Listen to the Silence
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"Spread the back and lay him down on top - there you go. Now, bring the front up between his legs and...no, it's too loose - that's right! Great!"

This is an image I never thought I'd lay eyes on.

There stands Piccolo by the table, two safety pins clutched between his sharp teeth while his large hands manipulate the cloth diaper under Doramu's gaunt little body. I instruct Piccolo on where to place the safety pins. He does so without pricking his fingers.

"Good, see? You're done. I told you changing diapers was easy."

"Thanks, ChiChi." Piccolo glances down at me with eyes colored in dark, but triumphant amusement. I think it was a good thing I came along when I did. His previous attempt with the little handkerchief sized diaper ended with the diaper falling off and a small shower.

Piccolo reaches down and gently draws Doramu to himself. Doramu is so tiny that Piccolo's hands practically overwhelm him. His little fingers are as delicate as butterfly antennae and stretch and wriggle like jellyfish tendrils. He doesn't move around much, except to occasionally stretch out, squirm around or wiggle his fingers and toes. His body curves into a fetal position that fits perfectly in Piccolo's cupped hands. He's not yet a day old and I'm already in love with him.

Though Piccolo's body really bounced back to normal after he delivered Doramu, I can pick out faint stretch marks just below his ears and on the sides of his jawbone. Like a woman's belly, his neck never quite regained its normal shape. It's rounded softly and still a bit bruised. Gohan told me earlier that Piccolo looked as if he had a football lodged in his throat. I'm afraid I have a hard time picturing that. I have a hard enough time imagining him pregnant at all.

"Ya little mustard seed," Piccolo whispers to the squirming baby, who gurgles in reply.

A fitting sentiment. Mustard seeds are no larger than a pinhead, yet they grow into gigantic trees. And to think that from one cell, Doramu will someday be Piccolo's size. It amazes me and, by the look of it, Piccolo as well.

I stand back to watch Doramu curl into Piccolo's chest, creating wrinkles in his father's loose shirt. He yawns, splays his fingers and gazes up at his massive look-alike with one tiny hand sprawled out on his cheek. His dark eyes hold nothing but utter trust, love and dependence.

Piccolo's entire expression changes when his eyes drift down to meet his son's. For a moment there are no shadows on his face. His boyish lips lose their tense line and the wrinkles leave his teardrop nose. His brow relaxes and his dark, bottomless eyes soften. I have never seen Piccolo look at someone this way before. Not Gohan, not myself....I doubt he is even aware his stoic demeanor slipped.

I wish he'd stop pinching his face more often - he's quite handsome this way. Who would've known he had a heart shaped mouth otherwise? It's...it's so sweet. A mother's love in a father's body.

Piccolo wilts into the rocking chair once more, his legs flexing to make it sway. Its quiet creaks are like a soothing lullaby in the silence, Piccolo's even heartbeat serving as the metronome around which all other sounds dance. His rocking form becomes the conductor's wand that guides the rustle of leaves and the single satin swish of a dove's wings. Twilight dims the world and turns the sky shades of lavender and deep blue. Trees become pale shadows outside the window. Piccolo's skin is like flawless jade in the dimness, his eyes two black opals that swirl with color and feeling for the tiny being in his arms. Daylight's last gasp plays off the upturned curve of his face and shoulder, carving his features in soft relief. He rumbles from deep in his throat, speaking soothing words I don't understand. I smile at the way he so gently runs his fingers over Doramu's arms and legs to relax him. Doramu grasps one when it comes within reach, his little palm eclipsed by a giant, tapered fingertip. Piccolo unleashes a dazzling smile that flashes his dangerous white fangs. It's like the full moon flickering between storm clouds. Majestic while it's there and gone again in an instant, evident only in the silver glow remaining around the edges.

It is all so...so still. Nothing moves other than the two forms in the rocking chair. For a short moment it seems as though this room exists on a plane where there is no future or past, no life or death and nothing to fear. There is only now. A place into which time cannot enter.

...he looks so young when he smiles. Too young to die.

I want to ask him if he would like me to swaddle Doramu like before, but the words fade before they reach my lips. Afraid to destroy this precious moment. Someday, that rocking chair will be empty, silent and still. Taking even a second away from its use seems sacrilegious.

I don't like to think about it... I -

"ChiChi," Piccolo's soft voice is just another chord in the orchestra he unknowingly conducts.

"Yes?" Startled, I glance over to find his eyes on me. Calm, calculating, measuring my response.

Piccolo keeps rocking the chair, but the slightest movement of his head beckons me away from the doorway. I hesitate, afraid to misinterpret the gesture, but he repeats it more insistently. With a brief nod, I approach the rocking chair.

