couldn't see—but that was there, that I was sure was there—and got up, the pale light cloaking him, and walked towards it. When I turned around, my mother was gone, and I found myself waving to him alone. I tried to speak, to tell him everything I never had the chance to, but nothing came out. Nothing… and he just kept on walking away...
All I can remember after that was my father turning around to smile at me one last time before disappearing into the horizon.
I haven’t seen his face since...
#
When I came to, I was dying to tell him about that dream. I went to his study and sat there. But it would be a couple of hours before I remembered what had happened and I was waiting in his study for no one.
So I returned the next day for the last time. The creature was, of course, nowhere to be seen. I quickly went to work on harvesting more bark and then arranged them around the heaps of ash at the center of the hill with a care and meticulousness that has long since evaded me. Because when I finally accepted what I had been committed to, I lit the fire and walked away...
On my way down the hill, there was some great commotion behind me. Some ceremony, centuries in the making, was taking place, and I had neither the will nor desire to see it through…
#
That night I had a dream. A strange dream. I dreamt of the great Phoenix as it went up in flames before my eyes.
And that was it.
That was the last dream I had about my father.
#
I lived in my room for the next couple of days, wanting nothing more than to isolate myself from the cruelty of the world I was forced into. But that was easier said than done because guests from all over Jdeidet came over to the house to give their condolences, and, at the insistence of my widowed aunts and grandmothers, I sporadically made the trip downstairs to greet them. The formalities were a blur and my obligations a burden, but I tried my best to fulfill them, if not for their sake, for hers. Because the day that it had all happened that warmth in her soft eyes had been taken from her. Just another casualty of the war that no one accounted for and that, in hindsight, would matter more than any of the damage to our homes or the money we’d lose in the financial crisis.
As for me, in spite of myself, all I could do was try not to think about it, and at times, I succeeded. Sometimes, when I was lucky enough, I could even forget that it had happened and move on, if only for a little while…
Those were the moments that I would come to cherish the most.
#
During this period, when I was allowed to skip school as I saw fit, I finally took the time to explore the valley near my village. They called it the Valley of Ashes, but that wasn't a name you could find on any map. Granted, southern Lebanon in the late ‘70s hadn't been tamed yet, and the valley with its sap, and its bloom, and its hardiness, was untamable. So lush and full of life it was that I could've sworn I'd heard a pulse when I first entered it. It just didn't have that human stain that would permeate it in the coming decades until, like everything else before the war, it was all gone and forgotten.
Without saying a word, I left the relentless gloom behind me in a rush that left my aunts and uncles wide-eyed and the elder shaking their heads in disappointment. I made sure to bring a bag of the things I would need to survive for as long as I could, thinking, in my naivety, I would probably move there and try and make it out on my own in one of those grand adventures I would read about in the school’s library. But, having never left the confines of that sleepy village, I was overcome by a creeping fear that worried me with thoughts that were rather morbid for a girl my age. Still, I carried on. I always did, thinking I was rather brave to be leaving it all behind. In truth, I couldn’t have possibly made it more than an hour or two away from my home.
That fright, thankfully, would come to pass as soon as I entered the valley and found myself excited by every new flower and plant I'd come across. Things I'd never seen before were, somehow, only an hour's walk away from my home, waiting for someone, anyone who was wise enough to take the time to discover it. Wanting a memento of the first visit of what I expected to be a regular pastime, I decided to bring back a piece of bark from the most beautiful tree I could find. With my trusted pocket knife in hand, I scouted the valley looking for it with an appetite for exploration and adventure that I’d thought I’d outgrown a long time ago when I was younger and more foolish and didn’t know any better.
When I finally settled on a sturdy oak, near the vale that towered over me, I looked around as I studied it and noticed that some of the trees nearby had been badly burnt. At first, I thought that lightning fire might've had something to do with it, but it soon became apparent that someone, or something, engulfed in flames had passed through with a wind that tore down some of the trees by the sheer might of its force. And so, with a chill in my spine and a spring in my step, I followed the charred trail that led me up a hill of cinnamon trees that were consumed by a magnificent fire that burnt so bright they were like lavenders dancing in the sky under the warm evening sun.
