Luke
A Fairy Tale for Stony Moons
Robert James Tootell
©2012 Robert James Tootell
All rights reserved
Published in 2012 by Robert James Tootell
at Smashwords
From the book: Krakow Stories
Luke
a fairy tale for stony moons
i
Over the Forest
A boy was born to the village. The forest, on hearing the news, gathered in its skirts with a scurrying, rustling action, and ran to greet the child. But the boy did not hear the whispers from the undergrowth or the hoots of delight from the open window, nor did he take any notice of the mice curtsying and bowing around the wooden bed. For his attention was fully taken up by a wondrous, smiling light in the night sky. Bright eyed, waving his arms, he chatted to the light until his eyes grew tired, and as morning rose up over the mists of the forest, the child was named Luke. On hearing his name, the boy let out a princely smile and fell asleep. He slept a long time, wrapped in cloths, oblivious to the tired, joyous faces of those around him, but content in himself, curled up like a kitten, satisfied with the knowledge that he had made his first friend.
From an early age it was clear to all that the child had a mind. He liked to inspect every object, and even tried to count the cat's whiskers. He loved playing games. Luke was four when his father Peter gave him his first chess set, a battered old thing with pieces he had himself once carved out of the forest. He taught Luke that pawns were the quietest, and therefore the strongest pieces on the board. What could you do with gallant knights, rustling bishops or even a fearsome queen, his father would say with beaming eyes, if there were no shields to protect them? No! The most timid of all the pieces were the sturdiest of them all - they were the ones to watch!
Luke soon discovered that this game 'chess' was really funny, horses could jump over anything and were not called horses but knights, castles moved by themselves and the queen, who could go where she liked, was more powerful than the king, who couldn't! He learned so swiftly that within a short time he had become the champion of the village. By the age of eight Luke was playing so well that more often than not his father found himself stranded and helpless in the corner, surrounded by gangs of little pieces, insolently holding their ground.
'Well, yes,' he would mumble, throwing a puzzled glance at the board and scratching his beard, 'you might have something there.' Luke, quick to rejoin his defeated opponent, would lean his head against a resigned shoulder and whisper, 'sorry father!'
On the eve of his ninth birthday, Luke was startled by a rather strange dream. He found himself in a bright room, surrounded by balloons and involved in a game of chess. His opponent, he was astounded to see, was an larger, uglier version of himself! And this older Luke, serious and too adult by far, was clearly put out by the events on the board - he was losing! He started to complain to the organisers, whereupon Luke boldly admonished the upstart, something he would never do in real life.
'Look, this is a serious game! Please concentrate!'
The Luke-alike, red in the cheeks, started gobbling up all Luke's pieces. Enraged by the rapid disappearance of all his prize pawns, Luke demanded the presence of the judges, whereupon a row of young men in tight silver suits appeared. But on gathering round to see what was going on, they merely shook themselves, burst into laughter, and pointed at the board, crying, 'Look! There goes the bishop!' In the end, a baffled Luke turned for assistance to his father, who was standing nearby holding his beard, and then to his mother who was looking in though a window, holding a wooden spoon and mopping her brow. Not knowing what to do, he jumped down from his seat, almost in tears, and crouched beneath the table with his hands over his face.
Luke twisted and turned in his sleep, unable to shake himself free from this puzzling nightmare. At last his old friend the moon came to his rescue and spoke to him:
'Luke, not games of hide and seek - music!
Luke suddenly heard the hollow piping of a flute.
'Luke! not winners and losers, it was never about that. It's only about how you feel you played. Only that!' And as if the flute were a wand, casting away all night-demons, the image of his older, uglier self disappeared, together with the men in grey suits and the entire, chaotic dream-scene. His friend's voice also floated away. Luke turned over, tried to thank him, but tiny mice had begun to dance under his eyelids. Everything had become very bright.
