Ubiquita

UBIQUITA

 By

Gary Winstone

One foot slides into deeper water. He snatches it back quickly and attempts to sit on the riverbank. He grips hard with both hands, balancing his rear on tangled roots, body trembling, heart pounding. This section of river isn’t that wide, but it’s deep. Falling in clothed wearing a pack would quickly conclude his journey. He feels exhausted, but this is no place for a rest.

Roots dig into his crack painfully and it'll be sunset in a couple of hours. A family of monkeys move fluidly across high branches on the opposite bank, babies clinging to their mothers backs eyeballing him. Not for the first time today he wished to be a monkey.

“Move”, he grunts.

Rising painfully, he continues plucking through the dense growth. Progress is slow, but up ahead the river bends sharply right. Maybe the trees clear from the bank around this one? He allows himself that tiny hope. Carefully he trudges on, praying it won’t rain.

A twisted knee and scraped elbow later, he rounds the bend. The bank doesn’t clear, rather a huge tree has fallen across the river blocking the way. Approaching it carefully, he sees no way around it, the forest wall is too dense to navigate. He considers swimming under it? “Not a chance in hell” he mutters, remembering leeches, or worse.

He’s wet through, his knees hurt - and his guts ache badly with a painful need to relieve himself… again.

“FOR FUCK SAKE” he screeches, and pounds the tree trunk with the balls of his fists, shouting and cursing.

A few moments later he stops and snaps “No”.

“No”, he repeats firmly.

Panting, he rights himself and stands there for a minute, controlling his breathing, fists clenching and unclenching. He shrugs, unwraps a rag from the shoulder strap of his pack, pulls down his trousers and slings the rag under a sturdy root. Then, gripping both ends, sticks his rear end out over the river.

Ten minutes later he’s feeling somewhat better. Whilst drinking the rest of his clean water he regards the fallen tree. It's about five metres wide, therefore tall, and covered with vines. It looks easy enough to climb. Peering over it, the canopy does look thinner on the other side of the river, not far down. He secures his water bottle, checks his pockets are buttoned, then jumps at the trunk and scrambles easily up it. Something hisses loudly but he keeps moving quickly. Despite a long list of health issues, his arms and legs have gained a pleasing amount of strength over the past few months. On the other side of the tree, a short distance down, the river bends to the right again and becomes shallow very quickly. In the elbow of this bend on the opposite side, he spots a low bank and large grass clearing. Relief brings tears.

After a scramble along the top of the fallen tree, he climbs down, and scuttles along to where he can jump into shallow water. Then, wading quickly up the bank he collapses onto the grass, panting. He lays there resting for a time, then sits up - acutely aware it’ll get dark quickly. He needs shelter and a fire now.

Soon it’s nightfall, and he’s staring into the reassuring warmth of a fire. Alert, but deep in thought, fish cooking on sticks and his clothes are finally drying. His stomach is growling, and lower down his guts are aching. At least he doesn't yet need the toilet again. A deep gash in his lower right arm under a bandage somehow hurts and itches at the same time. He reaches into his collar and removes the object from around his neck, then sets it down carefully on a rock near the flames. The gold shines its challenge in the firelight.

*

The boy stared at the necklace with its large golden triangle. Then the paintings on the wall, his shoes, anything to avoid looking at the bed.

“Daniel” whispered a paper thin voice.

He cringed, shuffled about a little.

“Daniel”, it whispered again. He heard the questioning tone, almost desperate.

“Come here please boy, I can’t see you properly”.

He approached the bed slowly, reluctantly, felt ashamed for hesitating and drew himself up straight. The bag of bones in the bed looked awful, like a rushed sketch of the man it once was. But the eyes still shined, and the smile held that same genuine warmth.

“I know I look like shit boy, I don’t blame you for standing all the way over there” the old man rasped.

“and sound like shit too” he chuckled, then coughed a little fit.

