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Dear Icarus-
Sleep has
evaded me these past nights. I have been in a torrent of emotion with the death
of my father. I am tossed between vengeance and forgiveness for his murderer; I
can’t tell if I feel contempt and hate or insecurity or mourning or peace;
perhaps even all of these things at the same moment in time. There is so much
going on inside of me and around me, it seems as if nothing at all is happening,
as if the world has died and left me alone, dangling by a thread not adequate
to hold the weight. Every time I close my eyes, I see the cobblestone street
where my father lay, lifeless, and my blood soaked hands on his chest, looking
through eyes blurred from tears. The event plays over and again as the cloaked
man, thing, beast, comes swiftly through the thick fog. You know the fog in London, its horrendous,
especially this time of year. Curse the fog, I swear, curse it! In only a
moment, the knife is stuck nearly in the centre of his heart, my father that
is. The cloaked man, the beast, stared me in the eyes, dark and deep, but cold.
I swear they were cold. I tried so hard to scream, but I couldn’t, all I could
do is whimper, the breath was drawn from my lungs, with the life drained from
my body. The police showed up after a time, what seemed like an eternity, but
certainly must have been only a few minutes. One man asked me to move away, I
didn’t hear him. Soon enough I was being pulled off my father’s body. I
wouldn’t let go, I swear I wouldn’t. I’m sorry to burden you with this. My hand
is shaking; I don’t know how much more I will be able to write. I had the maid
rid of my father’s scotch for fear of drinking myself into an induced sleep. I
tried it once; I nearly choked on it, wretched liquor. Pray, keep me in your
prayers.
Love Always,
Isabelle
Dear Icarus-
It has been
three weeks to the day since he died, my father that is. The murderer has not
been found, no suspects even. One investigator questioned me. He tried to turn
the guilt on me, “You were the only one seen around his body.” This man is mad,
I swear he is. He went in circles, like tucker, when he chased his tail. You
remember that, right? What comedic entertainment; I wish he were alive still, I
could use his company. I called him Tuck for short. He would always curl up
into a ball with his head tucked into his chest, lying in front of the amber
coals that glowed in the fireplace, whilst I coloured and kept daddy’s chair
warm till he came home. He was brave too, he would always walk in front of us,
father and I, proud as could be, and always willing to defend us, brave Tucker.
This place is dreadful, everything reminds me of that night, even the things
that shouldn’t. And all the friends and family and acquaintances and even
people that I swear never even knew my father with their condolences and fruit
baskets and colourful bouquets; they’re like robots, all of them, tradition,
methodology, cause and effect; it’s like mathematics, a plus b always equals c,
but there’s no room for the rest of the alphabet. I need to leave this place I fear,
though I am not sure where I would rightly go. This morning while watching the
sunrise, I saw a ship come into harbour, perhaps I’ll just stow away onboard
and go wherever it takes me. And, oh the sunrise! The most beautiful I have
seen this season! If only I could have attempted to capture at least a fraction
of it to share with you. My mother certainly could have. Surely, she would have
made it even more alluring and exquisite! I searched for her camera today. It
was stowed away up in her art room in an olde cedar chest. I wish I could
capture the same picturesque beauty she always had; she had such an eye for it.
Father even dedicated the entire east corridor of the estate to her
photography. He chose the east particularly because he always compared her
beauty and grace and vitality to the rising sun. Father was such a romantic,
and mother loved him for it. Yes, I think I will simply leave. Late this
evening, before the sun comes up and the ships raise anchor again. Perhaps I
will find my way to Japan
where my aunt lives, my mother’s sister. She left in mourning after my mother
had passed; two of a kind we are, yes, two of a kind.
Love Always
Isabelle
Dear Icarus-
I did it!
It has been respectively one month and a few days since my last letter to you.
