Vésper, whenever he could, would go to the home of Mentesúfis in the village and prowl around his library, devouring book after book, like a bee collecting pollen for its precious honey. Gui, the son of the old man, had begun courting Sara, daughter of Mentesúfis. Thus, Vésper acted as messenger for both, since they seldom saw each other, given the bustle that reigned in the shipyard of the beach — where Guilherme, Gui and the four silent but smiling and helpful men had dove, hammering, scraping, sweating and vociferating. Sometimes the voice of Gui could be heard, deep and tarnished by the salt air, trying to reproduce an ancient aria, immediately followed by the laughter of the other four men who applauded, and the disciplining voice of the old man ordering them to concentrate on their work. Despite his cunning efforts to satisfy his curiosity about what they were building with such secrecy, they insisted on keeping Vésper away from the shipyard.
‘It is probably a special order from some shipowner. It is said that those from the Cliffs impose the condition of being the first to see the vessels, except for those who build them, of course!’, said Mentesúfis in an appeasing tone, seeing that Vésper’s curiosity was slowly turning to obsession.
‘Perhaps, but, Master Mentesúfis, those six have been at it three months already; were it not for your generosity in allowing me to practically live in the library… Besides being ostracised, entire days go by that I do not even see them. They even eat in the shipyard… Now, the idea was for me to learn from them, and instead…’ Vésper assumed a downcast air. ‘I very much esteem the company of Sara. She is a good friend, not to mention the Master, for whom I feel the highest esteem and gratitude, and whose friendship is a privilege; and the books have been an insatiable passion…’ He interrupted himself and lowered his head. Mentesúfis got up and headed towards one of the cupboards of black crafted wood; from there he removed a package and extended it to him.
‘It arrived early today, it is for you.’ Vésper removed the envelope that was attached and began reading silently, while Mentesúfis filled two small glasses with a muscatel that he had made himself, the result of a vineyard whose variety was one of his prides, planted by his father the year he arrived there, brought from distant lands around Pan. He set one of the glasses down near Vésper and, with the other one in his hand, sat down in front of him sipping it. He watched the youth and his expression as he read. The latter raised his eyes and his countenance was no longer sad.
‘They are words of Pan!’ He was happy and lighter, like a grey sky inundating itself with light until there are no longer clouds.
‘Judging from your transformation, it is good tidings. Let us drink to that.’ He filled his glass once again. Vésper extended his arm, and the two drank a toast. He then opened the package and removed a small picture showing Aira, his mother, Vésper in the lap of Dérop, his father, seated on a marble bench; behind them, part of the water garden with the white Orb and, further down, sideways in a flowerbed, his small flourishing ‘soul Vésper’. This painting, carried out by D’Ouro, recorded the day on which Vésper had turned seven years old — of course, the work would have taken a few more days to complete, and it was during that period, whenever they posed for the portrait, that then little Vésper began to reveal his peculiar aptitudes for seeing and hearing what, apparently, no one else could. ‘Several times did the little boy jump suddenly from his father’s lap to the floor, disturbing the concentration of D’Ouro Virtuoso, to disappear among the trees and streams, speaking and gesturing as though accompanied by other children, at least so it seemed… returning later at the pace of a walk, head lowered, and very much alone. The last day, when D’Ouro was just putting in the finishing touches and no longer needed the models, Vésper approached the artist, who announced to him in triumph: “I have finished! Come here, infant, and tell me if you like it.” Securing the paintbrush in his mouth, he picked up the little boy and seated him on his leg. Vésper looked at the painting, then towards the side where there appeared to be nothing, then at the painter and said: “You forgot to paint my friends, and they are sad about that!” D’Ouro opened his mouth, dropping the paintbrush, without knowing what to say.’
‘It is a lovely painting!’, said Mentesúfis with a smile. ‘This D’Ouro Virtuoso has virtue!’ The young man assented, moistening his lips with the nectar and, in a brief silence, he could savour that fragment of his childhood.
It was late when Vésper left the home of Mentesúfis, the sun touched the sea, colouring it with dark blues and reds, the light and breeze were warm. He decided to sit on the sand, looking at the horizon. Before night fell upon him, he once again read the words of Pan; the epistle that his parents wrote to him said:
‘It is in thinking that one travels the incongruous distance, that ends before it begins
It is in thinking that the animal that will never be anybody feeds and shelters!
It is in thinking that we neither escape nor hide what is not safe in life
Before life, thought,
And within it everything, even life beyond the “Wall” that precedes it.
It is in thinking that the mind wanders and guides us, to the flavour of the winds Boreas and Austro,
Therein is engendered the swiftest ship taking us to you.
It is in thinking, in the perihelion of our dreams, that the desired reunion is illuminated… until it actually happens at the end of the journey, in the white Orb.
Dear son, now also Southern Vésper, we received news from Petra. Young Gaia will visit us on a date that will remain dependent on your return. Tell our insular friends we miss them.
Always thinking of you, with no one above you.’
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Next…
The Story of the Orb | Episode 6
Southern Vésper — ‘The colours of the aurora’
Not everything is as it seems. Patience is always rewarded… if we know how to fill in the time of waiting.
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