XII

The day the cast came off Colin invited Tom out. To a very romantic restaurant. Halfway into the meal Colin said there was something he just had to say. Tom's heart sank.

- I know we've only been together for a couple of months, and I know you're younger than me and that sometimes we haven't quite seen eye to eye on when's the right time to tell our families... But I still want to say ...
- you're breaking up!
- ... that I love you and wonder if you will move in with me?

- what?
- what?!!?

For a minute there was total chaos, helped greatly by the waiter who just then dropped a gravy-boat and spilt sauce all over the neighbouring table.

- Tom, what was -
- Did you mean that??
- Of course! Haven't you noticed?

He didn't actually have to think. He had noticed. There was no doubt in his mind Colin loved him. And now he even said so. In a public place. The only reason he stopped at all - on all appearances to think! - was because he'd start crying if he hadn't.

11:11

Colin's cast didn't stop them from spending their leisurely Saturday in the park with a walk and a picnic. Despite their almost constant conversation they didn't touch upon the subject of family. That is, they talked about the family they were going to be - or have - but not those they already had.

The first few times they met Tom had thought that Colin couldn't possibly find him the least bit interesting, he probably just thought he was too young, immature and even stupid. But as they spent more time together, he realised Colin was just the same as him. Only better looking. Colin disagreed on that last bit, but they agreed on most important subjects.

At least as long as they didn't try to talk about anything difficult...

X

Tom's phone rang. It was Colin. His doctor's appointment had finished early, and would Tom mind picking him up before his parents had a chance to?

Finally back together after more than two weeks they were left staring at eachother on the couch. There had been no contact since Colin had left the hospital - his parents had made sure of that! - and Tom had felt rather uneasy at not being able to ask Colin what he really felt.

Now none of that mattered. Being back together was a sort of homecoming indeed. Even without speaking they knew this was it and there'd be all kinds of everything piling up in their future to stop them and tear them down, but they were in this together and it was their future.

They smiled at eachother and inched closer.

IX

Monday night Tom went home to his parents with the clear intent of telling them about Colin. He left their place later in the evening telling himself under his breath that he really should have!

He travelled across the city to Colin's parents place. They wouldn't let him in. He'd expected that, and just wanted to let Colin know he was there. But there was no sign of Colin at all. And he didn't call him that night either.

Tom began to wonder.

Looking back, he didn't see how he could have done things differently. There wouldn't have been any point telling his parents anything before he met someone, would there now. And he couldn't have brought Colin over before, they'd only just met.

And he knew he was fooling himself. He'd known since at least 15 that he'd never settle down the way they expected him to, yet - at 23 - he still hadn't told them. Or anyone else. He was choking.

VIII

Colin had to stay in hospital for a week, and even afterwards couldn't move about easily with a cast like that. His parents therefore insisted he stayed with them, an offer he felt he couldn't refuse. But that he regretted as soon as he arrived at their house.

- why was he there?
- who is he?

They spat it out. Like chameleon tongues the words left their foaming mouths.

- his name is Tom. I think I'm in love with him.

Whereupon his dinner plate was handed him so brusquely it fell into his lap and had his mother been anywhere near a decent cook he would have had severe burns. As it was, the lukewarm meal lay basking in his lap without creating much more than a nuisance.

- Colin, to your room. Now!

He couldn't believe he was hearing correctly, but was happy enough to leave them.

VII

They left it at that. The nurse could tell they were no strangers, and went off to somebody who needed looking-after. Tom would look after Colin. Besides, he needed to know just why that leg was in a cast and a sling tied to the ceiling and what exactly had he been doing since this morning?

He’d wandered off in the general direction of his bus. ”General” being the operative word here, his mind was completely somewhere else and he didn’t look at all. So instead of boarding his bus his bus at bored into his side… When he’d looked at it, his left leg was still there, but at an angle never seen before, so he’d passed out. And woken up in the hospital. Who cheerfully told him they’d called everyone on his recent incoming calls log. Including his parents and brother whom he didn’t want to see at all, and who were among his most recent calls only because it had been his birthday yesterday.

