Brella La Riz.

My Fathers Necklace
Summer in New Orleans has two faces. During the day, it becomes the
sweaty ass-crack of the South. In both stench and heat, even the natives do not try
to crawl through its streets until well after the sun has gone down. The day, instead,
is spent wondering if there is a worse place on earth to be.
On such a day as this, a young Brella La Riz, had spent the whole morning
lying on her back on the floor boards of her parents apartment wishing for the air to
get cool. Sweat dripped down the small of her back, and between the gap of her
shirt and shorts, it fell on to the boards.
As she lay she could hear the gentle hum and whirl of her mothers pottery
wheel in the next room, and wondered how it was that the clay underneath her
mothers hands didnt bake from the heat of the air. She had let out a small
whimper, but it had gone unheeded by both of her parents.
She would shift position every few minutes as the wood heated up around
her. Her father, who must have been watching her for an hour or so, threw down his
paper and declared that he had had enough of her moping.
Despite her protests, he scooped her up to her feet, and ushered her out the
door. Shutting the door behind him with something not quite a slam, Brella jumped
at the cool breeze the door had made. She wished to feel it again, but before she
could ask her father had gripped her hand and began guiding her down the street.
His hand, it seemed, was three sizes larger than her own, and it swallowed it
completely. It was hot and sweaty, but she dared not pull away. As she squinted up
towards him, he seemed to blot out the sun itself. His gold hair blazed in the hot
sun, and it appeared as if it were almost aflame. The sun even seemed to have
melted the cold blue of his eyes into the shadow of his face. She looked back down
at her feet, and shuffled more quickly to keep pace with him.
It was only a few more blocks when they turned the corner, and she saw a
sign for Kellys Pool Hall. She had never been in before, and it seemed both magical
and mysterious. Many times she had seen her father leave the house bound for one
such establishment or another, but never had she ever been allowed to go with him.
As they arrived, he knelt down beside her and said sternly, Now, this place is
between us. Be quiet, or we will leave.
Brella nodded solemnly, and her father took up her hand again. They went
inside with no more of a word. The bar, for with only two tables calling it a pool hall
seemed somehow pretentious, was vacant. No doubt, because it too lacked any
form of air conditioning, merely one pathetic ceiling fan idling around with little
hope of cooling anything. Kelly, the barkeep, turned at the sound of the door
opening. He was almost, but not quite, as tall and as broad as her father. But where
her father was light, Kelly was dark. His hair was black as midnight, his skin tanned
nut brown from the sun, and his eyes the color of a rich beer. She took a step away
from him, when his mouth broke into a wide grin as his eyes lit upon her.
Brought a luck charm today, Hrothgar? Kelly asked with a laugh, his voice
dark like tainted glass, She wont help you this time.
Ive beaten you the last three times with no such charm, her father
growled. He pointed at the barstool, and looked at Brella, Sit.

She climbed up to the stool, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it
turned around. She swung herself, this way and that, laughing at the trick. Her
father sat next to her, and frowned, but did not interrupt her. Kelly pulled out three
mugs, and poured out a root beer for her, and two regular beers for themselves. The
mug was almost as big as she was, and she had to lean on the bar to get up to the
straw he had stuck in it for her. The mug was ice cold, and she shivered with delight
as she wrapped her hands around it.
Her father downed the beer in a moment, and Kelly followed suit. He filled a
second round for them both, and then removed himself from the bar. He pulled two
pool sticks off the wall, and handed one to Hrothgar. Hrothgar nodded.
Brella watched as Hrothgar and Kelly played pool. She didnt understand most
of it, but it fascinated her. She giggled in delight the first time Kelly shot, and the
balls broke formation and darted across the table. Her father shot next, and with a
quick flick of his wrist, several balls dropped into pockets and out of sight.
Kelly took up a bit of chalk, and rubbed the end of the cue with it. He shot,
and a few balls dropped in. She slid off her stool, and walked over to the table. She
picked up the chalk and ran it over in her hands. Her father watched her carefully,
but said nothing. Her father began lining up a fairly tricky shota three bumper
bounce, with a spin to knock the yellow one inand she tugged on Kellys sleeve.
He looked down at her. She held out the chalk shyly, and started to stutter, M-mmay I?
He shrugged and tipped the end of the cue tip towards her, she put it on the
cue with all the solemnity of a monk in prayer. She looked up at him, and said in her
most serious grown-up voice, It will shoot better now.
Hrothgar raised an eyebrow, and answered quickly, Well, he cant shoot any
worse.
Kelly shrugged, and went to line up his shot with the cue. He pulled back and
hit the cue. At first it looked like he had missed his ball, and it was going to skitter
away with nothing but a scratch. Then, with a spin he did not know he had put on it,
it slammed into his stripped ball and slid it right into the corner pocket. Then it lined
up, ever so nice and neat, for his next shot. He looked at his cue, and looked at
Brella. He gave her the cue tip, and said, Do that again.
Delighted to be of use, she chalked his tip, and he shot again. He didnt miss
that shot, or the next shot, or the next. Hrothgar frowned. Kelly skipped getting his
cue chalked while Brella had leaned over to get more of her rootbeer, and missed
the shot. He looked up at Hrothgar, You sure she isnt a little luck charm?
Well, if she is, shes a poor one for me, He grumbled. Brella looked up at
him, hurt, and saidperhaps a shade too loudly, If youd let me chalk your, daddy,
youd shoot better too!
He looked at her, Would I now?
She nodded vigorously.
He shrugged, Very well.
She gave his cue a polish, and smiled, Youd have beat him anyway. Youre
the best.
He smiled at that, and ruffled her hair. Hrothgar did, as a matter of fact, win
that round. He nodded, and stretched. Kelly and Hrothgar when back to the bar, and
finished the next round of beers. Brella also drank hers. She only got about half-way
through before she could not drink any more. She started to rub her eyes, and
Hrothgar scooped her up onto his shoulders.
Time to go home, He said gruffly, Your mother will be waiting.

