...I Whisper, Too

family camping

my uncle john told us a story when we were camping once.
it was the first day... my brothers, much older, had helped put up the tents before quick-marching full of confidence for the river and its trout. my sister and I gathered kindling; sticks of wattle, and dry eucalypt twigs - still with their bonnets of oil-filled leaves. uncle john searched for decayed trees still standing off the damp earth with his small axe.

my brothers returned at nightfall. no fish, and no bravado. but by then we'd fashioned a warm camp, atleast. i'd swept a space clear of debris with a tea-tree broom. my sister and uncle stationed what logs they could manage in an open 'v' shape around a circle of stones. we sat there watching the billy-can hover over the flames, beneath a tripod. waiting for the boil...

"Seems it was just like this..." uncle said. "the way I heard the story told to me."
Before he spoke we'd all been solemn in the background hymn of small birds bedding down to roost, and the few percussive frogs behind the darkening curtain. uncle's eyes caught the firelight, glinting like the river that my brothers failed to conquer. his axe set beside him.
"Long time ago," he began "there was a night like this. Small bunch of people gathered 'round, not too different from us... They'd come to see a guy called Joshua; wanting something more, aswell."

"Around the fire, their faces glowed." he continued.
"their eyes hunting Joshua's for answers that he wasn't sure he could give... The air was thick with questions - the kind that jump up like crickets, with too much wine and not enough sleep!
So Joshua: he leaned forward, palms open. Still pierced with splinters he'd never explained...
"You think I'm above it all," he said. And his voice was low, "but i'm here, in this skin."
They looked at him, hungry for answers, though the night around them were silent.
"You wonder and you ask what is it like?"
Joshua paused, turned back - looking into the fire before softly returning his voice:
"...if I bleed, I bleed. But I whisper, too."

uncle john clamped his lips with a satisfied smile. inhaled deeply through his nose: "Yeah,.. that's the way I heard it. Now,.. better get you kids some dinner, huh?"
my sister and I piped up complaining in the glow of our own camp fire: "But - the boys didn't catch any!"

heading off towards where the van was parked and into the deepening shadows, he called back: "It's alright. I brought bread. and beans, just incase..."

Author's Note

Inspired by maria pinkola-estes (and her nesting dolls style of story telling), I've tried to tell my own in such a way.

constructive feedback is welcomed

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

I get the feeling Joshua is a kind of Jesus figure, with his splintered palms and assertion that others think he's above it all. Then he makes another assertion, stating that he bleeds, but also whispers. Not sure what all this means, but Joshua was the Hebrew name for Jesus.

[Coyote Poetry]

I was a soldier for 15 years. Those nights were men and women gathered. Stories can be told. Dear Lara, I liked the feel of the old days and togetherness. Always a lesson to be learn. I enjoyed the complete story and thank you for sharing.
Coyote

[Lorry]

I was all ready for the spookiness a camp fire tale, before uncle John got all Phyllisoffic...Physsilophic....
Philosophical on us! 😃
Glad he was a realist too and brought bread n beans though! 😃