He looks up in all seriousness, "Where exactly do you females carry your young?"

Doesn't he - oh, I keep forgetting.... I cover a giggle with one fist as I move to stand by the window. Placing my hand just below my navel, I face him. "Here."

His mouth quirks. "I'm almost afraid to ask how you gave birth."

"Not through my mouth, I'll tell you that right now."

The chair creaks, followed by Piccolo's voice, "Is it painful?"

I nod slowly at the remembered pains. At how my body seemed about to tear itself asunder when Gohan was born. "It's different for every woman. Gohan was born surprisingly easily, despite the pain. Actually...." I laugh, "I had him all by myself while Goku was flying off to get a doctor. It wasn't as hard as I'd been told. I just...went with my body. How about you?"

"Unpleasant, but nothing traumatic. I went off alone because I wasn't sure what instinct might make me do...and...I just kind of wanted my first moments with him to be peaceful without interruption." Piccolo says. He looks down at Doramu once more, eyes softening. "It's funny, the minute I saw him...I forgot all about the pain."

How strange it is to be discussing childbirth with a man who understands. "Piccolo....it's like that for almost anyone who gives birth. You look into those little eyes for the first time and just fall madly in love."

"Feh." His eyes twinkle knowingly. "I....sometimes I tremble when he wraps his hand around my finger like this. It makes me wonder if he'll ever sit in this exact spot and ask the same questions about his own kid."

I feel my face soften at this. "You did call him a mustard seed. He'll become a great tree that'll grow many branches...he already has very strong roots in you. If he's the seed, that makes you the soil he grows from."

Piccolo shoots me a skeptical look from beneath his brow ridges. It's such a pouty expression that I barely contain a laugh. Suddenly the chair stops rocking and Piccolo stands up, bringing me eye level to his chest.

"Sit." He says tersely.

I do so curiously, the smooth cedar warm from his body heat. The chair is so high my toes are all that reach the floor. "Why for, Piccolo?"

In reply, Piccolo lifts Doramu away from his chest and places him in my arms. He positions my hands - one under the baby's bottom and the other behind his tiny head - and shifts his eyes to mine. Doramu is like a gaunt little kitten in my hands. Tiny, warm, vibrating with life yet to unfold, yet so much more fragile than a human newborn. One wrong squeeze could destroy the future Piccolo dreamed he would have.

"Always keep his ear to your heart when you rock him. Rock the chair in time with your heartbeat. He already knows my rhythm, but if he learns yours and Gohan's early on, then it won't be too traumatic to him when I can't do it anymore." Piccolo shoves one of Gohan's schoolbooks under my feet so I have something to push on.

I meet his quiet eyes, settle Doramu against my breast and begin to rock in time with my heartbeat. Just a little faster than Piccolo. In a moment I find myself at the center of the same orchestra Piccolo created. Lost within a timeless bubble of gentle peace.

Doramu stirs and peers up at me with eyes identical to his father's. So innocent and adorable. He seems puzzled at this new face floating above him...I highly doubt he remembers me from before. But those precious little eyes...I just know they'll be as intense and wonderful as Piccolo's when he grows up.

"Hey, precious," I coo softly, "sleepy time."

Miniature eyes blink and close. Doramu sprawls out against my chest, smacks his lips and drifts back to sleep. I raise my eyes again only to find Piccolo staring out the window, the soft expression gone from his face. He's once more the stoic, unflappable man I previously believed to be a monster.

"How did you survive all alone when you were this small?"

Twin black holes fix back onto me. "I didn't."

"Then how - "

"I came to consciousness the moment my brain formed, ChiChi. All I knew to do at the time was to wait and become strong enough to survive in the world before I hatched. My growth was accelerated so I wouldn't be born until I could survive on my own. During that time, I dreamed about my father's memories. The only emotion I knew was hatred."

My heart breaks silently for him as I listen to his story, my hands keeping little Doramu close to my heart. In my mind I hold Piccolo too, protecting him from his past pain.

"I didn't pass anything on to Doramu other than some basic fighting techniques. My father's legacy dies with me." Piccolo's gaze drifts back to the window, his antennae casting shadows shaped eerily like tear streaks on his cheekbones. His voice lowers in tone, "I want him to have what I didn't. A childhood...a family...his own life." He sighs, "Thus, I didn't accelerate his growth. At three he'll look like a three year old, rather than being of adult size like I was."

"You were three?" My jaw drops. "I thought you were a teenager, no more than sixteen at least. How old are you now?"

