DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fanomena, March 1948

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Fanomena, March 1948

Page 22

The woman laughed, a musical laugh, but with metallic tones rather than the soft resonance of fluted clarinets or the vibrations of stringed violins. "You know I bought the place years ago when your father and I separated. It is an old house on a cliff above the ocean. I had insomnia, worrying about you and the ceaseless waves lulled me to sleep, so I bought the place and planted roses. Constant waves breaking against the rocks a thousand feet below us, and thousands of roses all around us. When your father was dying he asked to be cremated and the ashes thrown over the rocks into the ocean, but---I will tell you about that later on. And then two years ago Veronica came to live with me; a nice child, convent educated. She has a background and a pleasing voice, and she loves roses. She is really very beautiful."
"I know. She must be very fine. Her voice pleases me. We who are blind learn to judge personalities by the sound, the tone of the voice, almost more than by the words."
Just then, the young woman joined them. there was a casual question or two about mail to be answered, food to be ordered and then the mother asked to be taken to the house. "And when you come back." she requested, "talk to my son. You will see a lot of him in the months to come, and I want you to become good friends."
The two women left the rose garden while the man and the dog waited. He stroked her head and gently pulled her ears as he listened to the waves beating on the rocks far below. He could bear their monotone music, feel the warmth of the sunshine, smell the flowers. He could feel the presence of the dog.
"I am glad I have you Freda," he said softly, and it seemed as though the dog understood. When Veronica joined them, the dog did not growl.
"Freda likes you," said the man.
"I am glad," replied the young woman. I think all animals like me; animals and children, they seem so easy to understand if you just let them warm up to you and do not try to force them. I am glad you are here, Mr. Wright. You see your mother really needs you. She has been so lonely. Your letters were so important in her life and she worried so when she learned you had the trouble with your eyes. It must have been hard to enter a world of darkness.'
The man laughed softly. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked.
"I hope so."
"Then I will make you a confession. Perhaps you will understand. I have told Freda about it, but she is not very sympathetic. You may be. You will understand better than a dog; perhaps you will not be so jealous, because Freda loves me. It all goes back years ago. Mother loved me; I thought she loved me too much, but perhaps I could not judge her properly, never having had any children of my own. Anyway she wanted me to be with her all the time and I thought that was where Father should be. At least I tried to bring them closer together by staying away from them. And after Father died, and I found out that his last request had not been granted, I grew hard, and just would not come back to her.
"I suppose I did not understand them; and I am sure that I did what was best; at least I thought so. They did not understand each other. Perhaps they did not try. Father always loved the ocean and Mother always loved her roses. The result was that Mother was jealous of the ocean and Father was jealous of the rose garden and they both fought for my live, so I stayed away. Then Father died. This is hard to tell you, and you must not say anything about it because Mother think I do not know it, and I want her to keep on thinking so, because I do not want to do anything to hurt her, now that she is blind. But Father's one desire was to be cremated and have his ashes cast on the ocean so much. And Mother won out in the end. She took those ashes and dug them in around her rose bushes, the last place in the world Father would have selected as a final resting place even for what was left of him. It seemed to me a cruel thing for any woman to do. So I became hard. Of course I wrote to her, but I guess there was not much love in the letters and when I visited her every year or so it was almost a short, official business trip, rather than a visit from a loving son.
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The woman laughed, a musical laugh, but with metallic tones rather than the soft resonance of fluted clarinets or the vibrations of stringed violins. "You know I bought the place years ago when your father and I separated. It is an old house on a cliff above the ocean. I had insomnia, worrying about you and the ceaseless waves lulled me to sleep, so I bought the place and planted roses. Constant waves breaking against the rocks a thousand feet below us, and thousands of roses all around us. When your father was dying he asked to be cremated and the ashes thrown over the rocks into the ocean, but---I will tell you about that later on. And then two years ago Veronica came to live with me; a nice child, convent educated. She has a background and a pleasing voice, and she loves roses. She is really very beautiful." "I know. She must be very fine. Her voice pleases me. We who are blind learn to judge personalities by the sound, the tone of the voice, almost more than by the words." Just then, the young woman joined them. there was a casual question or two about mail to be answered, food to be ordered and then the mother asked to be taken to the house. "And when you come back." she requested, "talk to my son. You will see a lot of him in the months to come, and I want you to become good friends." The two women left the rose garden while the man and the dog waited. He stroked her head and gently pulled her ears as he listened to the waves beating on the rocks far below. He could bear their monotone music, feel the warmth of the sunshine, smell the flowers. He could feel the presence of the dog. "I am glad I have you Freda," he said softly, and it seemed as though the dog understood. When Veronica joined them, the dog did not growl. "Freda likes you," said the man. "I am glad," replied the young woman. I think all animals like me; animals and children, they seem so easy to understand if you just let them warm up to you and do not try to force them. I am glad you are here, Mr. Wright. You see your mother really needs you. She has been so lonely. Your letters were so important in her life and she worried so when she learned you had the trouble with your eyes. It must have been hard to enter a world of darkness.' The man laughed softly. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked. "I hope so." "Then I will make you a confession. Perhaps you will understand. I have told Freda about it, but she is not very sympathetic. You may be. You will understand better than a dog; perhaps you will not be so jealous, because Freda loves me. It all goes back years ago. Mother loved me; I thought she loved me too much, but perhaps I could not judge her properly, never having had any children of my own. Anyway she wanted me to be with her all the time and I thought that was where Father should be. At least I tried to bring them closer together by staying away from them. And after Father died, and I found out that his last request had not been granted, I grew hard, and just would not come back to her. "I suppose I did not understand them; and I am sure that I did what was best; at least I thought so. They did not understand each other. Perhaps they did not try. Father always loved the ocean and Mother always loved her roses. The result was that Mother was jealous of the ocean and Father was jealous of the rose garden and they both fought for my live, so I stayed away. Then Father died. This is hard to tell you, and you must not say anything about it because Mother think I do not know it, and I want her to keep on thinking so, because I do not want to do anything to hurt her, now that she is blind. But Father's one desire was to be cremated and have his ashes cast on the ocean so much. And Mother won out in the end. She took those ashes and dug them in around her rose bushes, the last place in the world Father would have selected as a final resting place even for what was left of him. It seemed to me a cruel thing for any woman to do. So I became hard. Of course I wrote to her, but I guess there was not much love in the letters and when I visited her every year or so it was almost a short, official business trip, rather than a visit from a loving son. 22