The Beginning

A Short Story

This story is a submission to the STSC's Symposium. A collection of works by our resident artists, writers, photographers, and filmmakers, inspired by a monthly prompt.

This month’s prompt: ‘Beginnings.’

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I don’t know where I begin. Not here, in this journal. But in my life, in me. All those memories winding back down the spiral staircase of my existence, each step a little darker. If I look up it’s the same. My future becoming more obscure the longer I look into it. I can’t see a beginning or an end.

But I feel it. The roots embedded in the back of my mind reach down that staircase. They trail down into the dark, tremors reverberating up through brittle bark. The wish for a mothers love and a fathers word hidden within a wanting son.

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Glastonbury Tor, December 31st, 1999. I don’t know how we got there but I remember climbing the hill. I had to dig my hands into the dirt, pull myself up on the steep parts. Dad was just behind me, nudging when I needed help. Mum followed, glaring at him while she huffed.

‘We should have taken the path.’ She said.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ He winked at me.

I could see the Tower above flickering in orange light, shadows dancing on its stone walls. Low clouds sped across a blanket of stars and it looked like it was floating, hovering there a beacon in the dark. It made me giddy.

Older boys and girls darted past us, laughing with each other. Others were climbing left and right, families and their friends. They came from all directions singing and calling out to each other, celebrating a new millennium. It looked like half the town. No fear in speaking to strangers, no fear in making friends.

The hill levelled out as we reached the top and I could see where the shadows on the Tower began. Men and women crowded in a circle breathing fire and juggling. They were showing each other their routines. Breathers showed jugglers how to spit flame, jugglers showed breathers how to throw. They lit the hill not only with light, but with spirit. I watched them spur each other on, guide each other as they shared their craft. Voices loud and bright, laughter filling the night sky. Their bodies, bathed in fire-light, sent long shadows across the damp grass and up the sides of the Tower contorting its shape in the dark.

One man lay on his back, legs in the air, balancing a little girl on the bottom of his feet. Kids gathered round him watching the girl giggle and pleading for their turn.

‘Mum, look!’ She didn’t hear me, she was bickering with Dad.

I tugged at her trousers. ‘Can we go and see?’

‘You go.’ She said in a flash, distracted.

I looked over to the children huddled in awe at the flying girl. So many of them together; little arms over little shoulders, heads resting on heads, a babble of words from wide grins. An audience for the girl, and me, If I dared join them.

I tugged at her trousers again. ‘Can you come too?’

I held on a second longer hoping she’d give me a smile. A warm one, a glow in the dark. One that said, “it’s ok, I’ll be right behind you.” But all I saw was her glare aimed straight at Dad, undeterred and deadly. I could see him getting angry. I wouldn’t dream of asking him anything when he was like that. I let go of her trousers and looked over to the Tower.

It was like a lone castle turret, an immense hollow block unmoved for hundreds of years. The arches that made its entrances were twice the height of any man on that hill, and four times as wide. It flickered in the dim light, walls expanding and shrinking in shadow, breathing fast as if life was inside. Ending or beginning I couldn’t tell.

Steady flashes came out from the arches, orange like the light from the fire-breathers — but it wasn’t flame. It was too steady. It had rhythm. I stepped closer trying to catch a glimpse of what was inside but smoke stood thick in the arch, creeping down the single step and across the stone outside. It looked hot and I thought of Dragons and hidden gold in the stories Dad used to tell me.

I started to walk, shuffling my feet and pulling at my clammy fingers. I stepped up onto the stone paving. I could hear music. A steady beat pumped in time with the light, electronic sounds like waves up and down and round and round sung out from the arch. I liked it. I wanted to go in, through the smoke.

I looked back to Mum. Dad was pointing at her. It looked like they were shouting but I couldn’t hear them over the din of wild laughter and music. I looked to the smoke, my heart pounding, my palms in a sweat. It had already crept around my feet and flicked up my ankles. I stepped back thinking it would be hot. It followed me, like roots seeking soil, reaching for something or someone. I knelt down, a little anxious, and waved my hand through it. Cool and thin, not like the bellows of grey-black smoke from fire. It was white, and seemed to sparkle in the dim light. Curiosity took hold. I shuffled to the arch and peered inside.

Through the mist were legs like tree trunks. A bouncing forest of cargo trousers and bare feet. I could hear their dull thud against the stone, the music pumping as it echoed across the stone walls, loud but not deafening. Orange light flashed through the cracks between foot and thigh. Openings appeared fast and disappeared faster. The same light pulsed above and I could see the tops of heads, but no faces. They were in silhouette, bright light highlighting their writhing figures. In and out of sight as hot orange light burst down like suns, flashing through days and nights in mere seconds. Some of them were looking down at me, leaning over and ruffling my hair, beckoning me in. I wish I could have seen them. Their voices were kind but I couldn’t see through the darkness, only a faint suggestion of features on otherwise blank faces. They moved apart for me and I began shuffling through. More hands ruffled my hair, calls and hollers came down to greet me. I couldn’t look up at all those faceless leering heads.

Pops and bangs flared from outside, fireworks high in the sky. The forest of feet trickled towards the arches. I pulled my arms in and shoulders up as they brushed past. They all pressed against each other looking out, stretching to see, cheering and kissing. Just one man was left. He stood facing a stand with turntables and two great speakers either side, towering like him. He was in the centre of the floor, still dancing. He wasn’t waving his arms, or laughing, or shouting like the others had been. He just stood there swaying, nodding to the beat. I walked round him, staying a little way off so I could see his face. Without all the bodies blocking the light it flashed all around the room. He was wearing a green half-zip fleece, cargo trousers, and combat boots. He was bald except for a thin plait hanging from the back of his head. He was looking down but his eyes were closed.

