The Cry of a Son

The Cry of a Son

Slumped against an old oak tree, he finally gave up on the sleep he’d tried so hard to find throughout the night. He often sat by a massive rock, perfectly situated to overlook the vast Red River Gorge valley below. Through heavy eyes, he followed the morning sun as it moved across the valley on top of the beautiful mixture of maples, oaks, and poplars that covered the valley for miles in all directions. He smiled, finding a moment of peace as he watched the eagles and vultures soar high above the trees. From that spot, he could not only see for miles but also hear the softest sounds echoing off the hills and across the valley.

The trees camouflaged him well, so being in the open air didn’t bother him much. Travelers weren't a concern; the quickest path to the Frog's Head overhang was a treacherous two-hundred-foot ascent up steep rock stairs. It was a dangerous and steep climb, so most people wouldn’t take it. Many times he had witnessed people roll down the stairs or give up about halfway through the climb. Those who did decide to make the climb could be heard as they huffed and puffed their way up the stairs.

A trail wound behind them through the thick canopy, but it was a grueling, hours-long trek from the valley through rough terrain to reach the ledge. It was such a treacherous path that nobody would walk it at night, so he knew they were safe to sleep outside of the cave on most nights. Those who did attempt that path would stop along the way to see the rock arch that was a little off the trail. There, little, red-breasted birds nested all year. He had grown accustomed to their singing and knew when they were happy and when they felt like they were in danger. That warning was enough for him to know when to hide his family.

He liked being there at the rock. Just to be seated under all the enormous trees and to enjoy the relaxing sounds of the fresh water that ran down the side of the rocks into the valley was the most amazing feeling. To see all this beauty first thing in the morning was something he looked forward to every day. Summertime was no doubt his favorite time of the year because the crown canopy allowed his family a safe haven and kept them from having to stay hidden in the caves all day. He stared out across the vast land below, taking in all its beauty; he hoped for just a moment that he could forget what it was that caused his night to be so restless.

Rubbing his heavy eyes, he fought off drowsiness, slowly pushing himself to his hands and knees. He crawled toward his son who lay quietly under a tree branch shelter not more than a few feet away. His son remained still even as he nudged him with the tips of his fingers. He rubbed the backside of his hand against his son’s cheek in hopes that it would awaken him, but his son just laid there quietly. If only his mother was there to help him. She always had the right touch, easing their son’s pain whenever he was sick or injured.

He thought about her and how she was so full of life and how she always enjoyed playing outside with their little one. Whether they played hide and seek in the caves, ran in and out of the trees, or skipped rocks across the creek, they always had a wonderful time when they played. She always kept their young one busy while he kept them safe and well fed. A fresh ache constricted his chest as he remembered the night he'd gone hunting and stumbled upon a duck nest. The hen was not sitting on her nest, so he decided to take her eggs so they could have something that night for dinner. By the next day, his mate was wracked with severe stomach pains. He tried to help her, but her pain became more severe as the day went on. She even had trouble keeping anything down that he gave her to drink or eat.

Chills took over her body and she slowly started losing her ability to even get up and move. Three days after she became sick she passed away in her sleep. He carried her deep into the cave, the very place where she and their son had always played. It is there where he buried her deep in the ground, and then covered her grave with heavy rocks and tree limbs so no one would discover her. Letting his son know that his mother had died was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life. It was even harder, knowing his own actions—the eggs he’d found—had caused her death.

Once again he rubbed his son’s face with the back of his hand as he hoped for a sign that he was okay and not dying like his mother did. He smiled as he thought about how his son always liked to run around when it was safe outside, and as the dad, he would always proudly sit back on the rock that overlooked the valley and just watched as he would climb trees and throw rocks into the valley. He always kept his son close by his side because he knew if he wandered too far it could be dangerous, especially if he played too close to the edge where the water ran down the cliff. He never imagined his son would venture out alone, without waking him.

