THE RIVER (second installment)
The bridge was another of the river's mysteries.
How exactly such a sophisticated structure came to be in an untenanted, wild land, no one could say. It stood as a monument to the people who had constructed it long ago, people who were long forgotten.
Stone masons had laid and mortored the granite blocks together so seamlessly that rain and sleet slid off in sheets and drained as if the bridge had been carved from one giant piece of mountain. The bridge's magestic scale matched the river's: two wagons could pass each other on its span without touching. The guard walls were five feet tall and a foot thick with open, rectangular spaces every three yards, head high. The bridge's bottom supports were gothic arches through which the river roared and cascaded. One lone tower that resembled a castle and housed the bridgetender stood at the far end and bore just a few small leaded windows of warped glass. The bridge had at one time functioned as a fortress; ancient enemies now rested in the icy depths beneath it, according to legend.
The boy, who tried to hide himself in his family's wagon as they crossed, was startled by the clankiing of the wooden wheels as they rattled and shook over the heavy iron grates that flanked the tower. He would jump up to peer transfixed at the roaring rapids below, a pit of ghostly, raging lions that rampaged through and cried out for him. Sometimes, he glanced at the window in the tower that faced the bridge just in time to glimpse a shock of tangled white hair in the darkness. Two glinting eyes shone out and seemed to stare at him alone.
Though Zeke was almost ten and big for his age, his six-year-old sister Angelique was the fearless one. She would stand on the wagon's bench with their mother and father the whole trip, calling out to the people they passed and waving. Everyone loved her. Her shiny, blond ringlets and petite form; big, beautiful blue eyes that gazed into yours without blinking; boundless energy and curiosity; affection for anyone no matter how aged or homely--all these were characteristics that endeared her to everyone she met. Her physical fragility ellicited from her older brother his natural protectiveness and care, a compassion for injured animals and vulnerable people. She seemed to know that he was there to protect her and would amble after Zeke wherever he went. Angelique sometimes got in the way of his plans and projects, but his love for her was so great that he rarely expressed irritation over the inconvenience.
Angelique was to Zeke a little, comical bird who existed only to bring beauty and joy into the lives of others. Her fearlessness was a curiosity and inspirition. It was as if she was completely unconscious of the dangers of life that kept him preoccupied. He envied that kind of innocent faith, her conviction that everything would always turn out right if you just loved everyone and all that life entailed. He couldn't bring himselof to do it, but admired her courage to do so--even if she was just a little girl, a little girl who held his heart in her hands.
She followed him one day on a chore to the river's banks. Zeke lugged a heavy wicker basket for driftwood on his back, secured by a leather strap around his right shoulder as Angelique tagged behind. She stopped occasionally to pick up tiny, red wildflowers that lined the shadowed path through the tall trees, sang to herself, and stuck the flowers into the weaves of the basket. Her presence, as always, diminished the drudgery of his task and lightened his burden. He forgot for a moment what he dreaded up ahead.
"Zeke," Amgelique said, after they had stopped to rest, "Do you love me?"
"Yes." He assured her, the slight tinge in his chest a reminder of how much she meant to him.
"Why?", she asked.
He forced back a smile and adjusted the leather strap. "Because," he answered, "you're so little....and stupid."
"I'm not stupid!", Angelique defiantly countered. "I'm smart enough not to be a boy!"
He couldn't argue with that. Even empty, the big basket was heavy, and his shoulder was already starting to hurt. "Let's go," he said. "I've got a lot to do before it gets dark."
They didn't have much farther to walk toward the river's edge, where driftwood could be found, and he wanted to get the chore over with. The fear had come back with a vengeance .
A distant roar increased as the gleaming white movement broke through the darkness of the branches at the path's end. Gravel began to crunch beneath their boots. His adversary awaited them.
Angelique, oblivious to his halting steps, walked around him and ahead to the river's bank. She immediately climbed onto a big, fallen log that jutted toward the thin beach. She pranced slowly, daintily along the top, arms raised out to her side like the tightrope-walking lady she had seen in the traveling circus. She tried to sing the tune that had played during the show, "La, la, la, laaaa...," and advanced steadily down the length of the log toward danger. Zeke gaped, unbelieving, at what had happened so quickly.
Frozen, for fleeting seconds, in his tracks, he dropped the basket and glanced in panic, back and forth, from the joy of his family to the raging rapids, frigid waves that broke at the end of the log, twenty yards away. Paralyzing fear had gripped his heart and for a few more moments he couldn't move. Cold sweat ran into his eyes and blurred his vision of the little angel. She fell onto her stomach with a sharp cry and grabbed the rough bark. Zeke finally jumped forward with three running steps just as a booming crash exploded in his ears. ...
J. Wallace
To be continued...
