Part III
"Adam," she calls, and as I can't think of an excuse, I come. Which means that, for the third time today, I have to leave off my drawing. It doesn't make such a difference, in the end- though I will admit I have a modest amount of talent, I don't get much out of it but relaxation. Still, it's always preferable to parental interference, I guess.
"Mom." I nod, to augment the short greeting, snag an apple out of the bowl on the counter. She's busy at the stove, so I take a seat at the table. "What's up?" I wonder if it sounds as lame to her as it does to me. I'm preoccupied.
"Nothing much, Adam. Just wondering what you were up to." She looks out the window as she speaks, and for a moment, as the sunlight bathes her face, it glitters as though she wept. Startled, I open my mouth as though to say something... but, generally, when I do, it ends up being the wrong thing. Instead, I busy myself with a bit of practical mathematics. Let's see, it's not my birthday, nor hers... I count months. Oh, God. It must be the day- or getting near to it-
"How are you?" Quietly, I ask it. She turns around once, the tears all but gone. She's a strong woman, but when she does let things get to her... I wonder if I should have just let it go. I'm hardly qualified to act as a therapist. And my father was the priest.
She merely smiles, albeit sadly. "I'm fine." And turns back to the stove, cutting off further conversation. "I was thinking... Maybe we should go visit your aunt and uncle today." We often spent this day with them, although (as now) Mother never put it into those terms. I guess it's a fitting tribute- she, Vash and Meryl knew him best.
Again, left speechless, I simply nod and get up. It's a good ways to Vash's home, and of course I'll have to drive. Unless she wanted to bother with a Thomas; I'd just as soon not. It's hot out there, especially with the suns as high in the sky as they are now.
My uncle seems to shun the cities. He prefers his little farm, with its carefully nurtured, rare vegetation. I don't know why- though sometimes, I've wondered if it's not to keep Knives out of trouble. Of all the people I know, Vash is the hardest to read. Most of the time, I don't even try.
Outside, it's even hotter than I expected. Mother makes sure we haven't forgotten the canteens, while I get the car started up. It's an old piece of junk, really, but it runs. Mostly. Waiting in the sparse shade, I look out over the desert. Mesmerizing, sometimes, the way the wind blows, throwing swirls and dances of dust over the endless sea of sands. Beautifully deadly. A sound startles me from my reverie; she's ready to go. I look up, and know I was right on the significance of the day. She's wearing the cross outside her clothing today. Getting in, she casts me a smile; I realize for the first time that my mother is getting older. A fine tracing of wrinkles is netted over her face. I don't remember that happening... it's nothing, really; I know she's got plenty of time left... but still, it's disconcerting.
"Let's get going. It's quite a drive." And she turns away, while I begin to drive.
As I've said, Vash lives out in the midst of the desert. He seems happy enough there, and Meryl... well, Meryl seems content enough, I suppose. She strikes me as the sort of person that could be content anywhere, but wouldn't choose one place over another. A follower, not a leader. My own mother can, at times, be the same way; I think it's only for my sake that we live closer to so-called civilization. I've always had a sneaking suspicion she'd be happier out here. And the others would probably be glad to have her there. Perhaps one day... but I waste my mind on dreams of the future.
"Hello!" cries Vash as we pull up to the house; Mother practically does a flying leap out of the car to embrace him. With a grin, I wait for her to finish- which she does, when Meryl comes out of the building and gets promptly tackled. With my uncle, Mother has a match in size; Meryl, however, is considerably shorter. While the girls go inside, I go to greet Vash.
"Adam." He's still smiling, although he's got a familiar look in his eyes. The one that says Good God, you look like your father. He hasn't vocalized it in a long time, but I know that's what he's thinking. I've made a conscious effort to minimize it- I've made an effort to wear more colors, and though the bones of my face betray me, my hair is a slightly browner black, and a different style. Still, one is what one is.
"Uncle Vash." We shake hands, and he pulls me into a hug. I'm not the contact type, but it feels good to be among family. Even if they aren't, really. "It's been a while."
"Half a year, at the least." Has it really been that long? It must have been. How time does fly. Perhaps if we lived a bit closer, but... "How are you?"
"Fine; I'm fine." I always am. "It's been a slow half-a-year." He nods in assent, and we head inside, blinking at the change in light. The girls are already inside, busying themselves doing nothing. Vash and I sit down, knowing better than to interfere, when a clear voice rings out, making me cringe.
"Ah, is it time for the annual funeral already? My, my. The joys of having our happy little home invaded- that is, visited." God, I want to turn around and beat the smile off that face. Only self-control keeps me from looking; I know Mother and Meryl must be doing the same. Vash does look, and I get a brief glimpse of his face. That, alone, is nearly enough to make me start; while he's not furious, the look of happiness has been banished, and he's serious for the first time in ages. It's not something I ever expect from him, though he has good reason now.
"If you're going to come down, Knives, the least you could do is manage some civility."
"Civility? Brother mine, your little pet Meryl is bad enough; why should I be civil when you pollute my home?" He's baiting my uncle again. Usually, Knives doesn't come down when we're here. I wonder what makes him smug enough to do so today.
"Go back upstairs." Vash stands up and starts towards the staircase. "None of us are in the mood to listen today."
"As you will. You do so love to ruin my fun." Finished with sadism for the moment, I hear him walking back up. Exhale, though I don't remember holding my breath in. I look over; Mother and Meryl are both standing very straight, although their shoulders have slumped back a bit. As hard as it is for me to listen to that, it's infinitely more difficult for them, knowing everything he's done. Vash gets up and goes to them, speaking too low for me to hear. Shaking slightly, trying to regain control, I remain seated. This is hardly the best way to spend a day that's melancholy at best.
As usual, Vash convinces us to stay the night; I hear him outside, though, knowing sleep evades him. For that matter, it's as elusive to me. Not always a trouble of mine, but there are times... Well, misery loves company; standing, pulling on a shirt, I follow the sounds of breath into the garden. My money's on the flowerbed tonight.
As I'd expected, he's standing in front of the flowers. Bright red, they're startling. I know they've some significance for him, but I've never asked. He, however, has not bothered to dress at all; bathed in moonlight, his body is a framework of pale scars and the dark glint of metal. "You either, hmm?"
Didn't realize he'd seen me. Not that it's really a surprise. "Not tonight." Maybe it was just the day; maybe it was the events. I didn't know. Vash doesn't bother to look over. He's gazing at the crater in the moon. I don't know why today brings up those memories, but he's a secretive man. For a few moments, we stand in silence. Then I move over a bit, looking over the sands. The desert in the day is beautiful and deadly. At night it is more serene, though still dangerous. Now, I itch to feel the sands around me; there's something soothing about that kind of solitude. "Care to take a walk?"
Vash looks behind us now, at the house. "Sure." We set off in silence, though it's companionable. I don't usually feel awkward when I'm alone with my uncle, even if we do not speak. And now, I am preoccupied with the world around me. The night dies the sand cooler colors- greens and blues, tinged with silver- and the air is cool. The soft caress of sand beneath me is comforting. I think I'd rather walk than anything else. My uncle says nothing, but I find it hard to imagine that he can remain untouched by this ephemeral beauty. The desert is our greatest foe; for me, it's one of the few comforts that remain to me. I want to lie down and let it swallow me, becoming nothing but a scatter of bone-white particles in the moon-glow sands.
The desert is eternal; I have been dying since the day I was born.
My uncle follows the sands.