"Twenty one as of today." Piccolo says wryly.

Twenty one. Gods, he's so young, but at times he seems so old.

"Were you ever..." I glance down at Doramu. "Little?"

"I could walk and talk when I hatched, which probably wasn't too far away from where I had Doramu..." Piccolo nods twice, his eyes never leaving the shifting leaves outside the window. His face fills with longing. "I remember once, when I was just a few days old, I came to a home where two parents were celebrating their child's birthday. They gave him a red airplane."

His attention focuses back on my face, intense, eyes half in shadow. "I hated that boy when I saw his gift. The only thing my father ever gave me was a head full of memories that took away any chance I ever had to be innocent - granted, I didn't know it at the time. Right then all I felt was jealousy for that child. He still had his parents, but the only parent I ever had was gone. So I crashed the party, broke the toy and ran off into the forest. The father sent his dog after me, which caused me to release my first ki blast. I...I was terrified, and I had no one to turn to. It made me so bitter that I hated all humans after that, because they had parents and I did not."

I suddenly feel guilty for ever considering Piccolo a monster. Tears morph him and the window into a swirling blur that clears when I blink. "How awful. Oh, Piccolo, that seems so unfair to you."

"I..." Piccolo clears his throat, swallows and continues on, softly, "I was born solely to destroy Goku. That was my only purpose in life. I never questioned it until I saw him sacrifice himself to destroy Radditz. I just could not understand why he, a strong, capable fighter, would give up his life so a few little weaklings could survive."

"And Gohan changed your mind?"

"Gohan opened my eyes." Piccolo lowers his sight to the green figure in my arms. "Doramu made me understand. Once I learned I was going to die, I realized I needed to figure out what it is that makes the strong protect the weak and gives the weak strength to defend those even weaker. And all Doramu did was look up at me for the first time and it all made sense."

That makes me smile and lift my chin. "You'd give anything for him. I know...I completely understand."

He snorts softly through his nose. "I wonder where I'll end up after I die here. Last time I went...heh...they were prepared to send me to Hell. Then Kami got in the way, as usual, and - "

"And now you're here with us." I cut him off. "When it's time, you'll find yourself walking in Heaven. Hell is for the evil souls and from what I've seen, you aren't evil anymore." I tilt my head, studying his perplexed expression curiously. "What would your Heaven be like, Piccolo? If you could choose the type of place you wanted...what would it be?"

Piccolo closes his eyes and leans back, drawing a slow breath. "I never really thought about that before. Probably a bit like the place I told you about when I ran out of pain pills yesterday. Maybe a waterfall that falls into a river leading to a silver ocean."

"What is it with you and waterfalls?"

His eyes crinkle and his cheeks round slightly, though his mouth barely changes shape. A smile that reaches everywhere but his lips. "The sound," he says, "I can lose myself in the roar during my meditations. It is constant, unchanging and drowns out everything else. Even my own thoughts."

"Aha...then hold on." I think I know something he might like. Freeing a hand from Doramu, I flip a disk into Gohan's tiny stereo and press the play button. A quarter turn of the volume dial brings the distinctive sound of a waterfall into the room.

Piccolo lifts an eyeridge. "That's handy..."

I resume rocking. "I know it isn't as good as the real thing, but maybe it'll do when you can't make it outside anymore."

"Are there sounds of rain there, too?"

"Gohan has a lot of nature and classical soundtracks." I reply, chewing my lower lip, "I don't let him listen to that nasty rock and roll they play on the radio. It's all filth and noise."

"That...I agree with." Piccolo chuckles, "Some band once had a themed concert in the middle of the desert, and all I heard was the constant banging and some human screaming vulgarities. I honestly can't see why someone would consider that music."

"Try this." I add another disk to the machine. Soft violin and cello notes drift through the air, calm and peaceful in the quiet. "Listen to it and let it form images in your mind. It can be anything."

"Mm..." He assumes his typical meditation pose and tilts his head towards the nearest speaker, his expression pensive. "Ripples in a clear pond at night." Amused, he reaches over and shuts off the stereo. "Anybody can listen to music, but few ever listen to silence."

I'm a little confused now. Silence? Silence is no sound, how can you listen to nothing?

"True silence is like a void around you. No cars, no wind in the trees, not even your own heartbeat. The air is so still that you can follow an autumn leaf off a tree limb, watch it drift for awhile and actually hear it land on the water. In true silence, the sound of an insect walking...or even snow falling...seems like a cacophony." He looks over, speaking even softer, "In true silence...you can hear a feather whisper as it drifts past your head."

