Nick passes the mike back to his brother, walking off the stage back to his side of the floor, leaving his challenge hanging in public air.
Uncle Harry walks slowly, wondering now what. With an open can of worms, how can a show go on? Maybe a distraction, he calls on cousin Ralf to come up. And most do relax into Ralf’s rough edged smile. One of his stories gets some laughs, yet even with all the attention, he needs to leave the stage quickly. Uncle Harry, having considered more, now calls an intermission.
Sid rises, glancing around the hall, senses almost a different buzz in the air, a hum among the cousins, uncles and aunts, brothers and sisters as they speak in hushed tones. He walks across to the yellow entrance, and out for a breath of fresh air. Uncle Harry’s back-from-the-dead honesty is creating a stir, no question.
Down the street, out over the lake, Sid stares as the sun dips below the horizon, bringing a world of changing colour to trees and building edges. The waters reflect the deeper blue of a darkening sky. He sits down on the concrete step, kicking little rocks back into their places out on the gravel lot. Tranquility reigns, the world sits at peace for a moment. Ryan and Yoli step out, and he smiles at their billboard image.
###
That afternoon, after the Kaiser game, repeats itself in Sid’s mind. Uncle Nick’s latest update on what wealth could be, he told Sid, comes from following gut feelings, whether or not they bring happiness. He warned that, when wealth constitutes a measure of good human connection, it’s hard earned, and there will likely be a time of unnerving tension. Sid asked about time power equity, when you give up your time to make things more fair, more equitable. But this new investment, Nick said, involves standing firm for what you believe in, even if you risk being hard on people close to you – possibly losing it all. Whatever your gut rings in as your stock, that is what you must stand for, no matter what the cost. The cost soars high if you don’t stand firm, the reward feeling is great if you do. It’s a strange thing, to invest in discomfort.
Sid senses a disturbance, a grumble in the background. Is it from over at the bar?
Uncle Nick certainly is acting out of character today, challenging Loli, but maybe he’s making an investment. He let Sid know how his definition of love is evolving. Love now means doing things that are difficult, for the benefit and growth they may cause in another. Like a risk investment in future returns. He said romantic love is one thing, and family compassion is another, but this is a deeper, perhaps truer version. Maybe something the Creator has in mind, Sid wonders.
A distinct human sound now echoes, not from down the street, but through the wall behind them. Ryan and Yoli stop chatting, looking at each other, as voices rise to a peak through the cinder blocks. What you wouldn’t normally hear. Sid glances at Ryan, then at Yoli, as they pull the door open to walk back in.
Sister cousins Jamie and Amy stand in a tight circle with Jo, chatting rapidly, as they walk up. Their gestures and nods point towards the kitchen where Uncle Harry, Uncle Nick and Auntie Lola standing limply.
“What’s happening?” Sid asks Jo.
She looks his way, serious, but points to Jamie.
“… so Uncle Nick tells her again he can’t go out in boats.” Jamie is saying. “Whatever that means …”
“Well it’s ’cause he was in the boat when they found Ksandra.”
“But there’s something else … why was she wearing a party dress when they found her.”
“Uncle Nick just starts yelling at Auntie Lola. He says she’s not telling the whole truth. He wants her to tell everything, be like Uncle Harry, he says.”
“And Uncle Harry’s right there too, but he doesn’t know what to say. So first he tries to tell Auntie Lola she’s the prodigal daughter – and they both came home now, so everything’s just hunky dory.”
Sid listens, wondering what his aunt would say, after her long sojourn away from the family and her long silent ride up to the lake. “So what did she say?” He asks. They glance at him for a millisecond, and then back at each other.
“Well, she starts to tell more. She tells Harry and Nick that Ksandra was her best friend, so they had secrets, and she shouldn’t have to tell everything. Then she says she knew they were gonna find her dead … she just knew it. How did she know, that’s what Uncle Nick wants to know.”
“She still won’t say. So Uncle Nick says it’s her fault Ksandra died.”
“So Auntie Lola starts tearing a strip off both of them. She says they’re just a drunken farm boy and a space cadet. Harry, with his junky old car, and Nick with his head full of dreams.”
“So Uncle Harry starts apologizing. He says he’s sorry all he had was the old car.”
“But Auntie Lola starts with the classy places in the city, where her and Ksandra went with the speedboat guys.”
“Yah, her and Ksandra were going out with those two guys. So Nick and Harry got left out.”
“Ksandra had a real crush on one guy, real love. And Auntie Lola was going with the other guy.” Amy says.
“Uncle Nick says he warned her. He says those guys were just using her and Ksandra. Showing off their speed boat and their new car to a couple pretty girls from a small town.” Jamie’s voice drops.
“Then Uncle Nick loses it. He starts again, yelling at her. He tells her it’s her fault Ksandra died, like she killed her. And it’s her fault Uncle Harry started drinking so much. He calls her greedy, tells her she’s just plain selfish.”
“Then Uncle Nick’s face goes beet red. ’Cause Auntie Lola starts yelling back.”
“She said she never killed Ksandra … she says when those guys left, Ksandra wanted to kill herself – and she did. She says Ksandra was too sensitive, just plain stupid.”
