Obsidian Eyes

When October came, the fiery colours of the oak trees around the farm looked like they were burning from afar. Even though it was noon and the sun was shining, there was a faint cool mist in the air. The day would have been quiet then, if not for my father, who was chopping down trees with his trusted axe to expand the farmland.

Thud. Thud.

Over and over, for hours, father would tirelessly strike a tree until it collapsed. I wanted to help, but father told me just to watch. He said having me around gave him strength and focus. Ever since mother died, father said that I was all he had left, and so quietly, silently, I just sat there on an unsteady stool father crafted a few years ago. 

Father embedded his axe into a tree stump and called me, “Cassidy, come.” Father spoke slowly and gently but maintained his stoicism, with every smile buried under a frown and every sentence spoken with the same emotion as his axe. 

When I approached father, he placed a hand on my shoulder and directed my eyes with his other arm to the faraway river hidden by thistles and thickets. “By January, I shall have made a field up to that river. Now that you are eight, you shall double your efforts and help me plant crops during the spring.”

“January! There’s no way you could clear a field by yourself, by January!” I exclaimed.

“Then I will need your help to clear the field.”

A spark of enthusiasm glimmered in my eye and I hurried to the stump where father’s axe was firmly planted in. “If you really need me, I’ll be glad to help,” I gripped the axe handle and pulled with all my might, but no matter how hard I pulled, it wouldn’t budge.

Father moved my hands aside, placing his palm onto the axe handle and effortlessly plucking the axe out. He pulled it close and scanned the axe-head, softly brushing his fingers along the edge. He reminisced for a moment, then turned to look down directly at me, “Take up the plough, not the axe. While I may use it to chop down trees, many more use the axe to take lives.”

“But I won’t use it like that. I want to be strong, like you, father.”

“Do not be like me, Cassidy. Be more.”

On my father's solemn face, I saw the faintest smile crack through his perpetual grimace. He quickly returned to his usual frown, but for a moment, he had tried to reassure me.

In the distance, we heard thunder approaching us, but there wasn’t a cloud on this clear Autumn afternoon. No, it was a horse’s trot, steadily coming closer on the cobblestone path leading to the farm. On the horse was a stranger draped in a rose-patterned poncho, with a wide-brimmed hat hiding his face. 

Overhead, the clear sky was enveloped by clouds approaching from the west. Father took his hand from my shoulder and approached, embedding the axe back into the tree stump. He yelled out at the stranger, “We do not take visitors or travellers.”

The horse came to a halt and the stranger took off his hat to reveal his shaggy blond hair. “No problem, I ain’t planning to stay a while,” he retorted.

The stranger scanned both my father and I. He was trying to look calm, but his grim expression and demeanour gave away that he was on the edge of his self-restraint. Father stepped between me and the stranger’s view and broke the silence, “Who are you?”

“Jesse Shaw. You remember Elijah and Olivia Shaw?” he responded as he lifted himself up and hopped off the horse. “You thought you could just leave Arizona, start a new life, and just leave everything behind?”

Father was silent. He clenched a fist and grit his teeth. Dreary grey spots filled the blue skies, and the light cool breeze had become a fierce rattle. I felt Jesse’s eyes fall on me, his disdain and his hate. “That your boy?”

Father didn’t hesitate with his response, “Leave him out of this.” 

“Why should I? You didn’t leave me out of your business with my pa. Say, wanna know what he did, boy?”

“That’s enough.”

“My ma and pa owed him a lot of money, but when they couldn’t pay him back, he took an axe and –”

“Enough!” the world came to a still when my father roared. I stood completely still, frozen and staring into nothingness. “Inside, Cassidy.”

Jesse jeered at me while I processed what father said, “Best listen, boy. Else he might cut you down too.”

I followed at once and hid in the farm. I watched them through the living room window, careful not to make a noise. Father and Jesse simply spoke. It was a conversation that lasted a few minutes, and while I could not hear what was said, I could feel the malice and loathing Jesse felt towards father. 

Father remained steadfast, unflinching and unfazed as he spoke. On the other hand, Jesse seemed to go through every emotion imaginable in the span of a few seconds. Sometimes he howled like a wolf with laughter. Other times, he ducked his expression sheepishly behind his hands, as if he was afraid to show father that he still feared him. But throughout the whole conversation, the whole time he was here, I could tell there was an indescribable emptiness in him. No matter how flustered or furious Jesse became, there was no light behind his eyes, black and lifeless and devoid of emotion like obsidian.

