~~

Tumbleweed. A vulture’s scattered skeleton. Blistering feet. All enveloped by a blanket of hot sand that stretched out in every direction. The afternoon sun beat down on the two weary travellers. One, a young boy in his early adolescence. The other, an old man with an everlasting twinkle in his eye. They each carried a jackal on their backs with the arrows still lodged in the carcasses.

Suddenly, the old man halted.

He cheerily asked, “Charles, my boy. Do you see what I see up ahead?” Each of his words were spellbindingly raspy. The boy craved to be in his presence, for the old man exuded unconditional love.

“Yes uncle, it’s a Raider. They’ve recently set up a post at the far end of the village.” Charlie wiped his dripping forehead with the back of his sleeve. “What do you suppose we do? There are Raiders at every possible entrance.”

The old man dropped his jackal. He turned around and lifted his hat off his gray mane, perfectly eclipsing the sun. Now, his near-toothless smile was the brightest light source. With the other hand on his hip, he closed his eyes and began a merry jig. The pots and pans within his rucksack clapped along as he shook. Despite being ancient, he had a child’s heart. “La da dee, la da DUM!” he laughed.

It heartened Charlie to be in Uncle’s presence, but the truth was that he was afraid. Terrified almost. The Raiders took his parents. Not only that, practically the entire village’s adult population were either slaughtered or converted to Raiders by force. For the past few months, the settlement consisted mostly of children and the elderly. The only surviving adults capable of protection resided in the saloon, in which Charlie lived and worked. With no towns nearby, and with trading routes seized by the raiders, the nameless village was in a state of emergency. This was something that nobody talked about, let alone acted on.

“He’s going to take our jackals, Uncle. Can’t we turn around, please?”

The old man looked up at Charlie and concluded his dance with a lopsided twirl. He recovered on one knee, yet never lost that magic smile. “Turn around? But he might have something to say, Charles! We must give people a chance to speak, mustn’t we?”

"Yes Uncle,” Charlie muttered. There was no use in arguing. He lowered his head and began walking in the direction of the Raider. Maybe if he stayed small and unassuming, he could enter the village with his head intact.

“Very good!” the old man tightened the straps of his rucksack and stood up, watching as Charlie begrudgingly walked towards him. Just as their paths crossed such that the boy would take the lead, the old man offered the boy his hand. Charlie looked up at the very eyes of age. His dry lips couldn’t help it, they just had to smile back. He took Uncle’s calloused hand. With jackals on their backs, they approached the dark figure looming ahead.

~

As the two companions approached the Raider, Charlie managed to distract himself with a seagull flying overhead.

Now if I could train myself to aim at that bird, he thought, we’d have a few nights’ dinner!

Although entertaining, his daydreams were short-lived. The Raider’s daunting features were slowly emerging.

Like all Raiders, his entire outfit was black. Boots, pants and linen tunic. His head was wrapped in a massive black scarf of which the excess fluttered loosely in the wind. How these men didn’t suffer heat stroke was truly a mystery. To Charlie, however, their scimitar was the worst part. The curved blade was studded with black diamonds and slept unsheathed in the fabric tied around each Raider’s waist. Their stature was always monstrous, each standing at least a full head taller than what is normally considered a tall person. This Raider had his arms crossed in front of him, and he had probably been tracking their every move from behind his eye slits. The last unnervingly unifying feature between all Raiders was their silence.

Complete and total silence.

When they rode.

When they communicated.

When they attacked.

Meanwhile, Uncle was walking tall, picking (and eating) termites out of his curly white beard. Whistling a jolly tune and going on about the importance of morning stretches.

Of course, Charlie thought.

“Don’t you agree, Charles my boy?” he asked inquisitively.

“Sure, uncle,” Charlie muttered.

Uncle grinned. “I thought you would. Nothing like a good morning stretch to keep those muscles in tune. How else do you think I can perform my world-famous stunts? Watch out!”

“Uncle, please! I – “

It was too late. The old man dropped his jackal and rucksack and began sprinting in the direction of the Raider.

Oh no, thought Charlie.