Little had piqued my interest during that time, but as I got closer to the center, I found myself genuinely intrigued by what I'd stumbled upon. Pillars and spires abandoned to the decay of time started appearing on both ends of the path I walked. Slowly, the moss-covered tiles gave way to a glistening pavement of exceptional craftsmanship that led me to believe that I was making my way up the hill onto something strange, something wonderful.
And I was not disappointed.
At the hilltop, I stood witness to a majestic creature that was larger than life itself and attired in crimson and murex feathers — feathers that the rich and powerful of the ancient world would have done everything within madness to get their hands on, or at the very least make sure that no one else could.
But it was the fire… the fire that engulfed it that awed me. So wonderful, so strange that I was certain no humans had ever laid their eyes upon it. Burning so bright, it was in a color inconceivable to the mortal mind, and I, I alone, was there to take it all in.
It was all just… wonderful…
Never before had I seen anything that had put the fear of God in me. Nothing about what was happening, what had happened, seemed possible, but in those days, the inconceivable had become my reality.
"You have finally arrived," The magnificent bird finally turned to me with eyes that pierced into my soul and spoke into my mind.
And I was ready for it, ready for it all. I’m sure I was, but...
But I… I looked away... in shame, trying to cover my eyes with my arms lest I be burnt to a crisp.
"What... are you?" I mustered. I wanted to know. I needed to.
"I am known by many names...”
“Yes,” I suddenly realized as if I had known this the entire time, “yes, you are…”
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Yes,” I found myself saying as if these were not my words.” yes, you have…”
“What have you to tell me, child?”
"Forgive me..." was all I could muster, and then I fell to my knees as its fantastical fire overwhelmed me.
“That is not my decision to make.”
"Why am I here then?”
For some reason, I needed to know.
"The ritual must take place..."
Though I had never been told of this ritual before, somehow, someway, I understood and nodded my head with an odd feeling that I had not stumbled upon this creature but that it had beckoned me here.
#
That night I had a dream. My parents and I were at a picnic. Mother had prepared some kibbeh and tabbouleh for us, but no one ate a thing. No made a scene either, for once, and when we were finally at peace, my father, as if possessed by some silent spirit, seemed to spot something far off in the distance, something I couldn't see—but that was there, that I was sure was there—and got up, the pale light cloaking him, and walked towards it. When I turned around, my mother was gone, and I found myself waving to him alone. I tried to speak, to tell him everything I never had the chance to, but nothing came out. Nothing… and he just kept on walking away...
All I can remember after that was my father turning around to smile at me one last time before disappearing into the horizon.
I haven’t seen his face since...
#
When I came to, I was dying to tell him about that dream. I went to his study and sat there. But it would be a couple of hours before I remembered what had happened and I was waiting in his study for no one.
So I returned the next day for the last time. The creature was, of course, nowhere to be seen. I quickly went to work on harvesting more bark and then arranged them around the heaps of ash at the center of the hill with a care and meticulousness that has long since evaded me. Because when I finally accepted what I had been committed to, I lit the fire and walked away...
On my way down the hill, there was some great commotion behind me. Some ceremony, centuries in the making, was taking place, and I had neither the will nor desire to see it through…
#
That night I had a dream. A strange dream. I dreamt of the great Phoenix as it went up in flames before my eyes.
And that was it.
That was the last dream I had about my father.
|
J.D. Harlock is an Arab American writer and editor. In addition to his posts at Wasafiri, as an editor-at-large, and at Solarpunk Magazine, as a poetry editor, his writing has been featured in New Lines Magazine, Strange Horizons, Star*Line, Nightmare Magazine, and the SFWA Blog.
Twitter: @JD_Harlock | Instagram: @JD_Harlock |
