Before Our Dawn| ongoing

fifty-five

Chapitre cinquante-cinq
━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

In the early morning light, the kitchen was filled with the aroma of fresh bread and the sound of a kettle whistling on the stove. Marcel sat at the head of the table, his posture erect, his eyes tracing the grain of the wood as if seeking answers in its patterns. Across from him, Heidi and Klaus fidgeted in their seats, their youthful energy contrasting with Marcel's sombre demeanour.

Isra moved about the kitchen with practiced ease, placing a plate of eggs, a pot of jam, sliced fruit, and a loaf of bread on the table. She poured the tea, its steam rising in the cool air of the morning, and took her seat beside Marcel.  

"Good morning," Marcel greeted. 

Three weeks had passed since his arrival, and although he was still getting used to the two children's faces, he had been trying to engage with them. "I hope you slept well."

Heidi nodded, her pigtails bouncing slightly. "Yes, thank you," she replied, her voice a soft chirp in the quiet room.

Even more outspoken, Klaus piped up, "I dreamt of trains last night! Fast ones, like the ones we see in the pictures!"

Marcel offered a small smile, encouraged by their willingness to engage. "Trains are remarkable inventions. Perhaps one day, we'll take a trip on one, see where it takes us."

Isra watched the exchange, a silent observer of the tentative bonds forming at the breakfast table. She passed the jam to Klaus, who took it with a polite "thank you," and then to Heidi, who needed a gentle reminder to use her manners.

Marcel's efforts to bridge the gap with Heidi and Klaus were like the reluctant steps of a dancer learning a new rhythm. The awkwardness hung around him like a cloak, but with each passing day, it seemed to lighten, thread by thread unravelling as he wove new connections with the children.

Isra observed these changes with a heart full of hope. In the way Marcel's eyes softened when he watched the children play, or the hint of a smile that tugged at his lips at Klaus's boisterous tales, she caught glimpses of the man she had fallen in love with, the man she believed still existed beneath the scars of war. She saw it in the evenings when he would sit by the window, a book in hand, reading aloud to the children.

And she saw it in the mornings, as they gathered around the breakfast table, the most ordinary of moments transformed into a stage for healing. Marcel would ask Heidi about her dolls, or listen patiently as Klaus explained his latest invention, a contraption of string and wood that was sure to change the world.

It was in these moments, these small acts of engagement and interest, that Isra recognized the essence of the man she loved. The war had changed Marcel, but it had not defeated him. With each day, he was finding his way back to them, back to her, back to the man he once was.

After breakfast, the family settled into a quiet routine within the confines of their home. The decision to stay indoors was unspoken but understood; Marcel was still a ship trying to find its anchor in the unfamiliar sea of civilian life. The echoes of trauma rang loud in his ears, and the simplest of sounds-a door slamming, the clatter of dishes-could send him adrift on waves of memory.

Isra noticed the storm clouds that gathered in Marcel's eyes with certain triggers. She knew the landscape of his mind was still a battlefield, and it would take time for the mines to be cleared. With a gentle hand, she guided Heidi and Klaus, teaching them to tread lightly around the invisible lines that crisscrossed his psyche.

"He's still healing," she explained to them. "We must be quiet and considerate of him."

Heidi  nodded solemnly, her young mind grasping the severity of her mother's words. Klaus, though brimming with questions, understood the importance of being a gentle presence.