Note: I think this story is me trying to cope with the fact that I’m going to die one day, and it will probably be far sooner than I would like it to be. Based off of a story of the same name by George Macdonald. Is the picture entirely unrelated to the story? Maybe yes, but who are you?!
I
People always complain about sad stories. They moan on about how the story depresses, leaves them wishing they had never begun the adventure; I take issue with that assertion. If I may, the joy and love that exists in a story, between relations of people, is most exposed in the grief that follows. I would even say that all stories eventually end in grief if the author is only brave enough to carry them on long enough, but in no way does that make them sad. But I’ve had my time to talk. To the story.
Simeon, the young little protagonist of this tale, lived in a single-horse stable. Well his family owned a small house, more a cottage really. It was hardly larger than the stable itself, but Simeon slept in the stable. It had a little loft where Simeon spent his nights heated by the family horse below and even if his family did own a house of stature, Simeon would undoubtedly remain in the stable. To leave their horse Soren all alone at night would be a horrid act in the mind of this child.
During the morning Simeon would attend his classes—how excited he was to attend his second year—but after breakfast and before leaving for them, he helped his Father ready the cab that the old man drove for work. This pair of calloused hands had emotions that were no softer than his palms, but Simeon never went about feeling unloved. His father, beginning to weary with age, would then work the morning alone to be joined by his son in the late afternoon. Simeon would get up and down from the cab, opening and closing the door, making polite conversation with every stranger to which they gave a ride.
As you may have heard in other tales I’ve told or any other story worthy of account, fairies are very much alive and well in this world. They interact, speak, move, and live in quite a loud manner if people would only listen. One stands out above the rest, though, and is worthy of a short explanation as he is integral to this story; Elijah, more a spirit of sorts, is one deeply connected with nature itself so be not surprised when he changes as like a leaf in autumn or the wind before a storm. And now, with al that drab backstory out of the way that, our story can finally begin.
II
One night, when a small cough kept the child Simeon awake, he heard a gentle whisper near his ear, behind his pillow. Why, it sounded as if the wind was speaking a long, drawn out ‘hello.’ Not yet privy to the tendencies of fairyland, Simeon rolled over and covered his ear with his pillow. While it blocked out much sound, still he heard a muffled greeting, coaxing him into giving up his effort for sleep.
Simeon conceded his fight and sat up. By where his head lay, in the wall, he saw for the first time a tiny little hole. He stuffed straw into it and lay back down. As we may expect, the wind quickly pushed the straw out and on it sang. While it first sounded like a hello, now Simeon swore the wind was speaking his name. He moved his head closer to the hole.
“Closer,” it spoke.
Simeon stuck two little fingers through the hole and flaked off more wood. In rushed the wind, swirled about, whipping up a ruckus, and then slowly began to take form: paws, teeth, fangs, hair and lots of it. In Simeon’s little a lion slowly took form as the whirl of wind slowed down. Though it was small enough to fit into the little stable, it still seemed to have a certain massiveness about it.
“Why hello, Simeon,” the lion said.
Endearingly unafraid, Simeon reached out and stuck his hand in the creatures fur.
“Are you real?” Simeon asked.
“Well can you feel me?”
“Yes”
“And do you see me?”
“Yes.”
“How do I smell?”
“Like the air on a rainy spring day.”
“Then why ought I not be real?”
Simeon looked at his face.
“Well what’s your name then?” Simeon stopped petting, got onto his knees, and looked even closer at the lion’s face.
“Well aren’t you rather inquisitive. I’ve had many names. Some have called me Pneuma, others before them Ruach, many call me the wind. You, though, may call me Elijah.”
“Elijah,” Simeon repeated. “Why are you here?”
“Because you listened,” Elijah said. “I’ve spoken to everyone at least once in their lifetime. Everyone in a slightly different way and to you several times already in your short little life. Tonight you chose to listen.”
“Well, I must ask, Elijah,” the boy said. “Was it right for you to barge in here just like that? I’ll get yelled at tomorrow for the size of that hole in this wall.”
“Well is it right and proper for you to barge into my house everyday?” the lion retorted, shaking its mane rather cockishly.
