Post by Baltasar de Cordova on Mar 22, 2009 23:14:33 GMT -5
The sign had been up on th front of the store for some days now, but my grand opening had not occurred. I had been busying myself since my arrival in Terred D'Ange with making the shop perfect in readiness. I went about, finding
carpenters to make the furnishings, upholsterers to fabricate my ideas, glass makers for my glasses and goblets, the wares that would make me a success here. I knew that d'Angelines are a proud people, a people who prize beauty over many things. I needed to make sure that my shoppe was beautiful, like them, but still had an Aragonian flare.
The curtains to the front of the shoppe remained drawn, leaving onlookers to glance at the near floor to ceiling glasses in awe and wonderment, intrigued by what might be behind the black and red brocaded curtains. They would glance at the name, and wonder at it's meaning. El Parra -- the grapevine. It was perfect. The name had come to me instantly, thinking on the intrigue of the place, the rumours that people loved to divulge, secrets and lies alike, flowing freely over a glass of finely flavoured wine. It was a play on words, and in my mother tongue.
Perfect.
I glanced around the shoppe, made ready now, with low and high tables. They were made of a sturdy detaild wood, the tops a mosaic of broken black and red coloured glass, fastened by clear adhesive, sanded down to a levelness, and polished to a high gleam so that if the sun were to come in, lights of black and red would bounce against the pale grey walls. The floor was wood, darkly stained and gleaming. The chairs were comfortable, with plush seats and backs in a soft but sturdy black cloth. To the left of the entrance stood my pride and joy - the bar. It took up the entire side of that wall. It was lined with stools for seating at the high bar, also of wood and polished.
Behind the space where I would be serving was the wall. It was wrought with a plethora of cubby holes, that would soon house my wines, the unchilled ones ready for serving and for purchase as well. Above the large and expansive wine rack were where my glasses, flutes and goblets hung, upside down supported by two wooden spindles and their bases.
At the beginning of the bar was a glass display, ready for sweets and treats, meats and small food items to be displayed, and at the very end of the bar was a swinging door leading to the small but functional kitchen. In there, was a door that led to the cellar where the wines would be kept to chill in their crates and casks, once they arrived. That was the last part, waiting on the arrival.
I took a seat in one of the plush chairs. They would be here today, that I knew, and I was antsy to get started, to see if my business would take off like I supposed it would. My hands rested on the mosaic of glass, the cracks filled in with a mooth, amber coloured substance, as I thought back to my last day in Aragonia.... and the conversation I had had with my mother.
"Balta... mi hijo," she murmured, taking my face in her hands. She had called for me and was in the middle of the vineyard, no one around to hear us, no one around to see us, just us two. I had been puzzled at first, but then realized she wanted to say her good byes. I stooped and placed a kiss on her forehead.
"Yes mama," I said with a smile, standing upright before her. She was a small, beautiful woman. If tales told correctly, she was a great beauty, and that had bewitched my father from the very beginning. I looked down at her now, seeing sadness writ in the fine lines of her face, and behind her eyes too. "Mama, don't be sad. I have always wanted to go to Terre D'Ange. This is my chance now. This is what I have been waiting for."
"I know," she murmured, her eyes turning away from my face. There was something, a weight she bore, that was evident in those two words alone.
"Mama?" I asked gently. "What is the matter?" She dropped her hands from my face and turned away, moving away from me. I followed beside her, lookin at the top of her head as she cast her gaze downward to the ground.
"There is somewhat I must tell you, mi hijo," she said at last, stopping to stare off into the horizon. I followed her gaze and found nothing there. Knitting my brows in worry, I turned to her, facing her as she stayed facing away from me.
"Well tell me what it is mother, maybe I can help. Maybe there is something I can do?"
She laughed then. Bitterly.
"No, nothing you can do now, it's too late, its been done. Been done for more than twenty three years now," she murmured. Twenty three.... that was when I was born. This conversation was getting more and more confusing, and it didn't seem to be heading in a great direction.
"What do you mean by that mother?" I asked, pulling back from her somewhat.