Again, I find myself smiling at him. "It must be wonderful to have such acute hearing...it seems as if the world itself is capable of such beautiful sounds."

"It is."

"Does the planet itself sing to you?" I study him again, how calm he's become.

"All the time, ChiChi." He replies in a whisper, "All the time."

"What does it sound like?"

"Can't tell you, but you would know it if you heard it."

How strange it is to hear him speak so much at once. I rarely get two words from Piccolo and here we are, having a conversation. I'm amazed at how soft-spoken he truly is...sometimes I find myself learning forward just to catch that distant thunder of his voice. He speaks in almost a chant rhythm - soft and slow with a little swell in sound that tapers off in the end. Not at all the monotone I once thought. It's almost colorful if you know what to look for when you talk to him. I wish he'd speak more often...his voice is beautiful.

I stroke the back of Doramu's head with my fingers while I digest Piccolo's rare words. He's seen and heard and lived through so much in his short life. Probably more than most will ever experience. Many untold tales will vanish with him when death silences his voice forever.

"ChiChi," Piccolo wets his lips and leans forward, his face soft in the moonlight. "This may be a lot to ask, but....will you raise him after I'm gone?"

I need not think on my reply, for Doramu captured my heart the moment I saw him. Looking straight into Piccolo's eyes, I stop rocking the chair, touch his hand and smile. "Like he was my own."

To my surprise, his large hand turns over and enfolds mine in its warmth. It's truly amazing how a hand strong enough to rip a person's heart out can be so gentle. "Thank you."

A quiet mewling draws my attention to Doramu. His form squirms and writhes against my chest, lips trembling between cries. It's a different sound than the cry I heard when he needed a change.

Without hesitation, I lift him from my chest and offer him to Piccolo. "Is he okay?"

"He's thirsty." Piccolo glances over, lips half smiling. "I know my son's cries, but I can't say how."

"Instinct." I lean forward to press a kiss into his cheek. "I'll bring you the eyedropper."

Piccolo's face flushes. He nods his thanks and stands, moving aside to grant me passage. The glass and eyedropper are on the nightstand, glistening fresh and new in the moonlight. I bring both back to Piccolo.

"Wouldn't a bottle be easier?"

"Namekian children don't suckle on bottles." Piccolo looks amused, "Here, I'll show you how I feed him."

He holds Doramu faceup on his palm and squeezes a droplet on the baby's lower lip. Doramu's cries instantly cut off as he swallows it. He smacks his lips and waits for more with an open mouth. Like a baby bird demanding a worm from its mother. Piccolo offers him another few drops. Each swallow is punctuated by a faint gasp.

"He swallows and breathes right after by reflex. A bottle would probably offer too much at once and drown him, but he'll be fine if you offer a few drops at a time." He settles the dropper back into the water glass and rests Doramu against his chest to soothe him. "The same will work on me if I'm unconscious and can't take fluids voluntarily. The doctor said towards the end I may require morphine that will put me to sleep most of the time."

Piccolo stands up after that, taking a graceful step to lay Doramu in the bassinet. I watch him straighten again and press a hand to his left hip, his expression so tense that I see his antennae tremble like twigs in the wind. I really think he is always in more pain than he lets on.

"I know it's early...but I think...I think I'm going to turn in for the night." His voice is strained. "I'm kinda....tired."

"It really was nice talking to you, Piccolo." I rest my hand on his arm, which is rock hard with tension. I might as well be touching a stone sculpture. "Can I get you anything?"

He draws a quick, but silent breath and pulls away. "No...thanks. Just go."

I should know better than to press him when he feels a conversation is concluded. As I turn for the door, I hear a rustle and cannot help but glance back once more.

Piccolo, the man who I once believed was a monster, is on his knees beside his bed. One hand on his hip, the other clutching a pill bottle like his last salvation. He breathes raggedly through his teeth, pausing just long enough to swallow two pills.

I want so badly to run to him, help him up and hold him like a child until the agony passes, but I can't. I can only be near him when he wants me there, and he clearly doesn't want me now. All I can do is step back and close the door to grant him privacy.

As I pull the door shut, I notice how quiet the house is. There is no hum from electrical appliances, no wind - even Gohan's muttering at his homework is too distant for my ears. Like the chilling void following a final breath, a departure, an absence. A sudden, profound, choking silence that makes my ears ring and sets my teeth on edge. It's so quiet that I pick up the soft drip-drip of individual droplets hitting the floor. Piccolo's sweat or tears...I'll never know...but there is another sound. One almost beyond my perception.

The low, distant thrumming of Earth itself.