The Rise of Sigmund the Sorcerer

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

The Estate

"Guten tag. Sigmund speaking! Who's calling?"

"Hey Siggy! It's me, Steven!"

"Steven! Hallo!"

"I need to speak with one of your parents. Would you put them on the phone for me?"

"Ja! Of course, hold on please." I set the phone down and ran to fetch my father. "Father! My manager, he calls for you on the phone!" My father, who was watering the fields, quickly dropped his hose and ran up the hill to our home. As he made his way inside, I handed him the phone. We were back in Germany, once again, for the last few days of my break from school.

"Thank you, son." He smiled. "Please finish the watering whilst I'm talking."

I nodded and took off my coat and vest before heading out, leaving them at the kitchen table so they wouldn't catch dirt. I watered as my mother sprinkled more seeds. She looked towards our property line.

"What's on your mind, Mother?"

"Those men..." She replied. "Do you think they're hungry?"

She was referring to my security guards. They were standing at each corner of our property line. None of them had moved from their post all day, for anything. I nodded.

"Ja, maybe. Should we bring them some raspberries?"

"Ja." My mother smiled. "Let's bring them some good ones."

We worked together to pick some nice raspberries off our dozens of bushes, dropping them into a metal pale. When we found we had enough, we headed inside to wash them off. Inside, my father was still in the kitchen talking on the wall phone. To me, it looked like his eyes were teared over and red, as though he'd been crying. I wanted to ask what was happening and if he was okay, but I didn't want to disturb his conversation. I turned to the sink and washed the berries. Before my mother and I could head out again, my father hung up the phone and closed the back door.

"Sit." He told my mother and I sternly. We did as he demanded and took a seat at the kitchen table. "I have some news."

"What is it?" I asked. I was nervous about what my father might say. Getting a better look at him now, he had indeed been crying. My father took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he inhaled and opening them again as he sharply exhaled.

"We're leaving." He spoke softly. My mother and I exchanged confused glances. She quickly spoke.

"Darling, what are you—?"

"We're moving to a bigger home. A much larger home." My eyes grew.

"Huh?" I questioned. "A bigger home? Really? For what?" He smiled at me.

"Because, my son, you're famous. You've finally done it! You've made a name for yourself and the home is the reward for your hard work!" My father stood up from being seated at the table. I stood up as well. One thing came to my mind of which I had to ask.

"Father, our promise? What about our promise?"

"Almost. We need to get packed up!"

He walked to his room and my mother followed behind him with excitement. I sat back down at the table when I felt the tears come to my eyes. I held them back. The move was surreal, but even more so was the response I'd received from my father. I held back the joyful tears. I was famous.

"Mein Gott..."

It finally hit me at that table.

"I'm famous."