She turned to me, her gaze coming to rest on my eyes without even looking for them, as if she knew where they were right away.
"Have you ever wondered, Balta, why it is you are so beautiful, why your eyes are so blue?" She asked gently.
"No mama, I always chalked it up to your doing," I said with a smile.
"My doing is right, son, but not in the way that you think."
"Mother," I murmured, taking her shoulders gently in my hands. "We have very little time left. If there is something you must say, then say it. Please mama, spare me the suspense."
"What I tell you, you must swear to me you will not voice to anyone else. Do you understand me Balta?" She asked, her voice raising, a fierce fire in her eyes. I had never disobeyed her before, and I was not about to start now.
"You have my word, mama, now tell me, what is it?"
"Mi cara," she muttered in endearment, her voice a shadow to what it had been before. "Mi cara, you are not his son."
It took a moment for the words to sink in. I wasn't sure what she meant, and then it hit me.
"Mama," I said, my voice holding a warning tone as I grew rather angry. "Mama what on earth do you mean I am not his son."
"You, are not, his son," she hissed at me angrilly, the shame she felt was plain on her face, which she buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, loud and wailing as she fell to her knees.
"Mama, no," I murmured, shaking my head, side to side, over and over, the same motion, the same words. "No mama no no no NO!" I cried out, crumpling to my knees beside her. I reached out my arms to encircle her as tears came to my eyes. She fought to push me away, her sobs shaking her entire body now, but I was stronger and held her to me, rocking her back and forth.
"YES!" She yelled savagely, then giving in, she stopped striking out, hitting me, and her sobs lessened to pitiful whimpers. When she had quietened I released her, my face wet with tears, my eyes raw with shedding them.
"You've carried this alone all this time haven't you," I whispered. Unable to meet my gaze, unable to speak, she nodded yes.
"It's okay mama, I won't tell," I murmured, petting her soothingly and shushing her. "I won't tell a soul."
I was startled out of my revery by a loud rap at the front door and realized that tears had spilled down my face unbidden. I pushed that memory aside, standing, wiping hastilly at my face. This was a new world, a new beginning for me, and I was here to make the best of it. Straightening my jacket, I went to the front door and admitted my future.
carpenters to make the furnishings, upholsterers to fabricate my ideas, glass makers for my glasses and goblets, the wares that would make me a success here. I knew that d'Angelines are a proud people, a people who prize beauty over many things. I needed to make sure that my shoppe was beautiful, like them, but still had an Aragonian flare.
The curtains to the front of the shoppe remained drawn, leaving onlookers to glance at the near floor to ceiling glasses in awe and wonderment, intrigued by what might be behind the black and red brocaded curtains. They would glance at the name, and wonder at it's meaning. El Parra -- the grapevine. It was perfect. The name had come to me instantly, thinking on the intrigue of the place, the rumours that people loved to divulge, secrets and lies alike, flowing freely over a glass of finely flavoured wine. It was a play on words, and in my mother tongue.
Perfect.
I glanced around the shoppe, made ready now, with low and high tables. They were made of a sturdy detaild wood, the tops a mosaic of broken black and red coloured glass, fastened by clear adhesive, sanded down to a levelness, and polished to a high gleam so that if the sun were to come in, lights of black and red would bounce against the pale grey walls. The floor was wood, darkly stained and gleaming. The chairs were comfortable, with plush seats and backs in a soft but sturdy black cloth. To the left of the entrance stood my pride and joy - the bar. It took up the entire side of that wall. It was lined with stools for seating at the high bar, also of wood and polished.
Behind the space where I would be serving was the wall. It was wrought with a plethora of cubby holes, that would soon house my wines, the unchilled ones ready for serving and for purchase as well. Above the large and expansive wine rack were where my glasses, flutes and goblets hung, upside down supported by two wooden spindles and their bases.
At the beginning of the bar was a glass display, ready for sweets and treats, meats and small food items to be displayed, and at the very end of the bar was a swinging door leading to the small but functional kitchen. In there, was a door that led to the cellar where the wines would be kept to chill in their crates and casks, once they arrived. That was the last part, waiting on the arrival.
