Nate: A short story

By: Scott Petty

He languished in the heat of a summer non grata. It’s funny because he had begged
for days like these in the middle of a saturated March, one with nights that bit the
skin off his bones. He sighed as he wished for relief from his prior wish.
The land was as lazy as the people. Trees hung with limp limbs; the flies
barely buzzed two feet from the grass. He walked heedlessly among them and their
grass. He had been adjourning to this wood the past two months. He had
discovered it quite accidentally. His curiosity peaked and so he felt more apt to
hope a fence and peer behind the rocks and trees. That usually happened to a boy
his age. He was only fifteen and already curiosity was getting the better of him. He
spotted a new path, and he took it. He smelled a beautiful woman as she passed by,
and he followed her; that latter exploration often effected far more injurious results
than a romp in an unexplored wood.
The air hummed with the slow moving hours of an afternoon that seemed
endless. The blades tickled his ankle as he passed with his bare feet. Deeper he
went until he found a clearing. The sky opened up above him as he came before a
ring of gnarled trees. The stood around a small pool of water, turned suspiciously
away. He scanned the area. The light hairs on the nape of his neck stood up; his
skin tingled. The notion of danger ran up and down his body, but his curiosity
squelched all the other sensations he felt. So he passed into the ring of trees.
The world stopped spinning; he felt it. The sun hung in the sky, caught just
west of noon. The humming ceased. The flies settled deep into the grass and
shuttered their wings. The grass no longer bent under the presage of the boy’s
footsteps. He looked about in wonder at this new world he had entered. Here,
summer had been and always would be. He looked back at the trees and reached
his gaze back into the wood, where he swore he saw the shadows turning and
moving. So he threw his gaze back to the scenery at hand. It stood. Even the water
was stationary. The surface looked like glass, not a ripple to be seen. So slowly, he
stepped to the water’s edge. The coruscating surface gave him a moment of
glorious pain. He shielded his eyes, looked away. It was too bright for him. He
dropped his arm and looked back. The curiosity welled up inside to a degree he
had hitherto not known. His bent his back so that he dropped his head and bent his
knee toward the ground. He relinquished his impulse to run and squatted down by
the frayed grass. His hand hovered above the water, but he did not touch. It was not
out of fear that he refrained from making contact with the water. Reverence stayed
his hand. He leaned over more; far enough to catch his own eye shining back at
him.
“Nate,” a whisper disrupted the silence. Hearing his own name, Nate shot
back up from the ground and turned every way. He remained impossibly alone.
The sun still hung just west of noon and the blades of grass stood erect under his
feet. His heart beat a warning against his chest. He took another fleeting glance at
the water then raced away back into the world that moved.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Nate said.

Martha, who never condoned Nate’s wonderings, listened with only the
slightest interest. They walked side by side down the dusty road that led back to
the village. Her robe dangled just above her sandaled feet. “You keep wandering
like this Nate and you are bound to privy to danger that no one else will be able to
reclaim you from,” she said to him.
Nate cast his eyes downward. He had stopped his wanton chase of Martha.
More accurately put: she had put an end to his chase. She was not one to be chased
unless she authorized it; she was that kind of girl. Even at the age of fourteen, she
knew what she wanted and she had yet to find it. That was why she had barely
been courted. But somehow Nate had incurred her favor and she permitted a
friendship. She spoke to him as a child. But it was the fact that she listened to his
tales that made him to understand that they had something of a friendship.
“I’m sure,” was all he could say.
“Then you’ll understand my bit of counsel: don’t go back. Any place that
elicits such feelings and sensations is not one that should be patronized
frequently…at all, actually.” She kept their pace at a brisk walk. Market waited
and all the best fruits and silks would be gone if they did not reach it nearly first.
Martha would not have such fine goods pass without having her share.
Martha was so decided in every action and every thought that she came
across as cold and unfeeling. It was quite the opposite. She left alms for the lepers.
She helped at the temple during times of festivities. She had healed animals hurt.
She just didn’t waste time with anything that didn’t produce. She seemed to have a
nose for impotence.
“I suppose you’re right as usual,” Nate conceded.
The market was already full when they reached the plaza. Martha hissed
rather unabashedly. “I don’t know why I allow you to take the lead on days we go
to the market,” she shook her head at Nate and strode off into the bustling crowd.
Nate, as always slid off to the fountain and waited.