Over time the clouds shifted and transformed and the skies became completely grey. Father and Jesse’s voices were overwhelmed by the howling wind and rustling of the shifting oak trees. As their conversation went on, I became restless, unable to sit still with just watching father and Jesse speak. I went to get water for my father to drink, heading to the kitchen where we stored water fetched from the river earlier in the morning.

Bang.

I had poured water in a tankard for my father when I heard the crack ringing through the house and into my ears. I rushed to the front and crashed through the door. My eyes fell on father, who struggled on the ground with his fingers digging on his bloodied chest. His breathing was erratic and rugged. It was the first time I saw my father wince in pain.

Then my eyes fell on his attacker who stared back at me. He watched me with the same animosity as an owl observing a shrew in the forest. Jesse turned back to father and barked at him, “I told you. After I kill you, I’d kill the boy.”

Jesse took a step forward and turned his body to face me. I saw now the silver instrument in his right hand. A Colt single-action army revolver. I faced the muzzle of the revolver – the same image that countless others before me had seen as their last. 

Bang.

I thought I was dead. The bullet brushed my shoulder, gashing and burning my skin, and landed in the walls of our home. Before Jesse could have cleanly shot me, father mustered strength and ignored the pain in his chest to pull Jesse down to the ground with him.

Father threw himself onto Jesse’s arms to stop him from aiming the revolver. “Run, Cassidy.”

I looked at my father grappling and thrashing despite the pain of his chest wound. He refused to fade away, fighting with the last embers of his life. At once, I ran into the house. 

An indiscernible growing weight gathered in my ribcage. I struggled to move my limbs against the terror and panic I felt, fighting against my weakening knees and constricting throat. The house seemed to shake as I staggered through the living room and into the kitchen.

Bang.

The crying wind fell silent and the world turned colder and grey. I stopped and hid by the kitchen door and peeked into the living room. The front door slowly crept open with a painful creak and a figure stumbled into the home, groaning and gritting his teeth in pain. It wasn’t father. “Come out, boy,” he yelled out. I didn’t respond.

Jesse shambled through the living room with the single-mindedness and voracity of a hunter in a dark forest. He searched behind furniture and the curtains, and when he couldn’t find any life, he simply moved to the next room: the kitchen. Likewise, it was just as unremarkable to Jesse as the living room was, with the only notable part of the kitchen being the open back door, where Jesse could see me scurrying into the thistles.

I hurried into the brambles. I heard Jesse’s heavy footsteps encroaching behind me, becoming louder and louder. 

Bang.

A bullet whizzed by and ripped into the bark of a tree beside me like an invisible claw.

Bang.

Another bullet tore through the air, leaving behind a terrible ringing in my ears.

I wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I kept running, into the thickets and trees to escape Jesse. If for a moment I slowed down, he would reach me in a matter of seconds. He was bigger, faster, and stronger than me, and even though I had a head start, he was rapidly approaching. And so, when I reached the riverbank, I jumped in, letting the current sweep me away.

When I looked back as I swam, I saw Jesse standing by the river with his revolver. His poncho was smeared and stained by blood – both his own and my father’s. He pulled back the hammer of the revolver, which let out a click, and aimed at me. His eyes, still filled with resentment and darkness, stared at me hungrily, telling me that there was no escape.

I was ready to die. I was ready to be murdered by the man that killed my father.

But he never fired.

A flicker of life flashed in Jesse’s eyes. The anger in his expression faded and he lowered the revolver. Looking down at himself, he held his bloody poncho in the palm of his hands, and without another remark or thought, he walked away.  

I doubted his mercy. I kept swimming. I swam until my arms and legs were heavy and sore.

It wasn’t until dark that I crawled out of the river. I was covered in sand and mud from the riverside, and my clothes were smeared and stained in dirt. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. My body ached. My clothes were wet and heavy. I wanted to go home. But there was no home for me to return to.

I sat down by the river and looked down at my hands. Unlike my father whose hands were rugged and calloused from years of labour, mine were smooth and soft. These hands couldn’t even hold an axe, let alone save my father.

Jesse. That man had taken away everything dear to me. It didn’t matter if he spared me in the end, he killed my father.

But he wasn’t a natural disaster. He wasn’t a force of God. He was just a man. And so, I made a promise. I would kill him. I will kill him. For what he did to me, to father.

I sat upright and leaned over the river water to wash away the mud and dirt on my face. But when I looked into my reflection in the river, I saw his obsidian eyes as my own.