To Sea
The April sun was strong. The spring’s warmth settled on the concrete steps—flowing over all the sand. The flowers on the dunes wiggled with the weight of the bees suckling at the buds—pollinating under the same sky as Barry, who slowly walked alone along the shore in the distance. Jon sat still on the steps. Elea stayed silent in her slumber. Her head resting in Jon’s lap.
Jon could hear the sound of his neighbor’s four-wheeler back out of the drive. Jon turned his head and he could see the thing creep slowly, pausing in front of Jon’s house. The man at the wheel zipped down his window with the push of a button, staring out at the chard view. The man shook his head in either disgust or sorrow or just because he could.
The truck then drove off unhurriedly.
Jon glanced back over at Barry who had enclosed in on the church’s shoreline. The boy kicked rocks in the sand—intermittently skipping flat stones across the flat sound.
Jon sat back, combing Elea’s hair over her ear as he watched his son take form under the young sun. “Tilt the back,” Jon whispered under his breath. “Cast back. Flick the wrist.” Jon nodded at the toss from his son. As if Jon knew good things would come just by the form Barry had learned from his father—seemingly practicing to perfection.
Jon caressed Elea’s head off of his lap, gently placing her head on the top step, and he walked to the sea—to his son.
“Bar,” he called. “Barry. Wait up, son. Wait up.”
Barry looked away from the sea, meeting eyes with Jon, whose smile was lost in his beard. Barry stuttered in his steps. His feet sinking into the sand as he backpedaled. Then he turned, regaining his composure, and he started to run in the direction in which he came.
“Barry,” Jon yelled. His hands cuffed around his mouth like a bullhorn. “It’s all right. Trust me. I am your father. I am your protector and savior.” Jon’s voice echoed over the sound—stopping Barry in his steps. “You have my word, son.”
Barry paused. He watched the sun kiss the lip of the bell high in the steeple.
“Bar. It doesn’t matter what happened last night. It is in the past now.” Jon’s voice grew softer as he walked closer to Barry.
“I goofed,” Barry finally said. “I lost control.”
Jon hung his arms around his son’s shoulders. “You didn’t goof. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Jon patted his son on the back—guiding the boy to face the sea. They peered out to the violet horizon, speckled with dabs of oranges and blues. “You did nothing wrong,” Jon assured him. “Your actions are the product of a deceitful mother and a damned father. You did nothing wrong. Such an act is biblical. And just a sign from above, my son.”
Barry stood stilled. He stared out at the sea, listening to his father’s doctrine ‘til Jon patted Barry on the back, directing him to look at the charred house.
“You are the next generation of Brands. My son. I can’t get over that sometimes, you know? My son will grow up to be the next Brand of East Marion. The tides will shift by then. The seas will be at ease.” Jon paused, looking down at his sand covered boots. “The seas will be at ease, my son. Soon. I can promise you that. The seas will be in agreement with East Marion again. And, my son, the next Brand, will be able to angle the high seas with ease. Just like your grandfather and your now, ill-fated father.”
Jon tugged at his beard. Sandpipers pecked at the sand to the right and the seas small waves crashed to the left. Barry remained silent. And Jon continued to preach.
“Only in time. Only in time will the fates be aligned and the debts paid. Greed will get you nowhere, son. If my life is an example of anything to you. Greed will get you nowhere but to the bottom of the barrel. The very bottom. And you will see it only when you are there. At the bottom of life. There is no escaping the confines of greed against nature. No escape. No fairness when you play unfair yourself.”
Jon and Barry made it to the bed of rocks in front of their house. They froze on its obscurity. Barry shifted his feet slowly. Then he rubbed his father’s broad shoulders. “I’m sorry for what I have done. I really goofed. I didn’t think it through, you know? I didn’t think it through.” Tears welled in Barry’s eyes. Then they slowly ran down his bare-skinned cheeks to the rocks below. Jon curled his forefinger against the baggy skin under Barry’s right eye, catching a tear as it dripped.
“I won’t have no crying.” Jon slid his hand to Barry’s shoulder, patting him three times. “You hear? No sense in it.” Barry wiped the tears from his cheek, sniffling in his sorrow. “It’s an act of God. An act of the sea. This is all on me, son. It is all on me. The almighty sea is taking me back. Don’t you see? It’s calling me back. My maker is calling me back.” Jon pulled on his beard, tucking the ends under his collar. “The sea, my son, it calls me. It acted through you. It punishes my greed. My sorrow is a mere reflection of this sound—this sea—this ocean. I will return shortly. This act of hatred is an act of the sea. Through my maker—your maker—through you and onto me. You had no say in this. You only did what the sea told you to do.”
“But I did it, father. I set it ablaze,” Barry said unblinkingly—staring at the blistered house. “My hands. These hands.” Barry fell to the bed of rocks. The stones cackling as his knees crashed upon them. “The gasoline, the matches, and the fire. Oh, the fire. I did it, father. It was me.”
