Lonethorn

"Huh," Arnao Micael Serrano simply grunted as he put the full weight of his gaze on me, the same color of green as mine and my mother. For a three full heartbeats he stood there, staring and saying nothing. Then he opened his door wider and gestured for us to enter as he went up and hoisted our luggage after us. His home was modest and utilitarian. The living room as adjoined to the dining area, I know this because it was only signaled by the appearance of an small table fit for only four people if I was being generous and two if I was being truthful. Back at our home in the Towers, there were some partition to signify each area of the loft. And the entire first floor of my uncle's home was less than half the size of our loft.

"You know...." He started, settling down on a brown armchair with leather proofing. It was old and faded looking. We sat opposite him in a long chair with no cushions. I suspected that it was only there to serve its purpose for guests. Arnao Serrano did not strike me as a man who put much thought in fashionable decoration or expression, "I thought this might happen. The fact it took more than twelve years for you to come back with a child far exceeded my assumption."

Mother regained some of her usual mirth and cheek, rolled her eyes, "Thank you for that immense vote of confidence dear brother."

"Have you eaten yet? There is some callós in the pot for you and the little one if you are famished." He gestured to the kitchen, also adjoined to the dining area and very much visible to us in the living room (if it can be called that).

"Thank you Arn,"

He merely grunted.

The kettle whistled and Uncle Arnao got up. Mother also got up but my uncle simply help up a hand. A moment later he returned with three cups on a tray with small ceramic pot and other complementary smaller sets. That surprised me really. At first impression he seemed like a grim man but maybe there were more to him.

"Well Anda? Out with it. Why are you truly back home?" He gruffed as he settled once back more on his chair, cup in hand.

"I make for a terrible mother." My mother simply uttered. I did not look up as I fiddled with my drink. Mother hadn't put me in through all those propriety and manners classes without ingraining the lessons on my spirit. I anticipated the air heavy with what is to be a serious discussion between adults. I wanted to be out of there and play instead, maybe wander on the beachside while the mother and uncle talked but mother did not give me leave to do so. And so I stayed, helplessly. And bored, let's not forget bored.

Uncle Arnao did not look terribly surprised at my mother's admittance. Instead his gaze was calm and steady.

"Don't sell yourself short, Anda. The boy looks well fed and well mannered enough."

"It's not just that, Arn. I feel this...yearning. One that persists even after Anrique was born. You know what I speak of. The desire to travel, to mingle and to celebrate. The Joyful curse of Sor that makes me want to celebrate life. I thought it would go away. Or at the very least muted or buried. It did not. I fear suppressing it would poison me or make me twisted, and direct it to someone undeserving. Someone blameless," Mother looked to me and I met her gaze, it was for an instant before she turned away and went on, "Not everyone is fit to be parents. The crux of it is at times is when you realize it after the fact," she sighed, weary and heavy, then added, "I do not want to end up like mother and father, twisted and bitter."

In my young mind I began to comprehend of what is the conclusion of this trip of ours. Of what it entailed as I listened to my mother's words. It gripped my heart heavily. I felt helpless but nonetheless propelled by forces that were beyond my influence, as if I was adrift on a river against its currents.

"So you wish to impart another mouth to feed?" uncle asked.

My mother shrugged helplessly, "My lifestyle isn't fit for a child. It isn't a salubrious environment to nurture a boy of eight."

"And what of the boy's father? Where is he in all of this?"

"Leofstan would have taken Anrique without a second thought. But his present.....circumstances would have put our son in a far more precarious environment." Never once heard my father's given name before. I only ever called him pa or father. And mother only referred to him simply as 'luv'.

"Leofstan? That sounds Malrish," Uncle Arnao deduced.

"He is Malrish," Mother confirmed

"Why me? Why not Agostin? Or Anthona for that matter." Agostin? Antona? More of mother's siblings I wondered? Mother never spoke much of them. And it was a surprise to hear that mother had more family out there.

"Agostin? Seriously?" there was a wry tone in my mother's voice.

This time it was my grim uncle's turn to shrug.

"And Anthona? she has more than enough children to look after don't you think?" Children? I have cousins as well?

"I'm not asking you to look after him for the rest of his natural life. Teach him. Teach him as you did us. To be independent and to fend for ourselves, to be the pillar we relied on till we were truly able to care for ourselves," She implored.

Arnao Serrano didn't say anything. He merely looked at his sister, and for the first time I saw real emotion there not the fixed scowl that so naturally comes to his features. That emotion was weariness. And it made him look years older than what he truly is. But there was a bit of compassion in them as well. And seeing the littlest bit of compassion in a soul as grim and callous as Arnao Serrano was indeed a thing of wonder.

"You do know what you ask of me sister? I am more akin to father and mother."

"Not entirely. You are kinder."

He scoffed and waved a hand away, some of that old jadedness returning, "Alvaro would beg to differ."

"How is he? I keep writing him letters but he never replies." Another uncle it seems.

My uncle said nothing. Now the miniscule warmth in his eyes were truly gone and in their place was concentrated bane that I shrunk in my seat and edged closer to mother, shielded from his view.

Mother held his gaze, I was surprised she was able to weather it. But I think that that glare was not aimed at mother but at the supposed uncle I have yet to meet. What had he done so to incur such ire from this man, I do not know nor do not want to get in the middle of. It was then also that I came to notice the first downside at having extended familial relations; the dysfunctional drama.

Mother was about to break the silence but one wave of uncle hand said what he had to say in the matter of uncle Alvaro, that he did not want to discuss it.

Then, as if in a phantom of my mother's skill in changing the subject, uncle spoke.

"Very well then."

That shook my mother awake from whatever reverie that held the moment. "Y-you accept then?" she said, almost unbelieving.

Uncle Arnao, seemed to mull it over, seeming to have second thoughts before finally speaking, "More like acquiesce really but yes." Mother jumped from her seat and gave a surprise embrace on uncle who was as taken back as I've seen the man in the short span I've met him. He surrendered and gave mother a gingerly tap on her back, the only gesture he could muster.

All the while I sat there, helpless. Not consulted on my opinion on the matter. Not that I had any at the time. I was a child then. Wherever would mother go, I simply followed. Whatever she wished, I obeyed. And truth be told, I didn't know what I would have truly done. Mother was indeed right, a wisdom I had not recognized till in later years, when I saw the full scope of the darkness that can twist the love in people's heart into something vile and sinister.