Chapter 12
The Shadow steadied my life. Strangely, it was through his freedom that I found strict rules and guidance—both of which I would break, ignore, and finally resurrect.
We set off together and traveled by night through the town, where I found myself staring at my parents' home as we approached the familiar line of trees that always meant I had returned to the place of my deepest torment. The moment we started down the path marked by overgrown weeds obscuring a stone pathway, my heart sank. I thought for certain The Shadow had played me for a fool. Breath held, I instantly dug my heels into the dirt and froze, my eyes wide and mouth dry. The Shadow looked at me and nodded, acknowledging my fear.
"You do not need to come to the door with me," he said softly.
I stared back at him, feeling lost and helpless, my stomach fluttering with the threat of sickness.
"Shall I retrieve your violin?"
My mouth dropped open but no sound emerged. I did not want to tell him the instrument was hidden in the woods and not within their home as I feared if my father found it, he would either destroy my only true possession or he would sell it and keep the profit.
"You may remain beneath this tree, if you wish. I will only be a moment."
Before I could will my tongue to work, he strolled forward, cane in hand. With nothing else to do, I clutched my pack of food and cowered helplessly out of sight.
The moment the door opened I heard my mother scream and I shuddered. She cursed, her high-pitched voice threatening to tear the night in half.
My father appeared a moment later and roughly shoved her aside, which angered me. I despised the way my father treated her, how he used his size and strength to constantly overpower her. Sometimes the night ended with the sound of his hand cracking against her face, other times it ended with her begging him to stop and the muffled sound of a struggle leading to their bed. Those were the nights I covered my ears, uncertain of what I overheard but still wanting no part of it.
This night, however, was different. My father slammed the door behind him with a tremendous crack, which sent me further into hiding behind the tree. My knees gave out and I collapsed, my arm scraping against the tree bark. Reduced to my knees, I peered around the corner and pursed my lips, afraid of my father's wrath. He was a monolithic beast to me, a faceless demon with pits for eyes and anger hot as fire. I silently prayed no altercation took place as I feared the outcome. Selfishly I worried for own fate should my father best The Shadow.
"You were never worth a damn, you stupid bastard," my father said, his words slurred. I swore I could smell whiskey on his breath, even from such a great distance.
The Shadow gave a single nod. "Nor you. Lazy, ignorant, prone to fighting and fond of the bottle…you were no good to me as a fisherman."
My father spit in The Shadow's face, and I crept from my hiding place, belly to the ground. I thought for certain The Shadow would kill him, but he didn't move. It was as though he hadn't noticed. I was mesmerized by his unwavering calm and repulsed by my uncouth father.
"What will you tell those ignorant louses on the beach, eh?" The Shadow asked. "Most certainly your friends will question you."
"They'll forget soon enough."
"Not all men are as ignorant as you."
My father shifted his weight. "I'm ignorant? I'm not the one who fought on behalf of some faceless—"
Fast as lighting, The Shadow cracked my father across the cheek with the back of his hand. "What would you call him, Bjorn?"
My father doubled over briefly, but rather than back down, he gave a humorless laugh and straightened, his silhouette appearing larger than before. I swore anger made him blossom into a larger demon, a creature that would not so easily crawl into the night. "What would I call that disgusting bastard? A pathetic excuse for human life."
My heart sank, even though deep inside I knew I should not have expected anything different. He had called me as much every day of my life, sometimes worse. Many times he called me a whore's son even though I had no idea what that meant. He accused my mother of lying with the devil himself as well as any fisherman who docked in town. Repeatedly he degraded his wife and me as well-and not once had I ever fought back for my mother's dignity or my own self-preservation. I bowed to his anger, submitted to his every word in hopes he would one day tire of striking me.
"You speak of yourself, you worthless ass. He is smart as a whip and has learned to play the violin-"
"What violin?" my father interrupted. "The bastard stole it, no doubt."
"I gave it to him," The Shadow said.
"Ah, then you stole it," my father said with a grunt. "You left here with nothing to your name. You returned with nothing as well."
The Shadow ignored my father's accusation. "Erik is truly gifted, and perhaps I would not be so impressed if I didn't know whose house he'd come from—or rather, whose cellar he escapes from as often as possible."
His words made me shudder. I wondered if The Shadow had seen me escape from my parents' home or if he had followed me and watched me wriggle back through the window and replace the bars.
"He's a goddamned liar if he has told you he escapes from the cellar," my father spat. He drunkenly stepped to the side and nearly lost his balance. I sat forward, willing him to steady himself, afraid he would twist his ankle or break his wrist.
The Shadow grabbed him by the throat and shoved him back into the closed door. "I've seen for myself, dear brother. I have seen far more than you realize."
My breath hitched, my eyes bulged in fear of what he knew. It embarrassed me to think he had known for even a day that my life, my existence, was trapped beneath the ground. I wanted him to think well of me, to find me worthy. I didn't understand his compassion. If he left me, if he at least realized how worthless I truly was to the rest of the world…where would I go? Back into the cellar, I assumed, back into my father's domain.
The pack I'd held slipped from my shoulder and fell beside me, an apple rolling into the grass.
"I've watched him return home at night, seen him slink into your hell. You've given him nothing all of these years, not a damned thing. Why?"
"Look at him." My father's voice had become a whimper, a plea for mercy. "No woman will ever want him. Even the church refused him. He's better off left inside an asylum where he cannot harm anyone. You're a fool to think otherwise."
My heart dropped. I still hoped for my father's affection, for one word of praise before I was gone.