“Hup!” cried Uncle and up he sprung, into the air and down for a perfect cartwheel. The sand rose and fell around him, dancing about his twirling body like golden glitter. ‘Round and ’round the old man spun until he once again propelled himself airborne. He’s going for his signature, Charlie thought - a swan dive into a summersault, finished like a real toy soldier standing stiff at attention. Uncle had always worn a serious face during his acrobatics, but he invariably cracked a smile at the sight of his audience’s laughter. The trouble was that this time, his audience was a cold-blooded murderer. Also, he had never stuck a landing before. He usually flip-flopped about until he found his balance. Incidentally, Raiders have this funny quirk about them where even the slightest misstep is seen as a lethal threat requiring annihilation. Charlie, knowing this, buried his face in his hands and awaited the worst.

“Oh, I can’t look,” the scared boy whimpered to himself.

Sure enough, as time has proven it to be true, Uncle absolutely biffed the landing. He came down on both ankles with his arms swinging wildly about him. To break his fall, he broke into another summersault.

Then another.

And another.

Feeling certain that the end had come, Charlie finally peeked through his fingers. Although what he saw was certainly not the end…it was worse.

Uncle was sitting criss-cross not two inches from the feet of the Raider, who towered over him completely unmoved.

“Uncle!” yelled Charlie. He dropped his jackal and rucksack and ran up to the two men. He was now close enough to yell at the Raider, but not much else. He loved Uncle, but he had also seen what a Raider was capable of. He had seen what they did to his parents.

“Excuse me, my good man,” Uncle placed his hands on his thighs and stood himself up.

Oh dear, this is it! thought Charlie.

“I believe that you require our valuables prior to our entering the city. Our bags are well behind us, but I assure you, their contents are of no use to you. In fact, I happen to have what you want right here. Right in my pockets.”

A humid desert breeze weaved between the company. Charlie’s hand quivered on the hilt of his undrawn dagger, his eyes locked onto Uncle. As for the Raider’s eyes, they were set ahead as if he were still surveying the land. Uncle stood smiling, possibly waiting for a response. A few moments passed like eternity to Charlie, when finally, the Raider extended his black palms in a gesture of acceptance. A Raider’s patience, however, was infamously thin.

Uncle had to act fast.

He reached into his jacket pockets and pulled out two tied pouches.

“This pouch here contains untold riches of the Far East,” and he dropped it into the Raider’s outstretched palm.

“This second one, well…I’m not too sure what it contains. You wouldn’t mind helping me open it, now, would you? These old hands of mine are terrible with untying small thread”

Please Uncle, stop it. Charlie could barely take anymore, but he knew he was helpless just standing there.

Uncle now dangled the small pouch well over his head, approximately eye level with the Raider. He imparted slight momentum as if he were taunting a housecat. His smile grew even wider, and his eyes sparkled brighter than ever.

Come on big guy, thought Uncle. Come on.

This was it; time had come to a standstill. More than anything, Charlie wanted to fall unconscious. Or even better, yell out. Something along the lines of, STOP! Please, that old man was the last flicker of love that his little village had, and love must survive. For hope’s sake.

But of course, nothing of the sort happened. Charlie was well off to the side and helpless. Uncle continued living on the verge of extinction and the Raider remained motionless. His hand was still outstretched. Waiting.

Just when Charlie really was beginning to lose his balance, the Raider reached for the hilt of his evil scimitar. Suddenly, Charlie turned automated. He unsheathed his dagger and began charging the Raider and screaming a primal scream.

The Raider drew his blade and in one fell swoop, tore the floating pouch clean in half. In that very instant, a puff of twinkling purple dust consumed the Raider’s head. Charlie stopped in his tracks. Uncle managed to mostly evade the mysterious powder, obviously knowing its effects, but it seemed to follow him like a swarm of bees. He began coughing manically while the Raider, who was absolutely engulfed by the stuff, dropped his scimitar and fell to his knees.

Finally, Uncle’s frantic eyes located Charlie. Between the coughs, he flashed him a confident smile. “Charles, my boy! Fetch the men, they’ll return our bodies to the saloon. The sleeping elixir will lose effect by nightfall!”

