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.