THOMAS L. CHIU
HE CALLED HER
THE RAVINE
"The somber and majestic grandeur of the mountains and
glens surrounding Cuillins, a tiny village in the Highlands of Scotland,
evoked many feelings.
Here in Cuillins, life revolved around the proud river of the same name.
It was about 10 miles long, winding through uneven landscape, strewn with
boulders. Its destination was imprudent, harsh and menacing-for there was
a ravine. Hardly anyone meandered there. It was unspoiled. The evergreens
covered the river's shoulders. The pebbles beneath the river appeared red,
brown, and many other shades, providing the river additional substance.
The skies were frequently stark and the rains came quite often, like an
anvil's blow.
The river, at least most of its beginning section, provided many sources
of joy for the villagers; on its banks they frolicked, fished, recounted
heroic exploits of their clans, and even drank its cool waters. The Cuillins
River was their life. They revered it. They called it their goddess.
Our story, however, begins with two lads: Anthony, age 12, and Theodore,
age 13. They were neighbors, living on opposite sides of the bank. The width
of the river was no more than 20 feet, so the boys had often played there
together, sometimes even claiming territories. The river was rather shallow,
only about four feet at the deepest point.
Anthony was an only child. His father was strong-willed, a cabinet maker.
He also sometimes made chairs and tables. The wood he used came from logs
from the forests beyond. Anthony's mother, a gentle spirit, kept the house
warm and cheerful, especially with her harmonica playing. Indeed, this was
a talent she possessed, and it was the talk of the whole village. Her repertoire
consisted mostly of old Scottish tunes, with some refrains from Europe filtered
in on occasion. In particular, she loved to play the Volga Boat Song. The
rhythm reflected and had the power of her own clannish drive and determination.
So Anthony was a happy boy. When lonely, he and found solace in his neighbor
Theodore, also an only child. Aside from playing, they schooled together.
Theodore's parents came from the South. They were "new" in the
area. His father made pipes, a trade he learned in a much bigger town, where
he previously lived. Theodore's mother was Hungarian. Although she spoke
with an accent, she was outgoing and soon was able to integrate and immerse
herself in the happenings of the village.
The nearness of their lodgings and, more important, their solitariness,
moved the boys toward each other. They ran to school and ran back to their
homes through parts of the glen. They shared the river. They swam during
the summer days. They often challenged its swift current by running alongside
it.
"I heard there is a ravine down the end of the river," Anthony
said one day. "My grandfather told me."
"Can we go?" Theodore asked.
"Not now. Maybe one day."
"To the ravine, then!" they promised each other.
While Anthony tended to articulate more than his friend, Theodore was content
to follow Anthony, and to go along with whatever endeavors came upon them-from
school projects to places to escape.
Their relationship, of Anthony being the leader and Theodore the follower,
worked out admirably for both of them. While they shared and loved most
things around them, Theodore sometimes kept to himself. He was aware of
his mother's "differentness" from the rest of the villagers. Of
course nobody openly spoke about her. Was he being overly sensitive? he
sometimes wondered. Anthony certainly never mentioned it.
They both visited each other's home. Their families exchanged presents
during Christmas. There was no reason for concern. Yet Theodore wanted to
let Anthony know how he felt about his mother. Many times, however, he was
afraid he would lose Anthony's friendship. This dark spot existed all along
within Theodore. His agony came to a halt, however, when his parents decided
to move again-this time to Europe, close to his mother's home town on the
Austro-Hungarian border.
The parting hurt both boys. They had never known what it was to go away
and not to see each other, for even a day. Acutely aware, of course, that
they possessed each other's memories, they promised to see each other again.
Anthony gave Theodore his precious wooden elephant toy, carved by his father.
Theodore gave Anthony an amethyst stone, the size of a fist.
"That is from your grandfather," his mother had said.
Their friendship was momentarily stilled.
Years passed. Anthony married and opened his own business-a furniture store.
He stayed within his serene compound. There was nothing amiss. Happiness
was apparently measured by the flourishing house he built, the number of
friends who came to pay respects. His wife was a capable woman who ran the
household, neatly and with great efficiency. There was order and predictability
in their lives.
After decades of this near-perfect existence, however, Anthony began to
feel and see life in a somewhat different vein.
