The Ride.

A distant crow cawed, and the air shifted, heralding the arrival of dawn. The morning waves could be heard as they swept towards the estuary, peeling the sand away from the shore. and as the wind blew, their neighbors sat by their windows, gloatingly awaiting the moment of departure. It was a young, perfect morning among all other mornings Chris had ever lived.

And so it was that the creaking of the door sent the neighbors scurrying from their houses, gathering amidst the shrubbery at the edge. Yet some, Laura in particular, were stricken with sorrow to see Chris depart, for she had cherished every moment spent by his side. Others came forth to bid them farewell and safe travels, while still, others found themselves amidst the throng, uncertain of what had drawn them there, neither mournful nor joyous, like tepid water neither hot nor cold

But as Chris turned midway and looked back, he saw Laura and felt her pain as she watched him go. He heard her silent cry as her tears rolled down to the earth. He walked slowly, his mind playing a sad tune for her.

The melody, mournful and haunting, echoing the sorrow in his heart. He wished he could have stayed, but it was his destiny, his future, all that defined him. So he soldiered on, making little contact with his father who whistled happily.

He stood by the dock, a lone figure against the backdrop of the silent evening. The sky, wine-dark, and the seagulls bathed ashore, their cries echoing in the stillness. The horn sounded, calling all aboard, and he walked slowly towards the ship, his father following close behind.

"All on board, we are set to sail," said the steward, his voice carrying over the water.

"Hoist the sail," commanded the captain and the ship began to glide smoothly out of the dock, catching the breeze.

Chris stood by the window, waving goodbye to the shore. In his mind's eye, he saw Laura's sullen face, her rage and anger boiling within her. He wondered if he would ever see her again or if she would ever forgive him. He wished he could go back and change everything, but it was too late.

His father was by his side, reading the fear on his son's face. He moved closer and nudged him gently.

"Son," he began, his voice low and tender, "I know your thoughts are in turmoil. These women, they can drive us to the brink of madness, but I promise you, the East is a land of hope. Its people are noble and you will find solace there. Perhaps even the embrace of another fair maiden."

Chris nodded mutely, striving to believe his father's words, yet feeling naught but doubt and despair. The ship sailed on, serene and untroubled.

As night descended, Chris took up his guitar and began to play. Each note he plucked spoke in tones both otherworldly and unholy. His music roused the wrath of the sea gods and all that dwelt within its depths so that the sky was rent by flashes of lightning and peals of thunder.

A deafening clap of thunder shook the ship, followed by a howling gale and a deluge of rain. The ship plunged headlong into the tempest, the captain's voice ringing out above the din.

"All hands on deck! Brace yourselves! We must steer clear of the rocks!"

He seized the wheel, striving to guide the ship away from the looming peril. The waves battered against the hull, tossing the vessel. The crew scrambled to secure the ropes and sails, some tumbling overboard in their haste.

Tomas was gripped by terror at the chaos that surrounded them. He prayed for their deliverance, hoping against hope that they would survive this ordeal. The storm raged on, relentless and unforgiving.

All the while Chris played on, heedless of the tumult around him. He quickened the tempo of his guitar, incensing his father as the sea roared its fury.

Now Tomas turned to Chris and could not believe what he saw - that calmness, that carefree boy he had for a son - but perhaps he understood him for he knew what love could do. Yes, love was like stars shining over the night and was like fire with no mercy when heartbroken.

.As the last strains of his guitar faded into silence, the sea seemed to heed his unspoken entreaty. The tempest that had raged with such fury gradually abated, leaving naught but a gentle breeze and a sky unblemished. The waves that had battered the ship with such vehemence now caressed its sides with soothing susurrations.

The vessel that had been buffeted and tossed upon the briny deep now glided with steady grace. The crew, who had been beset by panic and turmoil, now breathed a collective sigh of relief, their countenances alight with newfound serenity.

A swell of gratitude and elation surged through all on board, as if they had been granted a reprieve from the very jaws of death. Tomas gazed upon his son with a maelstrom of emotions, awe, and anger vying for dominance, as he pondered how his music had wrought both miracle and catastrophe. In a voice stern and unyielding, he spoke, "Son, you nearly brought us all to ruin."

And Chris looked at his father before he asked him, "Why have you never told me about you and my mom?" And his father looked at him and smiled before he dipped his hands in his pocket where he took out a picture and gave it to Chris. And he spoke unto him, "Long before you were born I met her in the city far west from this town and we found love just like you and Laura..."

But Chris could not suffer him to continue. And the mere mention of Laura stirred up some fear in him and could not abide by it. So he commanded that his father cease telling him the story.