The sun reached noon. Nate prattled on with his friends about whatever
seemed most interesting. This time it had been a priest who had handled an asp for
too long and suffered the most expected fate of such an activity: death. Death was
the subject that held Nate’s attention the longest; death by serpent was just another
way to wrap the package.
“I don’t know why anyone would engage in such reckless behavior,” Martha
declared. The group was such a balanced mix of personalities that no one hung on
her every word. They gave her as much consideration as anyone else, even if she
gave her words undue weight.
“Well, it’s part of the whole thing,” Merrill responded.
“What thing is that, Merrill?”
“Worship, faith, power.”
They gave this a small parcel of thought.
“The need for such things always rests in the minds of men,” Martha said.
She smiled and gave Patella a nudge with her elbow. Patella smiled,
unwillingly. She just wanted a marriage, and soon. Politics was not her concern.
Nate kept floating back to death. “It’s not so bad,” he finally said,
unprovoked.
The group stopped their chatter and eyed him. “What’s not?” Merrill asked.
“Death.”
They looked at him with an even stronger sense of suspicion. Death was a
big deal. Death was the one thing in life that could not be explained away. Even
the deities that were associated with it were not to be spoken of.
The group fought to flee from Nate. Martha gathered her words first: “you
speak as if you had supped with Death and found its company quite pleasant.”
Pleasant, it was a barbed word the way Martha said it.
Nate glared at her. “I just think that maybe it’s not as bad as everyone makes
it out to be.”
“No one ever comes back,” Merrill said.
“A thought that never crossed my mind, Merrill,” Nate said with scathing
sarcasm.
The other turned from Nate and let him sulk in his strange mood. They soon
found other subjects of less ill repute to discuss. But Nate lost his way in thoughts
about death and what it might be like to journey that way. He thought of taking the
trip with his soul and crossing unimagined oceans and lands. To him death was just
a trip that went on forever; because it was eternal he would never stop discovering
and that alone made it seem most desirable.

“You’ve lost your mind certainly,” Martha gasped.

