Torment

SONS & DAUGHTERS OF MEN

The sun was barely reaching the horizon when Burns had finally woken out of her sound sleep. And like the other days, she was again, restless. She could not deny the fact that her father's words troubled her. Although his persuasion for her to go back Italy was not direct, his statements were clear enough for Burns to realise that Homer still wanted her to go away and leave her mother behind. She was also aware that she could leave anytime she wanted but at the same time, she could never ignore this almost unimaginable force that was stopping her to do so.

Since Burns didn't want to think about it she quickly took a shower and went out from her room. As she walked her way to the staircase she noticed that her father too, was also awake and with his legs sophisticatedly crossed, he was alone sitting in the balcony. She noticed that he was holding a charcoal pencil in hand and as usual, accompanied with a glass of wine by his side. For a moment Burns stopped to stare at Homer. His words never left her head. If you can leave, you will leave. It kept pounding against her temples. Was her father right? Would it be more irrational to stay? But at the same time, she had already confirmed her decisions to Rosalie, her mother who wanted to be with her.

She took a deep heavy breath and closed her eyes for a second. All at once, she could also not ignore her peaceful mornings in Palermo. Since then, Homer would always wake up earlier than Burns. Every morning, it was a routine that she would walk to their special parlour. Every morning she would venture her way to the balcony and see the displayed replicas of their Renaissance and Baroque paintings, admire her leather classic books that were piled up neatly, and glance to where her harpsichord was standing. Every morning, she would find Homer in the balcony before the sun rises, always sitting by himself sketching, contemplating and drinking wine. Where they would eat breakfast, and watch the sunrise along with view of the crystal blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. It was melancholic to miss those peaceful memories she had. But it was different now, was it? Burns had already set her mind to stay.

"Dad." She walked towards Homer and took the seat opposite to his. Burns glanced quickly to his artwork but she only managed to see half of the drawing because she had to look away the moment his eyes met hers.

"It's still early." He sighed as he placed his pencil and sketchbook downwards on the table so she could not see through it. Burns was used to it. Her father barely shared anything to her. Though she knew his love and care for her was illimitable, most of the time she was rather feeling disconnected. Burns was aware of Homer's devious nonchalance and relentless enigma. She knew he had a terrible past but at the same time, like wires that had been cut off and thrown away into mangle of sorrows, she was never certain of these thoughts. There was no evidence of his past except for Rosalie and people's accusations of him. She found nothing in Europe either. All his things were kept secretly private. Everything that linked to Homer's previous life had all been destroyed with his sanity. Burns also knew that he would never tell her anything at all.

Sometimes, she could not help but to wonder how their relationship as father and daughter had been maintained with love and respect although she hardly knew him. Indeed, he had given her everything he could give her and in return, giving him privacy and space was significant enough to show her love for her father. Of course, Burns wished he would say something about him but then again the enigma that enveloped her father was thicker and darker. It was all over him. And altering this sounded more dangerous. Triggering emotions from a tormented man was apparently far more menacing than anything a person could do.

"But we're always up early, right?" It was true. Their time in the morning together was some sort of special bonding for them. Since Homer was a busy man and Burns was focus with her studies the only time they actually talk was every morning, in their little balcony in Palermo. "Since you started the wine business you've been so busy." She uttered and leaned her back comfortably on the chair.