“What do you mean?”
“Outside. Where I live. You come into my house everyday without ever having asked.”
“Oh,” the boy paused. “Well I’m sorry, Mr. Elijah. I didn’t know there was anyone to offend out there.”
“It’s quite alright.”
“But why did you come?” Simeon asked, frustrated that his questions was only sort of answered the first time.
“There are things you need to see.” Elijah asked. “But before I can show them to you, I need to know if you will trust me, no matter how I may appear. Do you?”
“Well, right now you appear rather lovely and you haven’t given me any reason not to trust you,” replied the child.
Now, if you have never before read one of my tales or, even worse, if you’re not one accustomed to fairy stories, you may be here rather confused. Why is a lion in the stable of a poor boy? How inconceivable, how unrealistic, some may grumble. Well, although there may never be a real lion in your bedroom, surely you have felt like there was the presence of something ferocious and gallant in a room with you. Listen to it next time.
“Then meet me outside and hurry. The wind waits for no man,” and with that Elijah swirled back through the hole in the wall.
Simeon quickly grabbed his socks to put them on, laced up his shoes, and was about to leave when he realized how dreadfully indecent it would be for him go about in his pajamas. He unlaced his shoes, kicked them off, and quickly changed pants. Once dressed in adequate outer garments, he put his shoes back on, relaced his shoes, said goodbye to Soren, and left.
Outside, he looked about for Elijah, but saw nothing. Everything was still. Everything was dark. There was a gentle rustle in a far off tree and then Simeon was alone. Like any child would left alone in the dark, Simeon began to cry. A light in the cottage turned on and out rushed the boy’s mother. She was a beautiful woman of the old kind. Her voice as respected in the town as most of the men’s.
She ran over to the child, muttering under her breath, and scooped him into her arms.
“Poor thing,” she said. “You must have caught a fever. Having a nightmare.”
She clicked her tongue and carried him inside. Simeon was still sniffling too hard to offer correction and had fallen asleep by the time his mother reach the hardwood of her bedroom.
III
The following day was a peculiar one. Simeon’s parents let him sleep through his first lecture on grammar and when he awoke pancakes with a side of milk waited for him at the table, far more than even Simeon knew the family could spare. As he ate, his mother watched him concerned, but as soon as the pancake and juice were gone her face softened and she shooed him out the door to the schoolhouse.
As he walked to school, having all but forgotten about the events of the previous night, the wind blew his hair. A leaf floated past his head, falling almost straight, and landed on the ground. Next to where it lay, a grasshopper stood on its two back legs. Simeon crouched down to look at the peculiar critter. It didn’t hop away.
“Hello Mr. Grasshopper,” Simeon said and reach forward to catch it.
“Well there is a name I have never been called before,” the little thing responded. Simeon pulled away.
“Don’t you recognize me, Simeon? Can you not hear the similarity in my voice as I speak?”
“Elijah. Well I had forgotten about you. I’m so sorry. Except. Where did you go last night? And why are you so small?”
“Feel the air, there is only a gentle breeze and so I am only a gentle creature. You only need a gentle reminder right now. As for the former question, I told you the wind waits for no man. It is not in my nature and I can only do what is in my nature, which I assure you is always best.”
“Well will I get another chance?” Simeon did not have to strain, for the grasshopper’s voice was just as strong as the lion’s the night before.
“Tonight. Now get to class.”
And Simeon did, though good chance he retained anything the teacher taught.
IV
That night, as Simeon crawled into bed, he once again heard the whistle of the wind whipping past the hole in his wall. His father had put a temporary patch over it, which Simeon ripped off and letting in a gust. Tonight, Elijah was a tiger. Simeon noticed for the first time a similarity across all of Elijah’s forms; no matter how large or small the wind appeared, a pair of the bluest eyes remained constant as an anchor.
“Tonight, we must travel far,” Elijah said. “We have work to do.”
“Shall I dress warm? The wind is so gusty tonight.”
“It won’t be necessary. Most people find themselves shivering as I blow, but they only find themselves in this state because they are against me. You will be traveling with me and I shall keep you warm.”
