«Marcus! Come! Food is on the table! Call your father, too», came the voice of mother from the house.
A young man, or a boy perhaps, in his late teens, was driving a mattock in the dirt, digging in a garden where tomatoes, lettuces and a few other vegetables were growing, one next to the other. Next to the garden were several fruit bearing trees and further away two fenced spaces, with some minimal constructions, serving as a hencoop and pigsty.
The boy dropped the mattock on the ground and stretched his back. With the back of his hand he put aside his curly, brown hair that fell in front of his face. He pulled his t-shirt over his face to wipe the sweat from his forehead, partially revealing a well-built body, albeit not yet fully grown. He was half-way from boyhood to manhood and had all the vigor of that age.
After wiping his face, he rubbed his hands on his dirty jeans, thinking he was cleaning them in that way, and then he turned towards the house. «Dad! Ma’s calling! Lunch is served!», he shouted to the direction of the hencoop while walking.
He entered the house and headed to the kitchen. He hadn’t even crossed the door and his mother, while setting the table and without even turning to him, said: «Hands». Doing a hundred and eighty degrees turn right on his feet he went to the bathroom to clean his hands, with soap, as had his mother repeatedly instructed in the past. And now, with clean hands, he was sitting at the table, slicing the bread and setting a piece next to each of the three plates: his, his father’s and his mother’s.
He hadn’t noticed the steps of his father coming in the kitchen, so the slap on the back of his head surprised him even more. And it was so hard, his head nearly hit the table.
«You stupid fuck!», shouted his father along with the slap. «You stupid, ungrateful little fucker! How many times have I told you, huh? How many fucking times? You disrespectful piece of shit!» With that came another slap on the neck. «When are you gonna start respecting other people’s properties, huh?» Slap! «Huh? My property. You didn’t pay for it, so why care for it, right? You better start caring, boy, you better start caring for stuff that isn’t yours or help me God!».
«I...». Marcus tried to respond something. His father put his one hand on the table and leaned on it, bringing himself closer to Marcus. «You what? Huh? You didn’t leave the mattock on the ground? You didn’t leave it in the garden for any of the losers and the beggars out there to come and steal it? Huh?».
«Nobody...». The sentence was cut short by another slap, this time across Marcus’ face. His father leaned even closer after the slap.
«Nobody what?». Marcus didn’t talk. «Nobody what? Nobody would steal it? Huh? Is that it, boy? Nobody would steal a mattock? Is that what you were gonna say?». Marcus neither talked, nor did he look at his father. His face, read on one chick to match his neck, was turned the other way. «Speak boy», said father slowly, bringing a clenched fist right in front Marcus’ face. «Finish your sentence».
«Nobody... dares steal from you».
His father eyed him, unclenching his fist slightly. After a short moment, that to Marcus felt like hours, he stood up, bringing his hand on his side, his palm still in a fist. «You don’t know that, boy. Yeah, one has to be quite stupid - or quite desperate - to steal from me. But there are people like that, yeah? Stupid? And, yeah. I would skin them alive. But I would have to catch them first, now, wouldn’t I? And until that happened my mattock would be sold for a piece of bread and I would have to buy another. And who would pay for that? You, boy? No! I would pay for it!»
«I’m sorry», said Marcus, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him.
«Yeah, I bet. Until the next time. But next time I’ll take it out of your hide. I warn you, kid!», said the father, as he pulled the chair and sat down.
Mother, who all this time was standing in the corner with a big plate in her hands that held a rabbit stew, approached and set it quietly on the small round table, next to the salad. Then, quietly again, she sat down as well.
The father crossed his hands in front of his face and bowed his head a little, closing his eyes while doing so. The other two members of the family did the same. “Dear Lord”, he said, reciting words many times repeated, “thank you for providing this meal for us, through the hard work of our hands and the good will of our hearts. Working your earth, herding and hunting your animals, making a living by these two hands is your will and you reward us for doing your bidding. Amen”.
“Amen”, repeated Marcus and his mother.
“No”, said the father as Marcus picked up his fork. “This meal is for those who respect other people’s property. No. You will get up and go relieve your brother of his herding duty. You will tend to the sheep and he will come back and eat at this table. You can take a piece of bread and a tomato with you”.
“But today is his turn”, protested Marcus.
“Today was his turn until you left the mattock outside to be stolen”, replied his father before putting a bite in his mouth. Marcus sat there, looking at his father, who continued to eat his meal. Marcus’ silent protest had no result, and he knew it wouldn’t have. His father continued eating, not giving him the slightest glance. To him he was already gone.