He opened his eyes. A blackbird flew into his room through the open window, carrying in its mouth a small red berry. A pool of sunlight lay beside his head on the pillow, a pool filled with diamonds and sparkling colours. He rubbed his eyes, rose from his bed and bumbled down to the kitchen. His father was sitting at the table, blowing on a piece of wood he had whittled into the shape of a small recorder, three delicate holes for the fingers; his mother sat beside him, stirring a cup of something hot. When Luke tried to tell them about his dream he found he couldn't capture the words, and even before he'd finished yawning, the strange scene which had been so vivid just a moment ago vanished completely into the morning. He trotted over to the table and rested his head on the warm wood, smiling in a horizontal fashion at his parents. But even from that awkward position he noticed something unusual in their eyes - twinkling like mad! He raised himself and followed the direction of their glances. And there... his eyes fell upon a set of the most beautifully carved chess figures standing proudly on a fancy new board! Amazed, delighted, Luke approached the window, breathing in the scent of apples and poppies from the garden. Taking hold of one of the pieces, he turned in joy and gave his parents a smile as broad as daylight, then turned back and patted the heads of all the pawns waiting quietly to meet him.
ii
The Pudding from Meretriciania
By the age of 10, Luke had become champion of Polkavia. His father, by now unable to test his son on the board, was nevertheless still able to help in other ways. He showed Luke how to keep calm, how to wait without losing concentration. He taught him to keep his hands firmly under the table, to count all his fingers twice before moving to prevent any hasty actions. And, not the least important, after each game, how to be modest in victory. After all, it's only chess!
One morning in spring, a man in a fabulous golden carriage rode into the village demanding to see Luke. He was directed to Peter's house, which lay on the edge of the forest. Rather embarrassed at the huge coach standing outside his humble house, Luke's father asked him to come in and Luke's mother busied herself making coffee and cutting bread.
'Sir,' the man began, 'is this Luke, chess champion of Polkavia?'
'It is,' Luke's father replied, blinking furiously.
'Good, good,' the man answered, looking at the boy. 'And how old is he?' he asked, glancing at his pocket watch.
'He is ten.'
'How old exactly?' the man demanded.
Taking a step forward, holding his hands in his lap, Luke's father replied, 'Luke is ten years, five months, three weeks... and a day.'
Luke gazed at his father, then started playing with his fingers.
'Good, good,' was all the man said. He sat there like a fat pudding stuffed into expensive clothes which seemed to be bursting at the seams, stroking his whiskers. 'I have come,' he continued with an exaggerated air of superiority, 'from the kingdom of Meretriciania, with some rather interesting news. We too have a champion chess player. Oh yes! And you will be surprised no doubt to hear that it is not a man.'
Luke looked at his father.
'And even more so when I tell you it is not even a boy.'
Maybe it's a frog, Luke thought, and giggled.
'Well,' Peter said, not knowing where all this was leading and still feeling rather ill at ease, 'we thank you for coming all this way...'
The man sat up quickly.
'You mock?' he roared, eyes bulging out of their sockets.
Peter started. 'I am merely thanking you!'
'The girl I am talking about is the best chess player in the world! She plays ten people at a time. And what's more, Sir, she is a mere nine years and seven months old - known only by the title the good Queen - may God keep her feet as warm as her heart - gave her, and that is, 'Princess.' '
Luke stopped counting his fingers and looked down at the man's feet.
'We are challenging you to a match. We will transport you to our kingdom, put you up in the King's own castle and feed you like royalty, in order to prove that we have the better champion. What do you say, Sir?'
Luke's father looked at his son. Playing chess with your own countrymen was one thing, taking a young boy to unknown lands, that was quite another.
'May we have time to think about it?' Peter asked.
'Time? Time?' boomed the man, 'what time do you need?'
'Time to talk,' Peter said quietly.
The man tutted, shifted uneasily in the creaking chair and after a couple of moments cried, 'well, have you talked about it yet?'
Luke looked at his mother who was holding on to the table as if someone were trying to steal it, then into his father's blue eyes and said, 'Let's go father! I'm not afraid. If I can beat everyone here I must be able to beat her too.'
