FarmlandJAKE ROBERTS
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Issue 5
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His family had been farming the land for centuries. His father and his mother had taught him the ways of farming, as theirs did before and theirs before them. Generations of farmers reaping the rewards of the great harvest. Each year, the members of the family would congregate at the old family manor, present their crops, and spin yarns of all the tales they had to share from the year past. The intensity of the farming process meant that each harvest was cause for great celebration and was not something to be missed. Not something to turn up to empty handed either. Those with nothing to show from their time in the field were seldom welcomed with warm smiles and open arms.
Jean had seen ten harvests and in that time, he had never understood how anyone could turn up with nothing to show. Sure, he and his family were understanding of the youngsters, everyone was given one free pass. But those that turned up with nowt and did so out of choice, was something that used to unsettle him. For him, it was a way of life. He used to love it. The chase, the thrill, the skill, and the patience. All of it he had adored and cherished. But slowly, this way of life was beginning to take its toll on him. He was growing tired and was finally, beginning to understand.
“You ready, Hun?” Jean blinked. Mol was applying some lipstick. “Do I look alright?” She turned and twisted in the mirror. Her dress clung to her with a steamy elegance. All he could do was nod and stare. There were of course others before Mol, but none of them had ever gave him what she did. With the others, he thought not of what was to come, simply enjoyed his time with them and when the time came, moved on. But with Mol, he had lost himself and forgotten his place. He had pushed the purpose of his existence to one side and for once in his life, began to feel human. He had surrendered his soul to her just as she had done to him. His face must have been one of concern as she turned to him and furrowed her brow. “What’s the matter? They will like me, won’t they?” His stomach knotted. “They’re going to love you, darling.” She smiled, turned back to the mirror, and smacked her lips.
The drive down had done his nerves no favors. The driver, a good friend of the families, made no efforts to hide his feelings about Mol. “I don’t like how he’s looking at me J.” Mol had brought herself into Jean. He looked up to see the driver once again peaking at Mol. Jean caught his eye and shook his head slightly, the driver winked and set his eyes back on the road. He pulled Mol in and held her close. The drive was long and dull. They stopped twice at petrol stations to fill up and to stretch their legs. Each time, the driver approached Jean when Mol was out of ear shot, to congratulate him. “What a find”, he’d say as he licked his lips. Jean had nothing to say. His mind was a hive of anxiety. The driver’s actions burned rage inside him but how could he retaliate? A few more hours and all this would be over and done, he told himself. The thought of absconding with Mol had crossed his mind numerous times. But it was one thing to think about doing something and another to carry it out. The realms of possibility were a far cry from the hard truths of reality.
The car pulled into the grounds of his family home and Jean was that bit closer to being able to leave again. Mol was in disbelief that the great manor nestled between a thousand and one oaks and pines, was his home. They always were. He used to enjoy coming here. Used to love getting back amongst the trees and treading the paths he did as a child. Reminiscing about simpler times and lose himself in the comforts of nostalgia. But now, he was waning. Tiring of all that came with his homecoming.