Marcus stood up, took the piece of bread that he had set by his plate, walked to the kitchen counter and picked up a tomato from it. As he walked towards the door his mother said: “Take your coat. It’s gonna rain”.
“What are you doing here?” he asked his brother when he came close enough.
“I came to take your place. You should go home and eat”, responded Marcus while throwing his overcoat on a nearby rock and placing the stick he was holding against the tree.
“Why? What did you do?” asked Antony.
“Will you go home already?”
“Not before you tell me what you did”.
“I forgot to put away the mattock”.
“Again?! Really?”
“Well, what can I tell you”.
“Are you doing it on purpose? Cause that’s like the fifth time this month”.
“Why would I be doing it on purpose?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you want to get in dad’s face”.
“Yeah! That’s a smart thing to do!”
“Maybe you like to get beaten”.
“What? Who likes to get beaten?”
“You, obviously! Maybe you are a sadist!”
“That’s a masochist, you moron!”
“And what’s a sadist?”
“Someone who likes to inflict pain”.
“Ok. Then you’re the masochist and dad’s the sadist”, said Antony, realizing just as the words left his mouth, exactly what he had said. “I mean…” he stuttered.
“Go home, Antony”.
Antony picked up his overcoat and a small bundle. “Be careful”, he said, looking his brother in the eyes. “It’s going to rain”.
“I know. I’ll let them graze a little longer and then I’ll take them to the pen”. He looked around and then shouted. “Hey, Ivan! Come here boy!”. A black dog, with white patches here and there, came running from some distance away. “Where’s my boy, huh? Where’s my good boy?” he said playing with him and patting him. Marcus really loved this dog.
“Here”, said Antony stretching a hand, which held the piece of wood he was working on. “Take this”.
“What’s this?” said Marcus, taking it in his hand.
“Something I made”. It was a figurine depicting a satyr playing a flute. It was quite the work of art, with intricate details carved in the wood. Marcus examined it with admiration of his brother’s skill but he only said: “Thank you”. Antony nodded and headed down the hill.
Marcus went under the tree and beckoned the dog to come. He patted him and threw a stick a couple of times for Ivan to fetch, before sending him out again to watch the sheep. He took his overcoat from the rock and threw it over his shoulders. He then sat down and leaned against the tree. He brought the figurine in front of him and looked at it, while playing it between his fingers.
“I wonder if nymphs and satyrs exist”, he thought and closed the little wooden sculpture inside his palm. “Perhaps they live in this tree. Wouldn’t that be something?”
“Woof! Woof!” He opened his eyes startled. Ivan was right in front of his face barking at him. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. He remembered thinking about nymphs and satyrs. The hour had passed. Dark clouds had gathered and the atmosphere was dump. It was going to rain any minute now. He stood up, rubbing his eyes and trying to think. He didn’t have time to take the sheep to the pen. He had to find another solution.
“To the cave, Ivan! Take the sheep to the cave!” he said to the dog, who ran off barking at the sheep. Luckily for him he knew these hills like the back of his hand, so he knew there was a big cave near by. These hills were riddled with caves. He picked up his stick and started walking hastily, shouting at the sheep. Ivan was running on one side of the herd, then on the other, barking at the sheep, trying to keep them together and guide them to the cave.
The skies opened and rain poured down just as Marcus and Ivan were putting the last of the sheep in the cave.
“Shit!” he said out loud, but the rest he said it in his head. “Just what I needed! God knows how long this rain will last. And it will get dark soon. Let’s hope it’s not gonna last this long. I must return the sheep to the pen. It’s not safe here”. And the thoughts kept coming. Some foreboding, other more hopeful. One thing was certain. If something were to happen to even one sheep, his life was forfeit. This internal monologue kept going on for quite long, because in the mean time he had managed to gather some wood he found lying around in the cave and start a small fire. He sat down in front of it, Ivan by his side and the sheep further back in the cave.
He took out his brother’s gift. The figurine looked different now under the light of the fire. The shadows created by the carvings as the light hit it, made it look different. Sinister perhaps. For a moment he thought of throwing it in the fire, as a way to banish the evil spirits.
Ivan barked and stood up. Marcus quickly put the figurine in his pocket, picked up his stick and stood up as well. A slim figure appeared at the entrance of the cave. The light of day coming from outside outlined just the silhouette and no face could be seen. For a split second Marcus thought the satyr came to life. But that figure belonged to a woman, not a mythical creature.
