Short Story - Of hills and fathers

It was evening, sometime approaching dusk when father told me: ‘’son, let’s take a walk.’’ This wasn’t strange. I mean, Dad often spared his precious time and only spent most of the evening walking with me, teaching me this or that.

We went to the woods some times, sometimes to the river banks towards twilight. This time we were going to the green hills. I didn’t know why but I didn’t want to bother him. But of course dad had his own way of reading my thoughts, always did, ‘’son it’s beautiful up there, you will love it,’’ he said, answering my unasked question.

Taking my small hand into his, we walked along. It was one of those moments of affection, the several of those father and son times that had become frequent as age took its toll on him.

We walked to the hills and started climbing in silence. The hills were too high and I was finding it pretty hard. Dad of course didn’t. Conspicuously however, he didn’t notice I was struggling, or if he did, he didn’t show it until when finally I started breathing hard.

He looked at me and said “son, something bothering you?’’

“The hills father, they are too high and I am tired, my knees are weak.’’ I said with a sad face.

He looked at me with a faint smile; there was love in his eyes the same I always saw whenever he meant to teach me something new. “You must learn to climb hills son, someday you will have to climb mountains on your own. Keep walking son don’t give up we are almost there.”

Finally we reached the top. We lay on the green grass on our backs, and supported our heads with our hands, stared at the fading blue sky in silence. Then, suddenly dad broke the silence.

Pointing the west, he said: “Look son, what do you see?” The sun was sinking beneath the river, and far away to its midst, simmered silver like. It was such a beauty, you didn’t get the words to describe it. “Wow it’s so beautiful!” I observed.

“That’s it son, life can be so beautiful when viewed from the top.” He said.

And starting up, finished, “we’d better get going son.” It was now getting dark. Light was fading off the Western sky.

We descended the hills, quietly again, when with a faint or was it wry smile, he offered to help, “Should I help you down?”

I protested and said, ‘it’s easy going down, dad”. And he laughed, “yap, you are right son, it’s hard to get on top, but so easy to get down”.

Years past, I sometimes wander on these hills, but so sad I now wander on my own. Each time I climb them, I hear papa’s voice: “keep walking son, don’t give we are almost there.”

I wish he was here to see me climb them on my own. My poor father, he knew I had to climb mountains someday on my own. He taught me how to fish because he knew no one would fish for me when he’s gone.

The hills are still green, the sunset sky is still silver and the river still glistens in the same splendor, only that a great friend is missing.