I wondered how he did it. All those faces around him, eyes closing in, even mine; wondering and curious. But he wasn’t worried about them. Maybe he didn’t even know they were there. He was alone in his little world of rhythm, unafraid. That’s a man who knew where he ended and began, a whole man, self-assured. I wanted to dance like him.

I started to tap my foot. I didn’t know what to do at first but it soon became easy. I didn’t need to find the rhythm, it found me. I felt myself swaying my shoulders and nodding my head. I tried to close my eyes like the man, but as soon as I did I wondered if he was looking, watching me dance like him. I’d look up, see he wasn’t, and close them again, willing myself to keep them closed.

Shouts came from behind us; the others saw us dancing. They crowded round clapping and cheering me on, following my lead. I kept going but I saw their piercing eyes and felt afraid. The man turned to see what was going on and saw me. He crouched down sitting on his heels, cheering and clapping with the others. His smile flashed under the lights, warm and generous like a thin Buddha. I caught his grey-green eyes for just a moment before a wave of embarrassment washed over me. I stopped moving, dropped my head, stared at the floor. I heard chuckles above me, aw’s and oh’s. Some ruffled my hair again. Others told me, ‘It’s alright.’

I ran out through the arch, laughter behind me. Mum was looking for me outside.

‘Mum!’

‘Where have you been?’ She swept me up and sat me on her hip. Her eyes and cheeks were wet.

‘Why are you crying?’

‘It doesn’t matter now. Look! Look at all the pretty lights.’

She pointed up at the fireworks popping and whizzing through the night. Yellow and green, white and blue. They showered the sky like meteors exploding into a thousand flecks of gold.

I turned to see where Dad was. I saw him walking back down the hill, pack on his shoulders.

‘Where is Dad going?

She stared into the sky. ‘He’s going on a journey.’

‘Where is he going?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘When is he coming back?’

Her eyes fluttered and she bit her lip trying to hold back tears.

She looked at me. ‘I don’t know.’

I looked for him again but he was gone. She watched me as I searched, hurting more than I did. Her eyes on a lonely lamb in the wild, praying she could keep him safe.

She wiped her eyes and rest her head on mine. ‘It’s ok, you’ll see him soon.’

Crowds had gathered all over the hill for the fireworks. Singing and dancing broke out in long lines and wide circles, arms round shoulders and hands in hands. The dancing man came towards us through the sea of bodies, a great big smile on his face.

‘Your boy is a good dancer!’ He called.

‘Is that where you were? Dancing in the Tor!’

He was looking at me with his grey piercing eyes. I buried my face in Mum’s neck. She laughed.

‘Come on, you. The man gave you a compliment!’

‘It’s alright.’ He said.

He leaned in, right by my ear. ‘Don’t forget,’ he said. ‘You’re a good dancer.’ He touched the back of my head and chuckled.

I wanted to look, to say something, but I couldn’t. I was too shy, too embarrassed.

‘Come on then.’ Mum said.

I felt her walking. Voices surrounded us as she waded through the crowd. I peeked out hoping to see the dancing man but he was gone, too.

The fire-breathers were sat together on the edge of the hill. Kids were with them jumping on their backs and trying to juggle. One of the breathers stood just on the edge. He had hessian mats laid out on the wet grass. Some of the kids were sliding down the hill on them, joyful screams as they vanished.

‘Look at them! Do you want a go?’ Mum said.

I shook my head.

She put me down on the grass. ‘Go on. It looks like fun!’

I looked at the breathers, the kids waiting for their turn.

‘Come with me.’ I said.

‘Oh, come on then!’ She said, rolling her eyes.

She took my hand and led me to the edge, the man held out a mat.

‘Ticket for two?’ He said.

‘Yes please.’ Mum said, looking down at me, smiling.

He dropped the mat down on the edge. Mum sat down and held out her hand. I took it, stepped over her leg, and sat between her knees.

‘You hold on tight now.’ The man said.

‘Are you ready?’ Mum said.

I stared over the edge. It was black, pitch black except for the slight flashes of fireworks lighting six or so feet down the hill. I couldn’t make out the bottom. My heart beat fast. A short ride into darkness.

‘Don’t look down.’ She said. ‘Look up.’

I did. I looked up to the sky. All I could see was light, light everywhere; flashes of green and white and blue. With every pop came flecks of gold, each one a new star in the night, together new constellations — the whole sky made anew.

‘Can we come here for the next millennium?’ I asked.

She burst with laughter, ‘of course we can.’ She kissed my head. ‘Here’s to a new beginning, just me and you.’

I thought of Dad. I wanted to know where he was going, when he would be back. I wanted to hear the stories of where he had been, what he did, who he met, already, a minute after he had left. I wanted to know who he was, so I could be like him. He said so little. I thought of the dancing man, who in one sentence said so much. I could still find him, if I wanted to. But Mum was so warm, her arms wrapped around me, a little too tight.

There was my battle. Torn between the comfort of a mother and the words of a father. Pulled one way and then another. Round and round with no beginning and no end.

She pushed off and we plunged into darkness.

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