That evening, I stowed onboard the ship. Some distance into the trip the ship
came upon a severe storm. The water lapping up onto the deck soaked my skirt. I
watched the raging lightening through a slit in the crate in which I was
hiding. The thunder was ear-splitting, but almost soothing to me, like being
lost in one of the operas father and I had always watched or an orchestra
concert. I wanted to take a photograph to suspend the memory in time, but I
couldn’t risk the water destroying my mother’s camera. The first place we
stopped according to the longshoremen was the Port at Alexandria,
the ship didn’t stay long, but oh how I would have loved to travel to Giza, and visit the Great
pyramid and the sphinx of Ancient Egypt. What incredible art! My mother once
accompanied my father on one of his business trips and took photographs of the
ancient relics. Mum always adored ancient cultures for their artistic beauty. Again
we sailed off. Next the ship anchored in Marmagao, India (which I have no idea
how to spell) where in the early morning, I snuck off the ship and stowed away
on another that was scheduled, according to the charts I saw, to take off
towards Japan; Tokyo particularly, which is south of Sendai where my aunt
resides. Blue used to be my favourite colour, but after staring into the
sparkling blue of the ocean, as it appears to extend towards eternity, has left
me with a desire to find a new favourite colour. Then the seagulls! I felt like
the shipmates on every film that has ever featured a ship lost at sea and
yearning to see that simple sign of land. Then we docked, safe in the harbour.
I had to wait for nightfall until I could stumble onto land with my sea legs.
Even in the late of night, the city was full of life. It was brilliant, the
people were vibrant and a little off-coloured if you ask me, but still full of
passion; not like the stuck-up, drab, “Hello, how are you? Don’t answer me,
because I don’t really care” well-doers of London. I found my way to the train station
and bought a ticket to Sendai.
Late the next morning, I arrived and pulled out an olde envelope that my aunt
had addressed to me for my birthday this past year. I had never had an
opportunity to visit her in Sendai,
so I ended up getting myself lost until a kind old man asked if I was lost;
perhaps it was the frantic look on my face! With his help I navigated my way to
her house down an old rubble and winding road in the hills, just a little
outside of the city. Oh, to feel the embrace of a loved one! I swear she
wouldn’t have let me go if I hadn’t non-chalantly worked my way free. She
welcomed me to stay with her in her little cottage for as long as I needed.
Bless her heart.
Love Always
Isabelle
Dear Icarus-
The view
from my room is incredible! Father would have loved it here. The green hills to
the west and the ocean on the other side of the city; it’s like the landscape
paintings by the famous artists in the Louvre, only more like living in them! I’ve
heard it called the City of Trees; many of the
residents’ backyards are filled with almost small forests, even the little
bonsai trees like father used to keep on his desk from the ambassador of Tokyo. Life here on the
outskirts of the city is so quintessential, so simple and pleasing. My aunt
leads a yoga class. I’ve been joining her every morning. In the afternoons we
go to the teahouse for Sado, and I learn so much from the people there. The
wisdom they have from the Buddha is amazing, intriguing even. Their ideals are
the epitome of peace and tranquility. Life seems so simple, almost like it
comes easy to them. Sometimes I wonder if we over think life and make it even more
complex than it really is. I am reminded of a quote from one of the Buddhist
texts, “Better than a thousand hollow words, is one word that
brings peace.” Oh, if only the rest of the world could understand this! At times,
it almost seems as if we are in such absolute need, that we are content with
nothing, and prefer to take the opportunity to sulk! The thoughts of my father
still continue in my mind, but I seem to have become more at peace with them
and the fact that the thoughts and memories will certainly always be a part of
me as a reminder, always, of my father and his love for me. It helps,
remembering another quote, “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the
future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.” I have gone from
remembering how things used to be when my father and even my mother were alive,
and from worrying about a future without them, to being well assured that life
simply is what it is; and by heaven, life is faring well.
Love Always
Isabelle
Dear Icarus-
Pray!
If only it were a night terror! I found her this morning, breathless at her cup
of tea;
her face pale, almost white, and body frail and limp like the lifeless puppet
on strings. She promised she had only been feeling slightly ill, if only nauseous,
and was indeed eating enough to suffice her. Certainly, she was not! She has
committed suicide in the guise of her own enlightenment! Escaping the world of
rebirths as I have heard; what certain folly! She spoke in mourning of the loss
of her sister, only recently. I fear my presence only made her more passionate
about my mother’s death. Surely, if anything, she could have taken me with her!
Pray, forgive me; my ambition is ill-deserved. What shall I do now? There is no
one left here for me, in this entire godforsaken world, I’m sure, aside from
you dear Icarus.
To be continued. |
