Vampeires: Origins

MEMORIES

The night had wrapped it all up again in his mantle of shadows, and though the image before me through the window was beautiful, nothing could comfort the feeling of sadness and longing that grew within me as my father's march. My mother was walking around the house as a soul in grief, not speaking, preparing the things my father would need on his journey to the kingdom capital. My father joked that with everything my mother was preparing for him, it seemed more like a move.

I was just observing that man who had always been a giant for me and who, with the passage of time, was diminishing to be of the same height, although heavier. He spent most of his time in his workshop working on something that I didn't pay attention to. His hands moved skillfully, caught in the small piece of metal he was manipulating, hammering when required, and embossing the contours as harmoniously as if he were stroking a baby. I had enjoyed this scene thousands of times when I was a kid. I remembered how my father without raising his head from his work, he said to me —The metal is the word of God even without pronouncing, that's why goldsmiths play at being gods by giving shape to Him by means of the word that flows from our interior.— Then, turning back to where I was, he asked me to approach him to admire what his enormous and warm hand was holding. I well remember that heart-shaped work surrounded by masterfully crafted thorns so that none of the spikes touched the surface of the golden heart. —It symbolizes the strong man who is kept away from everything that damages him, however much this pain surrounds him, he will remain prudently away from that continuous danger.— he said, giving me his best smile.

—You should be with your friends— he talked me out of my memories —it's not good to let them worry about you.— He rose up as agile as he always remembered him, and moved away from his workbench towards where I was standing still. When he came to my place he reached out his arm and slowly opened the palm of his hand, letting me see the shining piece. It was a pendant very similar to the one I remember, but with notable differences. This was a heart made entirely of gold, which appeared with a zigzagging line from the top to the bottom dividing it into two parts. In the middle of it there was another smaller heart where my name appeared. On each piece of the main heart were my parents' names. Masterfully, he had created a very small chain that passed through each piece, joining them to the smallest heart.

—If you want we can stay for the rest of the night like this, come on take it — He said to me laughing as I had rarely seen him do. I hesitated to take the chain that held that little wonderfull crafting and lifted it up to put it in front of my eyes —it's a gift for you to remember us all the days of your life. I'm sorry I didn't have more time to finish it better.....

—Don't worry, it's beautiful the way it is.— I didn't let him finish the sentence.

He helped me put it on and when he looked at my chest through the opening in the neck of the shirt he joked that I had more muscles than he did and all the old men of his age. We laughed. We spent a lot of time talking about banal, everyday things, like any other day while I didn't stop unconsciously playing with my little heart.

The imminent march made my need to leave the house increase, for as the hour drew nearer I felt a growing tightness in my chest, which I had to let out before I was completely consumed. I left the workshop hugging my father and thanking him again for the gift. I walked into the small room and saw my mother sitting like a statue with an absent expression. I knelt before her and asked —Mom, are you okay?— What a silly question! No, she wasn't feeling well! But what could I do? Slowly she moved her eyes to mine and grabbed my hands cradling them in hers.

—Yes... I'm fine honey, don't worry, you'll see how soon he'll be back.

The tears that were beginning to flow from his gray eyes betrayed what her words were trying to hide. Then, seeing my mother in that state, I remembered the promise made to my father, how could I be so selfish? Thinking only of my pain when my mother seemed to die at times? At that very moment I swore to myself that I would take care of my mother by putting her before all my needs and keep the promise until my father returned from that bloody war, a war that was determined to take away everything that mattered in my life.