'Ah,' the man said, 'a wise boy,' and sniffed the air.
'I am not thinking of the chess,' Peter said in all seriousness. 'I am thinking of the journey. It's a long way.' He looked kindly at the man, 'we don't know much about you, Sir. We are responsible parents.'
The big man nodded. 'Sir, I assure you, we will take good care of you all. You will be treated with the upmost kindness.' He scratched his chin and started inspecting the ceiling.
Maybe this was an opportunity after all, Peter considered, seeing Luke dangling his feet under the table, to broaden his young mind, to see some of the world. It's not often people from this village get out to see the world. He walked over to the window, stood there in contemplation for some time, and finally turned to face the pudding.
'All right,' he said at last, stepping forward, taking his wife by the hand, 'we accept.'
'Aha!' boomed the man.
'Moon!' cried Luke.
And everything was settled.
iii
The Journey
The night before the long journey, Luke lay in bed chatting with his friend, the moon. Furry animals danced in his tummy, and his legs would not be still. He looked up to the window, how many games of chess have you seen, moon? he said aloud. Actually he was wondering what it was like to lose, for Luke had never lost a game. At this he felt odd and most dejected. He remembered the strange behaviour of all the opponents he had beaten. Some had slipped off their chairs like jelly, pulling elasticated faces. Others had banged the table with their fists and howled like the wolves in the forest. Others still had shaken him by the hand, but had wilted like flowers as soon as they saw their parents. Well moon, how many? But his friend didn't answer his questions. He merely put on his nightcap and pretended to be asleep.
The next morning, an elderly, rather handsome coachman was waiting for them with a glistening carriage and six magnificent white horses. The folk from the village saw them off, for nothing was a secret there for very long, and together, father and son left for the unknown kingdom of Meretriciania.
The horses galloped at an astonishing pace, their strength and elegance seemed unreal. Luke's father looked out at the landscape of his homeland with a growing sense of unease, thinking, 'everything changes so fast.' Night arrived. On the horses charged, while Luke and his father tried to sleep as best they could. The sun was rising as they entered the unknown land. They swept effortlessly past primaeval forests that spoke of magic and mystical beasts, past open fields where golden crops grew tall and straight; they crossed magnificent wooden bridges spanning beautiful rivers where fish jumped in and out of the water, glistening like rainbows. The scenes that passed before their eyes were so astonishing that they both thought they were dreaming. But neither of them said a word. At last they arrived at the foot of a huge castle that overlooked a city carved resplendently out of wood. They were escorted to glorious rooms where every object glittered in the light, with chandeliers that hung like miniature cathedrals. On the floor in Luke's room there lay a golden chess set. When he saw it he stared with open eyes. Can it be real? Peter noted everything with alarm, and Luke felt his unease. He looked up at his father and said, as if reading his thoughts, 'these pawns are very loud.'
They sat down to talk about tactics.
'Remember,' his father said, 'cool head, hands beneath the table, calm at all times. Study your opponent as well as the board. Don't forget the quiet ones - build your home and fortress securely!'
Peter placed his hand on his son's head, battling with a great compassion, 'this is no young pretender from the country, Luke. I have the feeling that this Princess is rather special.'
They went to bed, but neither could settle. Peter, when he did fall asleep, dreamt of a home without a roof, and of doors without handles. Luke spent the night tossing from side to side, he was trying to catch the blackbird with the red berry in its mouth, only it was frightened and would not be caught...
And thus a restless night passed in the chambers of the great castle.
iv
The Competition
Luke awoke to find himself lying on the floor beside the chess board. He went to wake his father, feeling tired and a little strange, only to find him already up and standing by the window. He seemed deep in thought. A blinding sun had flooded the city, it lay before them bathed in a heavy pink mist. A cart piled high with wood was rolling along the bank of the river, silvery ribbons of light rippled on the surface like so many eels. Smoke was rising from chimneys in the centre. Father and son stood together and watched the city as it awakened, flocks of birds flying low over the rooftops, a boy running across a square with something in his arms, old horses clomping along the narrow streets. It was strange to see all this from the window of a castle!
