A short story by Jarryd Warjri
A SMALL boy looked at the sky and thought to himself, “I wish I could take that and put it in my pocket.”
The fascination he had with this big piece of the world grew. Through some agreed upon behaviour he looked up to the sky every chance he got.
His father would look at him and say, “The boy is pointless it seems, he keeps staring into nothing.”
Try as he might, he could not judge a final activity to further him away from this nothingness. He tried to teach him how to fish, it was still the same, he was more interested in the opaque view of the sky, he loved it when the ripples of the water would distort the refection into so many shrivels, like an old soul grinding into its end, with smirks of blue and white. The colours mixed and intermingled and he glimmered in delight. He would splash the water as soon as it calmed, scaring the fish away back into their little dark homes. Then his father would say it again’ the boy is useless it seems, he keeps staring into nothing’.
His mother was worried too. She tried to talk to him but he never paid any attention; he was staring at the sky, still admiring and still goggle eyed over this big piece of the world. She tried to pull him out of this obsession but her futile efforts were disrupted by his immense concentration. She cooked for him the best cuisines and dishes, his favourite pasta and special noodles with chicken and red sauce but he was more interested with the clouds that he was setting together in his blue plate. The noodles it seemed were an instrument for the shifting clouds, acting like the winds with their translucent direction and the chicken were shapes of the angels and tortoises like figurines of clouds that were more clearer and precise with their sharp features, the red sauce was contoured to form the shape of a small red plane flying with the clouds at its back and glee filled his heart. He would rearrange it and create other features and the food was left in the plate.
It was then that his mother said: “Your father is right, you are pointless, you keep staring into nothing.”
The boy had an uncle from his father’s side, a kind of uncle who would pop up every now and then. One fine day came to visit. He was a man far apart from the surroundings of the boy. He was a traveller, a lover of the world and a man who has acquired a rather quaint wisdom.
One day he came to visit, as he sat on the porch sipping his tea, his sight came upon the boy, gazing blissfully at the sky. He looked at the boy with great amazement; he asked himself, “Why is this boy so observant of the sky? Does he have the ability to communicate?” Watching the boy as he sat next to him, he wondered: “Why does the boy enjoy this nothingness? Is it the pure deciding factor of his brother and his sister-in-law that this boy is worth nothing and thinks of nothing?”
He wouldn’t give up though. While the boy walked he stared upwards as if the sky was a mirror that the can use as his vision of the road and when he was spoken to ,he would respond with both eyes fixed on the sky as if it was a make shift television set that was broadcasting a live chat show.
His uncle delved deeper into his nephews supposed nothingness, he went into the boy’s room and warranted the room as if a court order had been charged, trying to find a device, a gimmick by which he could place blame to the boy’s unending condition. The drawers were empty, the cabinet filled with space, the mattress was only the dwelling of cotton bunnies and rubbish paper and the bed held only the trunks of luggage. He was utterly amazed by the fortitude of this boy to set his mind on one thing without a device or a gimmick. As he sat there heaving a sigh of un-accomplished efforts, he peered through the window that held the boys attention from morning to night. He saw the beauty of the blue sky with its undulating peace and he was awe struck. He traced the skyline to the border of the window and saw the truth. There were scraps of sky posters, he followed them down and saw the scraps of rolled up paper. He walked heavily as if there right before him was the proof of this boy’s obsession. He rolled open the paper and saw the scribbling of blue and white crayon colours, but it was lacking much in rendition and technique. A relief and a pain filled his heart and he walked off the room.
The next day, the boy’s uncle left early and returned just before dusk. The Boy was on his usual trend, his usual high or his amusement park. The uncle crept heavily towards the Boy like a fat rat trying to scurry across the floor, but he ended up making more noise than that was intended. He walked up to the boy and said, “Oi! Boy! Look here for one moment, will you?”
The boy answered with his head still up at the sky, “Yes uncle I can hear you.”
The uncle urged him again, “Oi! Boy, look at me!” The boy answered again with his neck extended more as to give the sky more importance. The uncle tried one last time, “Oi! Boy, I promise if you look at me now you will never need to raise your head so high just to get a better view of this love of yours.”
The boy lowered his head and to face his uncle. He looked at him and the uncle thrust a package into his hands before leaving. The boy opened it and saw the gift, a simple camera with a note attached:
‘My darling nephew,
It would seem that you are perpetuated by a single dilemma. You want to recreate the beauty of your love, the sky. There is a whole world filled with the exact beauty you see before you every day. When you are done capturing the sky look down on the earth and capture its beauty too. Use this as an instrument of bringing what you most desire into your hands.
With love, your uncle’
The boy took the camera, and with a few short clicks his love was in his hands. He was content and happy. He looked up and looked around; he saw a tree brimming to the top with red flowers, swaying in the wind, beautifully like a colourful flamenco dancer. He looked up at the sky again before lowering his head to take a snap of the beautiful red tree.