"What harm do you think this boy would do? He barely utters a word and never makes eye contact. The only time he shows any mirth at all is when he hears music."
My father grunted. "If you are so enamored with that worthless brat, then take him."
"I already did," The Shadow answered with an air of satisfaction in his words. He nodded toward the side of the house, and I followed his gaze toward the headstone shrouded with overgrown weeds.
I could not see my name etched in stone, but I knew it was there. I had seen the grave-my grave-for as long as I could remember, a monument erected for the child my parents had not wanted since birth.
"I was a fool to believe he was dead," The Shadow said through his teeth. "All of these years wasted, and for what? Your pride? Is that why you have mistreated him? Your own son?"
Tears slid down my cheeks as The Shadow spoke the words that had always thrummed in the back of my mind. I had desperately wanted to know why my father passionately hated me, how he could so easily release all of his frustration on me day after day. I knew from watching the rest of the world that other parents held their children in their arms and spoke softly. I had seen fathers praise their sons and playfully elbow them in the ribs or ruffle their hair as they passed pretty girls. I had seen girls run to their fathers returning from sea only to be caught in mid-air and swung around, both laughing as they were reunited.
"You don't know what hell I've been through with him."
The Shadow shook his head. "You created his hell. I gave my son—"
"Your crippled, dead son."
I shuddered at my father's callous words.
"You are no judge of character or wit. I shouldn't expect good sense from you, Bjorn." The Shadow released him. "You never saw our father's genius in your own son, did you?"
I couldn't breathe as his words registered. Our father. Ours. They were brothers…I was The Shadow's nephew. Despite him saying the previous day that they were related, I had not believed him, at least not really. But now, as The Shadow confronted his own brother, I knew I had family. I had a tribe.
My father lunged for him but he stepped aside, and with a heavy thud my father fell into the grass where he squirmed, writhed beneath the cane The Shadow held over him.
"You see nothing at all, Bjorn. Nothing." He glared at the opened front door and then stormed through. I watched, completely dumbfounded, as my mother ran down the steps to my father and scolded him.
"He'll rob us blind, that monster!"
With my back against the tree and my heart racing, I shoved the apple into my pack and stared at the night's sky, the endless darkness pierced by countless stars. My mind raced, my heart thudding against my rib cage as I heard The Shadow ask where the violin was located. Items were roughly shoved aside, glasses broke, and heavy footsteps thumped down the wooden steps as he once again exited their home.
The Shadow blocked my view of the sky and looked down at me, his face weary. "He claims he does not have the violin."
I nodded and looked from him to the line of trees to my right. "It's...there..."
When I dared to meet his eye again, he merely cocked a brow and nodded, which signaled me to my feet. I walked with my head down and trudged toward a thick bush with thorns I had never seen but felt each time I retrieved the violin case. Down on my knees, I reached into the lower branches until my fingers skimmed the hard outline of the case in a canvas bag. Thorns scraped down my forearms and hands, but I did nothing more than grimace as I pulled the violin case from safety and handed the instrument to The Shadow.
"You should have told me," he said, sounding slightly exasperated.
I turned my head to the side and balled my hands into fists as I swallowed hard and waited for him to strike me across the face for keeping secrets. For a long while I remained submissively on my knees, bracing myself in silence.
"Clever boy," The Shadow said. He extended his hand and helped me to my feet. Once I stood before him, he patted me gently on the back and smiled. "I have no regrets of how this evening ended, but now we must leave. There is nothing here for me and there has never been anything for you, has there?"
"Th-thank you." I averted my eyes and smiled inwardly.
He did not ask why I offered my gratitude, and I was relieved he did not press me to speak more than two words. I feared I would stammer or that my voice would be nothing more than a whisper and he would ask me to speak again.
"You're welcome, my son." He placed his hand on the top of my head and gentle squeezed, a gesture which comforted me—and would one day comfort my son. I wondered if he knew how desperately I had wanted to feel like the other boys I saw in the village, how I lay awake and imagined what it would be like to earn a single word of praise from my father. The sincerity on my uncle's thin face made it more meaningful, and when I looked at him from the corner of my eye, I felt a smile tug at my lips.
We set off down the road and I studied The Shadow-my uncle-for a moment as he whistled to himself. I made every attempt to keep my eyes ahead on the road and steal glances, but failed miserably and nearly fell to my knees when I stumbled on a rock jutting up from the dirt. Deftly The Shadow's arm shot out and caught me across the chest.
"Careful," he said with a close-lipped smile and sideways glance.
"Are we walking east to the Orient?" I asked suddenly, feeling the need to fill the silence.
He looked surprised when I spoke. "Tonight?" He smiled, his arm brushing my shoulder. I nodded even though that was not what I meant. "No, my dear child, we'll have to walk much faster than we are now, and I'm afraid these bones are not up to the task."
"Have you been there before?" I asked, keeping my gaze fixed on the road ahead. "To the Orient?"
"I've been everywhere."
My head lowered. "I've been nowhere."
He nodded. "I've been there as well."
The road proved more interesting, and neither of us spoke until the smell of fish turned to the fresh, tangy scent of mowed grass. Cattle watched us, and a dog guarding sheep barked his warning from the other side of a fence until we were out of its sight.
I stole another glance at the man beside me, wondering how he could possibly be related to my father-and to me as well. Certainly they could not be blood relatives.
"Are you really my…?" I questioned suddenly, but I couldn't bring myself to finish the question.
"I am a ghost," he whispered. He didn't look at me when he spoke.
We walked until first light.