[A story inspired by
“And yes I said yes I will Yes,” the last line of Joyce’s Ulysses]
Once upon a quiet night, in a quiet city made of soft white sand, a young boy raced through his house and into his bedroom. Laughing and leaping, he crashed lightly into his bed of fine sand. Gleefully pouring sand from hand to hand, he slowly settled into a comfortable position as he eagerly awaited his nighttime story. The moon outside reached its peak in the sky and the infinite dunes glistened and danced in the midnight gusts and winds. The boy waited for this particular moment every night; an ocean of light would rush over the kingdom, illuminating his bedroom. Beams of moonlight traced his widening smile as his father entered the room with a thick leather-bound book announcing itself as the “Book of Many Stories” by way of faded gold plating.
“I wish to hear a story, father,” whispered the boy, containing his excitement.
His father flipped through the seemingly endless trove of stories.
“Which one would you like to hear tonight?”
A heading of “Superheroes Galore!” flashed across the page.
“No,” said the boy immediately, “not those. I want to hear a story from when you were young.”
His father laughed heartily.
“Then I will tell you the story of Percy and Gordon.”
He closed the book; there are stories even its infinite pages cannot contain.
Percy and Gordon lived next door to each other in the
beautiful village of Margana
“I want to grow up to be a scientist,” Percy would say as his eyes scanned the clear blue sky.
“And why is that?” asked Gordon, unconsciously grinning.
“To save the world, you know that.”
“I know. I just wanted to hear you say it.”
It was not until later that they actually had to consider their futures. As time passed, their words became waxed with doubt and their minds reeled with confusion. Purpose. No longer did the golden sand glisten for them. Purpose. Nor did their mother’s beckoning voices sound sweet. Not when they bellowed for purpose.
Most men in this village were, like Percy’s father, destined to become merchants. As with most, they bought and sold everything from maize and wheat to truths and lies. They traveled often. Gordon’s father, to the disdain of many in the village, was an artist and chose to stay at home, creating paintings of sand. Feeling the conscious pull of time passing by, Gordon began to spend more time at home, sitting by his father, watching. He sat silently, watching his father work the flowing sand with soft hands. For hours, his eyes followed every wave and slash of his father’s motions, mesmerized by the fluidity and ease of composition. When his eyes finally grew weary, he piled a large mound of sand against the wall and fell slowly into dream. He awoke to a whisper in his ear.
“Guess what I got?” inquired the familiar voice.
Gordon opened his eyes to dozens of crudely drawn boxes on a sheet of sturdy brown paper.
“My dad brought me back a graphic compilation of all the known elements in the world,” he explained excitedly, “but he only let me copy it down. Is this not a work of art?”
Smiling, Gordon shook the morning sand from his clothes, and pointing proudly to his father’s toil, said to Percy, “My father painted the night for me. Look at the magnificent stars, the perfect moon, the paths of the wind traced onto the midnight sand; this is a true work of art.”
Percy’s gaze slipped to the floor.
“My father says that is not art. That is merely a hobby and a waste of time. I think that if you—”
“Leave.”
“I meant that my father…”
This time it was his better judgment that silenced him. As he heard his own words trail off into the morning wisps of wind, he felt embarrassed at his own behavior. He gripped his poorly drawn table of elements along with his number-two pencils and with downcast eyes, hastened for the door.
Eight months passed without a single word between them. Gordon’s father was invited to teach temporarily at a faraway school as a master of fine art. His son wanted to go with him and after relentless begging and pleading they began packing for their travels. As Gordon happily hugged and thanked his father, a brown paper airplane flew in through the open window and landed in his lap. Immediately, the color caught his eye and he unfolded the construct to find a picture of himself and Percy standing in front of the two doors of their adjacent houses. An outline of a larger house surrounding the two buildings contained the only text across its shaded façade: Gordon Tehvitan Ibele & Percy Nograd Gilsenpe: Two as One. He rushed outside and saw Percy standing bathed in moonlight. Gordon opened his mouth to speak, but his words were choked back by the furious winds. Instead his friend spoke, “Forgive me, but above all else, please remember me.”
“And what did Gordon say?” demanded the boy now sitting upright clutching handfuls of gleaming white sand.
The boy’s father gazed out the window at the glistening stars, the pale wondrous moon, and said in a whisper, “And yes I said yes I will Yes.”