Charlie stood stunned. “Y…yes, Uncle.”

“Go, boy!” coughed the old man, “go!” Uncle dropped to his stomach. His eyes began to close. He felt spellbound by a cool hush of sleep. Within seconds, he slumbered. So too was the state of the Raider, who, like a true warrior, slipped unconscious on his knees.

Charlie ran. At first, he kept his eyes locked on the paralyzed Raider. He couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that the mercenary might suddenly start after him. If that did happen, Charlie would be caught in a matter of seconds. Raiders were remarkably agile on sand. He took a deep breath and focused on the short distance ahead. Think positive, he reminded himself. Without turning back, Charlie felt that the old man was safe and that his smile was the last part of him to fade, if it faded at all.

The seagull, Charlie’s fantasy dinner, was circling him as he ran among the tents and clay huts.

It watched as the child’s sweat soaked the sand beneath his feet.

Watched as the strap of his sandal tore open, leaving him to run the rest of the way half-barefooted.

Watched as he knocked frantically on the saloon doors, summoning a small gang of burly men.

Watched as they surrounded him, listening to his words intently.

Watched as their countenance grew increasingly alarmed, and their legs grew quickly restless.

Watched as he was swept up mid-sentence and thrown onto the shoulders of one of the men.

Watched as they all ran towards the outskirts of the village.

Watched as the kettle of peace sang with the steam of war.

Projections of stories called life

Recalled and forgotten, how strange

The final curtain draws, yet

One thing remains

That we look

And find

No change

Wrought with beginnings and ends

It all plays out quite like a dream

But pull back the veil, and

What do you see?

Nothing

Is as

It seems

You watch my clockwork as it spins

Then notice that I’ve lost a screw

While gears grind and rattle,

My song remains true

I will

Always

Love you

You’re walking down the street, absorbed in your tomorrows. Your eyes transfixed on the pavement before you. It’s a wonder the number of intersections you’ve passed without noticing, taking each step with a fate that you didn’t know you had.

Suddenly, your pupils are puppeteered to elevate. Then you see her. Or him. It doesn’t matter, because it’s not really a person you’re looking at. It’s more of a feeling. A walking feeling who, in this glorious moment, is simply divine. For this being is looking right through you. Its gaze never began and will not end. A gaze kept alive by the most beautiful of smiles. A smile from ear to ear. A smile that proves the existence of the soul, one burning ever so brightly.

In the moment that smile reaches you, it does so with the force of a siege engine. You instantly forget your plans, and your resentments no longer seem justified. Instead, you’re washed away by a tsunami of unconditional love. The same feeling you’ve been seeking in work, family and food. For just a minute you’re treading in liquid love, and everything is alright.

Looking back, you long to find that beautiful sidewalk angel again. For after your paths crossed that day, you made a point to keep your head up. To guard your mind against incessant waves of thought. To instead notice the blue skies above and to hear the white gull’s call and to feel your diaphragm expand by positioning your hands in a certain way. To one day meet again. And once in a great while, when you’re positively alone, you ask aloud how such a brief encounter could imprint so profoundly on one’s conscience.

At least once a day, Mr. Kwan Lee would leave a person feeling just that way. Although he lived a small-statured foreigner in a city that never sleeps, to others he was the giving tree that bore the very big apple in which they all resided.

Kwan’s infectious smile and crow-footed brown eyes made him a favourite among fellow immigrants. On his way to work, he would often walk through the morning markets. His reception there would invariably include hollers, waves and his pick at the local fruit stand. If he missed a button on his dress shirt, someone would surely tell him so. If his face harboured crumbs from the morning toast, the elderly woman he affectionately referred to as ‘Aunty’ would wipe them off dutifully. Then they would share in their regularly scheduled morning hug.

Yes, Kwan smiled, and the world smiled back. My guess is that his English barrier kept him from comfortably exchanging pleasantries – the language of the mind. As such, he kept everyone’s bucket filled with smiles and respectful bows – the language of the heart.

