The Traveler

1

The Traveler recognized this place, as one does when the past has imprinted geography on memory. The curve of the dusty road lined with pecan trees a dozen feet tall tugged on the edge of his mind like a child testing a kite string. A child. Yes. The corner of a dim recollection tore open, and memory flooded through. He had walked in this very spot many years before.

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“Lars, drop it here,” said the Traveler, planting the shovel blade in the soft soil and reflexively drawing his shirt cuff across his forehead though the work had not been straining. The boy with the bright hair wobbled over with the overconfident steps of a young child fresh to the art of walking and squatted beside the upturned earth. The sunlight flared through the nearly white curls of his fine hair as he peered down into the fresh hole. The Traveler’s eyes met those of the child’s father, and they smiled at the boy’s wonder.

“Go on Lars, toss it in,” called his father, a dozen steps behind the boy digging a different hole. Reminded of his duty, the boy carefully lifted his arm and turned over a chubby fist in front of his face. The dimpled knuckles were white, fingers clasped tightly around some treasure. As his short fingers slowly unfurled, the boy’s face lit up. He looked up at the Traveler triumphantly who smiled and nodded permission. The seed stuck to the boy’s palm causing him to shake it free. The Traveler marveled at the boy, but felt a pang of regret that he would be gone before the newly watered soil had dried that afternoon. He had yet to tell the boy or his father. What was intended to be a two-night stay until the wagon wheel was repaired, stretched and grew, as did the Traveler’s affection for the family and his love for this boy. Yet the weeks had rushed by. The Traveler tussled the boy’s hair.

Back at the house, the Traveler knocked dust from his boots as he entered. “HIIIIYeaaaaahggggh!” the boy cried flinging himself from his hiding spot on the dry goods shelf, no thought for consequence. But the Traveler was quick. In a flash, his rucksack was on the floor and his hands were up, snatching the flying boy from the air. He toppled in mock defeat, cradling the boy, even as the two crumpled to the floor. The moment the Traveler toppled, the boy’s older, more cautious sister sprang from behind the rocking chair and joined the pile.

“You win, you win!” called the Traveler, setting the children upon their feet and rising to a knee.

“You’ve got to be careful,” warned the boy’s father. “Those two are crafty. He’s our leaping bannuk, and she’ll get you if you turn your back; crafty as any goblin that one.”

“That boy’s got no sense.” The Mother swept into the warmly lit room from the kitchen with a large steaming dish and the welcoming twinkle in her eye. She smiled up at the two men as she set the dish on the sturdy table. She wiped her hands on the drab apron tied around her emerald and cherry-red dress that the Traveler had seen her sewing the night before. Every stitch had been carefully placed, every detail considered.

“Looks wonderful,” said the boy’s father. He slipped one hand around his wife’s waist and rested the other on the top of her stomach, leaning in to kiss her hello. The Traveler didn’t look away. The embrace brought him joy, as did the little family. He hung his gray cloak and satchel from the hook beside the door and washed for dinner, readying his announcement.

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A gentle breeze brought the smell of summer grain and vegetation. The pecan tree leaves twisted and spun in the wind, flashing silver undersides among the vibrant green. One of the straining leaves pulled free from its anchor, and the Traveler watched it flutter to the ground.

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With a grunt, the Traveler heaved the weight, no heavier than a small bag of potatoes, launching the golden-haired boy into the air. The boy spun, framed for an instant against sharp blue sky, and then plunged into a leaf pile five measures tall. For a moment he was gone, swallowed by the leafy mound. The Traveler approached the pile as a squeal erupted from its collapsed center.

“Me next! Me next!” called the boy’s sister, decidedly ready to join after observing her brother tossed several times. The Traveler extracted the boy from the pile and brushed leaves from the child’s oversized canvas autumn jacket. He smiled down at the girl and lifted her for flight.

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Still many marqs away from the home, he felt the weight. An invisible heaviness that most would not have detected. He sensed a struggle raging in the unseen. Gripping his bleached white walking stick more tightly, he adjusted the pack on his back and pressed ahead. Had he last been here only three years ago as they measure? His travels had taken him hundreds of seasons and thousands of cliqs in all directions through time and space, but here he stood at the edge of a memory, wondering why he was called back and what he would find. 

