Marwut The Black Phoenix

A feast in time of turmoil-1

A FEAST IN TIME OF TURMOIL

Present time.

For months now, as the night dusk descended on the city, as the blackness of the starless sky hid the smallest details from human eyes, an elusive shadow crept into the Greentons' house. Trying to move silently from room to room, someone had continuously failed to cope with the old creaky floor.

"Hey!" Woken by the sound of footsteps on the dilapidated parquet floor, and for the same reason, parted underfoot, William stood at the top of the stairs. "What do you want?"

"Put the gun down, it's only me for now." Shuffling across the floor in his bare feet and holding a kerosene lamp, his father appeared on the first floor.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Putting the gun down, the boy began to walk downstairs.

The man wiped his blood-stained hands on his pants and approached the window.

"Nothing much... go to bed... tomorrow's a special day." He looked out into the courtyard.

"Are you still waiting for her?"

Looking at something in the shroud of mist, father gave out with a wistful voice:

"Anything can happen... anything." The man left his son alone and went back to the kitchen. "Go to bed, you have a hunting trip tomorrow..."

Early that morning, leaving his father to do the housework, William went into the woods before noon.

"One big boar and four hares!" With an appraising glance from his father, the boy stripped off his muddy shoes. "More than enough for yesterday's orders!" Removing one boot with another, William managed to tear the soles off. "Here we go..."

"It's about time this rag was replaced with a new pair!" Father looked with a disgruntled look. "I have made arrangements with Hurd, go see him soon. Can't look at these shoes without pity!"

"What?" Distracted by something else, William did not hear his father's question.

"Didn't you hear me? To see Hurd?"

"Yes, yes, I'll come by tomorrow." William immediately agreed with him, not being a fan of his father's arguments.

He picked up his damp cloak from the floor and hung it on the hook of the door, unpacking his hunting bag.

"Hungry?" Onor asked him.

"Ugh, I don't know...I remember it being here!" William rummaged in his bag. "Where could I have left it?"

"What’s happening now?" The man approached his son.

"The knife, my knife..." William looked around, his eyes searching for the lost object. "I couldn't have... Or could I?"

"Of course, you could... If you only knew how many hunting knives I had left in the woods when I was your age! It's a normal thing to get a new one!" The father tapped his son on the back. "Come on, clean up and get to the table..."

Running outside, William went down into the cold cellar, put the carcass of a boar in the far cold corner, and locking the door behind him, headed for the street shower.

Quickly tidying himself up and changing into clean clothes, the boy returned to the house.

At the big wooden table sat his father, for some reason overdressed.

"What's the occasion you're all dressed up for?" William glanced at the white linen shirt his mother had once made.

Onor, smiling broadly, showed a row of snow-white teeth that contrasted against his swarthy skin.

"Sit down," his father said impatiently.

William pulled back the heavy wooden chair with a creak. He made himself comfortable and began to stare at the food on the table: a large bowl of stewed ribs and potatoes, washed fresh vegetables, oven-baked fish with pearl barley and coriander, and fresh bread. At the edge, closer to Onor, the table was adorned with a red wine in a carafe made of iron.

"Just like when mom was here… When did you manage to do all this?" the son furrowed his brow in surprise and then, without waiting for an answer, continued his speech. "Did you do this all at night?” He remembered his father’s nighttime adventures and giggled. “What a surprise! But what was the occasion?" He grabbed a spoon and began to put food on his plate.

"Wait..." Onor stopped him.

"What now?" William said, looking suspicious.

"You may have forgotten, but today is the twenty-first year since you were born." Clearing his throat with a quiet cough, the man paused for a moment. "Holidays are not meant to be missed."

"I don't know what a holiday is... counting the years... what a hobby..." William muttered, "Though when else would we have had such a good time at this table?"

At that, Onor stood up and walked into the hall. When he returned a minute later, with a rifle in his hands, he said:

"Shoot me right here and now if you’re not happy with me!"

Not knowing what he was talking about, William jumped up from his chair.

"Uh, what are you doing?" He grumbled with a frightened look on his face. "Everything is wonderful, the best table with the best company..."

"There you go! Don't tell me I could do better..." Onor held out his hands.

William moved leisurely toward his father.

"Is it new?" he whispered, peering at his present.

"Ha... I bet it's custom-made." His father burst out haughtily.

He hugged him for a few seconds, then stepped back as he stared at the weapon.

It said "William Greenton". Putting his fingers over the barrel, the boy read the name embossed on the weapon. "Steel..." He kept his eyes fixed on the trigger guard. Then, squinting at the sight and leaning the rifle against his shoulder, William aimed the leather strap that hung from the door.

At that moment the door swung abruptly open. The joyful and cheerful face of the guy standing in the doorway was replaced by a beaming face of fear.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, buddy, you're not on the hunt!" The guy at gunpoint had his hands in the air.

"What? What's going on here?" The rest of his friends, who followed him, mumbled and then collapsed on his back.

