From the High Tower, story by Simone Swart at Spillwords.com

From the High Tower

From the High Tower

written by: Simone Swart

 

He always, always walks first. (To keep safe his beloved, the wife and mother.) He walks in front of her, his arm outstretched, back, behind him. Their hands are clasped. His hand is clasped in hers.

The hallway they walk down is sparse, but standing up against the walls, backs pressed against the walls, are many, many people. All the way down.

They are stopped by a young woman. And Young Woman, before she ushers them sideways, through a door, mentions something to them.

‘Do you agree to be called Pappa, and Mamma?’

Mamma is pure stress, fright. Pappa squeezes her hand in his.

‘From now forth?’ Mamma asks in a panicked rush.

‘From now forth,’ Young Woman confirms.

There is no room, nor time, for ‘I guess’ or ‘I suppose’ or ‘Yes / Maybe / So?’

Young Woman nudges Pappa through the sideways door. Mamma follows, her warm hand beginning to sweat in his. He does not hate it. Instead, it hurts him. He doesn’t want her to worry.

(Oh, if only he could say ‘Don’t worry, my darling girl,’ he surely would.)

But there is no space, no emptiness, for that. Because there they already are. Standing in a white-sideways room, with Young Woman. With the heavy air that used to contain Before-He-Was-Pappa and Before-She-Was-Mamma.

And there, there is Malena Linn.

She has dark blonde / messy bangs. Brown-sparkling eyes. And a smile so wide, that matches her father’s.

‘She isn’t from me, though,’ Mamma says quietly, to Young Woman. ‘He didn’t give love deep enough to get me to carry her. Or any.’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Young Woman says. ‘She’s still yours.’

‘How?’ Mamma asks. Her eyes are beginning to soften with tears.

‘She’s from the high tower,’ Young Woman responds.

Mamma begins to cry.

‘Oh, there now, don’t do this,’ Young Woman races to stop Mamma’s sobs. And Pappa takes over her.

‘Darling girl,’ he says. ‘She’s here. It’s all good! It’s ok!’

‘I don’t understand,’ Mamma is refusing his gentleness, his loving arms. ‘I don’t get it.’

Because in the dream earlier, she had been pregnant.

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