They hastened to their task, tactics, basics... At nine sharp they were escorted through long corridors by a line of courtiers in smart silver suits to a huge, brightly lit ballroom already crammed with terribly ugly men and women, all bedecked in fancy clothes. When they saw Peter's long beard they started whispering to each other and sneering. Luke felt sorry for his father and reached for his hand. In the centre of the room stood a small table and a chess board. Luke couldn't believe his eyes. The pieces glistening under the chandelier looked like real diamonds. He was lead to the table and his father was asked to stand aside. Putting his large hand on Luke's shoulder, father brought him close and whispered in his ear, 'Luke, listen! Winning is not everything. Be polite at all times and we'll soon be home.'
Luke looked at his father and was puzzled. Suddenly there was a hush, and a fluttering of fans, 'the Princess!' someone declared. In a flash a young girl, much smaller than Luke, walked proudly up to the table and sat down. He had never seen a child look so grown up before. Her eyes were heavy with make-up, she wore a silver dress, speckled with shiny red flowers, and fine lace sleeves. Her necklace was a string of stars.
Someone struck a gong and pronounced very slowly, 'Let the game begin.' Luke was offered the choice of colour and pointed to black. This brought some utterances of surprise. Luke chose black for two reasons, firstly, he felt calmer and stronger playing with black, rather than being a move behind, he felt as if he had the advantage of seeing a player's hand before they threw the cards, and secondly, he noticed that opponents often made more errors when they were white, seemingly under pressure to attack... The young girl, who never once looked at Luke, made the first move. Luke remembered his father's words and kept his hands under the table, and despite all the penetrating eyes upon him, tried not to tremble. The game was on!
He moved. She took the centre. He took the flanks, laying his foundations carefully. They both played with calm diligence and admirable concentration. After some thirty minutes or so, many moves had been exchanged but both were equal in position. The crowd had no idea who had the advantage. The lights sparkled and glared, the atmosphere remained tense. And then Luke yawned, he was still tired after the long journey and restless night. He looked around the room. The spectators seemed insulted, and they let their feelings be known. Luke looked down. It's only a yawn! Then something odd happened. With a quick glance at her opponent, her first one, she moved her white knight, a piece easily as elegant as the horses that had brought him to her kingdom. But where had it come from? Luke rubbed his eyes, for they were watering. All the pieces were merging together under the bright lights... Luke looked hard at the board but somehow couldn't retrace it back to any position. He saw now that the Princess was staring at him boldly. He looked over to his father. But father was not watching, he was looking down at the floor. Father? he thought.
He moved. Like lightning she picked up her castle and shouted 'Check. Ha!' It was the first time he had heard her speaking, the unmistakable voice of a spoilt child. Luke was so surprised that he forgot everything. Everyone was looking, murmuring, tittering. His fingers seemed to be twitching of their own accord. He moved quickly, blocked with a bishop, at which she let out a loud snort and practically jumped on the board. Quick as lightning, she picked up her queen and threw her into the fray. But where had she moved the queen from? Luke blinked, rubbed his eyes again. All the pieces, glistening under the bright lights of the chandeliers, were becoming blurred. And now, to his astonishment, he could see he was in real danger. He scratched his head, which was very unlike him, and somebody laughed. Luke moved another piece, but once again too hastily. He saw even while he was moving that she could easily take it and march on. What was happening?