“Who is this?” shouted Marcus.
“I’m sorry. Can I warm myself by your fire?” answered the figure, indeed in a female voice. “I’m soaking wet”, she said and as she approached, the light of the fire illuminated her. There was standing a young woman, some few years older than Marcus, though. She had long, auburn hair and white skin and she was dripping wet. Her soaked clothes clang to her body, outlining a slim, well-built figure. Marcus stared, unable to take his eyes off of her; her breasts, which could be seen beneath the thin, wet fabric of her blouse, firm as befits a woman of her age, captured his gaze.
“Can I sit by the fire?” repeated the young woman, bringing her hands in front of her, her words pulling Marcus out of his trance. “Yes, yes, of course. Please come closer”, replied Marcus. “Here”, he said as he took off his overcoat and covered her with it.
“Thank you”, she said shivering, while looking at Ivan, who was still alert and ready to attack the intruder. “Ivan, sit”, said Marcus, as if reading her thoughts, and Ivan immediately relaxed and lay down on the floor.
They sat there quietly for what seemed like hours to Marcus but couldn’t have been more than mere seconds. He was now looking at the fire, embarrassed that he had stared at her breasts just now. He did try to turn his eyes to her a couple of times but quickly returned his gaze unto the flames.
She spoke first. “I’m Zoe”, she said. “Yes, I know”, replied Marcus, now turning his eyes towards her for the first time. “You are George Sorras’ daughter”, he said. The dim light of the fire and the weakening light coming from the cave’s entrance created shadows on her face, that only reinforced what Marcus always had thought of her; she was beautiful.
“Yeah…” she said. “Of course, you know my father; and me as his daughter. I wonder when people will stop saying: “This is George Sorras’ daughter” and start saying: “This is Zoe””.
“No. I didn’t mean…”
“No, I know you didn’t”, Zoe cut him off, disrupting any futile attempt at a meaningless explanation. “Everybody does it. To the world, I’m my father’s daughter”.
“To me you aren’t”, responded Marcus spontaneously. That response came as a surprise to him, as well as her. He wasn’t one to think things through much, truth be told, and he often acted spontaneously, which usually got him into trouble. But that was not the case with girls. On that regard he was shy. So it was a mystery to him how exactly he came to say that. Along with what he meant by it.
“I am not?” she responded, her eyebrow rising a little with interest. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing”, stuttered Marcus. “I mean you are a person. By yourself. You are not your father’s daughter”. And with that he turned to the fire once again.
She looked at him, trying to figure out if that was all he meant to say. And if she was satisfied with that answer. But she decided it was too soon to judge the response. One thing was for sure; it had made the conversation much more engaging.
“And who are you?” she asked him.
“I’m Marcus”, he replied, taking his eyes off the fire only momentarily.
“Hello, Marcus. Nice to meet you”.
“I’m Joseph’s son. The farmer, if you know. We live on the outskirts of the town”.
“As a matter of fact I do know, but wouldn’t it be better if you had stopped at Marcus?”
“Yeah”, said Marcus, raising his head and looking outside in sudden realization. “Yeah, it would. We do that, yes? Define ourselves through our fathers”, he continued, now turning to her.
“Yep. We sure do”.
“Wait… You know my father?”
“Sure I do. And I’ve seen you around as well. You have one of the largest flocks in town”.
“Yeah. Enormous! Fifty sheep!” he laughed.
“And isn’t that a lot?”
“No, it is. It is. And it’s what’s feeding us all. But I hear that there are people who own thousands of animals. And my father tells me, or he used to when I was a kid, that back in the day, the poorest shepherd had at least a hundred sheep!”
“Really? That seems a lot. Not that I would know anything about it”.
“Yeah. That was probably his version of fairy tales”. Zoe laughed at that remark and Marcus laughed with her, pleased that his joke was well received.
Their laughs faded and they sat there in silence for a moment, both looking at the fire. The rain kept pouring outside, not giving any sign that it would stop any time soon. The sun was moving to the west and the clouds dimmed the already waning light.
“And what is George Sorras’ daughter doing out here?” said Marcus, intentionally emphasizing the words in an attempt to tease her. But this time his joke didn’t have the same response.
A faint smile that was on Zoe’s face, quickly faded and she responded coldly: “I was out for a walk”. And silence fell once again. Only the sound of the sheep’s bells, now and then, seemed to be heard now.