“So Uncle Nick tells her she should have done something. That’s when she slaps him right across the face … hard.”
“But Uncle Nick just gets real calm. He asks her if she got what she wanted … she knew Ksandra was going to die, she didn’t do a thing to stop her … so he asks her if she got what she wanted.”
“Auntie Lola keeps yelling at him. She says Ksandra was really in love with the one guy, Simon. Real love. She even said one time she’d kill herself if Simon didn’t love her, but Auntie Lola didn’t believe her, couldn’t believe her, she told her that was a stupid thing to say.”
“But then she did it. She went for her last swim in the lake, completely in love.”
“Uncle Harry asked her again, why didn’t Auntie Lola stop her?”
“She got quiet, her face went all red, and she broke down sobbing. She said she was sooo angry and she had this thought that if Ksandra killed herself, Sam would feel so bad, he would marry her and make that summer go on forever.”
“She didn’t really want Ksandra to kill herself, though, did she?”
“She was so angry, and she didn’t think she’d really do it. But then, when it happened, when they really found Ksandra’s body, it was too late. She felt so guilty. And now she’s even more angry … at Simon and Sam now.”
“So what ever happened with those guys?” Sid asks.
“The bastards – that’s what she calls them – they left that night. That’s when all this started. When her and Ksandra got to the campsite, they were gone, not even a note. Auntie Lola was just furious, so she stomped off in a rage. Ksandra went for a walk down the beach, and she never came back. When they found Ksandra a couple days later, Lola couldn’t handle it. She stopped talking to anyone, she started going to Edmonton.”
“She just wanted to even things out … no matter what it took. But she wanted to get what she wanted, too.”
“She went looking for those guys.” Amy tells the rest of the story. “But she never found them, she just found John. And John took her to the dinner theatres. John had a new car. So she ended up in California with John.”
“Harry tries to tell Nick she was just a young girl, that she didn’t know any better.” Jo says.
“Uncle Nick listened.” J
amie points. “Look, they’re talking now.”
###
Sid watches.
Nick is looking at his brother, sees the new innocence in his face and softens. “Yah, Harry you’re right. I’ve just been looking to blame someone ‘cause I felt so helpless.” A tear starts its trip down the brothers’ cheeks as the look at each other, then turn to Auntie Lola.
The universe stops for a brief moment. Feelings of youthful years splash over them, from way back, when the ideal was so much more real. They all sense a choice to make in that fleeting moment. To invest in the future, with the gift of forgiveness, or reinstate the past with a new round of distress and distance.
The moment is passing, and something happens, hard to explain, but it seems their faces remould themselves into those smiling in the black and white photo, three youngsters with interlacing arms. They hesitate, they resist, but then, as if angels give them a push, they are overwhelmed with a need for each other. Tears stream from all eyes when they finally let go. Auntie Teresa starts it maybe, but the whole family joins in to a round of applause. Sid pounds his hands together, applauding this demonstration of love far beyond any sung lyric or foot tap on the stage, this successful risk investment.
###
The cousins stand around the campfire again, some reminiscing about the party of five years back, while a couple stay a little more in touch with the day. No matter who else might be aware, Sid senses the family is a little more united, a little more together. There has been a growing mutuality, a fund really hard to articulate let alone assign to market value.
The northern lights dance, not quite with the brilliance of July, but still with an awesome presence. The natural church, Sid’s church, is one thing he is grateful to keep stable. A solid rock to lean on as he trudges the road of happy destiny. Now he better understands the need for stability at times. Yet some things do change. The same dancing lights are there year after year, but the dances they perform are never identical, steps of endless evolution.
He can’t help himself, “Hey Ralf, you rich yet? Are you rich?” He challenges Ralf again.
Ralf sticks his hands down deep in his pockets, grabs them from the inside, and pulls them inside out to emphasize emptiness. He stares at Sid with a beer-hazed grin, in an unnatural moment of silence.
“How’s your drink Andy?” Sid winks at his cousin.
“Need another one, fill me up.” Andy smiles back as they fill their glasses to the brim with kool-aid, straight up. They touch glasses with Ryan and Yoli as the northern lights jig their way across the Sahiya starlit night.
Chapter 21
The curve sails past the window, as he drives straight out of the bush to the farm where it all began. Pulling in beside a granary, he gets out, walks over to a rock pile and sits himself down on a large stone along the field’s edge. He gazes out over the undulating waves of grain, Grandpa’s hewed out dream-space. A combine rounds a corner on the far side, swathing a full fall harvest. Wheat, golden wheat, covers the field this year. The combine disappears behind a stand of trees.
The little voice who brought him here jumps to its easel, beginning a rerun portrait of the story and its wisdom.
Out there now, his grandfather, with axe and horse team, chopping trees in the snow, pulling stumps from the spring-thawed earth, picking rocks and ploughing the soil to take the precious seed of investment. Grandpa’s future, built on his vision of this field, well, here it is, a prophecy realized. From this stepping-stone, Sid can make his own investments, another portfolio, further along.