“Dad please”, admonished the man in the armchair across the room, with a patient, knowing tone.

Daniel always liked Grampy's swearing, not many adults did that around him.

“Your Dad needs to pull that stick out of his arse doesn’t he Danny”? Grampy said,

putting down a glass of water. He sounded a little better. Daniel laughed. He’s still funny, was always funny, and told the best stories. Not boring tales of red hoods and beanstalks. Tales of jungles, mountains, rivers, adventures, and treasure.

“It makes me sad seeing you like this Grampy, I don’t like it, when will you get better”?

He doesn’t understand what is happening, none of the adults will tell him. At his seventh birthday party he was juggling and dancing, at his eighth last week he couldn’t even make it downstairs to the garden. Grampy sighed gently, his eyes wet.

“I’m not getting better boy”, he said softly.

“And sorry this is how you must see me now, truly; but this is life lad, happens to us all, it's the way of it”.

“Dad”, the man in the armchair said again, a bit less patient this time.

“He’s only eight for pity's sake”.

“Shhh”.

“Danny…. Daniel”.

“Yes Grampy”.

“Promise me something”.

“Yes”.

“Don't turn out like that miserable bore in the corner” and he burst out a laugh which quickly turned to coughs again.

The bore couldn’t help but smile.

Daniel was smiling too, Grampy was always funny, always happy; was always happy, until Nanna went to live in the clouds just before last Christmas. Then he was mostly sad, then he got old very quickly.

“Danny, Have you had any adventures”?

“Yes Grampy, lots”

“Good lad, good lad”.

He nodded slowly, smiling.

“There’s my lad”.

“I’ve had a lot of adventures Danny, a lot I tell you boy, even your Dad has had adventures, believe it or not; with me”.

“What? Dad Grampy”?

“Yes you cheeky git” Dad said.

Daniel found that funny to think of. Dad was always buried in a book, or off in some museum. He couldn’t picture him sailing the seas and exploring the jungles like one of Grampy’s stories.

“Always look out for adventures Daniel. Always explore, try new things, learn, keep an open mind. Promise me boy” Grampy said, looking at him intensely.

“I promise”, Daniel replied. He thinks he meant it.

“Good, now fetch me that book off the dresser please, there’s a good lad”.

Daniel picked up the leather book, glancing again briefly at the strange necklace.

“I want you to have this Danny”, Grampy said.

“I kept this journal when I was away, I want you to have it. It’s full of my stories. Read it boy, it'll be like I’m there with you”.

“Are you going away Grampy”?

“Yes Daniel”

“Where will you be Grampy”?

“In the clouds”, Dad replied.

Daniel heard the sadness in his voice. He knows this means Grampy is going to die, he’s eight, not stupid. He's heard the clouds are a very nice place to live, but he’ll miss Grampy.

Daniel starts to cry.

“It’s ok Boy. Danny, it’s ok. I’m very tired”, he whispered softly. “And I miss your Nanna. I’ve had my adventures, I want to go and be with your Nanna now”.

“I’ll miss you Grampy”.

“I’ll miss you too Danny, very much”.

Grampy sounds extremely tired now.

Daniel's father stood up slowly and softly approached, put an arm around Daniel, and led him gently out of the room. Just before the door closed he heard Grampy whisper quietly.

“Adventures Daniel, always adventures”.

*

“I’m on an adventure alright Grampy”, he mutters to the medallion.

He peers around the clearing; it’s pretty large, and the campfire seems to be keeping the wildlife away so far; the darkness is a solid wall being held back by its light. No screeches or crashing in the jungle, just the incessant sound of insects. He wishes he’d rescued the tent from the boat, but the basic lean-to he has constructed will have to do. He knows he must sleep, his body and mind both desperate for rest, but being here on your own is scary enough in the day, it's terrifying at night. At least in the tent he could have shut himself in, hid from eyes watching in the dark, and pretended to be somewhere else. No sane person would be attempting this, but he’s come too far now. Maybe he’s close? He must be.