She nodded and buried her face in his hair. She was almost asleep when they
got home. He pulled her down to her feet as gently as a kiss. She rubbed her eyes,
and looked up at him. He knelt down so that his eyes were level with her own, and
said very quietly, Now, it is very important that you do not tell your mother where I
took you today. It is our secret. Yes?
Brella nodded, and squirmed with delight. A secret of their very own, it was
delightful. She opened the door to the house, and there standing half baked in mud
up to her elbows was her mother. Brella, not minding the mess in the least bit, flung
her arms around her mother in absolute joy. Guess what? She said look up at her
mother with delight in her eyes, I have a secret!
You do? Her mother said gently, and knelt down beside her, And what
secret is that?
Daddy took me to a really cool place today. I drank a root beer as big as me!
And I helped him win at pool!
You went to the pool hall, darling? she asked with a laugh.
Hrothgar growled, I told you not to tell her.
Well why shouldnt she? her mother looked up at her father with mischief in
her eyes, Im glad that you took her. I told you, shed have a good time, as long as
she was with you.
He grunted, and her mother laughed then. She stood up on her tip toes and
kissed him on the nose, You are absolutely ridiculous. To think that I would
begrudge you two an afternoon. I hope you dont mind, but I ordered Chinese. I
didnt really feel like cooking with my arms caked up like this.
Hrothgar caught her hand, caked with pottery mud, and pressed it to his lips,
I do not deserve you.
No, She agreed readily, You dont. Now get Brella cleaned up for dinner it
will be here soon.
But Brella was already asleep. She taken her fathers prized pool cue out of its
holder, and was curled around it, as if it were her favorite teddy bear. Hrothgar
didnt even had the heart to be upset. He just carried her to her bed, and tucked her
in. Pool cue and all.
The phone rang, and the peace of the moment was broken. Brella stirred and
there was a line across her face from where the cue had pressed into her face. She
could hear voices getting raised through the thin walls of their apartment. She
heard her father growl.
Give me that phone. Ill talk to that devil woman myself!
Brella pulled the cue closer to her. It must be her Aunt Marie. Dad only spoke
in that low of a register when she was talking to her aunt. Her mother muttered
something soft, but Hrothgar cut her off. I do not care that shes your sister. Shes
trouble, and shes not getting Brella mixed up in any of that Hel-damned nonsense.
Brella tipped towards the door, just in time to hear her mother say,
meditations. You havent been doing them, again.
That is not the point, he grumbled, Shes a hag and a harpy.
Shes only trying to help. You just finished saying that Brella was
I know what I said, Hrothgar said gently. He brushed her mothers cheek,
and Brella knew the fight was near the end, But, I also said Ill handle it. Well
protect her. Your bitch of a sister, though, good intended as she *might* be, is only
going to throw her in the middle of a war.
As long as you are sure.