The ship came in slowly from the sea, shining white in the morning light. The people on the deck leaned over the rail, looking for the city that waited for them. They saw the tall buildings that rose like mountains, the bridge that spanned the water like a bow, and the statue that stood like a guardian. The ship's horn blew loud and long, telling the men on the dock that it was here.

The captain turned the wheel with skill, bringing the ship to its place with the help of small boats and ropes. The ship stopped, and a plank was put down. The people got their things and made a line to get off. They said thank you to the men who had brought them here and waved goodbye to the ones who had shared their journey. They walked on the land, ready to see what it had for them.

......

The sky was a dull bronze, reflecting the gloomy seas below. Chris and his father hailed a cab and headed to the train station. Chris felt a surge of joy, for he was finally leaving this wretched place behind. The Song of the Family echoed in his mind, a sweet melody that promised him a better life.

They boarded the train that would take them to their destination. Chris felt a sense of liberation, as he ignored the hissing of the train that slithered along the narrow track. The Song of the Might Be resounded in his mind, a tune of adventure and opportunity.

The train neared the town from the east. His father, who had dozed off next to him, snored loudly, and that annoyed Chris. The Song of Evil whispered in his mind, a sinister harmony that filled him with dread.

The train sped past a region where the buildings were made of crude bricks, and as it did so, it nearly ran over a young girl of about four or five years old. But she looked much younger than that. Her bones protruded through her skin and her belly was swollen. Yellow tufts of hair covered her head.

Chris wondered if she would have been better off if the train had crushed her, as she squatted on the rails to relieve herself. The people who lived in this region had grown accustomed to seeing small helpless and innocent children torn apart by trains as they played on its rails.

The Song of Evil grew louder in Chris's mind, drowning out all other sounds. He could feel its dark presence surrounding him, threatening to consume him. But he held onto hope, clinging to the Song of the Family and the Song of the That Might Be. For in those songs lay the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

Chris watched, with utter surprise through his window on the train as some naked children ran and hid under their mothers' shawls to avoid being seen by the train as it puffed by, and he chuckled.

The train passed near the garbage disposal point and the stinky smell that hung itself in the surrounding area made his nose complain about it. Chris sat on the couch next to his father, who was sleeping soundly.

All began to alight and Chris could watch the little drama they played as he waited for his father to wake, he wished to nudge him but knew of his sharp tongue

But his patience ran out. He got up from his seat and walked out of the coach, leaving his father to enjoy his slumber. He decided to take a stroll through the city and buy some snacks. He sat on a bench and admired the elegant and sophisticated tall buildings, the smooth white streets, and the impressive sculptures that dotted the landscape. Some of them were almost as high as the buildings themselves. He forgot about his father completely, as if he didn't care about him at all.

Chris's eyes were drawn to the west, where he saw a statue of a woman behind the last rays of the setting sun. He wondered how they had managed to mount it on such a high place. He looked closer and saw something that intrigued him and reminded him of his passion. The statue was holding a ukulele, and below it were carvings of people who seemed to be playing in a band. He couldn't see clearly what instruments they had, but he guessed they were similar to the ukulele.

He rose from the bench and gazed at the statue for a while. He perceived a song in his mind, a dulcet melody with tuneful notes and cadences. It was the song of the city, of its grandeur and splendor.

He wished he possessed his guitar with him. He envisioned himself playing in harmony with the song, joining the band in spirit. He desired to approach the statue, observe what the sculptures were doing, and read what was inscribed on the base of the monument.

But he had to choose between gratifying his curiosity and confronting his father's ire. He dreaded that his father would be awake by now and would be furious at him for leaving him alone on the sofa. He resolved to defer his visit to the statue for another day when he could evade getting into trouble.

As he walked back to the station, which was only a block away, his mind was divided between two impulses. He wanted to return to the station, but his soul rebelled. He wanted to return to the statue, but his brain protested.

He thought of asking his father about it or conversing with some of the locals who might know its story. But he wasn't certain if they would be willing or able to tell him anything.

He came to a break in the hall and beheld a man who bore a sign with his father's name. A strange and powerful curiosity seized him and he advanced towards the man. He noted that the man was of an advanced age, yet he seemed older than his father.

"Are you the one who awaits us?" Chris inquired as he drew near to the man.

The man regarded him with a smile. "You are the very image of Chris Tami if my sight does not betray me."

Chris scrutinized him and a flash of recognition crossed his face.

"Uncle Jimmy Kimmel!" Chris cried out, his eyes widening.

"Where is your sire?" Uncle Kimmel queried.

"He slumbers on the couch by the train," Chris replied.

"So he still emits a sound like a heap of tubers during lengthy journeys," Uncle Kimmel observed, eliciting a laugh from Chris.