2

He spotted the boy from the road, on his knees hunched over in play. He was larger. Taller. The wild gold flowing curls from infancy had succumbed to the first haircut a season before. A straighter, shaggy mop of yellow hung down past cheekbones that had begun to emerge from the roundness of his toddler face. How many seasons had the boy seen now? Five? He wore no shirt as he stooped, and the late afternoon sun bronzed his back and tugged his long shadow across the dirt path. The Traveler watched the boy as he shook the hair from his eyes. Defined shoulder blades and upper back of an adolescent were betrayed by the round curve of a child’s belly just below his ribs. The Traveler now stood twenty measures from the boy and forty from the entrance to the house. He was startled to find his burning eyes misted with a mix of joy at seeing this lost boy again and a dart of sorrow for the departure years ago that he had never let himself feel. For a moment he held the flicker of hope that the child might recognize his face. No. The boy was barely three when the Traveler had last hugged him farewell. He remembered how the cheery child had smiled and giggled, unfamiliar with goodbyes. As unfamiliar, perhaps, as the Traveler was familiar.

At a distance of five steps, the Traveler spoke. “Hello, Larsdo.” The boy spun around and for a moment seemed caught in the Traveler’s gaze. The wooden figure the boy held fell to the grass as he raced across the scrub grass, up the stairs, and through the door, letting its frame clap loudly behind him. The Traveler lowered his eyes and nodded knowingly. He stooped to pick up the fallen toy.

“I remember you,” came a voice from the doorway. The boy’s sister stood framed in the entryway. She too had been stretched by the years, now more girl and less child.

“Hello Lela,” said the Traveler. “It is good to see you. You have grown very tall.”

“I’m only one hand shorter than Mother,” replied the boy’s sister. “She says I am a wildflower. Father says Lars will be a weed, but right now he’s only a weedling.”

“Is she here? Your Mother?” asked the Traveler. “Or your Father?”

The boy’s Mother was pleased to see the Traveler. She hugged him tightly and ushered him in, asking questions he couldn’t begin to answer, but for which he nonetheless found replies. She cleared the clutter from a bench and brought him a cold drink. She looked plainer than he remembered and tired.

The boy’s Father soon arrived. He embraced the Traveler warmly and clapped his old friend on the shoulder. The Mother apologized for the simple meal, but the Traveler only embraced her, offering an apology for arriving unannounced. Enjoying the meal, he once again shared the table with the family he had cherished.

The girl buzzed in and out of the room, showing the Traveler all manner of things he had missed since his last visit. “Look, I lost three teeth on this side,” she said craning her neck to display a misaligned jagged adult tooth beside a gaping space. “And we got Oatmeal,” she proclaimed dashing out of the room and returning lugging an overweight and rather unamused cat. The boy flitted around the conversation, searching for a memory to attach to the face his sister said he should know. “And Dah built a teeter-totter for the boys and me,” the girl continued, “and an extra long swing that goes out over the creek.”

“No kidding,” replied the Traveler. He smiled to the Father, who half smiled in return. A gift. Yes. The traveler dropped to a knee before the boy, hidden behind the leg of a chair. “I’ve got something for you,” said the Traveler reaching into his cloak. “Lars, I knew you when you were just a little… a little big boy.” He removed a tightly wrapped handkerchief. “Come. Look,” said the Traveler. The boy hung back, but craned his neck to see, shaking his head again unconsciously to clear hair that didn’t cover his eyes. Carefully, the Traveler unwrapped a dark bundle, peeling back the layers of folded cloth with dramatic precision. The boy now took a step closer. The Traveler revealed a small leather sling and a pouch of smooth stones. The boy smiled.

“Go on. Take it,” coached his Father. “It’s ok,” added his mother. The boy nabbed at the gift, inspecting it closely. Interrupting dinner, the family moved to the front porch where the Traveler showed the boy how to place the stone and swing the sling, releasing the projectile. On the boy’s first attempt, the rock launched out awkwardly and grazed his shin. He erupted in tears, dropping the gift and running inside. “Not to worry. He’ll come around,” assured the Father. “And thank you,” he added, putting a hand on the Traveler’s shoulder. After they had eaten and the children had been put to bed, the Traveler sat with the Mother and Father swapping stories and recounting shared memories.

“…I had not remembered he called you that,” laughed the Mother. It was good to see her laugh. It was the first time since the Traveler had arrived.

“The boy has changed, you know,” said the Traveler at last. “You all have.” The Mother’s smile faded and she and the Father exchanged looks. “All but Lela seem…worn,” he added. “What is it? What’s happened?” The Mother’s gaze dropped and then rose to the window as she slipped away, far from the farmhouse.

“The very same autumn you left, we learned that Elisa was with child,” said the Father. It was a cold winter, but the child grew, as did her belly.” He glanced up to see if he had won a smile, but her eyes remained fixed on the wavy glass windowpane.