Kwan felt very grateful to share in all this kindness, especially on days in which he needed it the most. He lived on the 1st floor of a high-traffic condominium, where lobby conversations pierced his bedroom walls. His dwelling received little sunlight, so early each morning he cradled his beloved Aera Lee upon the well-lit balcony. This, he thought, maintained a healthy circadian rhythm. Kwan promised to be “best mom and dad.” That’s the way he related it to Aunty after she learned of his late wife.

On this particular morning, as Aera sleeps soundly in his arms, Kwan gives quiet thanks for the sunlight bathing her peaceful countenance. Thanks too for the heartbeat that warms her interior. A drum whose steady rhythm allows Aera to unwrap all the daily gifts that life continually offers her. With loving eyes Kwan thinks to himself, she picks what blooms. As Aera stirs awake, Kwan unfolds a beautiful smile to receive the one taking shape on her lips.

~

Kwan presses a handkerchief to his reddened neck. He checks for hemostasis as he walks away from the outdoor daycare, the playground disappearing behind him. Another difficult morning dropping Aera off. She clung so tightly… to his neck this time. Her screams for daddy are vicious, flying out her beet-red face with whiplash velocity. Kwan sighs deeply and adjusts his tie. He feels alright knowing that she’ll shriek with joy once they’re reunited at day’s end. She always does.

He centres his awareness on the present and can hear so many wonderful things. The sound of lovers laughing in the nearby park, the sound of dogs playing on the bright green field, and if he listens very hard, he can even hear what sounds like a fender bender. Not so wonderful. Although, it’s less than that. Like the sound of a bumper rebounding off a fire hydrant. No, even less than that. It’s like the sound of a tire rolling gently off a curb.

~

It’s the first house of the day and Kwan intends on making it a sale. He runs fully on commission and his English serves him best in the morning. Kwan rings the doorbell, steps back and adjusts his tie. He swallows. Footsteps soon approach and the latch unlocks. As the door creaks open, it is to Kwan’s great surprise that the gorgeous face of his beloved Aunty emerges from the narrow opening.

Aunty’s peering eyes meet his smiling ones and, sporting an adorable look of surprise, she swings the door open with tremendous force. Before Kwan can speak, he is bound in Aunty’s loving embrace. Kwan smiles and exhales simultaneously.

The next hour houses teatime, crumpets and an elegant signature confirming a projected start date for the painting of Aunty’s house.

“You know Kwan Lee,” she exclaims, “I really needed your smiling face today. In fact, I was thinking of you this morning.”

Kwan begins to blush. “Thank you, Aunty. I happy today I found your house.”

“Well, I’m happy too. You know, I…I…”

Before Kwan can take another sip, he watches as Aunty clutches her chest. He asks her what’s wrong, but his voice is muted by her coughing up her last bite of crumpet. They remain seated across from one another until they no longer are. For in the next instant, Aunty falls sideways off her chair. Kwan springs into action. He pushes against the table and dives to the floor, face-to-face with his beloved friend. Nothing but the forceful contraction of her lungs appears to move.

“Aunty!” cries Kwan, worried lines forming on his distressed face. “Aunty, listen! 23rd psalm, you remember you taught me? He leadeth me beside the still waters! When you tense, think still water clear in mind, remember? Like small lake among the pines! Stay with me, Aunty!”

Kwan remains prone and reaches for the phone in his back pocket. Before he can dial 911, his eyes lock onto the 12 missed calls from Aera’s daycare. Aera’s daycare. 12 missed calls. 12 attempts at reaching daddy. All in rapid succession.

“A…Aunty. I go,” Kwan stutters. He pauses, still laying prone.

For a moment, time stands still. Two faces pressed into the carpet. Crumbs scattered between them. The room is filled with the laboured breathing of froth-filled lungs. Aunty’s eyes are intense. She’s struggling to live yet still so full of life.

Kwan finds and squeezes her catatonic hand. “Aunty, it’s Aera. She need her daddy. I run there. I call ambulance on way. They come to your home. They know to come inside. Still water Aunty, calm mind! I love you!”

