The Cursed Blood
at my side, letting me scratch away at his head and leaning into me, continuing to happily pant away.Grandfather eyed this with no small amount of surprise. He stroked at his scraggly grey beard thoughtfully with an arched brow as Dad struggled to bring all my bags up to the porch at once. For the sake of simplicity, I’m just going to refer to him as ‘Gramps’ from here on. It gives me no small amount of amusement that this will REALLY tick him off should he ever read this, as he hates nothing more than when I call him that.
He took a moment to look at his son like he wanted to say something but with a soft sigh seemed to think better of it. He watched him walk away grumbling about a bag he’d forgotten in the car. Gramps glanced down at Manx who was now licking at my hand, and his sour, distant, deeply troubled expression softened. If only a little bit.
“Manx never likes anyone, so it’s good he likes you. That gives me just a little bit of hope that you won’t be too much of a nuisance.” He grumbled down at me with a nod and crooked smile as he took another sip from his cup which was so chipped and scraped it appeared to be nearly as gritty and rough as him.
Most distressingly, his eyes seemed almost completely black as he studied me over the rim of his cup. He sighed, smacked his lips and with a pronounced shrug, and beckoned me in. “May as well get this over with, eh?”
“I really don’t want to,” I grumbled.
My grandfather eyed me dolefully. “There will be lots of things you don’t want to do, boy. Sooner or later you’re just going to have to learn what I did long ago. That you really don’t have a choice. So get over it and get in.”
He barked with a growl as he pointed sharply (with a bit of a greasy hand with rather busted up knuckles that looked like he’d been working something mechanical, and not quite successfully) into what it seemed would now be my home. Head hanging, I complied and slumped on in.
I know what you’re thinking. Log cabin in the woods. Hunter. It’s got to look like a taxidermist and sporting goods store’s dream with dear and moose heads, bear rugs, and rifles over the mantle, right? Well if you’re thinking that, you would be wrong.
Sure, it was rustic in the Adirondack fashion. Fire crackling in the stone hearth and there were plenty of cushions and fleece blankets in checkered red and blacks and squishy comfortable looking brown leather sofas (this is Gramps’ doing. It’s his favorite pattern for some reason. Personally, I think it’s because he likes to annoy family—but we will get into that later). There were overstuffed chairs, seats, and even a log rocking chair but other than that things were tidy, clean and simple. There was even a huge iron and glass vase of fresh cut flowers on the long, polished log table. No animal heads or antlers though.
It took me a moment to realize that only Manx and I had followed him inside as I peered about curiously. I turned to them as Gramps went and sat his half empty cup on a coffee table strewn with what looked like scrolls and a huge leather book bound and locked closed with ornately worked but worn and age tarnished brass.
He glanced back at me sadly. His black, beetle-like eyes sparkled as he uncomfortably shook his head and let out a deep pain filled breath. I knew just by looking that my parents wouldn’t set foot in Gramps’ home, even to spend a last few moments with me before they walked out of my life.
That hurt more than I expected.
“Say your goodbyes, son. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t leave it like that. Don’t make my mistakes, boy, as sooner or later you will find it’s too late to fix them.” He nodded meaningfully to my mother who had her face in her hands and was obviously crying again while my father hugged her. Stroking at her hair, his forehead was pressed against hers, framed like a sad hallmark sympathies card illustration by the doorway.
I won’t bore you with details, but I will freely divulge that it was obviously an uncomfortable, gloomy, and weepy affair (sadly though I still hadn’t it in me to apologize for saying I hated them and everything else). We hugged, and I got more assurances that everything would be just fine that sounded hollow and just as bitter as what was brewing in my belly.
I felt betrayed, and when Gramps had finally shut the door after we watched them drive away and led me to the couch for our talk, I was left feeling confused, broken, cored out, empty, and numb.
Up to then, watching my parents walk dejectedly, hand in hand back to their station wagon and drive off, then hearing the door slam shut on the life I’d known had been the hardest thing I’d ever had to go through in my whole young life.
As I settled onto his sofa Gramps eyed the fireplace and tossed in another log. He jabbed at the fire with a poker until it was crackling, spitting, and popping. The flames hungrily starting to eat away at the wood he’d added with dancing abandon. Nodding he put the poker back on its hook and turned, hands on hips as he studied me shrewdly where I sat.
Even as tall as I was for my age at the time, I remember that my feet were several inches off the floor as I sunk into the sofa cushions. They reminded me of home and the sofas in our living room and all at once it hit me full force that this was my home now. A bitterness bubbled up and I felt a slow dread begin to build as I looked wearily about.
Manx grunted