The River

A Story by jake

A wind blew through the tall grass in front of a little workshop near the shore of a great sea. Estor and her daughter found that they were close to ending their work on a small craft. Although it was small, it was something of beautiful design. The Vessel was slender at a bit less than half a fathom at it widest, and a fathom and half in length. The dark grain of the wood as well as a delicately carved scene on the bow was adorned with oils to preserve the intricacies of the inlaid work. The mural seemed to portray the story of a man’s life, from childhood to death, a sort of visual epitaph. Constance looked up at her mother with doleful eyes and asked her a question.
     “Why are you making the boat? Why don’t we trade for one with the merchants in town?”
     “Because this boat is special. It’s for your father’s last voyage to sea, and it is tradition for the spouse to make a boat for the last voyage.” Constance’s mother explained as she went around the boat and carved inlaid incense burners into the railing.
     “Oh.” Constance said thoughtfully, then she walked to a corner of the small workshop where a fire warmed the place she liked to sit and play with her simple wooden toys while her mother finished. When she finally ceased her labour she found that her child had fallen asleep in the warmth of low burning coals upon the hearth. Estor gently lift up her daughter, and carried her out of the workshop and into a small adjoining cottage. Constance’s mother placed her on the soft down matt where they slept. The child buried her face in the padding, inhaling the familiar odor of the earthy, and somewhat smoky feathers contained in the bed. Estor lay down beside her daughter and as she closed her eyes the girl slowly rolled over and sleepily asked her mother another question.
     “Mamma, can you tell me the story of how things came to be?”
     “Yes.” Her mother responded with her eyes still closed. “But you must try to sleep because we need to go to the temple early tomorrow to offer our prayers for the safe journey of your father.”
     “Yes, mother. I’ll try to sleep.” Estor nodded her head, swallowed, and started on her story.
     “Long ago, before the river was in motion there were two beings, Our Mother Dawn, and Our Father Death. They loved each other deeply, but could never come near for there was a great chasm that separated them. In darkness they existed, and although they had no words, they perceived each other’s thoughts and they communicated. Together they dwelled on visions of light and life, darkness and death, beginnings and endings. They thought of powerful rivers, tall mountains, vast oceans, great forests, and parched deserts.
     Dawn thought mostly of beginnings and saw small need for endings, but Death knew that all things must eventually meet an end, a final slumber. As they communed the things they imagined came forth from Dawn, the river of the world was woven and set into motion. Life flowed from the womb of our Great Mother’s mind. As life first flowed from Dawn it showed radiant, and bright, but as it moved further away in space, time washed over tarnishing the light turning it pale as all things when they neared their end. Father Death spoke the end of all things while guided the river of time into the void that separates our parents.
     When the void is filled with the last of what Mother Life had set into motion Father Death will finally be able to cross the chasm. Then our parents will at last be together. Father Death will then bring about the ending of Mother Life and himself, even they will join in an eternal slumber.”
     “When we die are we going to be with Death forever?” Constance asked calmly, knowing how her mother would answer.
     “When we die our bodies are given to the ocean, to eventually flow over the edge of the world and into the chasm to be with death. But our spirit does not follow. Our thoughts return to Our Mother’s thoughts, and she then tells of new things to place our spirits in. We may return as the grass of a field or a great thunder cloud; we may even be the lightning or rain that comes forth from the cloud. We return as anything Dawn desires and we exist again for however long Death sees fit.” Constance’s mother was now growing tired. She sighed as she reached out to brush her daughter’s hair over her delicate ear, then she said, “Now, Constance, it is time for us to sleep.”
But no reply came and as Estor looked over she saw her daughter had already drifted to far off skerries of dreams.
     They awoke at dawn just as the morning broke over the eastern mountain range. The sun painted the horizon with brilliant reds, emeralds and its own special hue of gold that can only be contained in mist that gathers around foothills in the morning. Constance and her mother had a small breakfast of boiled eggs and tea while they waited for the last of the fog to crawl back in between the valleys and canyons of the mountains. When the morning cleared up the two of them walked along the old path to the ancient temple where they offered their prayers to Mother Dawn and Father Death. They prayed for their Parents guidance and protection on Constance’s father’s final voyage. When they finished their prayers the two of them turned to walk home. As Constance tread the old road back with her mother she had another inquiry.
     “When Father Death finally meets our Mother and they go into slumber, what will happen to us?”
     “I don’t know. No one does. All we can guess is that we go to wherever we were before our parents conceived of us, if there is such a place. We may cease to exist all together.” Small creases shewed on Constance’s brow as she replied to her mother.
     “How can we be nothing after we’ve been something?” Estor paused for a moment before she answered.
     “I don’t know, but I won’t worry about it, and neither should you. We should just remember to be happy while we are alive right now, and not worry about that one day that may never come. Maybe when our parents go to slumber we will find a peace that we have never known before, but whatever may happen, I will trust that it is our parents will.” Constance’s mother paused again before adding, “We have life now, and that is what I think is important, and why I will not worry about death.” As they walked Constance felt her hand being wrapped in one far larger and in that moment she found comfort.
     As they approached their house they descended steps into a cool, dim cellar space below the shed. On the air was a musty smell that mixed with odors of anointing oils, perfumes, and incense. On a table was Constance’s father who was in slumber. Color had left his cheek’s leaving him with a lifeless pallor. Although he was drained of color, the look on his face was one of peace. Constance and her mother moved her father into a lift that raised him into the work shop. They left the cold cellar and returned to the surface and the sun above, then they entered the workshop. Constance helped her mother move her father into the small boat that was now adorned with delicate hay filled pillows Estor had prepared. When he was in the small craft they fixed his hair, and adjusted his simple linen clothing. They blessed him and the vessel by passing over burning incense. They moved the boat onto a small wheeled cart that a donkey pulled. Estor led the animal along the shore of the sea; she had the donkey turn around and walk the cart partially into the calm low tide. Constance and her mother unbound the ropes that held the boat to the cart. The two of them lit more incense and placed the burning sticks into their slots on the railing. As they gently pushed it into the sea they watched thin ribbons of aromatic smoke rise lazily into the still air. They stood with their feet being gently bathed in the warm water and watched the beautiful vessel be pulled away from them by the current of the sea. As they stood there, Constance looked up at her mother.
     “You believe that our spirits come back in different things?”
     “Yes. It’s why we sometimes hear voices in the wind and whispers in streams.” Her mother’s eyes turned glassy like the sea as she spoke.
      “Then I’ll see papa again, and I won’t miss him so much.” A tear broke free of Estor’s eye and rolled down her porcelain cheek. She held her daughter’s hand tightly then said, “Yes, that’s good.” She gave her daughter a small smile, “Let’s go home for today. We can start our work again tomorrow, but today we will rest.” The two of them turned around and slowly walked back to their small, peaceful home.