And so, still in his pajamas, not willing to risk another lost chance, Simeon ran down the stairs to his yard. There waiting for him, in full form, was Elijah. No longer was he shrunk down to fit inside the stable, but was the size of three animals. Underneath his paws the grass was bent straight to the ground.
“Climb onto my back and grab tight,” Elijah said. “We will move fast, but I will not let you fall.”
At that, the tiger bent his head down and allowed Simeon to climb onto his back. Once situated Simeon gave an ‘ok’ muffled by fur and Elijah bounded off. With an ethereal movement like smoke, Elijah leapt into the air and together they flew over the treetops.
Everyone has at some point had the experience of a strong wind rushing past their ears and the ruckus it makes and how we have to shout over the wind to hear another. This was not so for Simeon. Though the houses, trees, lights, and people beneath him flew by too fast to see, sitting on Elijah was a peaceful, silent experience, like sitting on swing that always moved forward.
“We will stop soon,” came Elijah’s voice after a short time.
Slowly, the trees beneath became more discernable and the sensation of the swing slowed to a stop. Once upon the ground, Simeon looked around to see a town not unlike his own: houses of modest size and the occasional mutter from a horse.
“Why are we here?” Simeon asked.
“I have an errand I must run.”
“But surely you don’t need to buy any fruits or vegetables, Mr. Wind.”
“Your innocence makes me smile. Wait here.”
Elijah stepped forward. And then took another step and then began to speed up and then began bounding, straight towards a house. Right as the giant tiger was about to collide head on with the door, Elijah collapsed down into a wind, blowing the front door open, filled out into a tiger once again, and then rushed up the stairs. Simeon ran towards the house and saw the curtains in the upper room begin to blow and the light in the bedroom turn on. A man screamed and Elijah jumped back out of the top window.
“Grab on, we must run.”
“Did you kill him, Mr. Wind?” Simeon stuttered. He didn’t get on.
“Grab on, Simeon.”
“I heard that man scream.”
“I am to people what they need me to be. I did not kill him. Only scared him. Had I killed him, though, and it would not be my first.”
“I’m not sure I want to ride you, Elijah.” And Simeon ran away.
As fast as his little legs could carry him he ran away from the wind. He saw the high steeple of the town church and ran towards the structure. Past porches, past stores, past late night onlookers Simeon ran, growing tired as the wind gusted against him. Despite the effort, he began to shiver as his pajamas were meant to have a cover over them. Finally, he reached a church named “St. Matthews” and ran in its open doors.
Simeon found himself safe from the cold and the wind. No one was around, but the moon shined through the stained glass windows, painting saints onto walls. Tired and confused, Simeon laid down on a cushioned pew and after perhaps an hour of fretting and wondering, was overcome by sleep.
He awoke the next morning to his mother stroking his cheek. She looked so concerned.
“Where am I?” he asked. “And how did you find me here?”
“Find you here, Simeon? Why your Father and I brought you here last night. The doctor lives in this convent and he will take of you,” She said.
V
Simeon slept long hours in that hospital. The doctor kept giving him some bitter, black liquid that always made him sleepy.
Now, as a narrator, there are so many other little details that’d I’d love to include, but that would just give everything away and what fun is a story then if the reader can always figure out what will happen in the end. For that reason, allow me to jump ahead a few more days. As I’m sure you guessed, Elijah visited the little boy again.
It was unnaturally warm for the season, so the doctor had left the window cracked ever so slightly that night. The curtain hangers, frustrated by their bindings to the metal rod upon which they hung, began to bang about in the wind. Simeon sat. He heard the rushing of the wind. Though he was still scared a little by the idea of Elijah, he kept thinking back to the soft eyes of the faerie gazing back at him. As the night progressed, the wind settled down and so did Simeon’s hope. He fell asleep.
When the deep night came around, when even the darkness hid from itself behind the clouds, Simeon heard a whistle. He sat up and looked around, but still saw no Elijah. Right as he was about to drift off to sleep again, he heard the tiniest of little peeps. On his bed was the tiniest of little bed bugs. Simeon knew who it was.