“Jean!” Mol’s hand was on his shoulder. The car had stopped, the door was open, and the driver was waiting for Jean to step out. He looked at Mol and then at the driver. “Sorry babes. Was just... Never mind.” He stepped out and thanked the driver. He turned to help Mol out, but the driver insisted. Jeans skin crawled as the driver held her hand. He turned around and set eyes upon his home. The Manor was full of life. Somewhere within, a band was playing. Servants ran about the place in ironed white shirts. In every window stood family members and their guests, all conversing over fine wines and ruby ports. Luckily for Jean, nobody was waiting at the entrance. He and Mol must have been the last ones to arrive. Jean shook the drivers hand out of courtesy and thanked him. “I’ll be seeing you later, no doubt.” The driver’s eyes were on Mol the whole time. Again, Jean had no reply. Only anger. Anger and guilt. Jean nodded and returned to Mol. He slipped his hand around her waist and held her tight, planting the softest of kisses on her bare shoulder. Her scent filled him, and his heart sunk. Every step towards the great ebony doors of the manor was a knife in her back. The doors opened on their arrival by some servant out of view and revealed the main hall. A room of grandiose and elegance imposed itself upon them and stole Mol’s breath. The room was abuzz with conversation. Fine vintages and delicacies from the world over, flowed around the room with ease. Everyone was full and everyone was merry. Jean had hoped that they could sleuth in unnoticed, that he and Mol could pull up a seat and spend the night in relative peace, but all this was dashed against the wall upon the sound of his father. “JEAN. MY SON!” His voice filled the room and brought about a sudden stillness. The band ceased playing and the chatter quietened down as the crowd dispersed, allowing he and his father to meet. The short walk was painful. Eyes and whispers followed the pair as they made their way to the center of the room. Mol, took all this in her stride and soaked up the attention. Jean had a bit more trouble. He swallowed his guilt and stiffened his lip. “Father.” A firm shake with one hand a strong grip on the shoulder with the other. Mol held out her hand but his father shooed it away. “Please, we’re family now.” He held her at arm’s length and took her in in her entirety. “Well, Jean has done well keeping you under wraps hasn’t he.” Mol blushed as his father brought her in for a hug. Jean forced a smile. After that it was a lengthy process of formalities as Mol was introduced to all the family heads and significant members. Every year the same. Dusty traditions that had to be followed and preserved for the sake of preserving them so that future generations may carry them out and in turn, preserve them. Jean began drinking and after a few glasses of port, the events to come were pushed out of his head and he found himself in a state of relative ease and relaxation.
His head hit the pillow, the fire crackled in the corner, the smell of wet pine sifted through the window and he only just realized how exhausted he was. His body ached and his mind was ragged. The guilt of it all was crushing him. Mol’s scent found his nose and her head soon followed, appearing next to his on the pillow. He closed his eyes and the day they met came to him.
A hazy summers afternoon. A small forgotten café in some quiet village along the Italian Riviera. The sort of place where peeling wallpaper and broken tiles was smiled upon. He was sat at the window, sipping on a large Negroni. Watching as the sun worked its way across the square outside. It had been beating down all day and naturally, he had sought shelter. An avid lover of the sun, but forever resigned to sit on the edge of the shadows. Just out of its reach, never to feel its warmth. One of many cruel ironies life had handed him. An aging bus pulled up opposite the window and off she stepped. Floral summers dress and hiking boots, all beaten and dusty from a long day’s walk. She was all smiles as she took in her new surroundings. From the off, he was in love. Not a word he threw about often, but in this case, a word he did not hesitate to use. She looked for the nearest establishment and to his joy, she found the café. Her approach stirred something in his stomach. Something he had not felt before. A weird churning from somewhere deep within. Almost as if he were about to relieve his stomach of its contents and excited to do so. She came through the open doorway and sat on a table three down from his. He shifted uncomfortably as she scanned the room and found him. A smile came his way and with it, more strange sensations in his mid-section. He smiled back but couldn’t help but think he was making a fool of himself. She ordered a glass of white wine. He finished off his Negroni and ordered another, the whole while not taking his eyes off her. He simply must talk to this woman. The Negroni came and he saw to it with haste. The gin lined his stomach and filled his confidence. He made to stand up and make his move, but by some freak coincidence, she had beaten him to it and was stood at his table. “Leaving so soon?” His eyes met hers and he melted. He melted. Him! He who had been at the game for longer than she could comprehend and had seen many a woman fall for his charm, was at that moment, struggling to find words. He shook his head, cleared his throat and found himself once more. “No please.” He gestured to the seat opposite him. Eyes down as he steadied his breathing. She sat down and this time, it was his turn to be on the offence. He brought his eyes up and focused in on her. The pair sat in silence for a few moments. Both taking the other in. “So.” He brought his glass to his lips and took a sip. “What brings you to this here, sleepy corner of the world?” And that was that. The pair drank and talked and talked and drank. Not once moving from their table by the window. Exchanging tales and swapping stories. Throughout the day and well into the night. All of that but twelve months prior to where they were right now. Locked inside this great manor that was his families. She, excited by the prospect of being loved and welcomed into his family with open arms and he, sick to the core with guilt.