Aunty’s eyes seem to sparkle with approval. I have blessing, Kwan thinks to himself. He springs up and rushes to the door. With arms pumping and nostrils flaring, Kwan races down the busy street towards the daycare. His yellow tie flutters behind him like the flag of a navy ship.

As the playground comes into view, Kwan sees a large crowd gathered around a steaming car. The hood is warped. The left headlight is dangling just above the pavement. The window is cracked internally. Clear signs of a collision with something but – there’s nothing there. No cars. No fire hydrant. Was it a person?

“No,” Kwan wheezes. As he approaches the scene, he slows his run to a canter.

Closer.

Now a fast walk.

Closer.

He inches hesitantly towards the crowd. Between the onlookers, he sees blood streaked along the side of the vehicle.

The kindest man in town can’t take it anymore. Kwan Lee drops to his knees. Eyes cast downwards. Mind already set. His beloved daughter has been killed. The tears won’t fall. The clouds above are holding less water than his ducts, yet they are the first to cry. Small drops envelop the land. Some time passes, and rain turns to a bout of hail. The crowd begins to disperse. Someone asks if Mr. Lee is alright. Kwan doesn’t notice anything. He feels only a great rage stirring within. Anger at himself for ever coming to this country. For ever thinking he could be a good father. For ever thinking he’s deserving of love. For ever arguing with his wife. For ever -

“Daddy!” shrieks that familiar little voice. It penetrates his thoughts and dives into his core. Kwan lifts his head. Still on his knees, he watches as Aera’s petite legs carry her bouncing body towards him. She’s giggling as she passes the smoldering wreckage. Before her daddy has time to think, Aera’s arms are wrapped around him and her lips peck softly at his wounded neck.

“Did I do that, daddy? I’m sorry. I don’t like to see you go. Daddy, a deer hit a car today. But it’s okay. The deer is okay, daddy. It ran away into the bushes. What’s wrong, daddy?”

There’s a desert in Kwan’s throat. The tears begin to flow as the dam finally breaks.

“I love you, Aera Lee,” he chokes, “I’m glad you’re okay.” He smiles, lightly shakes his daughter and places a palm on the back of her head. He draws her in for a bigger hug.

Kwan begins to awaken within the dream, but not yet from it. Lucid enough to embrace his daughter with those same loving eyes. As they hold one another, Kwan’s relieved gaze catches something forming in the engine smoke.

He blinks.

It can’t be.

But it is.

A translucent apparition of Aunty is forming next to the fuming hood. Although hazy, her smiling face is undeniable. Kwan looks on with utter disbelief, pulling Aera even closer to his chest.

To Kwan, Aunty’s face is the very expression of content. She certainly knows where she is going and is happy to be headed there. It’s as if she has taken shape for his eyes alone. Only as a pit-stop, a way of saying thank you before the final departure.

Kwan doesn’t understand, but Aunty’s image nonetheless relaxes him. He smiles back at the ghost of love itself and gives a small, uncertain wave near Aera’s shoulder blades.

He feels his daughter naturally pull away.

“Okay, Daddy. It’s time for me to go now,” Aera’s soft, sweet smelling hair skims Kwan’s face. She looks into him with joyful eyes. “I love you so much and I will see you soon!”

With that, Kwan watches as his daughter skips towards the wreckage. Before he can yell out, Aera takes hold of Aunty’s hand.

She cheerfully twirls around. They both now face the stunned man.

He can’t speak.

Words do not form.

It takes all his power to watch the two standing there, smiling at him lovingly.

Then in the next eternity, Aunty and Aera both give lively waves and, without moving, sink back into the mist.

Before they disappear completely, Kwan remembers to smile and wave back, his hands trembling.

He no longer feels his sore knees.

Nor his anger.

Nor his relief.

Nor his disbelief.

Nor his confusion.

All he feels is what he felt last.

Happiness.

Happy because two angels had just smiled at him.

Cry, Kwon Lee thinks to himself, and you cry alone.

But smile, and the world smiles with you.