The Shepherd

10

Four days had passed. On the misty morning of their departure, Mr. Shepherd and Oliver boarded a small private jet and began their journey to Italy. Almost as soon as the engines revved and roared, Mr. Shepherd took his migraine medication and reclined in his chair to sleep. He didn't wake up until they had landed, leaving Oliver alone to do as he pleased. He couldn't do much, though. Occasionally he would get up to stretch or get some water, but other than those isolated instances he remained in his seat. He tried to sleep but found it too uncomfortable. Eventually he had to find other means of entertainment. He pulled out the little Bible from his pocket, but he couldn't bring himself to read it. Instead he ran his hands continuously over the leather-bound cover in order to relax himself in times of excessive turbulence.

At the conclusion of the grueling flight the plane landed on a small, vacant airstrip somewhere in Italy. As the two stepped down onto the wet concrete and cool air, a small limo came and pulled up in front of them. Mr. Shepherd began to climb with a foolish grin and roared over the monstrous engines, "Just like old times, eh?"

Almost as soon as Oliver had situated himself, the car began to roll off into the city. It all looked so foreign and unfamiliar. "Where are we?"

"Reggio di Calabria."

"Is this where my parents are?"

Mr. Shepherd seemed confused for a moment, but it passed and, shaking his head, he said, "No. Your parents are in Sicily, in Messina." He waited for Oliver to respond, but he never did. After a moment Mr. Shepherd bent down from his seat and started searching the side door, fumbling around in the various compartments. "Ah," he sighed in disappointment. "There's no wine."

"Of course there's not," Oliver replied. "This is a car, not a restaurant."

"I suppose..."

"We'll get some wine in town."

A sudden jerk of the wheel made them both start. Mr. Shepherd asked in a calm voice, "What's the trouble?" The driver began to trill in unintelligible Italian. Oliver then lost interest in the matter, seeing as how they both began conversing fluently in the language. Tuning out the conversation, he rested his head against the cool glass window and looked with great interest at the squares and narrow streets of the city. It was all so beautiful.

After some time of driving they began to separate from the city and delve into the countryside. They stopped in front of a small villa founded along the side of a knoll, made from worn cobblestone. It appeared to Oliver to be both grand and humble at the same time, the ghost of a former mansion. There were disruptions in the soil and the remnants of foundations in certain places where there had once been buildings scattered across a small area of the land. The villa's current state made it seem more like an old cottage. A pasture of lowing cattle was sprawled to the left, sectioned off by a short barbed-wire fence. The whole scene was shrouded in a thin mist that hid anything more than a few hundred feet away, as if large sections of the countryside were missing or blank. Mr. Shepherd opened his door and stepped down, welcoming the cool air. When Oliver touched down he was surprised by how soft the ground was. It almost seemed to embrace his feet as they sank into the rich soil and grass.

"You should cherish this countryside," Mr. Shepherd said quietly as he adjusted his cane and straightened out. "There isn't much of it around in these parts." The two walked along a narrow, winding gravel path that led to the door of the house. As he studied the shallow ruins around them, Mr. Shepherd frowned slightly and said, "I remember this place being less... decrepit."