The girl whooped in delight. With wild eyes, she drummed her fingers on the table and stared into his confused face. Luke could see now that he was going to lose. There was nothing he could do. He planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his palms. One by one, he lost all his pieces, even his favourites. The strange thing was, as he did so, he began to grow calmer, as if there was nothing for it but to finish the game, shake hands and go home. So this is what it feels like to lose, he thought, and he smiled, it was a smile of pleasurable relief. And the more pieces he lost, the calmer he grew, the closer to home he felt, and the wider his smile became. What is losing? It's nothing at all! Suddenly he thought of his mother, standing in the kitchen next to the old stove, and of the table carved from the forest where they ate breakfast and supper together. Home! How good it would be to sit beside the fire, and walk in the forest! He looked at the girl. Instead of concentrating on the game now, he relaxed, leant back and began to study his opponent. Mother will want to know! This Princess was spoilt, he decided, and quite ugly to boot! No, she wasn't very well mannered at all. Though she was dressed like a future queen and excited to be winning, her eyes seemed dull and her movements weary. How could that be? Her clothes looked fabulously expensive and yet uncomfortable to wear. She seemed irritable, and two little lines kept appearing just above her nose, which made her look cross. A lovely picture she would make!
The end of the game was upon him. She should have made that final move by now. She should have shouted 'checkmate.' But Luke saw that she had folded her arms and was staring at him. Luke became uneasy, but remembering his father's words, he breathed in deeply and gave her a smile as bright as day, as clear as his conscience.
'Why are you smiling?' she demanded to know.
'Because you are about to win!'
She frowned. 'Why aren't you angry? Why?'
Luke saw the spoilt, angry look in her eyes and wanted to tell her about the forest, about all the adventures he had had there, swimming in the river, building secret houses in trees, feeding the squirrels and searching for treasure with his friends. He even thought of telling her about his friend, the moon. Moon! He had forgotten about his friend!
But the crowds of onlookers were growing impatient. Some of them were shouting, 'Move! Finish him!'
But she didn't move. She was staring at Luke in amazement.
'Aren't you afraid?' she asked.
'Afraid? It's only chess!'
The Princess's expression had changed. She bowed her head for a moment, and then looked Luke straight in the eye.
'What's your name?' she asked.
'Luke!' he replied, 'what about you?'
Those funny lines appeared above her nose.
'Me? I'm the... no, I'm...' she hesitated. 'My name is...' She looked round, turned up the underside of her sleeve...
'... Chandrabhaga,' she said at last. 'My name is Chandrabhaga!'
Luke repeated the name after her. How strange! He liked this name.
'Well, Chandrabhaga, you should be pleased. You're the champion!'
But Chandrabhaga didn't look pleased at all. She looked horrified. Her mouth seemed to wobble all by itself. Small diamonds started to twinkle in her eyes and career down her cheeks. Luke watched them falling... he was amazed to see in them the colours of his garden, apples and poppies, and tiny points of light dancing.
'Chandrabhaga!' he said quietly, 'what's the matter?'
All of a sudden she seemed very frightened. She glanced quickly at someone in the room, stared at Luke for a long moment, and with a tremendous swipe of her arm, knocked over her king and burst into uncontrollable sobs.
Cries of 'No!' and 'Horror!' rang out all around them.
'But Chandrabhaga, you won!' Luke whispered.
'I don't want to win,' she cried, 'I don't want to win! I want...'
She had no time to finish. She was pulled away by a woman whose face was covered in blue powder. There was uproar. People started pushing and shouting. In the chaos that followed, Luke and his father were able to slip away and run to their room. They started packing immediately.
'Father,' Luke said, 'she was better.'
Before his father could reply, a loud crash against the door startled them. The great pudding burst in - his cheeks burning, 'Your coach leaves in five minutes,' he boomed, 'please be on it. The King is not amused. Not amused at all.' He stared at them as if completely astonished, and then slammed the door shut.
They were hastily escorted through the castle grounds. Storm clouds had gathered over the castle. The sky had grown very dark and the once magnificent city seemed to have fallen into ruin. Grubby children ran about with no shoes on. Hunched-up women stood on corners with frail hands out-stretched. Luke and his father were pushed along to where the coach was waiting. The six white horses had been replaced with four tired-looking brown ones. The grey-haired coachman looked as if he had just that second fallen out of bed. As Luke was about to climb into the carriage, a small child in rags ran up to him, pushed something into his hand and ran away without looking back. Luke wanted to call after him but there was no time, his father had lifted him up, climbed in himself, and with a mighty 'whoa' and a crack of the whip, they were off.