I took a seat in one of the plush chairs. They would be here today, that I knew, and I was antsy to get started, to see if my business would take off like I supposed it would. My hands rested on the mosaic of glass, the cracks filled in with a mooth, amber coloured substance, as I thought back to my last day in Aragonia.... and the conversation I had had with my mother.
"Balta... mi hijo," she murmured, taking my face in her hands. She had called for me and was in the middle of the vineyard, no one around to hear us, no one around to see us, just us two. I had been puzzled at first, but then realized she wanted to say her good byes. I stooped and placed a kiss on her forehead.
"Yes mama," I said with a smile, standing upright before her. She was a small, beautiful woman. If tales told correctly, she was a great beauty, and that had bewitched my father from the very beginning. I looked down at her now, seeing sadness writ in the fine lines of her face, and behind her eyes too. "Mama, don't be sad. I have always wanted to go to Terre D'Ange. This is my chance now. This is what I have been waiting for."
"I know," she murmured, her eyes turning away from my face. There was something, a weight she bore, that was evident in those two words alone.
"Mama?" I asked gently. "What is the matter?" She dropped her hands from my face and turned away, moving away from me. I followed beside her, lookin at the top of her head as she cast her gaze downward to the ground.
"There is somewhat I must tell you, mi hijo," she said at last, stopping to stare off into the horizon. I followed her gaze and found nothing there. Knitting my brows in worry, I turned to her, facing her as she stayed facing away from me.
"Well tell me what it is mother, maybe I can help. Maybe there is something I can do?"
She laughed then. Bitterly.
"No, nothing you can do now, it's too late, its been done. Been done for more than twenty three years now," she murmured. Twenty three.... that was when I was born. This conversation was getting more and more confusing, and it didn't seem to be heading in a great direction.
"What do you mean by that mother?" I asked, pulling back from her somewhat.
She turned to me, her gaze coming to rest on my eyes without even looking for them, as if she knew where they were right away.
"Have you ever wondered, Balta, why it is you are so beautiful, why your eyes are so blue?" She asked gently.
"No mama, I always chalked it up to your doing," I said with a smile.
"My doing is right, son, but not in the way that you think."
"Mother," I murmured, taking her shoulders gently in my hands. "We have very little time left. If there is something you must say, then say it. Please mama, spare me the suspense."
"What I tell you, you must swear to me you will not voice to anyone else. Do you understand me Balta?" She asked, her voice raising, a fierce fire in her eyes. I had never disobeyed her before, and I was not about to start now.
"You have my word, mama, now tell me, what is it?"
"Mi cara," she muttered in endearment, her voice a shadow to what it had been before. "Mi cara, you are not his son."
It took a moment for the words to sink in. I wasn't sure what she meant, and then it hit me.
"Mama," I said, my voice holding a warning tone as I grew rather angry. "Mama what on earth do you mean I am not his son."
"You, are not, his son," she hissed at me angrilly, the shame she felt was plain on her face, which she buried in her hands. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, loud and wailing as she fell to her knees.
"Mama, no," I murmured, shaking my head, side to side, over and over, the same motion, the same words. "No mama no no no NO!" I cried out, crumpling to my knees beside her. I reached out my arms to encircle her as tears came to my eyes. She fought to push me away, her sobs shaking her entire body now, but I was stronger and held her to me, rocking her back and forth.
"YES!" She yelled savagely, then giving in, she stopped striking out, hitting me, and her sobs lessened to pitiful whimpers. When she had quietened I released her, my face wet with tears, my eyes raw with shedding them.
"You've carried this alone all this time haven't you," I whispered. Unable to meet my gaze, unable to speak, she nodded yes.
"It's okay mama, I won't tell," I murmured, petting her soothingly and shushing her. "I won't tell a soul."
I was startled out of my revery by a loud rap at the front door and realized that tears had spilled down my face unbidden. I pushed that memory aside, standing, wiping hastilly at my face. This was a new world, a new beginning for me, and I was here to make the best of it. Straightening my jacket, I went to the front door and admitted my future.