Im sure, Hrothgar said, and Brella pulled back around the corner, Im sure
that shes only safe the farther that she keep away from that woman, and
everything else of that ilk.
You still arent getting out of her dinners on Fridays, Her mother voice said
pointedly, And Im not leaving Brella home alone.
How the conversation ended, Brella didnt know. Her parents voices now
faded to whispering. Then her mother giggled, and Brella knew everything was
going to be alright. She didnt really like Aunt Marie either. Her house was full of odd
smells, and it made her skin prickle. She laid back on her bed, and closed her eyes.
Her door opened, and she looked up.
Are you up now, my girl? Hrothgar asked. He sat on the foot of her bed. The
bed groaned under his weight. Brella found herself, nearly falling towards him
during the sudden shift. She giggled. He placed a heavy hand on her head and
mussed her hair. I have something for you.
He pulled out a silver necklace on a chain, This is for you. Dont ever take it
off. Itll protect you when I go back to work.
Are you going already! She threw herself around his arm, You just got
back!
I go where Im asked, when Im asked, He said soothingly, I have to go.
Youll understand when you are older.
Her eyes blazed and she looked up, I will not. No one can make you do
anything you dont want to do! Well protest!
Hrothgar laughed, Youve been listening to your mother again.
Down with the Man! She agreed, cheerfully, punching her fist up in the air,
and then fell to giggling.
Oh, love, he said with a great grin, You have no idea how much I would
love to say that, some days. Now go to sleep.
THE CAVE
That night she dreamed of a cave. She had dreamed it before, and never
remembered upon waking. But in the dream she always remembered. She was
always six years old, and always wearing her favorite pajamas. The stone of the
floor was cool and smooth under her feet, and she would always sigh as she would
take the first few steps. She relished the feeling, as New Orleans never seemed to
get this coolsave in the occasional supermarket. A cool breeze, no, not a breeze
but a draftwould waft through her hair cooling the sweat of the day off her neck.
Though she was scared, instinctively, of the quiet and the darkthere was a part of
her felt that she had arrived at home. It was more home than their small apartment
had ever been, when her father was still aliveand certainly more of a home than
she managed to have with her aunt. It was as if the cave had been made just for
her. A quiet place.
Most nights when she had this dream, she would sit quietly throughout the
night, and listen to the silence. Slowly, very slowly, she would grow more
accustomed to the dark stillness. After a few hours she would hear water dripping
from somewhere far deeper into the cave. She would slide to one of the edge walls,
and feel the cool dampness through her pajama shirtthe one with kittens wearing
bowties on itand wait very patiently when she awoke in the morning.

But tonight was different. She reached her hands into her pajama bottoms
pocket, idly, as she looked around for any source of light, and was surprised to find
that her fingers wrapped around a small stick of chalk. Though she could not see,
something inside of her whispered to draw something, anything on the stone
surface of the floor.
She knelt down, and brushed her long black hair out of her eyesthough it
did little to help her sightand pressed the chalk to the stone.
The line lit up under her finger tips, it was not very bright, but it didnt have
to be. Her eyes, now grown used to the blackness squinted away from its glow. She
looked up, and saw that she could now see the formations of the caves. The tunnels
that swerved here and there, the stalagtites and stalagmites growing ever so slowly
towards each other, and the silent trickle of water down one of the sides into a hole
she had not known was there.
Delighted, as only a child could be, she began sketching in earnest, until her
section of the cave shone brightly. Here she had drawn a horse she had always
wanted. Over there was a couple of flies circling a dung heapbecause it was funny
and it made her giggle at the naughtiness of it. Then she drew a giant wolf, it was
near the edge of one of the tunnels, and growling at the dark. There a snake. She
was always afraid of snakes, so she put it in the furthest corner of the little cavern
and then, because she was truly angry at them for existing, she drew it eating itself.
Hours seemed to pass in this manner. Then she grew bored with animals and
started drawing people from her life. A Sunday school teacher reading out of one of
their packets. Her mother upto her arms in clay, shaping one of her pots. Her aunt
brewing one of her strangest concoctions. Kelly, wiping down the bar. She paused
for a moment in her drawing, and looked down at the chalk. She was not surprised
to see that it had not seemed to shrink in size, though she could not explain why.
She had an urge to draw her father, and felt hesitant to do so. It seemed, wrong
somehow, as if he didnt fit in with the tapestry she had made. She looked at the
walls of the cave, and there seemed to be no good place to put him. She looked up,
and then noticed there was nothing on the ceiling. She stood on her tiptoes and
reached out, and the chalk just barely kissed the stone. Stillshe knewdeep in her
bones. Thats where he was supposed to go.
She did not get more than halfway done when a terrible, blood curdling,
scream ripped through the silence. The ground under her feet shook, and she lost
her footing. She clutched at the stone, as it rocked beneath her. Bits of it began to
crack, and dust from the caves ceiling fell into her hair. Her knuckles were white
with fear as she gripped it as if the ground would fly away from her if she let go.
Soon, though it was impossible to say how long, the shaking stopped. Brellas
heart beat so loud in her ears it took a few minutes to realize that the screams had
not stopped, but had merely fell to sobbing. Curiousity seized her, and drove her
fear away. She started following the sound down one of the many tunnels, being
careful to mark the wall as she traveled. She was brave, but not stupid.
As she drew near the mouth of a cavern, she began to hear the distinct
rattling of metal on metal. She paused, uncertain, and craned her neck to see if
there was anything to see. The cavern, oddly enough, was lit though not by
lanterns. The lichen and moss had grown here with no regard for needs such as
sunlight, and gave off a ghastly green glow. The far wall of the cavern, was so thick
with the stuff, it seemed the wall itself was glowing.
Taking a step into the cavern, she saw that there was a large pool of water,
taking up most of the room. Its seeming black waters appeared bottomless, but it

