SHORT STORY

THE KITE. BY Jen chambers.

Grandpa Grayling tripped on the steps and dropped the kite.

‘So why do you bring that kite with you on holidays every year Gramps?’ I asked.

‘I like to have it. That’s all.’ He said.

Although I’m in my 30’s now I can still remember one particular summer holiday when I was very small. And we went to the beach, as usual and Gramps brought along his kite, as usual.   It was the only time I ever saw him fly it. It was a blustery, grey day with the wind whipping at the waves so that I could feel the salt spray in my nose and eyes and running down my cheeks. Gramps was out in the breakers and I was running along the beach watching him as he tugged at the string and yelled up at the kite. I don’t know what happened exactly but he suddenly fell over in the water and let go of the kite. It started drifting out to sea and there was Gramps wading and splashing out after it. He didn’t stop until he reached it. Then he grabbed it and held it close. I was scared at the time because I thought he was going to drown, but he didn’t and when he reached me all puffed out and exhausted. He said ‘Now why didn’t I just let it go?’

Like I said I’m thirty now and later that night when Gramps and I were sitting on the verandah, like we always do after dinner, I asked him more about the kite.

‘How long have you had it Gramps?’

Since I was ...... let me see. I reckon I must have been about six because I can remember carrying the kite in one hand and trying to reach the front door- knob with the other. And I couldn’t reach it because I was too short.’ He laughed at the memory.

‘But Gramps you’re eighty three now. Do you mean you’ve had the same kite for.seventy-seven years!’             

 ‘Well I must have mustn’t I? It’s the only kite I’ve had.’

This was amazing! A seventy-seven year old kite. I mean nothing but nothing lasts that long. Gramps must have read my mind.

‘Some things stand up to age very well, all things considered, I’ve even got one or two red hairs left,’ he said and to prove it he bent his head, parted the white hair and showed me.

‘But it’s in such good condition Gramps.’

‘What? My hair?’

‘No Gramps. The kite!’

‘To be honest lad, I’ve never thought that much about it. I’ve always had it. That much I do know, but as to why I bring it with me here year after year, well, I suppose your guess is as good as mine. I look after it you know. Wrap it up in tissue paper, I do, and put it away till the holidays come around again.’

‘You only get the kite out for the summer holidays?’

‘That’s right. Nothin’ wrong with that is there?’

I shook my head.

‘Well then,’ he said.

But there was something wrong because although he brought the kite with him each year, I’d never seen him fly it, at least not since that time years ago when I’d been five years old.

That night when I went to bed I had the weirdest dream. I was sitting on the beach looking out to sea and I saw a little boy playing in the shallows. He was holding something in his hand but I couldn’t quite make out what it was. As I sat there watching him- a strange cold fear swept over me. The sea was calm and the air was still - too still. There were no other people on the beach. The little boy looked up the beach and saw me. He ran up to me grabbed my hand and tried to pull me towards the water.

‘Come on. Fly the kite with me. Please!’

I tried to pull my hand away. But the boy persisted. I got up and went with him to the water’s edge. When we got there he let go of my hand and ran in to the water. He waded out through the waves. I yelled at him to stop. But he didn’t seem to hear me. He just kept wading, further and further out. I tried to go after him but my legs wouldn’t move. I called again but he took no notice. Just kept going. Further and further out. I tried again to go after him and then I woke up. My legs were churning away at the mattress and the bedclothes were soaking wet. I sat up in bed, my heart racing.

Next morning as Gramps and I walked along the beach I told him about my dream.

‘So what did the boy in your dream look like?’ Gramps asked.

‘I can’t remember much Gramps but I do remember his hair. It was red and curly.’

‘And you’re sure it was a kite he was holding?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was the kite like this one?’ Gramps held his kite out for me to look at.

‘I think so.’

Gramps rubbed at the stubble on his chin and shook his head. ‘Well, I don’t know what to make of it. Seems strange though don’t it?’