The morning after his son wandered off, he awakened to find his bed empty. He frantically called for him, but he did not hear any replies. He rushed through the trees and climbed over rocks as he tried to find him. Then he remembered the jagged rocks on the edge of the cliff that he always warned his son about. Cautiously, he peered over the cliff’s edge. There lay his son, curled up as if he were asleep. He rushed down the side of the cliff. Reaching his son, he gently rolled him over, his gaze falling on the blood staining his left side, just below the ribcage. His son opened his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks. He tried to speak to his dad, but no matter how he tried he just mumbled. He pulled his son close to his chest and headed back up the dangerous cliff side onto the rock ledge.

All day long he tried to stop the blood that came from his son’s side. Nothing he tried seemed to work. He just sat there beside his young son and placed his hand on his side and hoped that it would stop the loss that was happening. As the night wore on, he noticed the bleeding had finally ceased; he could pull his hand away without more blood seeping from the wound. As the hours went by and he continued to sit there, he talked to his son and wished he would just open his eyes. He tried to make him as comfortable as possible as he laid him on a bed of leaves and placed a shelter over him. After he felt his son was protected, he crawled over to the tree where he found himself that morning.

He placed his face in his hands and pressed his fingers into his forehead as if he were massaging it to relieve stress. He decided it was time for him to go look for some food just in case his son awakened hungry. He meticulously covered his son with branches and leaves, then began the slow descent down the cliff face. Usually he would take the back way into the valley, because using the cliff side exposed him to travelers in the valley. Slowly reaching the valley floor, he cautiously searched for easy prey to carry back. After hours of hunting, the sun made its way across the valley and disappeared behind the mountains. He knew he had to find something quickly because making the way back up the cliff in the dark was extremely dangerous.

As he turned to head back through the valley to the cliff, he heard a child’s cry in the distance. Curious as to where it came from, he quietly followed the cries until he came to the edge of the forest near a parking lot. As he peeked through the trees, he could see a mother who cared for her small son with an injured knee. He watched as the mother pulled things from a container and cleaned the wound that bled. Seeing this reminded him of how his son’s wound bled as well. Before long, the young child stopped crying and began to run around the parking lot. He thought about his own son doing the same thing in the woods and he briefly smiled.

He continued to watch as the little boy ran up to his dad and they both walked together into their camper. The mother walked back to where they had built a fire and sat down beside it. He watched as she stoked the fire. He was amazed at how she healed her own son and stopped the blood. After he waited a few minutes, he decided that she was what his son needed, and he was determined to get her help. Slowly he made his way through the dark forest around behind her where she sat quietly by the fire. While the mother continued to stoke the fire, he quickly grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. The container that she used on her son was nearby, so he grabbed it as he quickly ran off into the darkness. She screamed for her husband as they disappeared into the forest.

As he made his way through the trails he noticed the mother’s cries had stopped. Finding a safe place to rest, he gently lowered her from his shoulder and gazed into her face. He poked her cheek with a finger; she remained unresponsive, though her chest slowly rose and fell. He drew her face close, feeling her soft breath on his cheek. Satisfied she was alive; he once again hoisted her over his shoulder and made his way back through the woods. As he arrived where his son was laid, the mother began to awaken. He laid her down under the big tree near the frog head rock. Her eyes were wide with terror, her body trembling as she stared up at him through the moonlight, disbelief etched on her face.

He knew she was going to scream again and placed his hand over her face and shook his head while he placed another finger over his lips to quiet her. He felt her body as it shook. Fearing she might fall and injure herself; he gently guided her to sit. She steadied her breath, fighting off lightheadedness. He gently slid her across the ground into a makeshift enclosure he created from branches and leaves. He lay in front of the opening, securing her inside. As the night wore on and the moon passed over, she knew it had become too dark to try and escape. His massive body blocked any chance of her trying to run away, so she curled up and cried herself to sleep. He listened to her as she softly cried. He knew that she was scared and that she missed her son, but all he could think about was his son and how he was sure that she could help him.