- Well, now they know! Colin said, shyly.

Tom looked at him. So this is how it begins, he thought…

VI

The man looked straight at him. Then straight past him. He went into Colin’s room and the door closed. Tom waited outside.

When the nightshift came on he was offered a cup of coffee, but still no information.

Around midnight the family (the parents and brother?) came out of the room. They didn’t look very happy. Nor particularly sad. Quite unemotional, really. All three of them looked in Tom’s direction and none directly at him.

The minute they were out of the hall an alarm went off in colin’s room. Tom started. A nurse hurried in there. Only to come straight back out. She came down the corridor.

- Are you Tom?
- Yes
- He wants you to come in

Tom rushed in. Colin was looking his usual self, not dead at all. Tom kissed him before he could stop to think and Colin didn’t stop him either. The nurse cleared her throat.

- You’re not actually allowed in here, since you’re not family …

IV-V

The strange voice told him she called him because he was the last incoming call on that phone. She continued to say that she called from a hospital and that the phone's owner had just been brought in. She went on to name the hospital and Tom was on his way.

His father offered to drive him, which he would usually never accept, but now he did. He'd used to go mad at his reckless driving - now he thought it went all too slowly! He wouldn't let his father come into the hospital with him, though.

Tom told his father to go home. His father stayed outside and waited.

Tom rushed in, unsure where to turn. After a few hit-and-miss episodes with stretchers and wheelchairs he climbed into an elevator. He was livid with himself for having gone to his parents this afternoon. How could he!

At the end of the hall where he'd been sent there was a small reception. The place was very quiet. Too quiet. Tom got the chills again. He told the lady at the desk who he was looking for.

- and you will be ... the brother?

He hadn't thought of that. Of course he'd be asked about relations. There was no time for haggling - he needed to know right now! Still he didn't want it to turn into a mess in case a real brother showed up.

- erh, no. No. I'm ... the ... you know ...
- ?
- I'm his boyfriend. Can I see him now?

He couldn't. Apparently Colin's parents were already there. They'd listed a brother who would be coming, but no boyfriend. So as far as the hospital was concerned, he didn't exist. What made it a lot worse was that they wouldn't even tell him if Colin still existed. Tom sat down and waited. He walked around. He bought a coffee. Two, even though Colin didn't like him to drink so much coffee. A man arrived. The brother, by the sound of it, he was shown the way to where Colin apparently lay. The lady also said something in a hushed voice that made the brother look over at Tom, who braced himself for a first encounter.

Interlude

So I'm out already... Failed to post yesterday (ok, I wasn't anywhere near my machine, still, should have thought of that before)!

But I wonder what will happen in this story, and the only way to know is to keep writing it. So that's what I'll do...

III

Last night had been like coming home. Only to a home they hadn't known before, or hadn't even been able to imagine daydreaming. Not that it was flawless. Even last night they'd had a fight. Well, more of an argument, a lover's tiff, and it was really just because they were both going out of their way to make the other one comfortable. Apparently there is such a thing as overpoliteness.

But then, the serenity. The feeling of happiness just filling the room, even when noone spoke. The magic of touch, even just of a fingertip. The love in their eyes...

Tom started out to tell his parents about last night, but before he got that far (getting a word in edgewise wasn't all that simple) the phone rang. His phone. He'd put it in silent mode before dinner, he knew he had. And the only exception to that silence would be ... he looked at the small screen. The name was familiar and made him smile. He flipped the phone open, but his radiant 'hi' was met with a strange voice. A stranger's voice. He felt himself go cold.

II

The magic wasn't gone the next morning. But they both had jobs to go to. They both had expectations to be met. They didn't kiss as their paths parted and they hopped on different buses. And there were no arrangements to meet again.

I knew they were both sad. Neither of them knew the other was.

Working day over, Tom went home to his parents for dinner. Like he always did on Monday nights. His sister didn't join them anymore, not since marrying. He didn't mind, he always got on well with his parents. He didn't speak much. His mother rarely said much, even though she spoke all the time. His thoughts wandered off ... to last night.