One day his wife decided to clean up the attic, seeking her old wardrobe.
She saw, high up in one corner of the room, a dirty cardboard box within
which was wrapped, in old newspaper, something appearing to be darkish and
hard.
"What is this rock doing here?" she queried in excitement and
annoyance.
"Oh, nothing." He almost forgot what it was, from where it came,
what its significance was. "From a longtime ago. At school. A boy gave
it to me."
"You did not throw it away." She emphasized "not."
"I guess not." His heart began to throb. He did not want to
continue the conversation.
"I need this space," she went on.
"Let me have it," he replied. He almost did not want her to touch
it. He took the "rock," as she had called it, to his den. He blew
away the dust. He wiped it and held it between his two hands.
"I can't believe it," he cried. Slowly, tears came down his cheeks.
"Thirty years, was it?"
On the other side of the continent, in Vienna, Theodore financially prospered.
He became a banker, thanks to his mother's connections. He travelled to
many distant lands. He was a patron to societies concerned with art, music,
education, and the handicapped. Very well regarded in social circles, he
had limitless access to most things he desired.
But Theodore, like Anthony, began to wonder what there was in life besides
the glitter. Soon he began to grow irritable and no longer was amused by
the frequent parties. He gave excuses for not attending meetings. Was he
searching for something? Why was he feeling as if he were floating or standing
on uneven ground?
One evening he invited colleagues and friends to his villa for dinner-it
was his fiftieth birthday. Naturally he received many gifts and congratulatory
greetings. The guests wished him many more happy birthdays to come. He was
not interested, however, in all the well-wishes or gifts laid out before
him, large and small, of all shapes.
Gift . . . yes. He had a gift once, many years ago, from a very far away
friend. It was the elephant, carved from the very woods of Scotland. He
had encased it in an elaborate glass box, prominently displayed in his drawing
room, on top of the main table. He had not paid attention to it for many
years, though it was there all the time.
Now, this night, among all the birthday gifts, Theodore realized the elephant
was the most special. He had not "seen" it before, until now!
He was blinded, obviously, by his opulence.
What was his name? he thought. The glen? The river? Anthony! And what
did they say to each other when they said goodbye? Was there not a promise?
The train to Edinburgh took a lifetime, it seemed, to Theodore. The clouds
had a different hue than to what he had become accustomed. The air tasted
refreshing. He felt it in his bones. He wanted to see his past now. Perhaps
this would anchor him to the ground. Perhaps this would fill his emptiness.
He was going home.
He had forgotten the twisted and narrow roads that led to Cuillins. He
inquired about Anthony and his family.
The modest furniture store was easily located. The main street was not
how he remembered it.
Since it was Monday, there were a number of people inside, some browsing,
some in the process of purchasing.
"Is Mr. Anthony Coutts in?" he inquired of the store manager.
"Yes. Who is calling, sir?"
"A friend passing by to say hello," he replied with some trepidation.
After all, he was a stranger of sorts. His attire was distinctively European,
his bearing and accent were now foreign. It was many years ago since he
had left. He could not even remember the name of the river he just crossed,
after being deposited by the taxi! The river that nourished him!
No sooner had the manager gone than out came Anthony, himself. A little
heavy, Theodore thought. He had a moustache. He smiled his merchant smile
to all his prospective customers.
"I am Mr. Coutts and may I help you?" he began, extending his
hand across to Theodore.
"I wish to talk to you about buying some property here. You were highly
recommended," he lied.
Although Theodore recognized Anthony instantly, he refrained from showing
this, for fear of not having the recognition reciprocated, if he started
identifying himself.
Anthony was flattered by the introduction. He began describing the land,
the geography of the village. He spoke of the river Cuillins, the surrounding
hills, and finished his recital by telling Mr. Caw of the mysterious areas
beyond the mountains where the river abruptly stopped.
"The ravine!" Theodore added the final touch.
"You know?"
"I knew."
Silence. A very long silence.
Before dawn came, they began the journey, to discover for themselves the
dream both had kept to themselves for so long. The trip was arduous. They
hardly spoke to each other. It was as if there were no need for words. They
found their prize. They found each other. They had now filled their emptiness.
Their search for the ravine was, indeed, their search for each other's soul.
Customized Book Publishing & Manuscript Services
Questions or Comments? Click Here