He looks again at what brought him to the other side of the world. A perfect, solid gold, equilateral triangle, five centimetres an edge. Both faces are decorated with fine etching, a pattern of connecting circles spiralling out from the centre. Three triangular notches are situated opposite each other at the centre of each edge. All three edges start very thin, with a five millimetre deep indentation within the tip of each. In these grooves, a woven leather necklace is strapped and attached. The necklace is worn with one corner of the medallion facing downwards. It broadens towards the middle, where a three centimetre diameter solid clear sphere is embedded, a hemisphere protruding from each golden face of the medallion - itself containing a tiny golden, four sided pyramid. He picks it up. It’s remarkably light, and gazes closely at the central pyramid. He turns it this way and that, rotates it 360 degrees, but the tip of the pyramid always remains pointing in the same direction, like a compass. A beautiful mystery.

*

Not many eight year olds can truly comprehend death, the finality. Danny couldn’t. Grampy just looked asleep in his coffin, as if he might wake up with a gentle shake. Daddy says that he won’t, that he is in the clouds now with Nanna, and he's happy. It’s late at night, everyone was asleep. He’d crept down to the parlour where the open casket was displayed, the funeral was the following day. He knew he shouldn’t be there, but maybe he can wake Grampy up before they put his coffin in the ground like Nanna. Daddy got really upset when he tried to wake him earlier and this made him confused. What if he wakes up afterwards, and they’ve already buried him?

Danny stood there nervously, candles around the room flickering; some gone out, others stuttering. He regretted sneaking down there now, it’s different at night and he’s scared. More candles sparked to life in the chandelier above the casket. He was confused by this, he knows candles don’t light themselves. He peered up at the crystal decoration and saw three new lights, rather bright lights - burning steady, off centre from the main candle pattern. They started to drift down slowly towards his grandfather, three candle lights following a tight spiral. He heard a gentle buzz and realised they were flying insects. Fireflies maybe? As the lights came to rest on Grampy's forehead they dimmed, revealing three small flying creatures. They looked bee-like and sat there in a triangle for a few seconds, wings gently waving. One walked quickly down Grampy’s face and into his ear, sitting there above his earlobe. They started to glow brighter again, and a shining silver liquid ran out of Grampy's earhole in a bright thin stream over the bee, which seemed to absorb it all. Half a minute or so later the flow stopped, then the three creatures rose gently into the air heading towards the parlour door. They stopped by the hallway at about headheight, slowly circling a shared central point. They pulsed brightly.

“Adventures Daniel, always adventures ”, he heard Grampy whisper.

He jumped and looked at Grampy in the coffin. His eyes remained closed, body still.

The bees span off into the hallway out of sight. He was scared but followed them out, they were halfway down the hallway, still spinning. He walked slowly forwards and they led off towards the staircase. He followed them up and across the landing, towards Grampy's room. Through the double doors they cartwheeled, towards the dresser and the medallion, which now displayed a piercing, brighter gold within gold pattern. In addition to this, it looked strangely different from a few days before. He noticed the middle of the medallion was missing, like a circle had been cut out of it, and within this the three insects, bees, floated. A moment later, bright golden filaments began to reach in from the edge of the missing circle, and where they made contact with the bees, flowed around them, encasing them. Within the circle where once were three insects, was now a golden ball, slowly expanding. As this tiny sphere grew, the shining pattern on the medallion’s surface receded towards the centre, leaving the etched pattern behind. Before long a rippling sphere filled the centre of the medallion, gently rotating, swirling, casting warm light across the room. It suddenly solidified and a clear glass bubble popped into existence around it, encasing it. A golden marble sat in the centre of the medallion glowing, its light slowly fading. Danny stood there goggle eyed and half asleep, then slowly walked over to Grampy's bed. He jumped in, covered himself with a blanket and fell asleep.