The morning came and the servants made the rounds and woke up guests and family members alike. Breakfast was being served in the great hall and the place was once more, excited. A great feast had been put on. Blood sausage, bacon, fried potatoes, and eggs. All the bad stuff that people adored so much. All the stuff that marbled flesh with fatty deposits. Jean sat, head bowed, staring at his plate as Mol ate greedily. Hungover from the night’s antics and hungry for some grease to soak up the remaining alcohol. She, and the other guests, ate with such haste that they did not notice that it was only them who were eating. The family members all sat around, watching on with anticipation in their eyes and hunger in their bellies. Jean glanced around and noticed several of his aunts, uncles and cousins eying Mol up. Their eyes met his and smiles and nods of appreciation were sent his way. Mol looked up to see him not eating. “Jean, Hun? Why you not eating?” He looked at her. Took her in and felt water fill his eyes. He shook his head and readied his reply. “Mol...” Without warning, the bells stared ringing. The bells that he was dreading. The bells that signified the end. Mol looked at him with panic and screamed but the bells were so loud, her screams were not heard. She clasped her hands over her ears, but they were grabbed by two of his cousins. She spun round to see a group of family members behind her. All laughing manically in the din that filled the room. She span back to face Jean, but he could not get his eyes to meet hers. He couldn’t do it. He owed her that much. Owed her at least some explanation as to what was going on, or at the very least a final moment of comfort, but he could not. He looked down at his feet and let the tears take him. The bells stopped and the room was taken over by screams and laughter. A hundred guests all crying, a hundred family members laughing, and Jeans sobs. “JEAN!” Mol’s voice pierced him and tore out his heart. Held it before him and forced him to question it all. Question the point in all this. All these traditions that for so long he had upheld and done so with pride. All these traditions that until Mol, he had not dared question. All these traditions that for so long had been the focal point of his life. He looked up once more to see Mol’s red hair flaying about in the air as she kicked and struggled and fought with every ounce of energy she had left, as she was carted off to the basement below. Watched as all the other guests did the same and as his family, his oh so beloved family, chased after eagerly. As quickly as it had started, it was over. The hall was empty. Only Jean remained. Sobbing into his lap. Regretting every moment of his hollow, lonesome life. He stood up. Deciding right there and then that all of this was going to end. He turned and waked away from the crowds. Walked with pace towards the great ebony doors that he and Mol had walked through. Not hesitating, not once. Even at the doors he pushed through them with the strength and speed of a dozen men and stepped out into the mornings sun.
It was a glorious morning. Blue skies dotted ever so slightly with tiny balls of cotton. Birds were drifting along, singing their songs. Rabbits and hares could be seen darting around the trees. Wildflowers were in full bloom and last night’s rain was forgotten and gone. He stepped out, into the heat and into the sun. Finally, feeling it on his skin. Finally feeling the warmth that he had longed for his entire life. On he walked, embracing every moment, every step, and every sensation.
Jean had seen ten harvests and in that time, he had never understood how anyone could turn up with nothing to show. Sure, he and his family were understanding of the youngsters, everyone was given one free pass. But those that turned up with nowt and did so out of choice, was something that used to unsettle him. For him, it was a way of life. He used to love it. The chase, the thrill, the skill, and the patience. All of it he had adored and cherished. But slowly, this way of life was beginning to take its toll on him. He was growing tired and was finally, beginning to understand.
“You ready, Hun?” Jean blinked. Mol was applying some lipstick. “Do I look alright?” She turned and twisted in the mirror. Her dress clung to her with a steamy elegance. All he could do was nod and stare. There were of course others before Mol, but none of them had ever gave him what she did. With the others, he thought not of what was to come, simply enjoyed his time with them and when the time came, moved on. But with Mol, he had lost himself and forgotten his place. He had pushed the purpose of his existence to one side and for once in his life, began to feel human. He had surrendered his soul to her just as she had done to him. His face must have been one of concern as she turned to him and furrowed her brow. “What’s the matter? They will like me, won’t they?” His stomach knotted. “They’re going to love you, darling.” She smiled, turned back to the mirror, and smacked her lips.
