Of Waves and War

27: tears pouring down his cheeks

Eulises

It's quite dark by the time I make my way up the old path to the hunting cabin. I have go slowly for poor Argos, who insists on following me, tail wagging all the while.

A gunshot rings out, I duck behind a tree, tugging the dog with me.

"It's me, damn it!" I cry, angrily.

"You're not dead, boy?" My father grunts, still reloading his shotgun.

"Why would I be dead?!" I growl, ducking out from my hiding place, hands up a bit all the same.

"Now that you say that, I honestly don't know. It's not like we've even heard from you in years," he growls, putting down the shotgun.

"But still, would I be dead?" I ask, offended.

"Clearly not, get over here, let me look at you, my eyes aren't so good in the dark," he says, motioning me up.

"Then please do not shoot at things?" I say, coming up anyway.

"Stupid idiot," he grabs me and pulls me tightly into his withered arms, studying my face.

"I can prove it's me," I say, quietly, realizing that he's studying my features for I'm unrecognizable, practically, after all these years.

"I know my boy," he says, clutching me to him now. I melt into his arms, sobbing bitterly. I had no idea how I needed to be touched with kindness till this moment.

"What happened to you?" He asks, putting a hand through my hair, touching a scar on my forehead. It's not new, but it is to him.

"Long, long, very long story. I'm home now," I say, my voice cracking.

"Yes, you are," he says, clapping my shoulders, "Come inside, you look like the dead, boy."

"I've been," I mutter, following him into the small cabin. He's got a fire going, and weapons hung on the walls.

"Sit down by the fire, you're soaking, did you swim half the way home?" he asks.

"Ah, sort of, actually—,"

"Here, have a drink," he says, pouring us each a shot of whiskey. I slump next to the fire, Argos curls up next to me, head on my knee.

"Thank you," I accept the shot. No sooner does it hit my throat than I'm dry heaving it back up.

"What's happened to you?" my father asks, patting my back as stomach acid drips down my face.

"Things I cannot name, but I don't know what's wrong currently," I say, my voice hoarse.

"When did you last eat anything? You're skin and bones," he says, straightening up.

"I don't know," I admit. It had to have been---with Calypso perhaps? I didn't eat the night before and I trusted nothing after she told me I was free. But how many days ago was that?

"I know what the problem is, here, all I have is soup, sit there—," he goes to get it I suppose.

"Where is my wife?" I ask, when he returns.

"At the house, I would expect," he says, sitting opposite me.

"And who are those men, in my house?" I growl.

"Oh. Those boys, they all have it in their heads they're going to marry your girl," he scoffs, "Don't look like that, Eulises, she'll have none of it of course. They're doing some sort of sit in to ensure that she actually speaks to them which she does not."

"Where's my son?" I ask, flatly.

"With his mother I'd expect. He has it in his head that he's going to get rid of those men on his own, which involved driving them to distraction apparently. I removed myself to stay out of his way," my father says, settling in his chair. "Eat that now."