'Don't look back,' his father said. But Luke couldn't help it. He looked back at the castle, at all the people running about like chickens without heads. He looked back because he didn't understand anything that had happened. Everyone was being pushed outside. The gates all around the castle walls were being closed. Trumpets were being blown. And there, high up in one of the small windows of the tower, Luke thought he saw something glitter, a shard of mirror perhaps, against the ever darkening sky, before someone pulled the large green shutter to.
v
A Song and Dance
Frantically the horses pulled them through that strange land. Something terrible had happened to the countryside. The once majestic scenery had been transformed into a barren wasteland. The crops were sparse and withered. Broken huts were littered along the roadsides, with rags hung over the windows. The once beautiful rivers had turned brown with mud and were spilling over with garbage.
Luke felt his father's arm around his shoulder. They looked out together at the terrible scenery and said not a word. It was a long time before Luke remembered he was holding something in his hand. He unclasped his fingers and saw a small piece of paper scrunched up into a ball. Carefully he opened it. Something was written there in an elegant though rather hurried hand. There was something else too, something very small. Luke picked it out carefully with the ends of his fingers and gazed at it in amazement. He read the note. As he did so he felt a curious sensation, in his throat and in his eyes. How strange it had all been. He thought about the funny people in the castle, the game of chess, he thought about Chandrabhaga, those magnificent clothes that didn't fit, her tired eyes and terrible sobbing, and he didn't understand. He scrunched up the note once more and put it in his pocket. He closed his eyes and saw the green shutter closing, and something glittering from the window... Night had arrived. The carriage rattled beneath them, the coachman cracked his whip and the horses picked up speed. Luke felt a heavy blanket being placed upon him. He looked up through half-closed eyes at his father's grave face, smiled a sleepy smile, and fell asleep. On the horses rode, over the rivers, past the sleeping forests. The horses never tired. The coachman sat motionless as if carved from stone, and they raced towards a silvery light that shone far into the distance.
From a quiet place, Luke heard the familiar voice of his friend, the moon, 'you played beautifully Luke. Like a dream. You should be proud.' But Luke didn't understand. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew now what it was like to lose, to lose something very precious, though he couldn't say what it was. Meanwhile his friend had grown two long, thin arms, and with these he was trying to cover his bright, stony face, but seemed to be giggling behind them. On one of his fingers there was a ring, but on closer inspection it turned out to be a piece of string with a red berry stuck to it. The moon picked up a violin and began to play, winking knowingly at Luke and clicking his heels. Finally his friend bowed, put the violin away and showed him a picture. It was of a young princess, veiled, her hand on the arm of a young man. The couple, on being seen by Luke, came to life. The young man smiled and placed the ring with the red berry, given to him by the moon, his best-man, around the princess's finger. The princess raised her veil, and they kissed. Luke looked into her eyes. He was astonished. They were like... The moon laughed, picked up his violin once more and started playing and dancing, round and round, dancing with the stars, winking at Luke and nodding. This went on for an eternity and Luke couldn't make head nor tail of it. But after a while the stars flickered, went out, and a hush fell over the scene. Slowly, the moon put down his violin. A silvery light appeared in the distance. It shone over him, and over a vast landscape that stretched as far as the eye could see.
'Luke,' his friend began, a new mood having overcome him, 'this song and dance - you may have guessed - is really only goodbye.'
'Moon! Tonight you're different!' Luke tried to say, but was surprised to find he could make no sound at all. The moon understood, smiled and bowed his head.
'It's time, Luke. It's time.' The silvery light grew brighter as he spoke. 'Remember, in every ending there grows a new beginning. A new beginning awaits you. Set your sights on an altogether bigger game, a more important goal.'
Luke tried to ask a question but the words wouldn't come. However the moon understood this too and asked for him.