It was a dark and stormy night...

It was! But as they were both inside it didn't really matter much. Their candlelit dinner was gone, but the candlelights were still there, and they'd found alternative ways to stay warm, so they didn't notice the power cut.

If there was a power cut. I don't know, I wasn't there.

They'd spent the entire day together for the first time, and it seemed like they would make it into - and through - the night as well. They were both a bit surprised they were so calm about it.

First I was afraid

I wasn't petrified - more uneasy. Since I haven't been writing for so long. Posting every day for a whole month? Sure I've got other blogs, sure I've been posting on a daily basis on some of them. No problem.

But this time I'll just be making up stories. Or a story. We'll see. I used to do that all the time, but not for years now. Real life catching up and yadayada.

First I was afraid, now I can't wait. Roll on November!

The journeyman

There were three shapes below the trees. Two of them looked human, the third was yet so far away I couldn't quite make out what it was. But it seemed obvious that those who arrived first didn't know who – or what – was coming. I wanted to warn them, but of course I couldn't. It would have been really stupid too.

By sunrise they were so close I couldn't see them anymore. The humans, that is. The third one was still so far away I could just make him out. At least I thought it was a he. Human he was not, that was certain, but I was used to that by then. I lay down to sleep.

"Wyuilipek!" resounded over the treetops. I had overslept again, of course, but the glade was moonlit and everybody was there. None of us spoke, but I was made aware that the human­shaped were gone. There were so many things said about the third one that I realised I was the only one who had seen him. I was left with a not altogether pleasant sensation as it clouded over.

In all honesty, I must admit I wasn't afraid. Not even self-thoughtout stories of humans who were really far away could scare me at that moment. I sat up waiting, somehow I knew that it was there – and not least then – it would happen.

He appeared walking on top of the hill. I didn't recognise him, of course, which made it certain it was him. Since he didn't see me I closed my eyes and studied every movement he made. Painstakingly. As he passed me the clouds left the moon and followed him. I had had a premonition that would happen so I kept my eyes well closed the whole time.

A year later, when my eyes had been opened for good, there were noone else around. That's when I talked about all the things I hadn't seen. Noone heard, and naturally the amazement was even stronger. Some passers-by kept doing just that; and passed so close I only just missed them. Then another ten years passed.

Already nine years later I was ready for the majord decision, but my eyes had been opened such a long time ago I had to wait. (I've been doing just that since I was quite smalle – as small as any of us ever get – so I knew well how to do just that.) After waiting longer than anyone had asked me to I realised I had waited too long. That felt good.

The children of those who had first crawled under the trees were adults by then. The oldest had even had their eyes opened, quite without asking for it I presume, and most assuredly with their parents' blessing. There was nothing left to do but tell them all I hadn't seen. It was, after all, the only thing I had not been asked to do.

When I had finished the children had their own children, and my stories about the two that crawled was getting interesting as I mentioned the third. They immediately started to leave, but not without looking at me. The youngest ones spoke to me before they left. They said I had bored them. They said I hadn't been scared enough. And I knew that was correct. I knew the third one had been visible.

Afterwards, when it was all over, and the third generation's children were playing terrible games in the glade, they no longer spoke to me. It was a relief finally being able to take part in conversations just like them. I hadn't been quiet for as long as I could remember and needed the rest. I opened my eyes and concentrated on not seeing.

Before long I was totally blind. Then I saw him again – the third one – the one I hadn't seen properly before my eyes had been opened and he was gone long time ago. This time he came straight at me. He had a peculiar gait. The way he approached me – almost menacing – meant he hadn't seen me yet.

"Good evening" he said. I knew well that the sun had barely risen so I hardly condescended to grant him more than an answer. I said I had seen him before, that time when he had followed two human shapes and hadn't come closer to me. I told him more, about the next time I saw him, when my eyes had been opened and the others had spoken to me.

