v
A Song and Dance
Frantically the horses pulled them through that strange land. Something terrible had happened to the countryside. The once majestic scenery had been transformed into a barren wasteland. The crops were sparse and withered. Broken huts were littered along the roadsides, with rags hung over the windows. The once beautiful rivers had turned brown with mud and were spilling over with garbage.
Luke felt his father's arm around his shoulder. They looked out together at the terrible scenery and said not a word. It was a long time before Luke remembered he was holding something in his hand. He unclasped his fingers and saw a small piece of paper scrunched up into a ball. Carefully he opened it. Something was written there in an elegant though rather hurried hand. There was something else too, something very small. Luke picked it out carefully with the ends of his fingers and gazed at it in amazement. He read the note. As he did so he felt a curious sensation, in his throat and in his eyes. How strange it had all been. He thought about the funny people in the castle, the game of chess, he thought about Chandrabhaga, those magnificent clothes that didn't fit, her tired eyes and terrible sobbing, and he didn't understand. He scrunched up the note once more and put it in his pocket. He closed his eyes and saw the green shutter closing, and something glittering from the window... Night had arrived. The carriage rattled beneath them, the coachman cracked his whip and the horses picked up speed. Luke felt a heavy blanket being placed upon him. He looked up through half-closed eyes at his father's grave face, smiled a sleepy smile, and fell asleep. On the horses rode, over the rivers, past the sleeping forests. The horses never tired. The coachman sat motionless as if carved from stone, and they raced towards a silvery light that shone far into the distance.
From a quiet place, Luke heard the familiar voice of his friend, the moon, 'you played beautifully Luke. Like a dream. You should be proud.' But Luke didn't understand. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew now what it was like to lose, to lose something very precious, though he couldn't say what it was. Meanwhile his friend had grown two long, thin arms, and with these he was trying to cover his bright, stony face, but seemed to be giggling behind them. On one of his fingers there was a ring, but on closer inspection it turned out to be a piece of string with a red berry stuck to it. The moon picked up a violin and began to play, winking knowingly at Luke and clicking his heels. Finally his friend bowed, put the violin away and showed him a picture. It was of a young princess, veiled, her hand on the arm of a young man. The couple, on being seen by Luke, came to life. The young man smiled and placed the ring with the red berry, given to him by the moon, his best-man, around the princess's finger. The princess raised her veil, and they kissed. Luke looked into her eyes. He was astonished. They were like... The moon laughed, picked up his violin once more and started playing and dancing, round and round, dancing with the stars, winking at Luke and nodding. This went on for an eternity and Luke couldn't make head nor tail of it. But after a while the stars flickered, went out, and a hush fell over the scene. Slowly, the moon put down his violin. A silvery light appeared in the distance. It shone over him, and over a vast landscape that stretched as far as the eye could see.
'Luke,' his friend began, a new mood having overcome him, 'this song and dance - you may have guessed - is really only goodbye.'
'Moon! Tonight you're different!' Luke tried to say, but was surprised to find he could make no sound at all. The moon understood, smiled and bowed his head.
'It's time, Luke. It's time.' The silvery light grew brighter as he spoke. 'Remember, in every ending there grows a new beginning. A new beginning awaits you. Set your sights on an altogether bigger game, a more important goal.'
Luke tried to ask a question but the words wouldn't come. However the moon understood this too and asked for him.
'What is it? You will know - your heart will tell you. And when you do, plan your moves carefully, carry them quietly in your thoughts, be prepared to lose. Never forget, it's not about hide and seek, but music, it's about how you feel you played. Everything that is worth the game can be yours.' The moon closed his eyes and began to slip away into the light that now filled the carriage. As he faded from the vision, Luke knew, in some distant part of his being, that life from now on would be very different. He felt it, but could not compute his feeling. The words lingered in his mind, and on his fingers, as silently his friend faded into that very quiet place where all moons must eventually go.
After a long moment, Luke remembered that there was something important he wanted to ask. But instead of raising a question, he muttered simply that he had missed him, that he liked him still, that for a long time he had felt strange, not his real self. And just as Luke's sleeping form propelled the words to his lips, he felt the carriage shudder beneath him, heard a shout from above and a great stomping of hooves. He opened his eyes. The moon, his oldest friend, his earliest memory, had turned for the last time into the sun.
Luke awoke to find himself being lifted out of the carriage. Pins and needles prickled his legs. He stood up straight, feeling the warmth of his father's large hand in his, and rubbed his tired eyes. He saw a rosy-cheeked woman running out to meet them, a wooden spoon in her hand. It was mother! He was standing outside his own house.
vi
By the Fire
Mother was overjoyed to see them and they were very glad to be home. As they told her all about the strange adventure, the smoky forests and ancient city, the fabulous golden castle filled with riches and the strange, subdued atmosphere, she would hold her head in her hands and groan, 'stop! stop!' and a minute later cry, 'but what happened next?'
Luke tried to tell his mother about Chandrabhaga, but every time he did something stopped him. All he said in the end was that she had played better during the game. After finishing the stories, father and son rested their elbows on the table and promptly fell asleep. Mother shook her head, cleared away the table and lead them to their proper beds where they slept soundly for many hours.
In the evening, after a delicious supper, Luke went over to the window where the chessboard lay. He stared at it for a long time. It was a beautiful chessboard, made by his father's own hands, and each piece had become like a friend to him. Only now, remembering what the moon had said, and thinking of something else entirely, he realised the time had come to change something in his life, to try a new challenge - to look to the future. He knew what to do. Opening the cupboard door underneath the window, he placed the set with great care beside the saucepans and boxes, patted the pieces for a last time, and closed the cupboard door. He returned to the table where his parents were sitting, and took something out of his pocket.
'Chandrabhaga wanted me to have this.'
In his palm lay the tiniest, most beautiful diamond his parents had ever seen. Luke's father took it from him and placed it on the table where it shone like a drop of water in the sunlight. They all stared at the tiny object in wonder. Each of them saw something different in the twinkling of the stone, mother gazed upon three tiny lights sparkling as one, father recognised and beheld the perfect simplicity of the work of mother nature, Luke saw the colours of the garden, apples and poppies, and two small points of light - the sun dancing with the moon.
Later that evening, as his mother and father talked by the stove, Luke sat himself beside the open fire in the far corner. He took an old pencil and a sheet of paper, closed his eyes in order to remember better, then began retracing the journey across their country and beyond. As best he could, he drew a plan of the forests, the mountains and the rivers. This took him some time. When he could remember no more, he put it to one side and stared curiously into the fire. Finally, he took out from his pocket the small, scrunched-up piece of paper, so gently that it might have been a young bird with a broken wing. He smoothed it out, held it up before the light of the flames and, whispering a name as if calling to someone in the dark, read it once again.
For Luke. This is for you. I hope you like it.
Maybe wh
en you visit me next
I will have learnt how to smile like you.
You are the champion of smiles!
Goodbye, goodbye, Chandrabhaga
***
Thank you for downloading this book and for supporting writers worldwide!
‘Luke’ is taken from a larger collection of 28 stories by the same author entitled Krakow Stories. Please buy a copy of the book and help keep this impossibly romantic writer – who is currently chasing allusive moons under a bridge in Europe – in good spirits!
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