Part 37
The paper blew against the breeze as it was only partly held down by the stone. The wind had slowly begun to pick up the past few days. It hadn’t rained yet, so luckily the letter was still in decent condition. Even if it was flapping roughly with the wind, it appeared peaceful. It was a reminder—no it was a memory. To others, but Roy, and he knew Emile as well, it felt monotonous, a burden even. Any other person would fear seeing its presence every day. Roy, however, deemed it as serene. It marked the end of an era shared between the two of them. It wasn’t an unhappy memory. In fact, the seven months they had spent at this little house were filled with unforgettable memories.
Two weeks went by without hesitation. They originally started slow, but as the dreary days continued on, they eventually began to lull together.
Another week flew by, Roy and Emile had the audacity to take a walk. They got lost on their way back even though they’ve been down this path multiple times. Perhaps both of their minds were elsewhere. Emile’s mother was angered, but worried more so than anything. They didn’t get back until after dinner. Three hours late.
A few more days carried on regularly. Roy decided to write a letter himself. He was in the kitchen during the middle of the night with paper and ink. He didn’t who this was going to be addressed to so instead of the proper format he was taught, he would just improvise it.
La mia vita è stata riempita con un sacco di odio . La maggior parte delle quali erano state irradiano da me . E come la mia vita continuò a frutteto , ho lentamente iniziato a capire sempre più cose che non si dovrebbe imparare fino a quando hai un'età compresa un bel po ' . Niente di tutto questo mai mi importava . Non considero la mia infanzia normale o ordinario minimamente . Ho incontrato Emile quando avevo dodici anni . L'ultima cosa che volevo vedere a quel tempo era un'altra persona bloccata nel ciclo senza fine della schiavitù formata presso il frutteto . Ho creduto che fosse qualcosa che si può mai lasciare . Sapevo che non potevo . Ma alla fine , penso di essere stato circa quindici anni , sapevo che ho amato un altro uomo . Non mi riguarda molto ... perché ho anche imparato il frutteto non teneva gli altri in cattività , ma la creazione di una famiglia stretta legato . Non è che la gente non poteva lasciare , era che volevano non . Era un gruppo così enorme lì , con tutti i meli . Lasciando significherebbe lasciare riparo, cibo , amici e familiari . Nessuno ha mai lasciato quella terra tranquilla , tranne per Emile e me . Per tutto il tempo ero stato così accecato dal mio desiderio spietato di " libertà" che non ho mai visto la grandezza in qualsiasi di esso , soprattutto mio padre ; Gli auguro ogni bene . Liberta . Quella parola usata per confinare me e mi sminuire . Ora quasi non significa nulla . Ora che ho ottenuto che sono venuto alla realizzazione che la mia vita non è mai stato marcio . Ogni minuto di esso è stato grande , grande anche .
Grazie Padre per avermi dato la possibilità di libertà .
Grazie Emile per le consenta di avverarsi .
Mamma , Sono sulla mia strada ...
Fitzroy Severus Sinclair
Roy looked once at his letter, barely skimming it over. It didn’t take much more than a couple of minutes for the ink to dry. The letter was folded up nicely and into his pocket. Leaning back in the chair, causing it to squeak, Roy thought to himself.
“When did I learn Italiano?”
Inside his and Emile’s bedroom, Emile was sleeping soundly still in the small bed. Roy sighed, then quickly dug in the back of the closet searching for his original garments. His fingers hadn’t touched the nice fabric in such a long time. Emile’s mother had the courteous to wash them when he first arrived.
Roy changed into them, quietly, on the other side of the room. Once redressed, Roy sat down on the bed beside Emile. He linked his fingers with the other’s and bent down to nuzzle Emile on the neck.
“Monsieur?” Roy began quietly. “Je vais voir ma mère ... Nous serons de retour. Vous venez?”
It was dead in the middle of the night and the two of them began to walk. Chocolat was at a far neighbor’s house. Apparently this was an older man with too much time on his hands. They walked silently, hand in hand, through the night’s heat. Eventually reaching the larger house, Roy quietly sneaked into the barn. Emile followed behind to start finding the horse. Roy found the original Sinclair saddle and readied the horse.
He took a heavy breath before situating his self on the horse. It all came back to him, this undeniable love for horses and riding could never be truly diminished.
“Emile.” Roy spoke softly to Emile. “I won’t be gone longer than a month. I’ll return. I promise.”
With that, Roy turned on the horse, started it with a kick and ran off towards the city.
Roy rode his horse for six hours straight. The horse still didn’t seem as tired and worn as he himself did. In fact, once he finally got off at the station. He didn’t like the idea of handing his horse off to some stranger to watch over it for a month, but it couldn’t be helped. Roy came from a rich family but he didn’t carry very much money with him. In fact he would barely have enough to get back to Emile.
He bought himself a ticket. This whole thing was very frantic. So many people all bundled together in a tiny area. He had never been to an area like this before and it made him feel poor and country himself. Roy shuffled his way onto the train and found a seat by the door. It was a one hour ride to Sicily. His stomach felt heavy at the thought that he was so far from home; by himself as well.
City folk smell gross. They smell not like the calm cigar his father would smoke but a heavy crud cigarette stench. His fine fabrics were already crumpled from so many people bumping into him. Not to mention he was starving and all the food joints looked very unappealing. Besides, he wished for his next to meal to be from his very own mother.
That thought churned his stomach. He’s had multiple artificial mothers, all being part of the elaborate façade his father tried to create for his orchard. This was his true mother. None of his siblings re related to her, only him. He carried the connection to this Italian lady no one else did. Not only that, but his father strongly loved her. He wanted to meet the woman.
Roy watched as the midday sun lit up all the passing buildings. It stopped on the outer edge of Sicily. All the larger buildings had now died away and were replaced with a horrid looking town. Sparse buildings were found, all large and historical looking. Soldiers from the war also occupied the area.
Roy got off the train and instantly headed to a secluded area. In his pocket were a few pieces of paper. One being a wrinkled paper from his father. On it was his mother’s address. Roy instantly began to ask people where he could find her. Slowly, step by step, he got closer and closer until he was standing in front of a tiny slummy house. He knocked on the door. His body stiff as stone. The door creaked open, revealing half of a young woman’s face. Her hair was short, far shorter than his, all spiked and red.
“Si?” She inquired.
Roy sighed, closed his eyes.
“E 'stato un po' la mamma.” With that the young but tired woman smiled.
“Roy is that you?” She only chuckled.
“I’m almost done with lunch… Come in.”
His mother. She wasn’t very motherly at all. She was short with her auburn hair. Her smile was brighter than the sun. He loved her very much.
She set down another helping of the food.
“Grazie.”