He continued the conversation with the invisible – he couldn't hear me as I was blind – and didn't look at me. Of course he didn't. Noone had looked at me since I was in my mother's womb, and even then only my brother had ventured to. He was inside there with me. I cursed the day he was born and I was left all alone inside.

Noone looked at me as I left that night, and I don't think anyone would have tried to stop me even if they had. I walked for quite a while before I decided the distance back was reassuring. The ones following me, and they were quite a few, were far from safe, though. They made me think of the humanlike shapes I had once seen. I cried myself to sleep that morning.

I didn't often show emotions, but had lately found it less and less hard, and here where there were noone around to see them, I was unusually sensitive. I felt things I had never felt before, and shortly felt a lot better than I had in a long time. I closed my eyes and saw nothing.

A short while after my emotional experience in my secret glade something extraordinary happened. The two human shapes arrived! That is, I couldn't be quite sure it was them, it had been a long time, and what were they doing here again? But these two looked like them. At least because they too were humanlike. They didn't see me.

From far away I could hear somebody move. It was the two who had come after me on the first night I had left. I could sense that the human shapes were in danger, but like most of their species they were quite unaware. I felt I ought to do something, and as I had after all these years learnt to trust my emotions I did just that. Something.

They have thanked me many times since. They have thanked me in person, and those close to them have thanked me. But just while I was helping them they seemed more scared than grateful. And when I had helped them enough; when they were out of danger, the ones who came after me seemed more dead than alive. I withdrew, but followed the human shapes at a distance. They looked back at me several times.

Some said later that it was I who had approached them, but the human shapes – worse; they were actually humans! – have always kept to my version of the story. They said it was they who had paused around a bend, and waited for me to catch up. None of us spoke, but it was still not entirely sad to travel with somebody. Besides, they often looked at me, like nobody had since my brother had left me.

Everywhere we went we were met by large swarms of people. Everybody looked at us, but I didn't notice if they looked more at me than at them, or if they looked at me differently. I took it to mean they didn't. It was nothing but curiosity on their behalf, my humans said. None of us were originally from these parts, so it was only natural they wanted to have a look. I let it pass.

The pressure from those curious didn't get any less as we closed in on the humans' home. More and more people came into the streets to meet us, soon there was a tail of people following us. We could hardly see eachother anymore in the crowd, but everytime I thought I'd lost them they found me. We still weren't talking, but understood eachother very well.

The journey was nearing its end. It hadn't been stated, at least not for my ears to hear, but I understood even so. My humans walked faster, smiled more than ever on our trip. I started to prepare for my return. I thought I would find the way back, and I had all the time saved up on provisions and marked places where I could find more.

The last leg of our journey went incredibly fast. The curious crowd couldn't follow us anymore, we walked away from everybody. We could see the silhouette of a village before the sun set. I lagged behind and planned to turn around. They wouldn't notice. Soon I was quite far behind them. Then I stopped completely.

In the end they must have noticed anyway, they turned around, they came running towards me. They asked me to come with them – they said so in simple words, and I didn't just hear it, I understood it. I walked on with them and this time all three of us smiled. We entered the gates while the moon rose above our heads. I knew I had walked far and further than far, and that now I was home.

