Through a Darkened Pane

by compound complex 730 Replies latest social entertainment

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  compound complex

  Good morning, Musky!

  How nice to find your message as I sit down to my second cup of inky joe in the last 5 hours! I wrote from 3:00 till 5:30 this morning, but my first cup of near-espresso didn't keep me from conking out.

  You're right on about that gorgeous body of water. Tons of snow up there now. Though not too far away, our lower elevation sees inches compared to their feet upon feet.

  Your comment on OOTMOB:

  That kind of perception can be a great thing.

  It cuts right through to the core, doesn't it? Brings up to my mind the recent thread on the Emperor's new clothes. It was a child's honesty and freedom of speech that woke up the adults.

  Please stay tuned for the next part of "Out of the Mouths of Babes."

  One of the reasons I feel so encouraged to write [it's easy to write but not to stay encouraged], Musky, is because of you!

  Bless you!

  CoCo
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  compound complex

  After a few moments looking out the window, Andy gazed upward toward Aunt Rose, and, with a look of slight bemusement, she returned a gaze of her own. Mom and I were standing at a "respectful" distance to the side and saw the little guy’s lips begin to move. Given our position relative to the seated pair, who were occupying each other’s attention, we couldn’t read his lips. The reason I mention that is because he was talking to his great aunt so softly that neither my mother nor I had a clue what deal was being clinched.
  
  With his hand still firmly holding that of Aunt Rose, Andy rose and glanced out the window with that expressionless look of his. It had stopped raining, much to my surprise. The clouds were breaking up and the sun was warming up the last shreds of a forlorn day. My moment of distraction was broken when I realized that the pair was at the door, yet hand-in-hand. With his left hand my kid brother grabbed hold of the old brass knob, twisted it and pulled a slightly confused but willing captive through the portal. Aunt Rose was not the only person in this diminutive boy’s thrall.
  
  Aunt Rose and her beloved grand nephew were outside for some time walking about the garden, looking at the saturated yet glistening shrubs that were catching the last rays of a Sol rather belated in arriving. Better late than never. Geese were flying high above the treetops, honking jubilantly at their crepuscular escape through the darkening skies. I seriously believe they were shouting down a riotous salute to Nature's golden child, who was waving enthusiastically at them with his free hand. Aunt Rose was looking upward and shielding her eyes against the fading sunlight with her right hand.
  
  Mom and I, forgetting totally about time and all practical concerns, were still looking out the window when Hernandez Terrace's odd couple traipsed through the front door. I’ll never forget what I saw next. The old lady was somehow transformed: she was smiling and had a girlish gaiety about her. Aunt Rose, under normal circumstances never loquacious, was chatting away about what a beautiful day it was and, by golly, we’re hungry! Let’s eat! She took off her wet and muddy shoes and tossed them to the corner with all the other detritus of country living. After pushing back several wisps of unruly gray from her brow, she marched resolutely into the kitchen, grabbed and put on an apron and started fussing about like she owned the place. My mother and I could only look at each other blankly.
  
  Andrew, the little scholar, had repaired to a corner of the living room and was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his nose in a book.

  (Reminiscences of Althea Vincent Romano about her brother, Andrew James Vincent)
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  ziddina

  Aw, that is darling! (Nice variation, too... Those moments of normalcy or even charm will make the subsequent chills even more effective!)

  Zid
  
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  compound complex

  Happy Sunday afternoon, Ziddina!

  As in tragicomedies? Yes, some moments of levity I recall, too, in Les Miserables (stage performance). Normalcy is good, but we don't want to get lulled into a state of complacency and reduced vigilance. Someone is always watching.

  Catch the Pulitzer Prize in The Many Facets of a Stewed Hen?

  Hold on to your hat ... chills ahead!

  Thanks for replying.

  CoCo
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  compound complex

  Merriam-Webster:

  entity: something that has separate and distinct existence and objective or conceptual reality

  presence: something (as a spirit) felt or believed to be present
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  musky

  Hello CoCo,

  It seems that Andrew would be a pretty cool brother to have.I can hardly imagine this scene turning into one of chills.

  Unless you are talking about the weather getting colder?

  I didn't think so.

  Thanks for your kind words CoCo.I am glad you are encouraged to write!
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  compound complex

  Hey Musky!

  Good evening! It's after 9:00 p.m. and I'm still drinking coffee!

