Watchful

He flew without knowing the reasons why other than that he was meant to and when he perched upon the branch he furled his wings about him and began his watch. He was on a mission, but there was no fear in this mission because the mission was ordained. The watch would last a night and in his timeless eyes all of existence was awake with him to witness.

-

When Martha Kay received the call to tell her that her father had died, Jonah was taking the bins out. Jonah took the bins out on Thursday nights, every Thursday he would go into the backyard, get the bins and passing his garden which he greatly enjoyed, would leave them by the roadside for the garbage men in the morning. Thursday nights were also the night that his mother would make him chicken pie, his favourite. With thoughts of chicken pie on his mind, he left the bins tidily by the road and was about to head inside when he was stopped by the distant call of a bird. He looked around for a moment, feeling uncannily that this birdcall was for him, just as if someone had called his name. It was a still night, the street was quiet and the Australian summer air was full of a disconcerting tension. Uneasily, he went back inside.

Jonah had walked in to find his mother collapsed on the floor, her whole body a single expression of anguish. She tugged at her shirt, the pleading and shrieking in her eyes filled Jonah with dread.

"What happened Mum? What's wrong?" But he didn’t need to ask.

A picture of Grandpa Joe hung on the wall, it was taken on one summer day during the school break, where after a day of tending to their garden, he would sit on the veranda and puff on his briar tobacco pipe, taking in his surroundings in the way of the perfectly contented.

Jonah was gutted, he knelt down by his mother, sorrow lodged deep in his heart for the man who had taught him how to live. He was not sure if this wound would heal.

For a while, they had clung to each other and wept in the living room.

“It’ll be OK mum. It’s OK, we’ll be right mum.”

Disbelieving words fell on futile ears. The old clock on the mantle ticked on with a cruel indifference and the aroma of chicken pie hung about like an unwelcome guest.

That night Jonah lay in his mother’s bed, not wanting to leave her side and yet completely unable to help her. He had watched her throughout the night, in fits of grief which racked her rake-thin body. Martha Kay, his dear mother, had taken so much pain in her life; Jonah did not know how much more she could bear. Outside the bedroom window, the moon was seated and steadfast in the clear night sky, overseeing all; Jonah wished he was more like the moon.

***

When Jonah was eleven, his father had left his family and their humble suburban life for a woman he had met in Thailand. It was in this time, that Jonah saw the strength of his mother, who had to work unrelenting hours at the bakery to support them. At night he would bear witness to her stifled sobs and in a state of helplessness and confusion curse his ‘dropkick’ of a father. Days and nights passed in this way, in an interminable directionless.

It was during this time that his grandfather, the aged lighthouse operator, had come down the coast from the Gulf of Carpentaria to stay with them for two months during the school break. Grandpa Joe had oak-branch arms and benevolent eyes which seemed to sparkle softly like the sun through leafy shade.

“G’day little fella, you must be Jonah!” he had said with a warm, wide smile.

During the nights, Grandpa Joe would tell him stories about the lighthouse where he lived. The lighthouse at the Gulf of Carpentaria was one of the few operative lighthouses in Australia and he had stayed there for over forty years after his wife had died.

“It was lonely work. And at that point in my life, I wanted to be alone,” he had begun, his eyes lost in remembrance.

“Those early months were some of the worst. For a long time, everything I saw seemed to remind me of her. When the noon sun would glisten on the sea, I thought I saw her smile. When the flock of seagulls would form in the breeze I felt I saw the way her hair would swing as she walked. Your grandma loved summer dresses and even the waves reminded me of the way the fabric would form about her in the wind. “

Grandpa Joe let out a wistful chuckle.

“It made me very sad at the time…” Grandpa stayed silent for a while.

“Did it get any better Grandpa?”

The old lighthouse operator, turned to face him slowly and gazing at him with a certain attentiveness said,

“Yes it did my boy, with time, and also with the night…”

“What happened at night Grandpa?”

“Well, you see Jonah, when the night came that’s when my job really begun. Back then we had to stay up, all night, ever-watchful, in case anybody needed our help out there on the sea.

And it was during those long, lonely hours, where everything was dark except the moon and the moon-lit sea, where I would contemplate the sea; this terrible beast which spread out as far as the eye could see and seemed to writhe and twist never-endingly in the dark. I thought of how deep it went and how far it stretched, and it would often feel like infinity, a complete mystery. It made me quite uncomfortable for a long time.”

And when Jonah envisioned what his grandfather told him, he grew quite scared too.

Grandpa Joe sensed the boy’s quietness and smiled.

“It became rather comforting though, you know, Jonah. Because it taught me something, that there are some things we can never understand, things we cannot control, things beyond us and unknown. And knowing that, one can only accept. And when we accept, there is peace…. And eventually, even in those mysterious nights, I began to feel like your grandmother was present there too, but in a different way.”

Grandpa Joe smiled at Jonah and ruffled his hair.

That night, Jonah lay awake for a time. He thought of the waves of the ocean, this dark expanse, of expressionless activity, murmuring and whispering, filling the still night, trying to say something unsayable…

On the last day that Jonah would see his grandfather, he woke up as the sun rose and bounded down the stairs to see him off. Grandpa Joe and Martha were chatting by the door.

“Here he comes!” Martha had said laughing.

“These are for you,” Grandpa Joe thrust in front of Jonah a heavy, worn rucksack. Jonah looked inside and saw a thick hardcover volume of Greek Myth along with a letter.