The Invisibles

Once upon a time there was no one else around. Not a lot of others, that is. Obviously, there were his servants, his invisible slaves as he insisted on calling them. To himself, that is. No one else was listening. His servants were the only ones there, and The Invisibles were also deaf.
The Invisibles were, as a matter of fact, dead. They had been for a long time already. He could not recall they had been alive even at the time they were hired. Of which he had little memory though, as his father had hired them the day he had been born. Something that he did have clear memories of. As did The Others; that was one of their trade marks.
It had been a grey, cold morning. It rained, but so it would; he was born in the Country where the Rain never Ceases. His mother died while giving birth to him. That was why his father had employed the immense staff that had been part of the house ever since. When he had moved into the house as a baby boy his father moved out. It was later heard that he had drowned in the stream by the house, but whether that was more than a rumour no one knew.
He grew up surrounded by The Invisibles. He called them that already as a toddler - they never told him their names. He truly believed that he was the only human being his size; he thought The Invisibles were giants, or that he might be a midget. Human voice was rare in the house where he grew up. Sometimes he would believe he heard someone speak. He would walk around, trying to locate the sound, but he always failed. The Invisibles' voices, if indeed it was theirs, he could not rightly say, would soon fade and the only voice heard in the house since was his own.
He had a peculiar voice. He did not know it, not then, he could not have known then, but it was different from most other voices in the world. The Others had voices like him, but he did not know The Others. He taught himself to read, and would spend his days in the vast library, reading about human beings that were relating to other human beings. It was the science fiction of his world, but he did not know that either.
His reading soon began to bore him. He was nineteen and had never done anything else. He had not been outside the house since he was brought in from the hospital as an infant. The Invisibles would bring him food and drink, and when he left the dining room he knew that someone would clean it up before he came back. Just as his bed was always made even if he returned to his room only minutes after he left it. But he never heard them.
When he first entered the house, his father had left him. But not only him. He locked the doors when he left, and by some sorcery, or maybe only by his will, they would not open again. The Invisibles had sworn an oath to keep the baby safe until it was a man; then they would be free, and the doors would open once more. For them - not for the manchild. So was his father's plan.
The manchild knew nothing of this. He knew only that even though the books he read clearly were not written in his world, there had to be more to life than merely existing. His Invisibles were hardly even existing anymore, they were merely there to fulfil their oath. In a way living, but then again not. They died when the manchild lost interest in them. He had been three then.
They all hated him. They hated each other as well; and they could do nothing to hurt either. The dead are past hurt - except the unbearable pain of never resting - which they all shared. And the boy; they could not hurt him. His father's last will kept him safe, as it held the house sealed and without exits. The Invisibles were silently attempting to make him grow old before his time. Unless he did, their waiting would be too long.
His twenty-first birthday had passed. He recognised his birthdays among other days because then there would be no food. He got a glass of water in the morning, and when he went to bed at night there would be a number of coins on his bed. This year there had been twenty-one. He put them in the chest with the others. There were two hundred thirty-one there now, but he knew it not. He did not know the use of them. In all his books money or coins were mentioned - his dad who had owned the books were indeed more fond of money than people - but he did not recognise his own as such valuables.
The Others were growing restless too. The Invisibles in every house could feel the change, but knew nothing to help them understand. Indisputably, they could not have known. They did not know there were other Invisibles, or even Others, in other houses. In fact, they knew not if there were still other houses. For twenty-one years no one had seen anyone else. The Invisibles could not be seen; and if they indeed had been visible, The Others would still not have seen them. Their slaves hated them enough for that; They would hide forever, had not The Others stirred. Everyone of whom had 231 belongings. He was lucky. His 231 was coins. Not gold, not silver, more likely some metal rarely known even in those days.
Of The Others only one had coins, but they were copper. Most of The Others had less valuable objects. They would compare them when they were all gathered, and as if it were part of the human instinct, they would evaluate them just as people did before then. That was twenty-one years ago, and time was drawing near. The Invisibles knew it, but The Others did not. They had not yet died and would not know until they did.
One morning he woke up earlier than he usually did. He felt the presence of someone in the room, but typically he saw none. Urged by some impulse he had never felt before, he followed The Invisible. It was not as difficult as he had thought it might be; The Invisible was obviously in a hurry, and he could follow it by the breath of air surrounding it. He came down in the cellar. The breath of air faded. He called out.
He was speaking with an authoritarian voice; the peculiar sound from childhood was still there, stronger than ever. Even though he had not spoken a word for many a year, his voice carried through the brick walls and into the room where The Invisibles hid. He was never to find that room. He would never need to.
They came out now. One by one. He felt the gush of air as each one of them walked past him. And he felt them stare at him -so hard he thought he could almost see their eyes. For a twinkling he wondered what he was doing. And not least why. Yes, he had been genuinely bored; having read every book in the house more than once - he knew them all by heart now. He realised he would have to say something to The Invisibles. He had summoned them; they had come. His was the next move.
In a clear voice - although some of its natural authority was lost due to lack of use - he started talking. He had long ago learnt two things about his own life. Or existense, that is. One, the house was completely sealed, and noone could leave it. Two, The Invisibles had to do everything he wanted; it was part of their long sworn vow. Startled that he had never thought of this before, but in fact quoting one of his books, he told them to open the doors and let him out.


He celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday outdoor. All The Others were there. If for nothing else, they had to be. His was the 231 coins of immeasurable value; His was the commanding voice; His house was the first that had been opened; and in His garden all The Invisibles were buried. The day when they had all left their dwellings, aided by the ever more vengeful Invisibles, they had met in the market square. He was there before any of them. He seemed to have been waiting for them.
The Invisibles died before their very eyes. That is to say -they found rest, and as they did so they became visible once more. The Others buried them in His garden. He told them to do so, and they were happy to be relieved of these spectres and so did as He said.
The first night they were all together they compared their 231's. His was clearly the most valuable, there was no discussion about that. He spoke to them that night. He spoke a long time, pleased to hear the sound of a human voice, although it was His own - the only voice He had indeed ever heard. Perhaps He did not rightly believe that anyone else had a voice. And maybe they did not; maybe they had not yet regained that ability. But as He spoke, He grew more confident. He suddenly felt powerful, as if the 231 Invisibles now buried were His, and their unlived life too; His in addition to His coins, the valuable ones. Before He had finished speaking, everything was changed. Time had come.
After a while they had all been settled. He was the Leader, and The Others would not speak to him unless they had no one else to turn to. He did not interfere with their doings and He did not give them any orders. But they had not forgotten the authority in his voice the first night, and they feared him. He invited them all to celebrate his birthday.
The celebration was held outdoor. The Others were there because they felt they had to. And also because there would be food in abundance. Although everyone had read most of the time they had been `grounded', they had not yet acquired much knowledge of farming, and so had not enough food. They were the only remaining humans in the world, and knew it not. They would have to learn or die out.
The celebration was more of the food available than of his age; they were all twenty-five, or would be that year. They were all feeling content, having filled their stomachs for once, so when He rose and addressed them they let him without fear. Never more would they fear him, for this was indeed The Final Change.
He told them that he had been reading his books over again, and that he knew what had to be done. He would need help from them, he said. They all volunteered. They might have to leave this place where they had been settled four years already. Everyone assured they did not mind. He would need a woman - in fact they would all have to pair up as well as they might. Many blushed, but none disagreed.
Some were already in pairs, the rest He helped divide. For himself he could choose between several - his voice still had a peculiar ring to it - but did not. He made sure all The Others were in pairs. They were 231 and he was the dispensable one. He let the matter rest until they had finished the meal.
When the sun set they had finished and he spoke again. He told them to split up into smaller groups and settle farther from one another. There they had to found a new society, have families and grow crops. He gave them books on the subjects they felt unsure they could carry out. Then he let those so inclined to pair anew - divorce was not a prospect alternative. They cleared the birthday table and left. He watched them until they were all lost in the twilight.

Five years later The Others came back to the very spot He had watched them leave. He was still there. At first, or so it seemed to the children who arrived there first, He was sitting on the ground staring as they came back. Then as they came closer He rose. They could see now that He had not been staring. His eyes were black and hollow.
They drew their children closer, and before their very eyes; blue, brown or green - all glittering - He withered and was gone. They planted a tree where He had waited so long, but for years not even the children would go near the place. But then, as time wore on and the 231 were tenfold as many, the tree suddenly burgeoned with flowers never ere seen. From that day on the Birthday Spot was the most cherished place there was, and the origin of its name no one knew.