“Forgive me if…” Marcus tried to break that silence, but left the sentence unfinished.
“Nothing to forgive”, said Zoe, but her demeanor didn’t improve much. Not long after, however, as if she reconsidered, she relaxed a little and responded: “Some times, when I want to clear my head, I take walks in the surrounding countryside”.
“Ok. You don’t need to explain yourself. I just…”
“Woof!” Ivan interrupted his phrase with a bark. At the same time he stood up and turned towards the interior of the cave. He barked once more. “What is it boy?” Ivan dashed towards the darkness of the cave.
“What is it?” asked Zoe.
“I don’t know. Probably he heard some sheep wandering off. I’ll go check”.
Marcus bent over to the fire and grabbed a flaming wood.
“What do you want that for?” asked Zoe.
“To use as a torch. It’s dark back there”.
“Why don’t you use the flashlight on your phone?”
“Cause…” he hesitated, considering a good excuse, but eventually decided to tell the truth: “…I forgot my phone at home”.
“What? You forgot your phone?”
“Well… yeah!”
“It’s not the first time, is it?” said Zoe and her spirit seemed to have suddenly risen.
“Well, what can I tell you. I don’t like the damn thing so much and so, I keep forgetting it!”
“If anyone heard you! You could get in a lot of trouble, you do know that, right?”
“Yes, but it won’t be nothing compared to the trouble I’ll get in if anything happens to those sheep!”
“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, but here; we’ll use mine”, she said. She stood up, throwing the overcoat off her back and pulling a smartphone out of her jeans’ back pocket.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m not staying here alone!”
If any protest came to Marcus’ mind, he swiftly disregarded it as futile. Besides, these caves were not dangerous. But somebody could get lost if they ventured to far inside and a sheep could also fall in a crevice. So he wasn’t eager to engage in an argument, that something told him he would lose. Because, for some reason, Zoe seemed excited that they were going “sheep hunting” in the cave.
“Gimme some light over here”, said Marcus pointing at the herd. He quickly counted the sheep. “One is missing. Come on, let’s go”. Lighting the way with her flashlight they walked towards the inner cave. “Ivan! Come, boy”. Out of the shadows came Ivan running. “Go back and guard the flock”, gave Marcus the order, which Ivan followed straight away. He and Zoe moved further inside the cave. Soon they came upon a fork.
“Which way?” asked Zoe. Marcus stood for a second to listen. The sound of the bell, along with a bleat, came from the left side. “This way”, said both at the same time and immediately laughed about it. Marcus was very excited that this beautiful girl was so eager to follow him on this “adventure”, which for him would have been a tedious task. Also, it was possible that the sheep had been wounded and that would mean a hell lot of trouble for him. But at the moment that thought didn’t exist even on the fringes of his mind. He even hoped, at some level, that it would take them some time to find the missing sheep.
But that was not the case. Just a little along the way they reached the end of that tunnel and there was the sheep. It bleated, as it seemed its foot was stuck in a hole in the ground.
“Hey, Missy. Where did you run off again, girl?” said Marcus to the sheep as he went closer. “She keeps doing that. Wondering off. Could you give some light here to see what’s going on? It seems her foot is stuck”, he said to Zoe. Zoe went closer and turned her flashlight on them.
“Damn, I can’t get it out”, said Marcus. He looked around. He grabbed a big rock. “Stand back, Zoe. I’ll try to break the rock a little around its foot. But if I accidentally hit her, she might kick. You wouldn’t want to get kicked”.
“No, I wouldn’t!” said Zoe smiling and back stepped a little.
Marcus hit the ground with the rock. To his surprise it gave way easily, making the hole quite bigger. Missy immediately took off, getting away from the dangerous hole that had entrapped her.
“See? Not even a thank you!” said Marcus to Zoe smiling. “Not all women are that ungrateful, now, are they?”
“Didn’t I say thank you for the overcoat?” replied Zoe smiling back, something mischievous in her smile.
“Did you? I don’t remem…”
Marcus didn’t have time to finish his sentence. The ground upon which he was standing collapsed. A huge, black pit was created in an instant, swallowing Marcus whole.
“Marcus!” shouted Zoe. “Oh my God!” She ran to the hole, getting as close as her fear permitted. “Marcus!” she shouted again, trying to look inside. But all she saw was darkness.
Hencoop image source
Sheep image source
Cloudy sky image source
Cave image source