Jon wrapped his arms under Barry’s shoulders, hoisting him back up to his feet. “Don’t say such heresy. It was not you. It was an act against me. It was me. It was the vast blue chastising me. Threatening me. Putting me in my place.” Jon kissed the side of Barry’s cheek. The man’s whiskers pressing into his son’s hardened cheeks. “Never disobey your father. Never speak against his word.” Jon looked back at the church—at the bell high in the steeple. The ormolu shine of the bell reflected back into his eyes. Then he looked down at Elea still asleep on the church steps. “Your mother,” he said. “It is your duty, my son, your duty to watch after her.” Jon locked his eyes into Barry’s. “For I can no longer help. I can no longer care for her. I cannot.”
Barry nodded in agreement. Then he brought his father in for a hug.
“You were at your friends last night. A regular ol’ sleepover. The kind you had when you were just a child,” Jon fabricated. “You watched silly movies and played video games. You stayed up all night talking of girls you have crushes on and played card games and giggled ‘til the sun rose up over the horizon.” Jon pulled off of Barry, looking at the house. A small tendril of smoke trickled out from the center of the rubble. “You did all these things. You were not here last night. The fire is my burden. Not yours. I go down with the ship.”
A swift breeze rushed over the coastline filling the air with the smell of the roasted house. The oaks in front of them rustled their budding branches reaching up towards the endless sky. A chorus of gulls cawed in the near distance. The sun enveloped all the land. The vibrancy of color in the sky faded to a bright light blue merging with the dark blue sea on the horizon. Barry’s eyes grew full and white. They lost the saddened redness they had not long before. Jon looked at his son with half-closed eyes. Barry hung his head, exhausted. His feet shifting, digging into the rocks. Jon’s heart throbbed agonizingly. His breath came up in long gasps. Jon looked back at the water moving in on the land with the push of the waves—the sand glittering beneath the salty liquid. Then he turned back towards the house, looking beyond at the clustering of Victorians on the old farm saturated with the morning sun. The large oaks yellowed with fresh buds. Then fluffed gray clouds passed in front of the sun, casting a shadow over the land.
“You son of a bitch,” Elea called out. Her steps echoing over the rocky shore. Her hair messed in front of her face. The sun slipped through the clouds. The bright rays piercing her swollen eyes. “You burnt this house, you devil. You ungrateful bitch. You…” Her words chattered
against her teeth. She reared her hand back towards the church, laying her fingers flat against Barry’s cheek. “You devil.”
The sound closed in behind them. Barry fell to the rocks. His face grew red like the sun.
“It was not him,” Jon said. “It is my fault. I take the blame.”
“But it was him, Jon. It was you, Barry. You ungrateful ass.” Elea lunged for her son with both hands clenched into fists. But Jon wrapped his arms around her waist and he gracefully threw her down to the rocks with ease.
“It was not him, El. It was an act of nature.” Jon went cold within his seclusion. He quivered and tears began to roll slowly into his beard. “It was an act of the ocean. An act unto me. From the sea.”
Elea grew stiff. Then she softened, falling to the rocks. “Stop it, Jon. Just stop it. You are crazy. And stop protecting your son. He must owe up to his actions. He must pay.” Elea’s sobs cut her off. Her head dropping to the smoothed stones.
Barry leaned over. He cupped her head into his hands—remembering what his father had told him. “It was not me, mother. I was at Jerry’s,” he lied. “We played cards and watched movies.” He looked up at his father who was deep in thought as he looked out towards the vast sea.
“But the gas. The smell of gasoline. The flames. The fire.” Elea looked up at Barry. “You did it. You did it, I know it. You set our life on fire.”
Barry moved his hands around Elea’s head, hugging her. “But I didn’t. I went out. I wasn’t here to do it.”
Jon placed his arms around his son and his wife. But he kept a keen eye on the waves slowly tumbling to the shore. “No one did this. It was a higher being. It is more complex than either of you will ever know.” Jon looked to Barry, then to Elea, then back out to the sea. “A sign from God that the end is near.”
“Knock it off with that goddamned sea,” Elea pushed her hands into Jon’s chest. But he hugged her in close and she soon grew weak, collapsing into him. “Stop it. Just stop it. The ocean is not controlling your life. The sea is nothing more than that—the sea. It is the ocean, Jon. Not a God. It is nothing more, nothing less. Let it be.”
“But it is much more than the water and the fish and the waves and the salt. It is eating at us all. It is eating at the land. It is eating away at my flesh.” Jon pushed Elea into Barry. Then Jon began to walk to the smoldering house. His hands whirled up to the heavens as he talked. “It is what moves us. Us Brands are the children of the sea. And it will swallow us all if things are not set straight. The laws of man reside in that there ocean. The sea will devour me whole one day.” Jon turned to the sea. “And only then will the world be back to normal. Only then will the land and the sea and the Son of Man will coincide in harmony.”
The waves grew large. A clear light reflected off of the sea—speaking to him. He knew what he was destined for. It shot clear into his heart—breathing new life into his soul. He knew he could make things right. He knew he could bring life back to this family.