Full Circle

Sometimes, they would not even listen. He would yell at them, shake them by the arms or even slap their ears, but to no effect. The truth being, of course, that they did not care.
A long, long time ago, when the world was still young in their eyes, they had listened to him. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to. They liked what he said, and they liked the way he said it. And sometimes they had talked to him, and he would sit there - quite still - and just listen. After what happened he had not listened to a word they had said, so consequently they stopped talking.
Their talking seemed in some way to have been connected with their listening, because now, it seemed, there was no way he could get through to them. In the beginning he had tried the soft approach. (i.e. what he thought to be the soft approach - had he asked them, they would have named it differently.) To which they did not object, or so it seemed, they just neglected his words.
After some time he gave up. He tried something different, more commonly known as the "do-as-I-tell-you-or-else"-kind of approach. Which was in a way more honest, they thought, but he did not see that it made any difference in their behaviour. They still never talked; never responded; never listened. He tried switching between the two approaches, but either they did not notice the difference (which it has to be admitted was slight), or they couldn't have cared less.
In time, he grew quiet too. No one would speak, not even to themselves, and the world grew older as they stared. And stared they would do, as if the loss of sound had widened their eyes. They could see things that no one else had ever witnessed, and had they talked to each other, they would have realised that they grew more and more alike. But their home was still reigned by silence. It was not yet time.
There was no one around to tell them what was happening, or indeed - what had happened, as they all seemed to be so over-whelmed by not knowing - but things were going to change. They had to. There was nothing that could be done about it. The world was growing old on them and they felt it.
One morning, if not a very early one, one of the twins left. He didn't wander far. He just climbed the roof of their house, but he had felt the change coming, and he wanted to greet it outdoor. He saw the change before anyone else, but all he felt was sad. At that time it did not occur to him that this would make all the change he had been longing for. This was the new beginning. He walked back to the others.
They watched him as he came in. They could sense the change, but they did not know what it was. He knew he would have to tell them. He wavered them to sit down, which they did not, then he himself sat down. They looked at him, expectantly. He was examining the ground he sat on. They sat down too.
For a long while no one spoke. They were accustomed to the silence, and it was not easily broken. The older twin started humming. Nothing they had heard before, in fact - not even resembling anything they had ever heard. But before long they joined him, and the sound of it grew stronger.
At length he spoke. `Rafael' he said, and his brother sat up. `I have not spoken to you for a long time. For a very long time, it seems. And towards you, father, I have been silent even longer. You will now both listen to what I will say, and you will not speak, not even when I have finished.' To their own perfect astonishment they did as he said.
They realised that he was changed. It was more than the un-familiarity of sound. More than not being able to - or not wanting to, which they could not be quite sure of - participate in speech. They thought how much more fluent he sounded, although they did consider the possibility that their memories now failed them. It was more, though. What he said was almost as unfamiliar as how he said it, and they wondered how he had come to knowledge.
When he finished, the world was again silent. Things were as they had been of late, and yet, they were not. The father looked at his sons, and he cried. Very still, he sat there, crying silently and not heeding any signs of consolation, had there been any. The brothers looked at him. Then at each other. And they smiled as had they realised for the very first time that they were each others reflections, and in turn the reflection of their father. The big man who was crying beside them.
Their mother they did not remember. Once they had asked. Rafael had, of course, the older being far too sensible. Even at that time. They received no reply, but from that day on their father's attitude had been less soft, and stealthily growing so. They realised only too late that it was, in fact, too late.
As they thought back, simultaneously, as had been their habit in happier days, they too started crying, and it seemed as if they would never stop. Tears flowed down to the floor, creating a puddle too large for ordinary tears. They stopped. All three of them stopped, and looked at each other. Then they looked at the puddle. And remembering, they all stood up.
The older twin lead them out. It would soon be nightfall, and the sky had already grown dark. They left their home never to return. Knowing that if they did, nothing would be the same; nothing could ever be the same. Not here, not anywhere else. They knew this, still they would have to try. There was no one else.
