Aban's Accension

Chapter 27: The Clash

“You got lucky. You’re not going to evade me this time.” The man swings again. Again, El ducks.

“I am not evading you. I am here,” says El.

The man says nothing but swings violently for El’s middle. And keeps on swinging past El, the weight of the board staggering him almost to the ground. Aban doesn’t believe her eyes. She must’ve blinked 'cause she didn’t see El move. One minute he’s in the path of the board, the next he’s off to the side. The man regains his feet, shakes his head, and searches around for El, looking as bewildered as Aban feels.

He spots El, “How’d...?” Confusion quickly gives way to his rage. His mouth closes tight, his eyes sink into his cheeks, his lips compress into his teeth, and his whole face thrusts forward. “You think you’re so smart, eh? You think you know everything? You think the whole world loves you and should bow down to you? Well, no way man. And I'm gonna teach you that. You can’t get away from me forever. You and your fancy pancy ways. You’re not going to get away with this.”

“I have gotten away with nothing. I gave you my help in the storm, and your wife thanked me. I offered you cakes, as I offered them to everyone, and you took them but did not share them with your wife. Yet now you say you don’t want my help. You have free will, you have the right to say 'no'. Why then are you so angry?”

“I have a right to be angry. How dare you stand there judging me, you freak. You started it. You stir things up, making people do bad things to each other. My wife is leaving me because of you! You’re not going to get away with this!” And he lunges forward and brings down the board right over El’s head. But El is not there. He is in a different place, his back to Aban, and the man and the board hit the ground hard. El looks down at the fallen. Neither move. The man lies stunned upon the board.

“How can you blame me for something you’ve brought onto yourself? You have free will to do what you please, as does your wife. You blame me for her leaving you. But have you looked at yourself? You have looked at everyone else but yourself. First, you blame your wife: you are angry because of her; you lost your job because of her; you drink because of her. You say she nags you all the time. Yet have you listened to yourself, how you talk to her? It is easier for you to say these things than to look at yourself and see the rage within. You blame me for your wife leaving you, but it is you who drove her away. It was me who showed her the light within herself, the light you were snuffing out because you had long since snuffed out your own. You wanted her to stay in the darkness with you. But she, like you, has free will. She wants to be in the light, not in the dark. You blame me. But you chose the dark. And yet I helped you when you needed me. What was it about that gesture that so offended you, made you so afraid? You do not want to need others? You want to live in the illusion of one man is sufficient unto himself? Do so, but do not expect your wife to hold on to that myth.

“By my actions, I showed you a different way, and you scorned it. You say my way brings judgement and separation and violence, but it is you who is judging and bringing violence. It is you who drove your wife to separate from you. It is easier to blame others, to say it’s your victim’s fault or the fault of the one who shows you a different path, than to change your mind and take responsibilitiy for your thoughts, words, and actions. You are angry because I am showing you the consequences of your own will. It is you who chose violence and separation. You who are afraid because you are comfortable with your rightness. It is you who chose not to see the truth. You are angry because I am showing you how futile rage and fear and violence are. They cannot prevail.”

The man pushes himself up to his knees, his hands remaining on the ground, his head dropping between his arms, breathing hard. He pushes himself up to a kneeling position, then up to standing, swaying slightly. He turns his face toward Aban, and Aban gasps. Such hatred. If looks could kill. Suddenly, she understands that phrase and steps back quickly, away from the screen door, hoping he cannot see her. But he doesn’t; he is too intent on El. How can El not hate back in return?

Why didn’t El give up on you?

Why, she wonders. She has no answer.

El remains loose, yet to Aban, it’s as if steel has invaded his back. His back proclaims, “You cannot prevail against me.” She shivers. A strange phrase she often heard from her classmates in school comes into her mind: “Resistance is futile.” She believes. She believes El’s back. She believes that El can bend her will if he wants to, he can turn her life into anything he wants to, he can prevail not only against violence but also her own desires. Yet he doesn’t force his will on her like Mom does -- did. He isn’t using violence against this man. He isn’t even picking up a board to protect himself. He’s remaining open; he isn’t giving hate for hate or anger for anger. He’s doing something else. She doesn’t understand. How can he be so, so…?

She hadn’t seen that steel aimed at her ever. Or had she?

Even if she had, El had kept talking to her, like he’s doing with this weirdo. Yeah, he gets mad. But he’s never stopped trying, not with her. Everything that has happened to her these last few weeks is 'cause he never gave up on her, never told her he was going to turn his back on her and wash his hands of her, 'cause he waited until she finally saw and heard what he’d said, what Mom’d said. And she’d woken up. She herself had changed her own mind. Yeah, El prevailed, but not against her, but for her.

El is for her.

The thought paralyzes her, and she no longer sees the scene in front of her while she turns this thought over and over in her mind. Whereas Mom shut her down, and that speaker at the SkyDome hypnotized them, El opened up her mind to show her herself to herself and to show her another way of being. She hasn’t followed really – does she want to? – but El hasn’t given up, he hasn’t yelled at her or beat her up 'cause she won’t agree with him. He just keeps on talking.

Resistance is futile.

A shout refocuses her eyes on the scene in the yard. The man is advancing upon El, his upraised arms ending in fists so tight his knuckles strain the skin, his eyes menacing El. El stretches his steel-like spine up and thrusts back his shoulders into a powerful stance.

The man hesitates.

The man tosses his head toward El in an I'll-be-back-later gesture.

The man steps to the side of El, drops his hands once past El, and strolls off, his gait showing the effort of not running. El watches him disappear into the alley between the houses, his eyes still full of pity and sadness.

The confrontation over, Aban’s attention wanders away from El to the yard itself. It is covered in soft, peach-fuzz green. She frowns. The green is bright, like that of new growth, not of moss or too-damp soil.

Aban flings open the screen door. She doesn’t notice El turning to watch her as she walks across the small deck and looks down at the ground. Where the soil is packed and the birds had pecked, there is no green. Where the men had clashed, there is no green. Where the creeping charlie and clover hog the ground, there is no new green, only the dark hard green of the weeds. But everywhere else, soft, bright, fresh green covers the soil, even in the darkest shadows, even under the pine trees.

This cannot be.

Her eyes are deceiving her.

“Your eyes do not deceive, Aban. Though you did not believe, the earth did, I did, and even the dew and humidity did as they served to water the seed.”

Aban raises her wide-open eyes to his, “But that’s impossible.”

El smiles, his brown eyes crinkle, his mouth twitches up, his whole face transforms from pity and sadness to pleasure and joy. “Yet there it is.”