“Hello, child,” came the strongest of little voices.
“Elijah,” Simeon was excited.
“So you seem to have found it in your heart to forgive me?” Elijah got straight to the point.
“Well, I had sort of forgotten about that,” he stammered. “But I guess it still does bother me. Why did you kill that man?”
“Kill him? No I did not kill him. I only frightened him. Do you remember who I scared?”
“Well I guess the shout sounded like a man’s.”
“Yes, I growled and snarled and did all I did to set his heart afright but did not hurt him,” The lion explained.
“Why even do that? I sure do not like being frightened.”
What if I told you he was an alcoholic about to strike his wife for the first time?”
“Well then I guess it’s a good thing you scared him so.”
“Yes. Yes it was. Today, he does not even remember seeing me. When he saw me, hair rumpled and dripping spit as I snarled all he saw was what he already had become. He saw himself.”
“Well how come you’re always nice to me?”
“I am to people what they need me to be, Simeon.”
“Well does that mean I’m good?”
“I don’t think I need to tell you the answer to that question, Simeon. What do you think?”
Simeon sat up quick, but sat back again and thought. “That day when my Mother served me pancakes, I stole food from another kid at school.”
Elijah stared sternly at him, though Simeon could not see it for Elijah was still so small, and then the faerie’s face softened.
“As I’ve told you. I’ve been called many things. Fierce at times, calm at others. Always present, always what you need if only you reconsider what it is you need. But enough of me for now. It is time to go.”
“But how ever will you be able to carry me when you’re so small?”
“What is it that you’re doing right now?”
“Shivering?” Simeon had pulled the covers over himself.
“That’s because the wind is picking up. A rain is coming. Very soon I’ll be large again.”
“Where are we going?” Simeon asked.
“Back to where I’m from. The North. Meet me outside.” And Elijah disappeared through the window. Simeon scrambled out of bed and rushed over to the window. Sure enough, the curtains had begun to shake again and a loud whistle came from the hole in his wall. Still with bare childish feet, he crawled out down the latter, said goodbye to Soren, and then ran outside.
“Ready?” Elijah asked. He was once again a large lion. Without answer, Simeon crawled onto his back and dug his small hands deep into the mass of fur. Elijah began walking, then running, then bounding, and then leapt into the air carrying Simeon with him.
Past houses, trees, fields, people, roads, cities, towns they flew. This ride lasted longer than the last time Simeon flew with Elijah and even though he was with the wind he felt the air growing colder; the plants underneath him were changing, less trees and more shrubs. Snow appeared on the landscape and grew closer and closer to them as they traveled. Finally, when there was only white left to see, Simeon felt them slowing down and his feet once again touched ground. A door stood alone in a frame amidst all the white.
“Where are we?” Simeon asked.
“Where the wind comes from.”
“And where do you live?”
“Through this door.” The lion responded. He sat down in front of the frame and his tail whisked back and forth.
“Through you?”
“Amen.”
“Can I go there?”
“It will hurt.”
“But why?”
“Because of what you told me in your bed tonight. That morning your Father skipped a meal so you could eat and you went into the world and stole.”
“And I’m sorry for it.”
“I know and that is while you will not die. But brace yourself and step through me.”
“Through you?”
“Trust me.”
Simeon took a step forward and stopped. The lion reached up a paw, placed it on Simeon’s face, and nodded. The child stepped through into the lion and immediately all was black.
VI
It was cold, horribly cold, like an icicle scraping away the top layers of his skin. Right as Simeon could bear it no longer he found himself awake again in another land, a land strikingly similar to his own. Tree branches knocked together. He was a little cold. And yet, despite all the similarity, it was not home. He noticed it first in his breath—each one felt so complete. The air was cool and fresh as he breathed it, and yet his body was perfectly warm.
He could have just watched in content, melted into the grass and become one with the view, but like all little boys, chose to explore instead. The grass was soft—like his foot submerged in water—but it was still just grass. In the distance, mountains rose and danced with the clouds, the Earth’s branches in the wind. Simeon headed towards them.