The following morning they rose with the sun. They sat by a stone, watching the sky turn purple, then red, orange, yellow and almost white when the round shape greeted them. Above them the sky was blue, and the world was totally silent. They stood up and watched the sun roll upwards, ever upwards.
With common consent, and no words spoken, they waited until the hour when the older twin had been out the day before. They saw what he had told them, and had there ever been a doubt in their minds it was washed away now. They saw how the sun kept its red morning glow colour even at midday, and they understood. They would all have to leave.
Now they had all seen it, they wanted to talk. They needed to express what they felt, but they could make no words reach their tongues. The older nodded at the others, and they went with him. For a long time they walked. In a straight line, leaving only one set of footprints, if any, they walked until they could go no further.
The sun was high in the sky, still shining bright red, when they reached the edge of the cliff. They knew there was no hurry. Not yet. Not just yet. They sat down together, watching the landscape with their backs to the cliff. Not paying attention to the pond beneath them. In the distance they could see others moving. Slowly towards them; ever closer. Nothing was said.
The sun had already set before anyone else reached the place where they sat. The others all greeted the older and sat down. Rafael and his father were like invisible to the newcomers. In fact, they might well have been invisible, but for this there is no account. Those who were there have no memory of that time, except for the older. He who had first seen.
As the night fell on them, people lighted small campfires and gathered around them. The small family watched them, but did not join in their conversations. Once more the older spoke to them. And by this time it was all very apparent. They could see what the new world would be like, and at the soft tone of his voice they grew confident. A father and his son - the older could no longer be spoken of in those terms, even though the changes had done nothing to his resemblance to the others - sat silently together. Holding each others hands, but no longer afraid.
By dawn there was no one to be seen at the clifftop. One by one; the children carried by their parents or elder siblings, had walked off the cliff. Not a sound had been heard, and carrion birds searching the waters below next morning found nothing. On the top, the remains of the campfires were the only proof that someone had indeed been there. But nothing gave any indication as to where they had all gone.
In the new world, nothing of the old remained. As soon as the people had left the safe ground they had been camping on and set foot in the air, all that had been was wiped away from their memory. Only the older still remembered. Only the older could have told them. Only the older did not speak.
Rafael and his father helped build the new town. They were good handcraftsmen, and people came to them for advice. They could only tell by his appearance that the older was, in fact, one of their kin. They built him a house of his own. Not as much to honour him, as to leave him alone. Or rather, for him to leave them alone. But still something of the old lingered, and although no one could tell why, they all revered him. And even though he did nothing to help them in the new world, no one ever thought of complaining.
The world was young. Rafael grew older. He found his woman and they settled down in the house with his father. They never saw the older around there. He had not been seen outside his own house since he moved in there, and if anyone saw him in the window they would wonder why he looked so sad. They put food on his doorstep and never asked any questions.
The world grew older. Rafael had two sons - twins. His father died when they were born. Rafael grew older and the twins just grew. The three of them looked just the same, as if their mother had nothing to do with them. Consequently, when she died, the family seemed only more like a whole unit, and the twins soon forgot her. The older looked at the funeral from his window. He had not grown a day older since they had entered this world.
The town was always growing. Before the twins and their father could stop quarrelling, it had become a city. More and more people moved in. Seemingly from nowhere they came. Rafael did not speak to his sons anymore, and they not to him. The two of them did not even speak to each other. They had stopped listening to each other when the mother died, and did not now, or could not, even bother to speak. The city was noisy enough for all of them.
One morning the older of the twins went out before any others. It was not early, but he was the only one who was out on this particular morning. He climbed to the roof, and sat down to watch the sky change colours on the command of the sun. He was humming a tune to himself. A strange tune he had never heard before, but still it sounded familiar.
The sky turned brighter than ever before. And then he saw it. His uncle - the non-eldering, silent, older one - came out of his house. He looked at the twin. Then he sang, loud and clear, the song the twin had been humming on. They sang together for a while, and the sound of it grew stronger. Then his uncle was pulled off towards the sun; he reached it, and the twin could see how his uncle's blood coloured the sun bright red.
Then knowledge came to him. He saw things past and in the future. He knew it was time. Then he walked back to the others.