was impossible to say for certain. In the middle of this pool, however, was an island
of stone. Unlike the stone of the cavern, this stone was white, and it took on the
pale green of the light around it. Upon this island was a great stone table, carved
out of the same material. Etched into its sides where runes, much like the ones on
her fathers scabbards which had hung in their hallway, until he died. She used to
run her fingers over them every time she left the house.
The runes were embossed with silver, and seemed to be unaffected by the
light. Keeping their shimmering hue as if it had been under the sun and not buried
here beneath the earth. She crept up to the waters edge to get a better look. As
she neared, she saw that there were stone steps that led to the island. She would
have sworn they had not been there a moment ago, but they were so near the color
of the watershe would be hard pressed to say for certain.
She swallowed hard, and began her trek towards the table. Stopping now, to
look back at the way she had come, she took one long shuddering breath and
turned back to the table. Sensing, somehow, it was too late to turn back, Brella
continued down the path. They were slick, and her toes crinkled at the water that
had gathered on the surface of the stones. She nearly lost her footing, and her heart
seized as she thought of falling into the brackish waters.
It was not long, though it seemed forever, before she crossed. Drawn to the
runes on the table, her desire seemed to guide her footfalls. She brushed the runes,
and they hummed warmly under her fingertips. She walked around the table,
windershins, trailing her fingers around the carvings. The table was tall enough that
she could not see what lay upon it. She pushed up on her tiptoes, and elbowed her
way on to the table. It was not elegant, but with a few extra kicks in the air, she
managed to scramble onto its surface.
She flopped down on the table surface, slightly out of breath, and looked over
to her right. She started back. There was a man on the table, sleeping. Well, she
looked closer, maybe not quite a man. He was young looking, older than her, but so
were most people. Her dad would have called him a boy, but he called Kelly a boy,
and Kelly was nearly thirty. And thirty was almost certainly ancient.
And, as the nature of dreams, she was no longer six. She was herself again,
resting upon the table, with one of her own long legs dangling down. Her toes
brushing the floor.
Now, she was able to notice other things about him. His face, though once
most certainly handsome, bore the lines of suffering upon it. His lips once formed in
the perfect cupids bow looked puffed and scarred. As she would peer closer at
them she would notice thin slivers of parallel lines beginning at each corner of his
mouth, and meeting in the middle. Her fingers would hover over them in sympathy,
longing to massage them away.
His cheekbones, high and prominent, now made him look sickly and hollow.
As it was clear he had not been eating the way that he should. His hair, she could
tell, she didnt know how but she could tell, that it had once been wild and a redgolden color. It had faded to a brownish grey from the grime of the cave. It clung to
his face limply, its wildness tamed by time and sweat. She lifted a strand from his
face, and he stirred.
A groan escaped his lips, and startled by his movements, she was six again.
She shoved her knees up her shirt, as only a child can, and looked at him. Her blue
eyes wide, and full of fear. He moaned again, and this time whispered harshly,
though his voice was weak, Once

He licked his lips, they were so cracked and dry, Once in a thousand years, brother,
both the bitch and the snake leave me. Can you not just once leave me in peace,
and not come to gloat?
There was an odd stress on the word brother, and it made her shiver. At her
silence, the figure raised his head and opened his eyes. Such eyes!
They had the wild greenness of a forest, with all the mischievousness of a
devil; they promised pranks and laughter and cunning; they promised danger and
gold; they promised you the world with a thousand hooks in the promise. They
rooted her to the spot, for the anger that burned behind them was all consuming.
She could feel the heat of his anger licking her face, and it threatened to consume
the world around herand leave only her there in the darkness of the cave alone
with him. She shivered. He leaned back, and his breathing became ragged.
Concerned, she leaned over him, and rested a hand on his chest. It was only then
she discovered he was laughing. She withdrew her hand from his chest, but he
caught her. His hand snaked out the chains having just enough slack that he could
snatch her. His other hand had also seized her wrist, and he opened his eyes and
looked at her again.
Well, he said, an odd mad joy consuming his wild green eyes once again.
She could feel the air in the cave stir around them, and her skin prickled, but she
could not look away. This time he met her gaze, and said simply, It is not the first
time Ive been a woman, after all.
There was a mad cackle of laughter, and then the world turned black. And
Brella La Riz, of New Orleans would wake from her sleep, drenched in sweat feeling,
somehow, that the world would never be the same.