It sure did and what seemed even stranger was the far away look in Gramp’s eyes, like he was trying to make a connection somehow. It was as if he was checking his memory for information that should be there but wasn’t. He was quiet for the rest of the day and hardly said two words to me. Something was disturbing him.

That evening he didn’t sit with me on the verandah like he usually did. Instead he went off along the beach by himself. I offered to go with him but he refused. I decided to have a word with mum.

‘Is Gramps O.K?’ I asked.

‘Yes of course.’ said mum. ‘He gets a bit funny at times but you have to remember that he is eighty three.’

‘Is he your Dad?’

‘No, love. He’s your Dad’s Dad.’

‘Did he have brothers and sisters?’

‘As far as I know he was an only child.’ said mum. ‘Why the questions?’

‘Nothing. I was just curious, that’s all.’

‘Like I said, love, he’s an old man.’  And she left it at that.

That night I had another dream. I was walking along the waters edge and the beach was deserted, except for the little boy I’d seen in last night’s dream. As I walked the boy moved with me, only he wasn’t walking; he was kneeling on the wet sand and he was digging a hole. Water kept washing into the hole and collapsing it but he didn’t seem to notice. Beside him, on the sand, I saw the same kite that I’d seen in my previous dream. There was something about the kite                                    

‘Hello.’ I said.

He just kept digging. I tried again. ‘I like your kite.’

He stopped digging and looked up at me. ‘It’s special,’ he said.

‘Why’s that?’ I asked.

‘I always flys it wiv my bwover.’ He looked up the beach. ‘He’ll be here soon. We always flys it together.’

‘What’s your brother’s name?’

‘Sidney.’

‘And what’s your name?’

‘Clive.’ He looked at me. ‘You got a name?’

I told him.

‘We got the same last name’aven’t we?’ he said.

I jolted awake, the bedclothes soaked in sweat, just like in the first dream.

Next morning, after breakfast, Gramps got me alone. ‘You had another dream didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘Tell me about it.’

I told him and when I finished Gramps grabbed the kite and walked out of the house towards the beach. I followed and caught up with him.

The wind howled across the beach. Gulls hovered and swooped; their cries, intermingling to form an eerie chorus.

We walked silently for a while; our bodies crouched into the wind as it battered us, forcing our jackets to billow and flap. Gramps held the kite tightly as if defying the wind to take it from him.

‘It’s got something to do with you hasn’t it?’ I said. ‘All that stuff in my dreams I mean.’

Gramps stopped then and gazed out to sea.

‘It was so long ago... I’d forgotten all about it. You can do that you know- specially  when you’re young.’

He turned to me. Strands of white hair blew across his face and little beads of moisture trickled down the furrows of his cheeks. Probably the salt spray, I thought. But it wasn’t. Gramps was crying.

 ‘Clive was my twin. Did everything together we did. We got a kite for Christmas one year. We flew it together, always. We brought it here every year and flew it on this beach. One morning he must have got up early and come down here on his own to fly it. It was windy, like today.  When I woke up and found him gone I came down here to look for him. I found the kite but I never found Clive. Never saw him again. But I kept the kite.  Our parents were so upset, when he vanished, that they wiped everything about Clive’s existence from their lives. It was like he never existed. Over the years I guess I forgot too. But I must have known, really, mustn’t I?  I mean, I kept the kite didn’t I? Then you asked me about it the other day. And when you told me about those dreams of yours I knew I couldn’t keep Clive hidden any longer. He needed to be acknowledged. You must have a bit of Clive in you because it was your dreams that forced me to acknowledge him.’

I put my arms around my grandfather and held him. I felt the salty moisture on my cheeks and told myself it was the sea spray, but I knew that it wasn’t.

After a while Gramps pulled away. He handed me the kite and walked along the beach as far as he could, letting out the string as he went. Then he stopped and signaled for me to release the kite. It soared upwards, the tags on the tail taking on a life of their own. Gramps let go and the kite was free.   I ran towards him and as I reached him I heard his whisper before the wind caught it. 

‘Goodbye Clive,’ he raised a faltering hand. ‘Goodbye little brother.’ 

We turned and headed back to the house together.