"Oh my, what a welcome!" The big guy shook his broad shoulder and pushed his friends off him. "And I told those two fools we were welcome here! But I must have been mistaken, we are welcome here, with a gun to our heads!" At these words, he went into the house with open arms. "Tell me, can't you forget your hunting toys at least for your birthday?"

"Don't forget the family I was born into!" He put the gun down on a dark green velvet pouf, bent at the knees, and with a crooked gait, approached his friend. Wrapping his arms around his chest, William tried to lift the heavyweight.

"And you gained some pounds..." William sighed with resignation. "I'm so glad you're here, Ruthie, Tom, Sam!" William glanced at each of them.

Without saying a word, Sam and Tom walked over to their friends hugging.

As he pulled the extra dishes from the rack, his father squinted at the boys with a smile on his face. The long-lasting silence was interrupted: ringing in their ears, loud laughter permeated all the rooms. Laughing, the boys moved into the hall and began to discuss something vigorously. Sam, sitting in a large velvet armchair, watched his friends. Occasionally, supporting them with his quiet laughter, he averted his eyes as he stared at the trophies on the walls: a shaggy, twisted-horned deer head, whose artificial eyes seemed about to blink; a bear pelt, its open mouth showing its yellowed teeth; an old stuffed fox, its moth-eaten hair glossy with age. The stuffed animals, scattered in various corners of the hall, seemed in comparison to them sweet and harmless victims, who had once paid the price for their beauty. They were everywhere: on the dust-covered book walls; on the gold-handled wooden chest of drawers; on the many shelves hung against the walls. Having not been here for months, Sam was disheartened to find that the house had fallen into disrepair and no longer looked as cozy and clean as it did when Katie was here. Clutter and filth haunted the place. Things, having lost their former places and their owner's interest, lay carelessly here and there. The densely dusted floor, smeared with droplets of melted wax dripping from a yellowed lamp above, seemed to have not been through a wet cleaning in a long time. A sagging couch that lost a leg, covered in shreds of dog hair and a mixture of dried food crumbs, bent over to its side and rivaled the sagging table, littered with dirty dishes. With the loss of its mistress, the house was plunged into despondency and sadness.

William reached out his hand as he noticed Sam staring into the cluttered hall:

"Come to the table, I'm sure you're hungry! My father showed off his culinary skills today," he said happily to everyone, then turned to Sam. "I know what you're seeing here... it’s a mess for sure." Not trying to justify himself, the boy shrugged his shoulders.

Everyone at the table was in a cheerful mood. Sam looked one by one at Onor and then at Willie. A little embarrassed and taking a deep breath, he decided to speak up:

"Don't think it’s impertinence and insolence, much less a remark, but my little sister Dori could help you clean the house! She's been hanging around doing nothing all day anyway. She wouldn't mind doing it if you want her to.

"Sam, you're as generous as ever!" Onor cut him off. "Oh, shame on you!" the man said to himself. "You’re such a bad housekeeper, your son's friends are already reprimanding you!"

"I wasn't thinking..." Sam's eyes, anticipating a misunderstanding, darted around. "I was only trying to help, that's all."

"Help..." Onor pondered. "My hands are empty, and my soul is silent and no longer singing. And this thing requires enthusiasm. You know what I mean?" He filled his glass with wine.

"Dad... Stop it, don't start..." His son's voice intervened. "Not tonight."

"Not tonight... not tonight." He winked back. "So if she's really hanging around and has nothing to do, we'll find her something good!"

After these words, he raised his filled glass and immediately drained it in one gulp.

At this time Tom, given to understand that it was time to do something important, winked playfully. With a cough and a sense of importance, he rose from his chair. Ruthie and Sam followed him up.

"William! Our friend!" The boy began solemnly, leaning his hands on the edge of the table. "I know the last few months haven't been easy for you..." The boy lowered his voice and looked at Onor, fixing the red hair that fell into his big blue eyes... "...for your whole family. Yes, it's not easy to celebrate anything at such a difficult time for everyone... But life goes on." He bit his lower lip for a second. "Yes...my speech for such a day didn't begin with any solemn words!" he narrowed his eyes as he chose the right words. "I understand your pain, yes, it's complicated and confusing...."

"Don't..." Onor interrupted him.

"No, he's right, let him continue." His son stopped him.

"But you're not alone," Tom continued, pointing to Sam, "your friend has a cousin missing...I have… I have my little brother, and many people in the town is facing grief. And look how they... how we all hang in there! People don't shut down like you did. The people go on... and you, you absolutely must at least try."

"Hold on..." William grinned back. "How do you know how they really live?"

"I know! Because I go out on the street. Stick your nose out of the yard, walk around town, and talk to the people." Tom resented it. "You're never out of the woods, are you?" He pounded his fist on the table arbitrarily. "Okay, enough, that's not why we're here today, that's not what I wanted to start with, that's not what I wanted to talk about."

"You said it right!" Ruthie joined in his words. "How long is this going to go on? You'll be dried up with grief by the time all the girls are taken!" He playfully jerked his broad chin toward the window.

William just grinned back at him kindly.