Here’s another “From the Archives” post, this time from issue 2. “What Do You See” is a great short story by Bea Rae. Enjoy!
What Do You See?
Bea Rae
The speckled clouds grew pink from the reflection of the polychrome waters below. As the day progressed, azure, yellow and orange flooded the sky and mixed with the deep ocean-blue left behind by the moon. The ivory morning light began to dismiss the frost which had accumulated in the sun’s absence. Blanched buildings glowed with the warmth of the fiery orb that peeked its head over the jagged horizon, plunging the rocks below into darkness.
His arms, once cool like stone, shone with the light of the new day. The crows that passed him cawed as they made the most of the fresh light which grew by the minute. The dew drops, which had collected over the night, turned to pearls that encrusted his coat. The gentle breeze teasing him; how easy it would be to batter him down to dust. Yet he was unbreakable, and he stood silently guarding the people below. The people who ran in the bitter early mornings, who turned their car engines on prior to travelling to remain in the tranquillity of heat, the children who screamed with joy as their parents pushed them higher and higher on the swings. The commotion of the week. The gentle hum of traffic after work. Running to class followed by puffs of white air. Shouts of play time. Lorries blocking every road to deliver their supplies. Mothers with pushchairs. Fathers picking up their daughters from ballet and holding their hands tight with pride as they walked home together. The people whose world was filled with the chirps of birds, the call of a train, the crunch of leaves and gravel beneath their feet. The people whose lungs flooded with the crispness of the day and whose eyes observed, in wonder, the multitude of colours before them. The people encapsulated in the frenzied serenity of living. The people who were oblivious to the great beast who kept watch above them.
Occasionally a child would point to the mountain and ask the question but only get a shrug and a nonsense story in return. Some would even climb up to join him, only wanting to see the world he watched. Schools taught about the town and its life long ago, not thinking to ask the being who was there, who stood tall as the town below him formed and reformed, as if it were clay worked by an indecisive artist.
He was the single witness to the many boats that crashed on deafening nights. The wood splintered into a thousand pieces so easily that the ships could have been mistaken for glass. The crew looked like rag dolls as the sea reached out its hand, wrapping its great fingers around them before dragging them down into the abyss.
He watched the confusion of the motor car, the transition from horse to wheels to engine. The population which grew with each new house. The architecture which, at times, was as mad as the neon clothes people wore. He remained even when the farmers became factory workers, miners and lawyers. The people only guessed at the truth. He had seen it, but they didn’t see him. He had become a common object, hidden in plain sight.
The events of the past were gone, and the town was silent, but he would be their eyes when they could no longer look at the disasters to come. Whether they took note of his ancient power did not matter. He was placed to watch over them and he would. Protecting them until his features became blurred and his body a mass of rock, mangled and indistinguishable. He was a beast content in the knowledge that people would not notice him, although, even a beast can be mistaken. Even a beast can be noticed by little girls who do ballet. Little girls with fathers who hold their hand and do not wrap them in nonsense stories but give over the key to unlock mysteries. Little girls with questions and wonder. Little girls unafraid to ask their teacher, “What’s that?”
The answer is complicated. Hidden behind layers of myth and folktales. The truth is buried, although with patience and perhaps a pair of ballet pumps, the great beast may unleash the tale enclosed deep in his heart.
So the little girl climbs the mountain and asks the man who watches, “What do you see?” He remains silent. Eyes black like pebbles staring out to the town below. His body stiff and heavy, he does not move. The grass beneath him waving in the wind, as if tickling his ankles. Moss grows on his back, warmed in the golden light. He sighs and his chest expands, taking in the heat of the day. The girl follows his gaze. The vast world unfolds before her. The waves that crash on the beach grow on the flat plains which reach out to the sky with open arms. The clouds that roll in the distance look for a place to come back down to earth, to place their feet in the damp soil. The beauty of life, the simplicity of the unnoticed ladybird, the magnificence of birth. She sees the loneliness of her guardian. The moon is threatening to take over, so the little girl runs back to her home over the loose rocks, but not before reaching up to whisper, “I’ll be back”, in the ear of the great beast, her new friend.
As the colours seep like watercolours into the sky, once more he notices something different. A bunch of flowers lies at his feet. A sense of peculiarity takes over, for he does not know how or when they arrived. Their soft petals twist and turn, their heads droop with an unknown sadness. The sound of heavy pages turning is carried on the wind. He looks to see the girl perched on a rock absorbed in a book of ancient creatures. She turns her head to the valley and town below, noticing all aspects of life. The joy of rain, the oversleeping, the mortality of watching. She, unlike the rest of the people below, observes with a smile resting in the smallest corner of her mouth, the world he guards. The world full of charm, promise and regret. The world he no longer has to watch alone. The girl focuses her attention on the book once more. He smiles to himself and sets his gaze on the horizon.
Find your copy of issue 2 here.