Nate looked at the parched earth at his feet. “You think so?”
Martha turned a left him alone. He had just shared some of his ideas about
death and how he had planned to execute them sooner than later.
 She turned back mid-stride. “You know what happens to the people who
seek out the afterlife before it’s their time, don’t you? They don’t explore; they are
not free. They spend eternity in servitude to the ones who paid their dues and
tolls.”
She was absolutely flustered by Nate’s obsession with death and would not
subject herself to his speech longer than necessary. She knew what happened to
those who dwelt on the matter in thought and in word, soon enough Death heard
them and would find them and take them.
Nate waved an unconcerned hand at Martha’s shrinking figures. He turned
his eyes toward the woods at the road’s edge. The shadows crissed and crossed into
a lattice work. Nate turned from the road and slunk in between the thick growth.
He was lost to the world again in a place that was untouched by time.
He returned home long after the sun had retired. The next day he found
himself silenced before his friends. They spoke of market; they talked about
marriage; they tip-toed toward sex; they laughed and argued. Nate kept his tongue.
He had looked in the glass-like water again. He sat and enjoyed the crystal
reflection that looked back up. He thought he had heard his name again, but he
decided that it was merely an echo in his mind. He leaned back on his hands and
smiled back at himself as he smiled up at himself.
“…don’t you think so?” Merrill had slapped Nate’s bare arm.
“Huh? What?” Nate broke from his reverie.
The group stared at him as if he had showed signs of plague.
“You are losing it, Nate,” Patella said. She sat closest to Nate—she always
did—but when she looked in his eyes, as empty as they were, she slid away. She
feared that some evil entity had siphoned out his soul and there he sat next to her,
an empty shell to carry out some awful act.
Martha agreed that Nate was less than he had been, but she was not in the
plane as Patella. “Look, you either recover you wits or we can no longer abide your
company.” She stood above him, looking down at him with her arms across her
chest, like a shield.
Nate looked up at her. He blinked. She wavered; her form wobbled though
she had not moved. He saw flashes of light that danced like water before his eyes.
Then there was Martha flanked by Merrill and Patella. Patella looked concerned.
Merrill looked curious while Martha remained furious; anyone who allowed
themselves to be consumed by fancy earned her scorn.
“Well, ok,” Nate said. He slow rose then wandered off from his friends.
He may have thought himself abandoned but all six of their eyes followed
him. And when he was a small slice on the horizon they wandered after him. They
didn’t need to confer. Even though his behavior bespoke evil, they remembered the
innocently curious, smiling Nate who may have silent but always knew when to
share his laughter.
“His eyes,” Patella said as they traced his steps. “They were hollow, like
rotted wood.”
“Yeah,” Merrill agreed, “he has really lost something. Have you noticed that
he hasn’t laughed for days and days.”
Martha stared ahead. She had a thought. “Yeah,” she said slowly. Her step
slackened. The other two halted, concerned. Martha, the girl who had her whole
life decided before it happened, now looked perplexed.
“Are you questioning something, Martha?” Merrill asked both amazed and
concerned.
“I am, surely,” she conceded.
“Well?”
“Well,” she said slowly, “Nate had told me about one of his wanderings.
What he divulged concerned me greatly, so much that I counseled him not to return
to such a place. But you know,” she said with a shrug, “that he is wont to go where
he hasn’t.”
The others agreed.
“Where is this place then?” Patella asked. She could not keep the plea out of
her voice.
Martha bit her bottom lip as she mulled over the conversation. “I…” She
looked up at the horizon, “…I don’t know.” Doubt pressed upon her like an
unwelcome suitor. She wanted to throw it off, but she could not argue this time;
she could not win over.
Merrill made the first move back into action. He turned aside and slipped
into the woods. He peaked his head back out: “Well, he is often trotting off into
unexplored parts. Why not follow his lead and get lost ourselves!” He slipped
away again.
Martha and Patella looked at each other, sharing the same dubious gaze.
Then they forgot themselves and gave into Merrill’s suggestion.
It did not take long for them to be lost in the tangle of the trees and shrubs.
Merrill slowed his search for them to catch up. They were soon calling Nate’s
name as they scrambled among the tangled vegetation.
“This is beyond reason,” Martha said between labored breathes.
“This is exactly why it’s reasonable,” Merrill offered matter-of-factly.
“Because this is not what we would do; this is not where most people would go.
It’s exactly how Nate gets to discover some amazing and unbelievable things. But
this time it’s gotten him into trouble.”
They picked their way for hours through the rough grass and tangled roots.
The sun flitted through the crossing boughs. It looked like the day was aging
quickly. The one day that they could have used the unceasing hours and they all
slipped away without a pause. They had sat down to rest when Patella saw it: a
stream of sun crashed into the woods. She took cautious steps toward the light. The
others followed in her wake.
They came to a circle of ancient trees that seemed too old for the world, too
old and too alive. They seemed to have their backs to a clearing. Patella crossed
into the circle first. A young sun, hanging just west of noon, lingered in the sky.
Nothing moved as she stepped into the grass. There was a boy sitting by a standing
pool of water. He was naked with skin like burnished bronze. He lay by the water
with his head propped up by his left arm while his right hand listlessly glided back
and forth just above the water. He laughed and smiled carelessly as if he listened to
a lover.
“Nate,” Patella said. She rushed over to him, but Merrill restrained her. He
had noticed it before she did. Martha had backed away from the circle of trees
immediately. She felt the surreal quality of that small plot of land. Patella, lost in
her love for Nate, didn’t notice it. “He needs us,” she gasped as she tried to release
Merrill’s grip.
“I know. I know,” he said as he fought to detain Patella. “But we can’t.
Cant’ you see it?”
Patella didn’t understand. Why wasn’t anyone running to help Nate? She
didn’t know how or why exactly. He looked perfectly at ease with his smile and his
radiant skin. But Merrill knew. He knew even if he didn’t know. The spell had
trapped Nate. Maybe it was his fault; maybe he had been snared without any
culpability. Maybe he had an opportunity to escape. Merrill was not a judge of
men. He had not power to reassign fate. He just knew whatever stream of fate Nate
had dipped his toe into had caught him and swept him away. He was not going to
let Patella suffer the same.
He clutched her arms in his hands and dragged her writhing figure out of
that place and back into the land of time. He gathered her up and put her over his
shoulder. Martha had already fled; she knew about fate. She was almost back to the
road. She fought back her tears—her fear and shame—as she fought through the
forest. Merrill scrambled to catch up.
And Nate sat in his own world with in the world. His hand never touched the
water’s surface. How could he dare? The reflection was a perfect slate of glass, the
perfect surface for the perfect visage. He smiled as the grass tickled his naked skin.
The reflection laughed too. He smiled and laughed at himself who smiled and
laughed back.
He sat there, a boy on the cusp of manhood, and enjoyed his own visage.
The clearing was untouched by the turning of the world. Merrill and Patella wed
under wreaths of laurel. Martha was whisked away to live with a man of the state
in a house with columns beyond count. They had children; they saw wars; they saw
famines; they saw revolts; the world turned on an axis that none of them knew
about. They saw the days pass one by one. And while the passing days carved deep
lines into their faces or wiped them out completely, Nate sat unbothered by time.
He slowly drew closer to himself. Each year he pulled his body closer to the
reflection on the water. He forgot that it was just a reflection the surface of a still
water and drew his naked body so close that he fell in.
He shattered the surface. The pristine face was slathered away in a
disturbance of ripples as he sank. And over his sinking face, disappointment
washed. Where was the beautiful boy that had he had spent so much time with?
Where had those innocent eyes gone to? Why was he not in those slender, but
strong arms? Why did he not hear the kind laughter? He was embraced by ice cold
water. He gulped mouthfuls of it until it had not where to go but into his lungs.
Such a small pond and he fell for hundreds of years, all of them filled with ice cold
water.
Nate felt his heart force each beat out. His muscles cramped up and went
cold. His joints stiffened. He could not inhale. He could barely see. He saw shapes
pop and flash before his eyes. They were faces, less beautiful than the one he had
spent so long staring at, but they were familiar: Merrill with his close set brown
eyes; Patella with her wavy tresses and vapid smile; then Martha passed before his
failing vision with her unflinching stare and strong chin.
Then there was a pop of light and then nothing. The last bubble of air
ascended to the surface. It sent ripples out that announced Nate’s last breath.
There were no long extraordinary journeys on eternal seas for Nate. He
could not leave the glassy surface. Ever after, he spent eternity staring up at the
person staring down, exchanging unblighted smiles with the reflections lost in a
land without time.