“I very much enjoyed the tales of the Greek heroes and their adventures when I was your age. I always felt there was something so true to life about them, more true to life than most people would think,” the aged lighthouse worker had a mysterious glint in his eyes as he said this.

A taxi cab had pulled up by the road and Grandpa Joe, after shaking Jonah's hand and kissing his daughter on the cheek, stepped out and made his way down the path, the soles of his leather boots clacking on the footpath as he went.

“Oh, and Jonah,” he pointed to a newly rested soil at the back of the garden.

“In a year this sunflower will be as tall as you. He will tower over your garden like a king presiding over his kingdom. Look after him will you? And keep those pesky cockatoos away from it.”

With that Grandpa Joe waved at them and the taxi took him away.

That night Jonah read the letter his Grandpa Joe had given him:

To my dear grandson,

My bright-eyed warrior, my truth-seeker with a gentle nature. It has been my great blessing to have gotten to know you in these last two months, to see the gold-hearted boy you have become and the emerging qualities of the man you will become.

Life is precious and full of meaning. But life can also be hard and full of trials. Do not be afraid or discouraged my boy, for these hardships are the most precious of gifts that life can give, because they will make you the man you are to become. These trials are like missions, and just like the Greek heroes of old they are yours and yours alone to undertake.

Sometimes these missions are not chosen by you, but the hidden workings of life have seen it fit to set them before you.

At such a young age, you have been given one such mission, to watch over your mother in your father's absence. Your father's wrong has harmed you both, but do not cling to it, accept, because in that acceptance there is peace and in that peace do what is right.

Your father has given you wounds, but those wounds will heal and will become the trophy scars of a well-fought battle.

Always remember, just as you watch over your mother, a warrior in her own right, I will watch over you both. I will always be with you. Do what you can for her; love her and be attentive to her, to help her in any way you can and to bring joy into her life.

Yours with love,

Grandpa Joe

Jonah kept his grandfather's letter enshrined on his bedside table, held down on each corner by four black pebbles. His room was kept sparse and bare, his bed, except when he was sleeping in it, was immaculately made.

His mornings were always the same, upon waking he would, with great solemnity, read his grandfather's letter; the paper streaked and glorified by the light of the morning sun. With those words on his mind he changed into his school uniform, ironed and well-pressed, and with all the gravity of an Arthurian knight preparing for battle would walk down the stairs.

A silver tin lunchbox and an apple awaited him on the kitchen table, along with a hand-written note.

I hope you have the most wonderful day, my boy!

Love Mum

He thought of his mother then, he saw her in her hairnet, an easy, uneven smile on her face that made one feel at home and unmistakable scent of just-baked bread. He knew his mother slept five hours a night, woke up before light and would have the bread in the oven by sunrise. He admired his mother and lingering on this thought he walked with purpose to catch the bus to school, chomping on his apple as he went

At school, Jonah spent his lunchtime alone, under the far-reaching canopy of an ancient Moreton Bay fig tree. In this little cubby, surrounded by streams of sunlight upon the fallen leaves, he would sit with his legs splayed out in front of him, Grandpa Joe's well-read tome of Greek Myth open on his lap.

When he had finished reading, he took out the silver tin lunchbox from his backpack and with great ceremony, would place it squarely upon his lap, take the sandwich that his mother had prepared and only after perfectly unwrapping it would take his first bites. He would think about how his mother had made it the night before and with this thought in mind he felt that this must surely be what ambrosia tasted like, the nectar of the gods.

The wind rustled the leaves of the great Moreton Bay and set its branches swaying lightly, he could hear the distant sounds of his schoolmates playing handball.

When school had ended, he would catch the bus home in anticipation. His mother would return home late in the afternoon, which gave him ample time to make sure the house was in order. He watered the flowers in the garden and made sure to give equal attention to the roses, the begonias and the sole sunflower of the garden which towered above the rest, cheery and proud.

After this he would see what needed to be done about the house, whether it be to wash the dishes, tidy living room, or to dust the house; whatever it was he did with the utmost earnestness of heart.

Every Monday, Jonah would select a few flowers from the garden and would place them in a vase upon their living room table and every week his mother would come home and unfailingly exclaim, with a bright face, how the “beautiful the arrangement was.” Jonah found great joy, in the face of her mother in that moment and it filled his heart with gladness.

***

Jonah stared absently out the bedroom window, in troubled reflection. He thought of the flowers which sat lonely in the dark of the living room downstairs and of how pointless his efforts were, he thought of how his mother would never smile again and of what little he could do about it. In that state, Jonah began to cry quietly making sure not to be loud so as not to wake up his mother.

A rich, reverberating birdcall shocked Jonah out of his despair and through his tears he saw two steadfast light-brown eyes fixed upon him through the moonlit night. Squinting, Jonah wiped his eyes, trying to make out the form. An owl perched on the branch staring at him.

In a moment his mind became very quiet, he stared back at the owl’s unblinking eyes; old ancient eyes which simultaneously scared and comforted him; a vision of eternity. Looking into those eyes, Jonah began to think of his grandfather, the old lighthouse worker, who worked through the night, ever-watchful of those needing help, those lost at sea who needed a way back home. He thought of the old man, his eyes wide awake and vigilant scanning the dark of the ocean, pipe in hand, tobacco smoke intermingling with the scent of coffee. Consoled by those eyes, Jonah fell asleep. The owl kept him until the morning.

When Jonah awoke, it was still dark. He got out of bed and quietly, so as to not wake his mother, went into his bedroom, and just like every other day, read the letter his grandpa had given him, before going downstairs to make French toast, his mother’s favourite.