A Basketful Of Figs, cont'd. (Part V).
Jun. 26th, 2009 09:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jolantruThe loss of my closest cousin weighs heavily on my heart and yet I find myself unable to cry. My tear-ducts seem to have run dry, after the harvest of the figs. How am I going to mourn the dead when I know, somewhat, that she might still be alive? On the run, no doubt, but alive and kicking…somewhere?
Benjamin is a silent pillar of strength, even though he looks wan and distraught. He tries to smile and reassure me. But I know. The war is not going well. The other side is winning.
Our lovemaking is a salve, a sacred act, witnessed only by the silent fig tree who shields us with her buttress roots. The crushed fig leaves perfumes our mat with the scent of green sap and I always wake with a leaf or two stuck to my hair.
I am going to cut my hair one of these days. I will make that transition.
~*~
The first Marauder tanks have roared in. Spiky metal beasts with large cannons mounted. These cannons bring death. The news speak of their wake of destruction, of buildings blown apart and crushed, of people fleeing for their lives or buried under tons of rubble.
I can hear fighting now. Rattling of guns. Loud explosions. Strange that for the 24th century, we are still reliant on guns and grenades. I know the Teveri thinks we are enfant terribles. Children trying to pretend they are adults and failing horribly. And it is not at all strange that they have not even intervened or said anything.
Because it is Earth’s war, not theirs. They would rather keep their claws clean rather than have them sullied by a war not their own.
Armed soldiers now surround the camp and within – my family. Mother and Father try to cheer everyone up – the soldiers, the refugees and our family – with songs and tales from our family archives. For a moment, there is a festive spirit in the courtyard with Father stringing the lanterns across the courtyard, reminiscent of Mid-Autumns long past. The lanterns glow red and orange, adding color and life to the dullness of the camp. Someone has brought out a guitar and strum familiar tunes. Another person plays the flute. A girl beats a Middle-Eastern rhythm on her dombek. People get up from their mats and beds to dance to the simple music.
Third Aunt brings out the preserved figs and we share the sweetmeats amongst ourselves, amongst the soldiers and the refugees. We also eat the present batch of figs. Fresh. Sweetness fills my mouth, replenish my memories. I eat the figs, just as I eat the words I hear floating around me. Words of comfort. Words of hope. Words of worry and anxiety. Words. The rat-tat-tat of gunfire punctuates the air and still I savor the figs, the words and the intimacy of family. Ikatan keluarga. Ties that bind.
Of course I do not expect the Teveri to swoop in and rescue us in our hour of need. The fighting sounds closer and closer now. The lanterns flicker in the breeze, causing some to look up anxiously, ready to light the candles again.
And while we celebrate and sing, the fig tree stands firm and resolute, its leaves speaking its own courage, its roots its strength. It has lived for generations. It will live on.
~*~
[FROM UNDISCLOSED LOCATION: GZBNRQJ]
Ash,
They invaded our city. Our family house is gone. I am on the run now, with Mother and Father. First and Third Aunts did not make it. The mortar bombs crushed the roof they were under. I am using a portable Speak-Ease and I hope you receive the message, wherever you are. If you are alive.
Are you still alive?
It is all gone. Even the fig tree. I thought it would survive. It was so strong and had withstood the test of time. But the first mortar fell right on top of it and blew it into pieces. There are broken branches, bark and fruit everywhere. Splinters hurting and, piercing our bodies. I still need to get the splinter out of my right arm. We are running and there is no time to rest.
The Teveri are no help at all. They are probably laughing at Earth’s follies. What fools we are!
Benjamin is dead. He died defending the camp. You don’t know about him. But he was there when I needed comfort. He was a soldier trying to defend what and whom he loved. He was a “returnee”, just like you and me. Immigrant’s descendent. Like our families. You don’t know him. I love him and he’s now gone. Dua sejoli tidak menyanyi. My joy is gone.
I cut my hair. I now look like a boy and I will probably stay that way until the war ends and after. I hope you like this aspect of me. I miss you. A lot.
And oh, I have kept some of the figs. Do you remember eating them? We used to harvest them together. The figs are in my pocket now. I want to grow them, watch them flourish. Peace will come back. I pray it will. We will return to our homes soon.
Till we meet again, Ash.
A lot of love,
Cass.
[END OF MESSAGE] [END OF MESSAGE]
***
If you like it, it's only 1.00 SGD.
***
Part I: here.
Part II: here.
Part III: here.
Part IV: here.
Glossary and Translation:
Perjuangan nyah: Go away war!
Berani mati: Not afraid of death.
Dua sejoli tidak menyanyi: Lovebirds will never sing.
