The Woodcarver's Son by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781771482288
Publisher: ChiZine
Published: 2014-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

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Alejandro fully intended to do what the bruja said. He had the two pieces of staff wedged under his belt, the bucket of milk in his hand, the cat following closely behind to lap up any spills. But then he caught a glimpse of the tall trees at the edge of the distant forest, and their trunks gleaming despite the drought, and all that they promised. This was the source of all the wood in the village. This was the place where the legendary Black Walnut and Spanish Cedar grew, the raw materials of his father’s dreams. This was where the thorn that ended his mother’s life came from, and where his mother now lay buried.

Alejandro walked away from the road and toward the distant line of trees, hoping that the witch cow would not see him. The milk bucket suddenly felt heavier in his hand. He wondered how much of it his mother’s corpse would have to drink before she would consent to come back to them.

He had of course never seen where his mother was buried; the old woman who stayed behind while the others were at the funeral had told him simply that she was buried behind the chapel at the edge of the forest. Happily, the chapel proved easy to find.

He approached the chapel slowly, as there was much weeping and wailing inside. It was a simple structure of mud bricks and boards, but with no roof: the wreckage of this lay to one side, as if torn off by the wind. Tall trees surrounded it, their lower branches knit together and hanging over the bare walls. A small goat cart with digging tools inside was parked by the open front door. A gravedigger’s cart. The goat stared at Alejandro with eyes like a woman’s. A beautiful wooden cross had been planted in the ground near the door. Buds had sprouted from one arm of the cross; two pale green leaves had opened. The sound of weeping from inside the chapel was tremendous, and frightening.

But when Alejandro entered the chapel the weeping stopped. There was no one there. A woman lay on the altar, but evaporated into the shadows when Alejandro reached to pull aside her veil. Behind the altar Alejandro could see there was no wall: he could see the forest there, endless and cool and a green so dark it might have been a shade of black. He walked past the empty altar and into the dark green.

The ground between the trees was littered with broken headstones and splintered wooden crosses. But one remained standing and whole, and unmistakable in the excellence of its sad, sad carvings. The empty eyes and the empty arms and the long and intricate flow of his mother’s hair. Two feet from this cross a giant tree reached toward the distant dim light of sky. Alejandro turned, and the goat cart was there beside him, the goat smiling, winking at him, pursing its lips. Alejandro reached into the back of the cart and pulled out the ancient pick and shovel.

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