A Girl and her Father

A Girl and Her Father

I wonder about dreams. There's a forest in a dream I have sometimes. In this forest there is a long path which cuts through a mountain. It is winter; a cruel wind blows. The path is steep and icy. It winds up and up and ends abruptly at a wall of dense black rock. Without hesitation I walk through that wall--you know how it is with dreams--and find myself in the courtyard of a palace made entirely of ice. A fresh blanket of vapor shrouds the entire place, scattering as its inhabitants hustle about, settling back like carpet in their wake. In all directions are snowy peaks and fleecy clouds. The sky is halcyon blue.

I enter the palace unnoticed and make my way to the door of the receiving gallery. A quiet woman in a floor-length tunic pulls open a heavy curtain to expose a window no less than twenty feet high and thirty feet wide. Outside, the sunlight is stretched in evening hues of crimson and ochre across a stark expanse of snow. The woman’s leather scuffs brush the ice softly as she passes by me out the door.

I enter to find a raised platform, from which arises a glorious throne. The seat is occupied by a giant of a man. Perched upon the arm of the throne is an eight-year-old child. It is me. The man's arm holds me snugly about my waist. I am giggling, shaking my head to tickle his forearm with my long black curls. He laughs affectionately. My feet jam his thigh as I throw my head back and cry, “Papi!”, flinging my arms around his neck and burying my face in his fleecy cheek, kissing him.

When I am finished kissing and squeezing, he pulls back and produces a small wooden box from beneath his robe. He holds it gently beneath my gaze and watches as my expression changes from delight to curiosity. “The time has come, child, for us to talk seriously. Today is your birthday. You are of age now, and it is time for me to give you a lesson,” he says in a voice both husky with sadness, and gentle with love.

“But I already had my lessons this morning!” I smile compliantly.

“This is not a lesson like those Chir-tha gives you. This is far more important. This is a lesson you can never forget; it is your destiny.”

I knit my brow, mystified by Papi’s words.

“And so that you will never forget this lesson, I am giving you a present. Tonight at the feast you will receive many more presents, grand and beautiful. Those you may show anyone, and share with your friends and cousins as you always have. But the gift I give you now you must show no one. It is something you will always wear around your neck, so it lies over your heart. It will remind you of the words I speak now. It will remind you of your destiny.”

As he tells me the story I lean forward in attention. His hands flutter and dance as he speaks, motioning toward the window as he tells about the hidden pathway in the forest beyond the surrounding rock walls. I hear of brothers and battles, my eyes wide with fear. But my father’s words reassure me and my heart pounds with courage. The sun slides down the sky in the window as the story unfolds. Finally he slides open the front cover of the amulet and a tear-shaped ruby as big as his thumb falls out into my palm.

“Many tears have fallen in this battle, and many more will fall before you fulfill your destiny and reunite our broken world.”

“But what if I can’t do it?” I worry aloud, “What if I fail?”

“You must never forget who you are. You are my daughter. If you remember that, you won’t fail. And that is why I give you this gift. This is your key to the kingdom. This is what will bring you back to me one day. This is the tear to end all tears. Do you understand?” Tears fall from his eyes as he thinks of what is to come. Seeing my papi cry makes me cry, and I wraps my arms around his neck and slide onto his lap. We sit quietly together as the room darkens.

“I think they will be ready for us at the feast, don’t you?” he finally says, and we stand together.

“But, Papi, I don’t want to leave,” I whisper, gazing out the window at the cliff walls, so grand and protective. But my voice is so soft, and Papi doesn’t hear.