05-24-2008, 04:10 PM
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[/html]Before the fire — the first time that Beppe had met Ari, even — the blonde boy had told the Italian of his old home. The way that the scenery had formed in his mind that day had stuck, the path of water and the great ships moving through the gloomy swamp the same even as he imagined it today. Some things were static, he supposed, and this resistance to change was contagious even to things that had changed before his eyes. Clouded Tears, though he had seen it burnt to the ground, was still a lush, foggy wonderland.
Beppe imagined old, wrinkled sea captains clutching these things in their hands, or wearing them around their neck. Were they supposed to bring good luck? As his friend's finger lingered, pointing out another one, the darker boy stared closely, watching the way their scaly shapes and their attractive colors moved as tiny waves moved across the surface of the water. The names of these strange sedentary things suggested that they were alive, and as Beppe concentrated on their forms even harder, he saw the tube feet of the star-shaped one reaching out, grasping to the soil even if it had no intention to move.
The continuum of life was inevitably broken down into stages. From epoch to epoch, generation to generation, and, in Beppe's lifetime, his own movement Italy to Clouded Tears to Insieme, child to adult. Even now, the conversation about fish was merely a transition between not talking to Ari and really talking to Ari. There was something deeper about what the other boy said next; Beppe could feel it but in no way define why, exactly, it meant more. Perhaps, the transition between impersonal to something a little more personal.
The boy's own birthday had been a month or so ago. It had passed with little excitement; everything had been caught up in the fire and the return of his father, the formation of Insieme. He didn't really want a fuss about it anyway. As he heard of Ari's birthday, though, a small but genuine smile crinkled his eyes. Making gentle eye contact, he said softly, "Happy birthday, my friend. Any wishes for this new year?" [html]
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Beppe imagined old, wrinkled sea captains clutching these things in their hands, or wearing them around their neck. Were they supposed to bring good luck? As his friend's finger lingered, pointing out another one, the darker boy stared closely, watching the way their scaly shapes and their attractive colors moved as tiny waves moved across the surface of the water. The names of these strange sedentary things suggested that they were alive, and as Beppe concentrated on their forms even harder, he saw the tube feet of the star-shaped one reaching out, grasping to the soil even if it had no intention to move.
The continuum of life was inevitably broken down into stages. From epoch to epoch, generation to generation, and, in Beppe's lifetime, his own movement Italy to Clouded Tears to Insieme, child to adult. Even now, the conversation about fish was merely a transition between not talking to Ari and really talking to Ari. There was something deeper about what the other boy said next; Beppe could feel it but in no way define why, exactly, it meant more. Perhaps, the transition between impersonal to something a little more personal.
The boy's own birthday had been a month or so ago. It had passed with little excitement; everything had been caught up in the fire and the return of his father, the formation of Insieme. He didn't really want a fuss about it anyway. As he heard of Ari's birthday, though, a small but genuine smile crinkled his eyes. Making gentle eye contact, he said softly, "Happy birthday, my friend. Any wishes for this new year?" [html]