After a short way, he came upon a dirt road and followed it. Sitting a little ways down there was a man dressed in a shirt and pants covered in black and white stripes. His face was unshaven, his feet were bare, and he held a guitar. He was softly singing to himself. As quiet as it was, Simeon could make out the words:
There, amidst the grass, was a tiny tree.
Hanging from its branches was a tattered swing
Like a gold earring
Rusted and bent out of shape, but still adorning the yard.
Smiling, I pressed down on my brakes.
Distracted, leaving the leather seat,
To clatter to the ground,
I saw the children that had met
And aged around and left
This humble little thing.
So I tested its strength and began to swing.
The colors of the world began to sing
Like ghosts, blue and gold. Then a cloud passed
The sun and you were in its shadow
So I leapt into the air and fell,
Like a leaf, twirled down in the breeze
To land and float on the sky.
“Excurse me, sir. You play so wonderfully, but where am I?” asked Simeon.
“Oh, hello, chil’,” said the man. “Well, funny you ask that question. I never much cared to learn the name of this place. I always jus’ wanted t’enjoy it.”
Simeon looked at him quizzically.
“Ya see. There are lots a people and creatures all around this here place and each one finds their own way to take pleasure in it. Some write, others sing, some dance, some build, others laugh, some eat, others drink. Really there are as many ways to enjoy it as there are people. How you think you want to, chil’?”
“Well I’d love to listen to you sing another song, mister. Maybe even sing if I can.”
“And nothing would make me happier,” said the man and he began to sing again; his voice a symphony in itself, singing layers and layers of melody.
An old man, the end of the bloodline
Pressure weaker than the fingers
twitching soft; there are three hallways
Left and gentle breath lifting his chest.
Time yet to think of many things;
The empty clothes, hopes for a hand’s
Touch, a moment of connection
And so until the very end, reflecting life.
A young man before a wind blown tree
Like a pure sine sound wave, repetitive,
The branches bend just to one
Side and snap back ever unchanged.
Breathing and sweating he reached,
Trying to catch the air,
But it flowed through his grasp
Through roads and walkways to a sanitized room.
Despite the futile efforts there’s beauty
in the stalwart branches blowing
Like the hospital curtains giving
A calming breeze to a dying old man.
As the man sang, the world, this world, filled with color. Like a balloon bulging with air, every tree became greener, every stone harder, every fox redder. It must have been weeks that Simeon sat there, resting when he needed to, never growing hungry.
“Well, I think I’ll be done for now,” the man said abruptly after one song. They hugged. Simeon walked on.
He saw a castle far in the distance and took a long stroll there. Despite its distance, Simeon could make it out perfectly, entirely white. Like a bride dressed in her wedding gown with every wall and house perfectly adorning the mountain on which it sat. The castle grew taller up along the side of the mountain. The upper layer was clear like the crystal beads of a tiara.
Simeon grew eager, but continued on at a slow stroll. Still only half way there, he heard a voice to his right. It was his Mothers. She was calling out his name, loudly, sadly. He turned and saw her apparition in the distance; it plastered the sky in colors.
Why was she so sad? He reached out and felt a pull at his arm. Stepping towards it now, he felt a pull on his foot, now his whole body. His vision went black and then he felt water falling over his faceand he saw memories he did not even know he had, laughter, his horse smelling the air every night before laying down, the wheel falling off the first time he rode the cab with his Father.
He opened his eyes. He was home. His mother was staring down at him. She pulled him into a big hug and told him she loved him
VII
Simeon said nothing of his travels. Nothing of the time spent through that door. He knew it would be a long time before Elijah visited again.
In that time, winter came. Simeon’s Father, in hopes to expand the family’s fortunes invested in another horse, bought from a wealthy landowner near town. However, within only a few short days of work it was lamed. While Soren, lean on the family’s meager rations, was yet a strong and resolute horse, Rosie came to them rather soft and rounded at the edges. She stepped on a large stone and rolled her ankle. Within hours herlower leg bowed out like a warped floor board and Rosie could barely walk for more than a few hours in the morning.