How exactly such a sophisticated structure came to be in an untenanted, wild land, no one could say. It stood as a monument to the people who had constructed it long ago, people who were long forgotten.
Stone masons had laid and mortored the granite blocks together so seamlessly that rain and sleet slid off in sheets and drained as if the bridge had been carved from one giant piece of mountain. The bridge's magestic scale matched the river's: two wagons could pass each other on its span without touching. The guard walls were five feet tall and a foot thick with open, rectangular spaces every three yards, head high. The bridge's bottom supports were gothic arches through which the river roared and cascaded. One lone tower that resembled a castle and housed the bridgetender stood at the far end and bore just a few small leaded windows of warped glass. The bridge had at one time functioned as a fortress; ancient enemies now rested in the icy depths beneath it, according to legend.
The boy, who tried to hide himself in his family's wagon as they crossed, was startled by the clankiing of the wooden wheels as they rattled and shook over the heavy iron grates that flanked the tower. He would jump up to peer transfixed at the roaring rapids below, a pit of ghostly, raging lions that rampaged through and cried out for him. Sometimes, he glanced at the window in the tower that faced the bridge just in time to glimpse a shock of tangled white hair in the darkness. Two glinting eyes shone out and seemed to stare at him alone.
Though Zeke was almost ten and big for his age, his six-year-old sister Angelique was the fearless one. She would stand on the wagon's bench with their mother and father the whole trip, calling out to the people they passed and waving. Everyone loved her. Her shiny, blond ringlets and petite form; big, beautiful blue eyes that gazed into yours without blinking; boundless energy and curiosity; affection for anyone no matter how aged or homely--all these were characteristics that endeared her to everyone she met. Her physical fragility ellicited from her older brother his natural protectiveness and care, a compassion for injured animals and vulnerable people. She seemed to know that he was there to protect her and would amble after Zeke wherever he went. Angelique sometimes got in the way of his plans and projects, but his love for her was so great that he rarely expressed irritation over the inconvenience.
Angelique was to Zeke a little, comical bird who existed only to bring beauty and joy into the lives of others. Her fearlessness was a curiosity and inspirition. It was as if she was completely unconscious of the dangers of life that kept him preoccupied. He envied that kind of innocent faith, her conviction that everything would always turn out right if you just loved everyone and all that life entailed. He couldn't bring himselof to do it, but admired her courage to do so--even if she was just a little girl, a little girl who held his heart in her hands.
She followed him one day on a chore to the river's banks. Zeke lugged a heavy wicker basket for driftwood on his back, secured by a leather strap around his right shoulder as Angelique tagged behind. She stopped occasionally to pick up tiny, red wildflowers that lined the shadowed path through the tall trees, sang to herself, and stuck the flowers into the weaves of the basket. Her presence, as always, diminished the drudgery of his task and lightened his burden. He forgot for a moment what he dreaded up ahead.
"Zeke," Amgelique said, after they had stopped to rest, "Do you love me?"
"Yes." He assured her, the slight tinge in his chest a reminder of how much she meant to him.
"Why?", she asked.
He forced back a smile and adjusted the leather strap. "Because," he answered, "you're so little....and stupid."
"I'm not stupid!", Angelique defiantly countered. "I'm smart enough not to be a boy!"
He couldn't argue with that. Even empty, the big basket was heavy, and his shoulder was already starting to hurt. "Let's go," he said. "I've got a lot to do before it gets dark."
They didn't have much farther to walk toward the river's edge, where driftwood could be found, and he wanted to get the chore over with. The fear had come back with a vengeance .
A distant roar increased as the gleaming white movement broke through the darkness of the branches at the path's end. Gravel began to crunch beneath their boots. His adversary awaited them.
Angelique, oblivious to his halting steps, walked around him and ahead to the river's bank. She immediately climbed onto a big, fallen log that jutted toward the thin beach. She pranced slowly, daintily along the top, arms raised out to her side like the tightrope-walking lady she had seen in the traveling circus. She tried to sing the tune that had played during the show, "La, la, la, laaaa...," and advanced steadily down the length of the log toward danger. Zeke gaped, unbelieving, at what had happened so quickly.
Frozen, for fleeting seconds, in his tracks, he dropped the basket and glanced in panic, back and forth, from the joy of his family to the raging rapids, frigid waves that broke at the end of the log, twenty yards away. Paralyzing fear had gripped his heart and for a few more moments he couldn't move. Cold sweat ran into his eyes and blurred his vision of the little angel. She fell onto her stomach with a sharp cry and grabbed the rough bark. Zeke finally jumped forward with three running steps just as a booming crash exploded in his ears. ...
J. Wallace
To be continued...
posted by Purgatory Penman | 7:04 PM
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