Part 3 Savalli

The rains came down in sheets just as the small group closed the door to nature’s anger. Leila didn’t like that the dog had entered with everyone else but a sudden loud clap of thunder softened her heart somewhat towards the animal. “Just this one time”, she thought, “don’t get used to it.”

Leila lead the two men into the kitchen, it had always been the most used room in her home. A butcher block table sat in front of a five sided bay window, it was here that they settled down. Shiloh, now and forever more known as Titus, curled up on the floor by his master’s feet. They sat in silence, listening to the music of the rain, mesmerized by the deceptively soothing sound. Television and weather reports were something from long ago now, so there was no way of them knowing that the storm was born of a hurricane traveling northward along the east coast. The storm that was currently providing a moment of peace would drop more than six inches of rain over the next hour.

“Well I don’t think we will have rabbit stew today Grandma. I had it in the big pot ready to boil but the rain would have doused the fire already.” Rockrider sounded disappointed.

“Maybe the rain will stop soon and we can have a late supper. That is if the whole pot, rabbit and all doesn’t float away.” Leila turned to Savalli, “The rabbit was compliments of your dog.”

Savalli laughed, “Titus loves to chase rabbits and he usually catches them too. My own cooking skills are rather limited, the mention of rabbit stew sounded wonderfully delicious.”

“I’m afraid it would be raw, cold and not very delicious. Let’s hope this rain ends soon. We have stored some dry wood in the cellar just for these occasions.”

“And these are the occasions when I miss the convenience of gas stoves and microwaves.” The little man lamented.

Rockrider asked, “What is a microwave?”

Savalli laughed again, “Does your grandmother ever speak of the days of past?”

“I try not to.” Leila chimed in.

“Oh dear lady, the only way to hold on to the past is to speak of it. Not to make assumptions or to sound rude, but you must be old enough to remember the days before the desolation.”

A small smile appeared on Leila’s face, “I try not to think that I am old enough, but the truth is I am. I choose not to talk about the days before the wars and desolation.  I would have to travel through the memories of those terrible days in order to get to the memories of the good ones.”

Savalli paused for a moment, first looking at Rockrider then turning to Leila, “For many all we have left is our memories. To lose those or have them held hostage by evil means they win. I have hope that this battle has not been lost, that good will still triumph. For our young people, those born after the invasions, after all the destruction, for them not to know what the world was like means they cannot know what was lost or even worse, what the world could be. They have never savored the taste of true freedom,” he paused, “or a cup of coffee for that matter.”

“Grandma is not the only person that doesn’t speak about those times. Autumn’s uncle is old too and she told me that he never says anything about the past days.”

Ignoring the “old too”, Leila replied, “It is difficult for many to think about, I hope Autumn understands her uncle’s reluctance. He is a good man.” Autumn was Rockrider’s best friend. She was a year younger than him. She had followed him everywhere when they were small children. Her mother had died earlier that year from pneumonia, now most of her time was spent caring for her uncle. He was older than his sister, Autumn’s mother, by almost twenty years. He had lost the use of his eyes about the same time Autumn had been born.

”She understands. She stopped asking him about the past long ago. But every so often she forgets and asks him a question but he doesn’t answer, he just grunts.” Rockrider replied to Leila and then turned to Savalli, “Can you tell me something?”

Savalli looked at Leila, waiting for her approval before answering her grandson’s request. She turned her glaze to the large window, the rain seemed to be getting heavier, ignoring her hope that it would end soon. She wanted to be outside, walking, not thinking. There was a time when Rockrider asked endless questions about the old days only to hear silence (at least she hadn’t grunted). She looked back at the little man who had interrupted her quiet life and gave a silent answer to his silent question, she nodded yes.

“I will do my best”, answered Savalli.

“Is all this,” Rockrider gestured by spreading his hands apart as far as they would reach, “is all this because of God?”

Savalli paused, “You know of God?”

Rockrider laughed, “The only thing from the past that grandma talks about is God!” He posed his question again, “So did God do all this?”

The silent pause was longer this time, even Titus seemed to notice by shifting his position slightly and looking up at his master.

Savalli cleared his throat, “No, God did not do all of this. This is evil, God is good. But I believe that God is in everything, He is always there. Without Him, the evil would have already won. Now, why do you ask such a question? You could have asked about anything, microwaves, football, girls…but you asked about God.”

“Because that’s what so many people think. They talk about a book called the Bible. They say that the desolation is in the Bible.”

Savalli reached up and touched his left breast pocket. Inside was his the last copy of the Bible. Years ago his library’s shelves had been lined with different bibles he had collected during his lifetime. His house along with the church had been set on fire by the first invaders, everything reduced to ash. The death of his books, that was how he thought of it, a death, was one he still mourned.

“The Bible speaks of the Abomination of Desolation, but that is not this. This is the evil of many men, not an evil man.” He touched the pocket that concealed his Bible again.

“What about the Incubus? They are demons.” Rockrider asked.

“So they claim. I am not convinced,” Savalli continued, “Why don’t I tell you about the beginning, and then if you have questions maybe we will explore them?”

Leila glanced out the window again, the rain and wind looked as if they wanted to stay a while. She turned to her grandson, “Why don’t you grab some of the bottled water from the basement, and bring up some dried fruit. We should at least feed our guest before he entertains us.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Rockrider bounded down the stairs.

“You may begin something that you will regret. He is very inquisitive.” Leila warned Savalli.

“No worries. I love to talk about the beginning; it helps to remind me that the end has not yet come. Besides I am made aware each morning by old joints and diminishing muscles that I am not getting any younger. I have been in search of someone to carry on the stories; perhaps your grandson is that person.”

As if on cue Rockrider bounded back into the kitchen carrying three bottles of water and a bag of dried fruit, he handed the old man a bottle, “Rain water we collect, it tastes pretty good.”

“Thank you.” Savalli took a sip from the bottle, the water lubricated his windpipes. He would need more before he finished talking; it was almost six hours before the rain and his story ended.