Buying Trouble
Keeping Watch - by Destina Fortunato
It is dark now in the streets of Rome. The wind hits hard against the windowsill and moans low in the eaves, and the chill seeps through my fur, but I will not move from here until the boy returns. It is easier for me to gaze into the night than it is for Quiaius, who paces and sighs and stops here to look where I look, but he sees nothing with his dull, mournful eyes.
Soon enough, I think, the wild one will be back. And I will wait here and watch for what only I can see.
All things are not lucky enough to be loved. It is a lesson every wild creature knows. It is part of our being, a truth we accept. We crave our freedom, but we understand the value of having someone care for us.
Once we learn this lesson we are loyal and patient, and we are bound by the happiness we find in this love. It is that way for both the wild boy and the master of this house, though they don't yet realize it.
This will change when the boy is home again.
I have stood guard in this place for many years, since I was brought here bedraggled and torn, shivering in the arms of the tall man with the kind eyes. He calmed my urge to run in simple ways – a piece of fish to warm me, a place to sleep made of soft blankets that smelled of him. He held me firm and fast when I struggled in the warm bath, cleaning me with gentle hands instead of rough tongue.
I soon realized that I helped to fill the emptiness of this house. The tall man, the one called Quiaius, was never satisfied with just one small creature. He collected wild things, strays of all sorts. I could look into their eyes and see their gratitude. Yet few stayed long here.
There was restlessness between the walls, a silent longing no amount of strays could cure.
Curled by the fire on cold nights, I saw Quiaius watching the flames with sadness in his face. He buried his hand in my fur and comforted me, but there was no solace for him. I would nestle close, and Rosa came to join us when I mewed for her, but still it was not enough. Our master needed more to fill the empty places in his heart.
I did not know when I first saw the boy that the answer to everything would be found with him. I scoured his face with my tongue when the salt tears ran down his cheeks, just as Quiaius once bathed me. I sat with my tail curled, watching curiously as he was washed so tenderly by Quiaius, cleaned by gentle hands instead of rough tongue. His hands soothed angry scars on that boy's body, tracing each as though he would memorize them by touch alone.
In those first days, the boy named Eab hoarded food as though he was afraid he might be deprived. I could tell by the fear in his eyes when he accepted food from Quiaius' hand, from the firm set of his chin and the proud set of his body – he was not born to be confined. The chains that bound him were nothing to him, and yet they were everything, and I knew he would not suffer them for long. Still, it was easy to see he had a generous heart, for he shared a portion of each stolen morsel with me, speaking in that soothing voice I soon learned to understand.
It is more than language with us, for we hear the heart revealed in every word, and his heart was kind and true.
He has eyes like the sky in a storm, that boy. They are bright, and brilliant, and I see many things there, things that Quiaius has not yet learned to see.
Quiaius wonders now if he will be alone. It is difficult for him because he has not learned to speak the language of all things, least of all the strange music spoken by the boy. If I could speak as the Others do, I would tell him how the boy's heart hurts for him, how fiercely proud and honest he is. My fur tastes of salt from the Eab's tears – Eab, who clutched me tight and whispered his plans to me in hushes, determined tones. He must journey back to the trees, back to the place he became what he is, before he can journey forward with us here.
He would not share this with Quiaius, and being only a cat, I could only listen, looking at his sadness and mourning his lost innocence.
Being only a cat, I cannot tell him how to open his heart, or how much my master needs him. I can only sigh a cat's sigh, and settle forward on my paws, hoping they will each learn to take comfort from the nearness of the other as each takes comfort when I am close by.
With sure hands, the boy took the silver hair clip Quiaius left so carelessly within reach and opened the cuffs surrounding his wrists. He touched each curving piece of the clip, fingertips drifting across the smooth metal over and over again as though there was something he would discover there. I wound myself around his ankles, begging him not to go, but I could not make him stay.
Beneath his pillow, he had hidden a bag filled with bread and cheese, and I called to him to stay as he took a knife from the kitchen boards. I saw that his hand trembled at last, that his eyes filled with regret, and I listened to him softly speaking his language, the language of wind and sea and moon and stars. I wondered if Quiaius would ever understand as I do.
I have never been owned, but indebted I am. I am grateful for Quiaius' love and in return, he has my devotion. So it should be with the young one, and will be, in time. I hope I will live to see it.
Some of us are fortunate enough to be found and understood, kept warm and fed and made content. Some of us are wise enough to seek love wherever we may find it.
Matters of the heart, however, are not matters of wisdom.
Eab's eyes shine at me from the darkness just beyond the window, where he crouches, waiting. His journey is complete. When he knocks at the door, there will be light in this house, and Quiaius' eyes, once again.
THE END
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