Jon turned from the sea and he walked to the house, stopping when he reached the base of the porch.
“Can it be restored?” Barry’s voice rested on Jon’s ear.
Jon relaxed his head. His chin touching his chest. Then he looked over at the car out of the side of his glasses. It was saved—aside from the white blips of sprayed salt from the hoses. “The salt killed this land. The salting of this earth will make life impossible here.” Jon pulled his beard. Then he rubbed his hand on the chains that once held the porch swing. He brought his hands to his mouth, licking the tips of his fingers. “This salted house has become a victim of the sea, son. Everything will be weathered. Corroded. Dead.”
Elea stayed back on the coast. She sat on the rocks above the sandy shoreline. Her eyes honed in on her two men—sun soaked in front of the blackened house. Her mind wrestled with the deceptive words they had conspired against her. She had seen the earth swallow the house with flames. And now she saw the salty black product it had left them in the shine of the day. And it came upon her that she was alone on the shore and all of the world. She felt the wish of death upon her. But the feeling quickly left, as the shore closed in on her—the sound brushing over her outstretched feet. Elea sprang up in alarm, rushing to the house. The whole coast was breathing with fear. She stumbled to the steps and she locked eyes with Jon, who was crouched over the mountain range that once hung over the mantel in their living room. The cliffs melted into the valleys. The snowy white treetops blistered and torn.
She sniffled in, smelling the charred wood—the burnt salt rushing through her. “We need to leave this place,” she said. “This house is haunted. The sea—this ocean has destroyed our home.” She kicked over the painting—the canvas crumbling in on itself. Her eyes grew wide with wonder at the incineration of the art. The mountain range in their living room had been there before her. She was told that it was the first item of décor James Brand had placed in the shorefront house. No water in the painting, only tall trees, snow and lofty cliffs shining brightly over the fireplace.
Jon moved restlessly over the empty frame ‘til he broke it in two. “It was painted by my father,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll remember those snowy cliffs ‘til the day I die.” He looked back down at the ground where the splintered frame rested atop the chunks of burnt canvas. He collected the pieces into a pile. Then he brushed them over the blackened floor.
The house was covered in black soot. Nothing was salvageable. Everything was burnt and then salted—ruined—destroyed.
Barry placed his hand on his father’s back. Elea moved to the kitchen where she poked at the melted TV. Then she banged the smoked pots and pans over her sooty oven. “She’s not going to take this easily,” Barry said soft into Jon’s ear. “She’s going to hold this against you ‘til the day you die.” Barry smoothed out the rough edges on Jon’s shoulders.
“Let her,” Jon said. “She will be at ease in a short time. This whole town will be at ease in a short time.” The wind ran through the open house. The sun tucked back under the clouds from the north. “You, my son, you need to stay strong for her. Protect her as best you can. And then you will live off the land. Live off the heart of this land. And live off the sea.” He paused for a moment, turning towards Barry. The man rested his hand on the boy’s flop of black hair. “You will do what Brands do best. Only when things are set right. Only when He tells me when to set things right.” Jon’s eyes gleaned up out of the opened roof for a second. Then he looked into Barry’s full blue eyes. The clouds began to drip thick drops of water ‘til they grew small and steady. Elea ran to the car, sitting in the driver’s seat for shelter. Barry soon following her.
“Father,” Barry shouted. “Come in the car. The rain ain’t holding up.” Barry stopped at the door of the car. His hair curled across his forehead and over his eyes. “Come on,” he shouted one last time before slipping into the backseat of the blue sedan.
But Jon stayed stilled in the house ‘til the heavy rain uncovered a speck of red under the destroyed mantel. A round speck of red amidst a blackened house filled with blackened objects. Jon kicked the red thing. Black dust and the glossy red paint peeled off of what was a wooden doll. “The babushkas,” Jon cried. The big doll was burnt. Spots of wood seared through—the red paint melted with the blue and the white polka dots—the face, charred. Jon leaned over, tinkering with the doll, trying to separate the pieces. “It’s stuck,” he said. “I can’t open it.” He twisted it and then he hit the doll until it split in two, unveiling its contents in perfect condition. “They survived,” he yelled, falling to the sooty floor. Then he got up to his feet. The rain now pounded hard on him. “They survived the fire.” Jon wiped the rain from his glasses with his smoked stained hands. He laughed at the sight. “The father saved the family. The babushkas. They made it. The father sacrificed himself to save
the others. Of course.” The house smoldered steam up at the falling rain. “I hear you clearly, Father. The father saves the family. The father protects them all.” Jon encased the perfected dolls back into the ruined larger one. Then he ran out of the house, down to the shore. He shook the dolls up to the heavens—his feet wading in the roaring sound. “Only say the word, and I shall be healed. I am yours, my Father. But only say the word and I shall be the healer.” Jon reared his arm back, heaving the dolls into the stormy waves. “Heal me.”