"You have inherited your mother's tongue. Did your father ever tell you how we grew up in this city together? How he encounter your mother here?" Uncle Kimmel asked.

Chris nodded eagerly. He longed to hear more of his parents' history.

Uncle Kimmel smiled and said, "I have a tale for you. Would you like to listen?"

Chris nodded again.

"Well, your father and I were born and raised in this place, long before it became a city. It was just a small fishing town back then, with houses made of mud bricks. Over there," he pointed between two tall buildings, casting a shadow upon the ground below, "was our playground. But look at this place now. It has grown so fast that it's a city now," Kimmel explained as they walked back to the station, his voice tinged with nostalgia and melancholy.

When they arrived, they saw Chris's father waiting for them. He looked worried and relieved at the same time, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. The shadows of the past seemed to linger around him, haunting his every step.

"Who found whom?" inquired Tomas.

"The young man discovered me. He claims his father still slumbers like a heap of garments," Uncle Kimmel jested.

Chris observed with exhilaration as the two ancient companions embraced each other cordially. He could discern they were delighted to see each other after an extended period.

"Welcome back, brother," Uncle Kimmel articulated. "I trust you relished the expedition."

"Observe how time elapses, Tomas. Yesterday, you were a juvenile man pursuing Garissa like a frenzied canine. But behold at you now, you are an elderly man," Uncle Kimmel taunted as they entered a cab.

"Whither are we going?" Chris inquired.

"Cease being intrusive, son. Next thing you'll be interrogating Kimmel about me and your mother," Tomas spoke softly, but affectionately.

"He already did," Uncle Kimmel stated.

Tomas glanced back at his son and chuckled.

"I was informing him about it, about your mother and me. But he didn't desire to hear it earlier."

"Why not?" Uncle Kimmel inquired.

"Because I mentioned Laura and he became enraged at me for doing so," Tomas explicated.

Uncle Kimmel rotated and gazed at Chris, who was sitting next to him in the back seat of the taxi.

"Who is Laura?" Uncle Kimmel inquired.

Chris felt uneasy under his uncle's scrutiny. He endeavored to evade his question by altering the topic.

"Can you please inform me about the sculpture of the woman with a ukulele in her hands?" Chris inquired.

"I'll inform you about that, but first answer my question. Who is she? I can discern she's been on your mind a lot," Uncle Kimmel insisted.

"She..." Chris hesitated.

"She what?" Uncle Kimmel pressed.

"Fine, if you must know, I'll inform you about her. She's the only daughter of a merchant in the town," Chris spoke reluctantly.

"Is that all?" Uncle Kimmel inquired. "Have you two..."

Chris ignored him and turned to the window. He lowered the pane and stuck his head out to feel the breeze as the cab sped away. Then he pulled his head back in and took out his guitar. He started to play, hoping his uncle would drop the subject.

Tomas and Uncle Kimmel continued to chat as the cab left the main road near a rail line and took a long dusty country road.

Chris put away his guitar. He was too weary to play anymore. He shut the window and slumped on his seat. He saw a little town ahead through the back window of the car. He noticed that the houses were built of timber. He wondered what kind of folks lived in such a place. He looked at his uncle, who seemed worn out too.

The evening was getting dark when the taxi got to Uncle Kimmel's place. It stopped at the gate and killed the engine. A woman came out of the house and welcomed them kindly. She was Uncle Kimmel's wife and Chris's aunt.

"Come on in, come on in! You must beat from your trip," she said, hugging them one by one.

She led them into the house, where a fire crackled and danced in the stove. A young woman sat on the couch, her fingers deftly sewing up tablemats. She looked up as they entered, her face breaking into a wide grin. The warmth of the fire and the sound of the needle and thread weaving through the fabric created a cozy atmosphere, inviting them to sit and rest for a while.

"Hiya, I'm Ann," she said to Chris.

"Hiya, Ann. I'm Chris," Chris said, grinning back.

Ann was Uncle Kimmel's daughter and Chris's niece. She had curly brown hair and bright blue eyes. She favored her father a lot.

"Sit yourselves down. I'll fetch you some tea and soup," Aunt Kimmel said, pointing to the chairs around the stove.

They sat down and warmed themselves by the fire. Aunt Kimmel brought them some tea and soup, which smelled mighty good.

They ate and drank, listening to Aunt Kimmel and Ann tell them stories about their life in the town. They talked about their neighbors, their pals, their school, their pastimes, and their critters.

They seemed happy and satisfied with their plain living. Chris felt a twinge of envy. He wished he could have such a calm and cheerful life.

He didn't talk much, though. He was plum tired. So were his father and uncle. They nodded and smiled politely, but they didn't chime in much.