Ikatan keluarga: Family ties.
Susah hati: Uneasy/pained.
Benjamin is a silent pillar of strength, even though he looks wan and distraught. He tries to smile and reassure me. But I know. The war is not going well. The other side is winning.
Our lovemaking is a salve, a sacred act, witnessed only by the silent fig tree who shields us with her buttress roots. The crushed fig leaves perfumes our mat with the scent of green sap and I always wake with a leaf or two stuck to my hair.
I am going to cut my hair one of these days. I will make that transition.
~*~
The first Marauder tanks have roared in. Spiky metal beasts with large cannons mounted. These cannons bring death. The news speak of their wake of destruction, of buildings blown apart and crushed, of people fleeing for their lives or buried under tons of rubble.
I can hear fighting now. Rattling of guns. Loud explosions. Strange that for the 24th century, we are still reliant on guns and grenades. I know the Teveri thinks we are enfant terribles. Children trying to pretend they are adults and failing horribly. And it is not at all strange that they have not even intervened or said anything.
Because it is Earth’s war, not theirs. They would rather keep their claws clean rather than have them sullied by a war not their own.
Armed soldiers now surround the camp and within – my family. Mother and Father try to cheer everyone up – the soldiers, the refugees and our family – with songs and tales from our family archives. For a moment, there is a festive spirit in the courtyard with Father stringing the lanterns across the courtyard, reminiscent of Mid-Autumns long past. The lanterns glow red and orange, adding color and life to the dullness of the camp. Someone has brought out a guitar and strum familiar tunes. Another person plays the flute. A girl beats a Middle-Eastern rhythm on her dombek. People get up from their mats and beds to dance to the simple music.
Third Aunt brings out the preserved figs and we share the sweetmeats amongst ourselves, amongst the soldiers and the refugees. We also eat the present batch of figs. Fresh. Sweetness fills my mouth, replenish my memories. I eat the figs, just as I eat the words I hear floating around me. Words of comfort. Words of hope. Words of worry and anxiety. Words. The rat-tat-tat of gunfire punctuates the air and still I savor the figs, the words and the intimacy of family. Ikatan keluarga. Ties that bind.
Of course I do not expect the Teveri to swoop in and rescue us in our hour of need. The fighting sounds closer and closer now. The lanterns flicker in the breeze, causing some to look up anxiously, ready to light the candles again.
And while we celebrate and sing, the fig tree stands firm and resolute, its leaves speaking its own courage, its roots its strength. It has lived for generations. It will live on.
~*~
[FROM UNDISCLOSED LOCATION: GZBNRQJ]
Ash,
They invaded our city. Our family house is gone. I am on the run now, with Mother and Father. First and Third Aunts did not make it. The mortar bombs crushed the roof they were under. I am using a portable Speak-Ease and I hope you receive the message, wherever you are. If you are alive.
Are you still alive?
It is all gone. Even the fig tree. I thought it would survive. It was so strong and had withstood the test of time. But the first mortar fell right on top of it and blew it into pieces. There are broken branches, bark and fruit everywhere. Splinters hurting and, piercing our bodies. I still need to get the splinter out of my right arm. We are running and there is no time to rest.
The Teveri are no help at all. They are probably laughing at Earth’s follies. What fools we are!
Benjamin is dead. He died defending the camp. You don’t know about him. But he was there when I needed comfort. He was a soldier trying to defend what and whom he loved. He was a “returnee”, just like you and me. Immigrant’s descendent. Like our families. You don’t know him. I love him and he’s now gone. Dua sejoli tidak menyanyi. My joy is gone.
I cut my hair. I now look like a boy and I will probably stay that way until the war ends and after. I hope you like this aspect of me. I miss you. A lot.
And oh, I have kept some of the figs. Do you remember eating them? We used to harvest them together. The figs are in my pocket now. I want to grow them, watch them flourish. Peace will come back. I pray it will. We will return to our homes soon.
Till we meet again, Ash.
A lot of love,
Cass.
[END OF MESSAGE]
***
If you like it, it's only 1.00 SGD.
***
Part I: here.
Part II: here.
Part III: here.
Part IV: here.
Glossary and Translation:
Perjuangan nyah: Go away war!
Berani mati: Not afraid of death.
Dua sejoli tidak menyanyi: Lovebirds will never sing.
Ikatan keluarga: Family ties.
Susah hati: Uneasy/pained.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 04:08 am (UTC)Thank you for your comments!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 07:12 pm (UTC)And that would be so bittersweet.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-27 02:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 12:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-26 02:32 pm (UTC)I read the story again and it is both poignant and hopeful. Perhaps, it's our own actions that will turn the tide of war?