The morning light found itself across the rock and onto the mother’s face as she slept. All night he waited patiently for the sun to rise, eager to awaken her. Before he could touch her she quickly jumped to her feet and tried to run. She was no match for his speed, and he easily caught her before she could get away. Once again he placed his hand over her face to quiet her. She wrenched her head from his grasp, a raw cry escaping her: “What do you want from me?” He grabbed her hand and led her to the makeshift shelter and uncovered his son. She covered her mouth with her hand and gasped loudly at the sight of his son as he lay on the ground.

All night she lay beside this little one and was not aware that he was even there. She could see the blood that stained his side. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at the father. His eyes stared down at his son in grief. She understood why he seemed so distraught. She could not imagine if that were her son who laid there injured like he was. He pointed at her, then at his son, his gesture clear. She shook her head, not understanding his unspoken request. He put her hand over his son’s wound then pointed to her again. She pulled her hand away and shook her head again.

“I can’t help your son.”

He pointed to her knee and then pointed to her to remind her how she helped her son. He once again placed her hand on his wound. She stood up and shook her head once again.

“My son wasn’t hurt that badly. Your son needs a doctor. I do not have the medicine I need. Let me go to my husband and son to get it.”

He retrieved the first-aid kit he’d taken from her, holding it out. He pointed toward his son’s wound as he pleaded once more for her help. In his eyes, she saw a raw plea, a desperate sincerity that transcended her fear. Even though she was scared she could see how distraught and worried he was over his son’s injury. She took in a deep breath and knelt down beside the young one.

Cautiously, she began to work on his son’s wound. She raised his eyelids one at a time to look at his pupils. She felt a surge of relief as she told him his son was merely unconscious. After she looked at the wound on his side she poured a bottle of water in it to clean it and then used some antibiotics before she covered it with gauze. Carefully, she reached up, placing a hand on his arm, offering a nervous smile to reassure him his son would be fine.

She motioned for him to rest while she looked out after his son. She promised not to leave his side. The dad sat there for a moment as he stared at his son. As the night wore on, she remained by the son, murmuring soft comforts. Even though she feared for her life, she decided to stay there and do what she could to help out the young one. By helping him maybe he would be willing to let her go without hurting her. She lay down beside the young one and fell asleep while she rubbed his face.

Even the dense canopy couldn't entirely block the sun as it rose once again over the rock cliff. The warmth from the light awakened the dad. He was profoundly thankful; finally, he’d found rest, knowing his son was being cared for. He looked over the valley and grinned once again at all the beauty. As he turned toward where his son slept he noticed that his son was sitting up as he stared at the sleeping woman who had cared for him throughout the night.

A massive, unthinking yell of pure joy erupted from him, echoing throughout the valley. His impressive roar abruptly awakened the mother, who startled at the great sound that filled the valley below. She smiled when she saw the young one sitting up staring at her in wonder. The little one looked up at his dad, a silent question in his eyes about the woman beside him. The dad grinned and nodded his head as to say it was okay and not to fear her.

As she rose to her feet she touched the face of the young one and smiled at him. He still seemed a little dazed as she reassured him that he was going to be fine. As she turned toward the dad to see if she could go home to her son, she heard a loud, familiar cracking noise that echoed loudly throughout the whole valley. She looked at the dad as he just stood there proudly looking down at his son. He stretched out a hand toward his son, even as he fell to his knees. He pulled his son close to him and gave him a smile. He cradled his son’s head against his chest, beginning to rub his deep brown fur.

He turned his face to the mother, a look of profound appreciation in his eyes, and reached out for her hand. As his large hand enveloped her small one, he let out a deep sigh, then toppled onto the rock overlooking the valley. Within moments the mother’s husband arrived with forest rangers. They were all in shock: she was crying, cradling a juvenile in her arms. Beside them lay the young one's father, his eyes staring out over the valley he loved so deeply—the valley that had once hidden him and his family from the world and all its dangers.