The Lost Son | Ferry's Tale # 2

Signs of spring, signs of storm (part two)

Without realizing it, they had reached the foot of the hill near Lavender's house. Ferry hesitated for a moment. They had not been here since their first and last kiss. It seemed to had happened such a long time ago. And yet, as if it happened yesterday ...

They would rest their bicycles against the old tree, then laid into the young, soft grass. The sun was caressing their faces and embracing their young bodies. From time to time, their fingers would touch each other, as if by mistake. Touching Matilda's warm hand made him feel at peace as if there was no care in the world. Ferry got up on one elbow, snatched a strand of grass and tickled Matilda's nose. Matilda always tickled. 

The girl chased him away without opening her eyes, "Ferry, stop."

Ferry noticed her full, red lips and the small freckles glistening in the sun. Her hair was ruffled as usual. Some of her hair strands were stuck on her cheek, and Ferry pulled them gently with his fingertips. The girl turned to him and opened her eyes. They stood for such a time, without saying anything, just looking at each other. And Ferry wondered how Matilda's so restless nature could bring him so much peace.

Soon, the sky was covered with fluffy, white clouds. The wind began to wander around them, giving them unusual shapes.

"We should go," Matilda said, waking him up from the numbness.

Ferry nodded and got up, heading for the bicycle. Matilda followed him shortly after. The wind was pushing them from behind, and now riding a bicycle seemed like a flight. They entered the town, laughing and shouting.

In the central square, however, the good mood disappeared. The sky had cleared and the wind was no longer playing, but becoming stronger, trying to send all the people of the town to their homes. On the still crowded sidewalk, Ferry saw the black figure of Mrs. Jones pushing Anne's wheelchair. In front of the grocery store, she stopped, leaving, as usual, the wheelchair in front of the store. From the revelation he experienced a few days ago, Ferry had always wondered who Anne was and what her place was in all this charade Mrs. Jones played and Andrew, or whatever his name was, stepped out of.

Ferry motioned to Matilda in Anne's direction. Matilda shook her head repeatedly, "Ferry, no! Don't go to her. You're going to be in trouble."

But Ferry had already crossed the street. He rested his bicycle against a street lamp and slowly stepped closer to Anne. He leaned near his wheelchair and gently touched her hand. She didn't even flinch. She wore the same black clothes, the glasses with the smoky lens and the dusty hat with black feathers.

"Anne, it's me, Ferry," he said softly. "How are you?"

The girl did not answer, but remained there, stiffed. Ferry had an idea--now, it was the time to see her eyes. The eyes are the mirror of the soul, his mother often said. With slow moves, so as not to frighten him, he took the glasses from his eyes. Anne didn't even look at him. Ferry looked into her eyes: they were small, like two beads and gleamed in a strange way. Matilda, who slowly approached, was looking at the strange creature that Anne was from a small distance.

"Anne, are you all right?" insisted Ferry. "It's me, Ferry. Don't you remember me?"

But Anne was staring blankly, her eyes small and piercing. Ferry put her glasses back on. Then, he noticed something strange--hat moved on the top of her head as if unseen hands would have fitted it better. Ferry wanted to take off the hat, but Anne pulled a sharp bird-like cry and scratched his face with her claw-hand.

Ferry quickly covered his face with his hand. The next second, Mrs. Jones came out of the grocery store.

"How many times have I told you to leave her alone?" she yelled at Ferry. Then, she pushed the wheelchair back to her house.