One week, Simeon’s father came down with a horrible Grippe. For several days, he came home earlier and earlier from his shift as a cabbie, and by day three it was a success if he could manage to get out of bed and to only start a fire in the family’s furnace.
On the first night of his Father’s illness, Simeon woke up after a few hours of sleep. He heard the wind blowing past the still roughly patched up hole in his wall. He peeled back the patching and waited. Nothing came—only a whisper of the wind.
And yet it seemed to call him forward. He crawled to the hole on all fours and looked through. The light of his parents’ room was still on. Simeon was intrigued. This time, he took time to put his shoes on and stick his arms through his coat before he went outside.
Tiptoeing through the dewy grass he heard his mother’s sobs before he even reached the window.
“How will we make it, John?” She asked his Father. Simeon could not see in the window because of the shades, but he had seen his parents discuss these sorts of things before. His Mother never looked up, but his Father’s eyes would flit back and forth between their held hands and his mother’s face.
“We’ll have to go without many things, Elizabeth, yes, but winter only lasts months. When Spring comes, business will puck up and I can sell Rosie at the market. She won’t catch a very high price, but at least she won’t cause anymore loss. Until then, we will do what we can.”
“And what about Simeon?”
“I’ll skip more meals.” Surely his father looked down here. “Tips been unusually recently, but Simeon cannot know. He’ll only refuse to eat if he knows. I’ll still get better without meals. I have youth in me yet, but he is too young to go without.”
Simeon waited at the window, but his parents were done talking. He heard a few rustles and the lights finally turned off.
No one in that family slept that night. Simeon, instead, spent his time preparing Soren for a day’s work. Because of his size, it took effort to get every piece of equipment ready. He had to try and throw the saddle on the horse, but it was too heavy for him to get up. After a few tries, the horse understood what was happening and knelt down to aid the boy.
As the sun rose, Simeon took Soren out to the cab, laced him up, and took him into town before his parents could know what happened. Having never lead the horse alone, the rope grew moist under Simeon’s hands, but through the entire day it drove the horse past potholes, across towns, and into a small day’s wage. A few cab drivers tried to hustle him and steal his clients, but those who knew John respected the family enough to either defend Simeon or even give up their opportunities for him.
That afternoon, Simeon drove the horse home. As he rolled up, his father had managed to get out of bed and was waiting for his son on the front steps of the humble home. He was frowning. Simeon jumped down from the cab and slowly walked towards his father.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he began. His father layed a heavy hand on his shoulder, then knelt down, and hugged him.
With his family’s situation, Simeon could not attend school that winter and instead helped his Father with the work. He would take Rosie out for a short morning shift, carting travelers short distances with light loads to help the horse heal, and helping his father in the afternoon. As the roads grew rough with the freeze and unfreeze, an ever changing landscape of potholes and sludge, the family rolled roughshod through the winter.
VIII
Winter was nearing its end. The family had made it through. With the long hours working in the cold, Simeon wasn’t often home, but he heard his Mother say something of a fever again, though he knew not if she spoke of him or his father. He began coughing again, though, as he was driving, hitting maybe a bump or two more than he ought to because of it. But it did not seem to bother him as he thought of the land beyond Elijah. He knew the wind would would pick back up with Spring.
Sure enough, the first storm accompanied new buds and brought with it gale force winds. The roof over Simeon’s head began to leak, but he didn’t cower. He knew Elijah was coming for him. He kept the hole in his wall unpatched so the wind could come in whenever it so pleased. Through all the storm, nothing happened. Then as it began to subside and the wind dropped to an almost apologetic, gentle breeze, the spirit showed up.
“Tonight, Simeon, we go for one final ride,” he said. Simeon knew that this time he would have time to put on his slippers. He did. Once outside, he gave a look to his parents’ window. He began crying, but was not sure why, and climbed onto Elijah’s back.
The following morning, Simeon’s mother found him wrapped up in his covers. However, this time, when the fever had struck, Simeon did not rustle and fret in the night, sleep walking around town. No. This time he was brought to a far greater peace. The following night Soren was cold, missing the sixty pounds of warmth that normally slept above him.
lexicalmorsels 