True to the world, all does not lie even. In some places, the earth gives more, while in others seedlings struggle to hold root, steep slopes, weeds choking in, rocks and clay squeezing, low spots drowning, places where a seed just falls by the way … like that other Jesus story. And as Grandpa clears the land, year after year, each of his offspring, and the ones they walk with, find their place.
Sid watches the background fade behind the fore.
Uncle Nick comes leaping from rise to rise, hilltop to hilltop, sniffing out the sweetest earth for his grain, the richest and the thickest, fulfilling his inquisitive nature. And from that sweet spot, he takes on his view. The mystery, the secrets, the hidden sustenance shows its true value clearly to him, as he strives to peer into every nook and cranny.
A barbwire fence flashes sharp blades, paralleling the ditch’s edge, segregated from the grain. From the ditch, wild seeds of grasses, thistles and weeds march out to pillage sun and soil from the grain. Uncle John cruises the wire, striking sporadically across into the field, raiding where he can. Ever circling the field, he weaves in and out, seizing rich kernels of gold, dragging them back to the ditch. Where what grows best is subversive weed whisper, plotting to conquer, anything goes.
A faraway friend, Pepe comes traipsing along a crest, on land sloping to the sunny side, where extra light flames the grain of each kernel to bursting. His beaming smile radiates a golden glow, as he shares freely with those he meets along his way, his happiness and his freedom. Troops of kindergarten children join his frolic.
In a year round slough bottom, crossing beneath the barbwire, Franco churns around in his boat, reaching breakneck speeds. But the boat grows ever larger until there is no room left to manoeuvre. His journey ends, his caravan marooned, in the slough bottom slime.
Tearing free from choking thistle, cousin Ryan turns up to tag along, climbing the slope to join the children. He glances over his shoulder, at the neon lights, teasing him, coaxing him with lotto pirouettes, tantalizing plastic flashing an everlasting invite … come back. But Uncle Nick clears his way, and Ryan’s smile brightens with each escaping step from the hypnotizing dazzle.
Uncle Harry slouches frozen in a slough bottom, iced in, and mired in the depths of winter. Now, the spring sun thaws the ground, allowing a toe wiggle. He sees something, what he has never seen before; he is drawn towards it, fights his way out of the muck, finally bursting free. Leaving his boots stuck behind, he climbs barefoot, up onto dry land to the edge of the grain. He makes his way, stepping unsurely, slowly along a straight and narrow path between the rows of grain, one step at a time.
On another rise Jo spins pots on her wheel, lining them up carefully to catch rain, tending the health of her patch of wheat. At harvest, she weaves herself into the fabric of the field’s spirit, holding to her vision of wealth waiting all around. Her soul is one with the field, and the grain is one with her soul.
Auntie Lola watches, entranced, first a Franco speedboat, then John’s exciting path, eying the grain they leave trailing behind. After a long chase, she falls back exhausted. Called from the edges by others, she steps out of the slough, out of the ditch, climbing slowly through the barbwire, up the bank. She wipes herself clean, looking far ahead, to another trail, behind her son Andrew, who now makes his way up a rise.
Other aunts and uncles are settled on their own small rises, not shifting, working hard and persevering, reaping the benefits of their father the immigrant. But the ground around them cracks with time, drying, and rocks poke up through the soil.
Their compatriot, Ksandra, smiles out from the very depths of the field, from the realm of the spirit, beyond the confines of the physical. From where love sows the best seed, where the Creative Force smiles on all creation, she shows a knowing.
Each, the little voice sketches, connects to the sultans well, those on high poring sweet water in, those on the level just a trickle and those in the low spots draining away. Choose those you want in the end, your well full or empty.
###
The combine reappears from behind the bluff, and Sid slips down off the rock pile, wandering calmly back to the Subaru.
The religious teachings, the spiritual intelligence, the simple knowing each person has at depth shimmered throughout the grain field portrait. The children’s futures, dancing along with Pepe’s happiness ride on the waves of adult choices as they weave their way into the swaths of Grandpa Pawlo’s grain fi
eld. What will their treasure be?
He slips into the car, slowly driving south down the gravel road. Somehow, from this, he will put together an investment portfolio. One to please the still small voice, one that will give more than happiness … the potential returns of heaven aren’t such a high risk, with the evidence there is, and the payoff could be extremely high …
Mathew 16:26 For what shall it profit a man if he gaineth the whole world
and looseth his own soul?
The End
Thank you for reading The Sandbox Theory. If you took something away from my book, please take a moment to leave a review at your favourite retailer.
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Les W Kuzyk
About Les W Kuzyk
This story expresses my concern for the human outlook as a whole. This concern has translated recently to research into global maturity and impending global crises as opportunities for humanity to learn skills towards global cooperation. My recently published short fiction, A Future History of the Environment, speaks to a global scenario of near future climate change. Although my writing career began with an academic thesis on Social Justice, I have come to realize I prefer fiction. I have also completed a near future speculative science fiction novel, The Shela Directive, soon to be published and available.
Discover other Writings by Les W Kuzyk
A Future History of the Environment
Social Justice, Wealth Equity and Gender Equality: Baha'is and non-Baha'is of Alberta
Connect with Les W Kuzyk
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