  That bit about Andrew's early life and behavior is included to develop his character in the readers' minds. He comes on at the story's beginning seeming paranoid - stalked by a house; come on now! He mentions he's imaginative but in touch with reality. Oh, really? Going to his roots, his mother's influence and that of Billy (developed later as the story unfolds) and his intuitive response to life are all vital toward understanding whether or not some external influence truly is at hand.

  Houses and "Andy" [who, really, is Andy? ] go way back.

  Way back!

  Well, back to the next installment.

  Thanks again, Musky!

  CoCo
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  compound complex

  

  It was not unusual for Andy to spend many a day home from school, given the mercurial state of the thermometer regularly placed under his tongue. For certain, time spent at home was not wasted on games or television (his parents had purchased a Dumont Console, circa 1950, but that behemoth with the miniscule screen was in the living room). School work was dutifully sent home by supportive and sympathetic teachers and delivered by Andy's best pal, Billy, when protracted illness kept him home.

  Needless to say, when Andy's eyes strayed from his reader on occasion, the first thing to catch his eye from his back porch bedroom window was a view that could not be hidden: Monte Sereno. It was a source of continual fascination for the would-be mountaineer. If not possible for his anxious but housebound feet, his fervid imagination would take the little mountain goat scurrying up the rigidly steep slopes. To discover what lay on the other side, to attempt further onslaughts of the forbidden mount, even if it demanded bivouacking, Herr Andrew Harrer was up to the challenge, with or without Doctor's or Mother's permission.

  One day - from the safety of his room, peering through another of the house's many mullioned window panes - Andy caught sight of a dwelling cradled within the dense forest, near the base of the cataract. He was so excited he had to tell someone - or write someone. He always had pencil and paper handy, but he needed an envelope and a 3 cent first-class postage stamp. Well, get the discovery down on paper before the building (why hadn't I ever seen it before?) evaporates into thin air.

  The young explorer described in detail what he had only moments earlier caught sight of, though there were some features of the dwelling he could not attach a name to. Once fully satisfied that he had thoroughly covered all necessary ground, Andy signed his document and folded it in thirds so that it would fit into the business envelope that would take it to its destination: Mrs. Mondale's class, La Rinconada Elementary School, 840 Monte Sereno Avenue, Los Altos, California.

  Find an envelope ... locate a stamp....

  Andy's astonishing discovery, seen by him for the first through his bedroom window, was no accident.

  The hills and their scarce dwellings have eyes.
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  compound complex

  This would be a perfect time to remain indoors and curl up in front of the fireplace with a good read. Possessing many a good book but no obvious fireplace, I have to bolt. Cabin fever has gotten the better of me, yet again. I'm going to put on a brave face and raincoat and dash headlong into the blustery and darkening remains of one hour's daylight. I must see if the house on the hill will show its face, as it is wont to do. If hidden by fog, make its presence felt. Am I obsessed with this house? For some reason this seems deja-vu ...
  
  Drawn along my usual path, I surge forward, my frame a near-horizontal incline against the punishing gale. I find momentary shelter under the spreading canopy of a live oak, but it provides little more than minor relief from the rain and none from the wildly circulating winds. I don't mind. I knew what lay ahead the moment I stepped out my own front door.

  My attention is currently fixed on the peak Miner's Point, now enveloped in a wild and woolly atmospheric condition so different from that of the day before. Undulating foothills and their swaying sentinels roil in a sea of cascading and sprinting vapors. A barely discernible mountain pass is in evidence only because a string of diamond-like automobile headlights and blurred red taillights are flowing downward and upward respectively on a distant roadway cradled within sloping walls of earth, stone and tree. And there, to the right and far above the road, is the entity of all entities. Despite my relatively recent discovery of this mysterious dwelling, I cannot be any less drawn by its compelling nature than I can by this crazy weather that says come outside and play.
  
  Despite my inability to figure where I am going, i.e., metaphorically, I must confess that I have never before been this soaked to the bone and loved it so ...

  Well, on second thought, there were the rain-swollen street gutters of Hernandez Terrace.
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  acolytes

  Hi Compound and Complex-

  When I read anything I always think regardless of what has been written I can tell if the writter likes people.

  To me this is the key to writting-I think this is the greatest skill a writter can learn. To like and write for his readers.

  Having followed your posts It is ovbiouse to me you like people.

  This may seem a silly comment. But many well written books sit on the shelfs of libarys never to be read because the author thought himself above his reader.

  I enjoy your posts and the greatest compliment I can give you is I dont like your writting style but I still enjoy reading your stories.

  Acolytes