'What is it? You will know - your heart will tell you. And when you do, plan your moves carefully, carry them quietly in your thoughts, be prepared to lose. Never forget, it's not about hide and seek, but music, it's about how you feel you played. Everything that is worth the game can be yours.' The moon closed his eyes and began to slip away into the light that now filled the carriage. As he faded from the vision, Luke knew, in some distant part of his being, that life from now on would be very different. He felt it, but could not compute his feeling. The words lingered in his mind, and on his fingers, as silently his friend faded into that very quiet place where all moons must eventually go.
After a long moment, Luke remembered that there was something important he wanted to ask. But instead of raising a question, he muttered simply that he had missed him, that he liked him still, that for a long time he had felt strange, not his real self. And just as Luke's sleeping form propelled the words to his lips, he felt the carriage shudder beneath him, heard a shout from above and a great stomping of hooves. He opened his eyes. The moon, his oldest friend, his earliest memory, had turned for the last time into the sun.
Luke awoke to find himself being lifted out of the carriage. Pins and needles prickled his legs. He stood up straight, feeling the warmth of his father's large hand in his, and rubbed his tired eyes. He saw a rosy-cheeked woman running out to meet them, a wooden spoon in her hand. It was mother! He was standing outside his own house.
vi
By the Fire
Mother was overjoyed to see them and they were very glad to be home. As they told her all about the strange adventure, the smoky forests and ancient city, the fabulous golden castle filled with riches and the strange, subdued atmosphere, she would hold her head in her hands and groan, 'stop! stop!' and a minute later cry, 'but what happened next?'
Luke tried to tell his mother about Chandrabhaga, but every time he did something stopped him. All he said in the end was that she had played better during the game. After finishing the stories, father and son rested their elbows on the table and promptly fell asleep. Mother shook her head, cleared away the table and lead them to their proper beds where they slept soundly for many hours.
In the evening, after a delicious supper, Luke went over to the window where the chessboard lay. He stared at it for a long time. It was a beautiful chessboard, made by his father's own hands, and each piece had become like a friend to him. Only now, remembering what the moon had said, and thinking of something else entirely, he realised the time had come to change something in his life, to try a new challenge - to look to the future. He knew what to do. Opening the cupboard door underneath the window, he placed the set with great care beside the saucepans and boxes, patted the pieces for a last time, and closed the cupboard door. He returned to the table where his parents were sitting, and took something out of his pocket.
'Chandrabhaga wanted me to have this.'
In his palm lay the tiniest, most beautiful diamond his parents had ever seen. Luke's father took it from him and placed it on the table where it shone like a drop of water in the sunlight. They all stared at the tiny object in wonder. Each of them saw something different in the twinkling of the stone, mother gazed upon three tiny lights sparkling as one, father recognised and beheld the perfect simplicity of the work of mother nature, Luke saw the colours of the garden, apples and poppies, and two small points of light - the sun dancing with the moon.
Later that evening, as his mother and father talked by the stove, Luke sat himself beside the open fire in the far corner. He took an old pencil and a sheet of paper, closed his eyes in order to remember better, then began retracing the journey across their country and beyond. As best he could, he drew a plan of the forests, the mountains and the rivers. This took him some time. When he could remember no more, he put it to one side and stared curiously into the fire. Finally, he took out from his pocket the small, scrunched-up piece of paper, so gently that it might have been a young bird with a broken wing. He smoothed it out, held it up before the light of the flames and, whispering a name as if calling to someone in the dark, read it once again.
For Luke. This is for you. I hope you like it.
Maybe when you visit me next
I will have learnt how to smile like you.
You are the champion of smiles!
Goodbye, goodbye, Chandrabhaga
***
Thank you for downloading this book and for supporting writers worldwide!
‘Luke’ is taken from a larger collection of 28 stories by the same author entitled Krakow Stories. Please buy a copy of the book and help keep this impossibly romantic writer – who is currently chasing allusive moons under a bridge in Europe – in good spirits!
robzaba@yahoo.co.uk