“By the way she carried the baby low in the last month like a pike melon, we knew we had a boy. One evening when Lars didn’t come for dinner, we found him in his room. He had somehow dragged his bed and chest against the wall all by himself to make space, he told us, in his room for his brother,” the Father chuckled to himself. “The thought of that three-year-old leaning into that old maple chest still makes me smile.” His eyes fell to the floor.

“We were days away from meeting him…” His voice drifted off, and he was quiet for a moment before continuing.

“I remember that crisp morning. I walked down to the creek with Lela to tell her that something had gone wrong, that she wouldn’t have a baby brother after all.” The Father shook his head softly. “We were convinced that at almost six years old, she was the most fragile of us all. We feared she would crack.” The Mother wiped the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “The funny thing was, she hardly seemed to care. I might as well have told her neighbor Perkins had lost a patch of fire peppers.” Now the Traveler closed his eyes as they started to burn behind closed lids, touching the pain.

“It was the boy who fractured,” the Traveler added, finishing the story.

“We never even thought to break his fall,” added the Father.

The pieces fit. The boy’s mechanical shaking of his head, the outbursts, his timidity; the lines on the Mother’s brow; and the heavy weight that seemed draped across the Father’s shoulders. This is why he had come.

The Father shoved a dusty loom to the corner of the back room and cleared a space for the Traveler’s sleeping mat. From this nook over the coming days, the Traveler heard much. The sharp words between the parents, the boy’s wailing from night terrors, and the rhythm of the nighttime pacing.

The dawn had barely broken as the Traveler surveyed the tidepools of fog that had crept into the fields under cover of darkness. He sipped steaming milk tea, lost in another place.

“When you first got here, you said we’d changed,” the Mother’s soft voice broke his spell as she joined him at the porch rail. The Traveler nodded. “Well, I think we may have changed again these last few days; or begun to anyway.”

“All is not lost,” answered the Traveler. “It never quite is.” They were quiet for a time.

“Lars will remember you this time,” she said. “He’ll miss the wrestling and stone skipping. He finally let you in.”

“And leaving will tear a piece from me and leave it behind. Again.” The Traveler felt that familiar pain already.

“Jaks refuses to revisit what happened. Barely talks about it. “Too much to do with the sun shining,” she drawled, and they both chuckled at the impersonation. “I wonder sometimes if he even still grieves.”

“He’s wrestled in his own way for a long time, I think,” said the Traveler. “And behind the busyness, he still does.” Now she nodded knowingly.

“Must you go?” she finally asked. Seventeen days had passed since he rapped on the on their creaky screen door. Days more precious than as many pounds of fine sokel.

“Yes,” he replied simply. “It is my time.” Heavy steps creaked across the porch floor. “But you don’t need me. You never really did.”

“Not sure I see it that way,” answered the Father. “Elisa and I have seen what you bring. Just like when you came before.” He took a draw of tea.

“Do you believe time can heal?” asked the Traveler.

“More than I once did, I suppose,” answered the Mother. “But even if does heal me—us,” she laid a hand on the Father’s, “there is now a hole cut in our family. Another pet, even another child, couldn’t fill his spot.”

The Traveler nodded. “Nothing can; not the way you once yearned for it to be filled,” said the Traveler. “But time will do its work. You’ll see. And one day, when the afternoon sun shines just right and a gentle breeze brushes your face, you’ll think of your lost boy, and you will smile. I promise.”

The children had little time to smother the Traveler in goodbye hugs before he stepped back on the curved dusty road. As they watched him shrink off in the distance, the Father and Mother clasped hands and leaned into one another.

3

The Traveler and boy would not meet again for many seasons. In the spring of the red grass, when the boy had grown to a young man, he was running cattle through the snake gorge with his Father and two hired hands from the Slag when a figure in a gray cloak approached the camp. The boy leaped to his feet, drawing his long knife, and barked a challenge to the stranger. The others scrambled behind the boy. The figure smiled to himself and nodded. The Traveler pulled back his gray hood revealing his weathered face. The cattlemen tightened their grips on their bludgeons, but the boy dropped his blade to the sand and raced to the Traveler. He threw his arms around the man. “You’re back!” he exclaimed, abandoning bravado and betraying a flash of boyish joy that time hadn’t yet overcome.

The Traveler pulled back from the boy and grasped his strong shoulders, looking him up and down from golden tussled hair to muscled calves and sandals, nodding with approval. Their eyes were nearly level now and the Traveler's misted. “You see Lars?” said the Traveler. “The waves won’t crush you. You’ve found your rock and you're becoming the man you were meant to be.”

And it was true.