The drive down had done his nerves no favors. The driver, a good friend of the families, made no efforts to hide his feelings about Mol. “I don’t like how he’s looking at me J.” Mol had brought herself into Jean. He looked up to see the driver once again peaking at Mol. Jean caught his eye and shook his head slightly, the driver winked and set his eyes back on the road. He pulled Mol in and held her close. The drive was long and dull. They stopped twice at petrol stations to fill up and to stretch their legs. Each time, the driver approached Jean when Mol was out of ear shot, to congratulate him. “What a find”, he’d say as he licked his lips. Jean had nothing to say. His mind was a hive of anxiety. The driver’s actions burned rage inside him but how could he retaliate? A few more hours and all this would be over and done, he told himself. The thought of absconding with Mol had crossed his mind numerous times. But it was one thing to think about doing something and another to carry it out. The realms of possibility were a far cry from the hard truths of reality.
The car pulled into the grounds of his family home and Jean was that bit closer to being able to leave again. Mol was in disbelief that the great manor nestled between a thousand and one oaks and pines, was his home. They always were. He used to enjoy coming here. Used to love getting back amongst the trees and treading the paths he did as a child. Reminiscing about simpler times and lose himself in the comforts of nostalgia. But now, he was waning. Tiring of all that came with his homecoming.
“Jean!” Mol’s hand was on his shoulder. The car had stopped, the door was open, and the driver was waiting for Jean to step out. He looked at Mol and then at the driver. “Sorry babes. Was just... Never mind.” He stepped out and thanked the driver. He turned to help Mol out, but the driver insisted. Jeans skin crawled as the driver held her hand. He turned around and set eyes upon his home. The Manor was full of life. Somewhere within, a band was playing. Servants ran about the place in ironed white shirts. In every window stood family members and their guests, all conversing over fine wines and ruby ports. Luckily for Jean, nobody was waiting at the entrance. He and Mol must have been the last ones to arrive. Jean shook the drivers hand out of courtesy and thanked him. “I’ll be seeing you later, no doubt.” The driver’s eyes were on Mol the whole time. Again, Jean had no reply. Only anger. Anger and guilt. Jean nodded and returned to Mol. He slipped his hand around her waist and held her tight, planting the softest of kisses on her bare shoulder. Her scent filled him, and his heart sunk. Every step towards the great ebony doors of the manor was a knife in her back. The doors opened on their arrival by some servant out of view and revealed the main hall. A room of grandiose and elegance imposed itself upon them and stole Mol’s breath. The room was abuzz with conversation. Fine vintages and delicacies from the world over, flowed around the room with ease. Everyone was full and everyone was merry. Jean had hoped that they could sleuth in unnoticed, that he and Mol could pull up a seat and spend the night in relative peace, but all this was dashed against the wall upon the sound of his father. “JEAN. MY SON!” His voice filled the room and brought about a sudden stillness. The band ceased playing and the chatter quietened down as the crowd dispersed, allowing he and his father to meet. The short walk was painful. Eyes and whispers followed the pair as they made their way to the center of the room. Mol, took all this in her stride and soaked up the attention. Jean had a bit more trouble. He swallowed his guilt and stiffened his lip. “Father.” A firm shake with one hand a strong grip on the shoulder with the other. Mol held out her hand but his father shooed it away. “Please, we’re family now.” He held her at arm’s length and took her in in her entirety. “Well, Jean has done well keeping you under wraps hasn’t he.” Mol blushed as his father brought her in for a hug. Jean forced a smile. After that it was a lengthy process of formalities as Mol was introduced to all the family heads and significant members. Every year the same. Dusty traditions that had to be followed and preserved for the sake of preserving them so that future generations may carry them out and in turn, preserve them. Jean began drinking and after a few glasses of port, the events to come were pushed out of his head and he found himself in a state of relative ease and relaxation.
His head hit the pillow, the fire crackled in the corner, the smell of wet pine sifted through the window and he only just realized how exhausted he was. His body ached and his mind was ragged. The guilt of it all was crushing him. Mol’s scent found his nose and her head soon followed, appearing next to his on the pillow. He closed his eyes and the day they met came to him.
A hazy summers afternoon. A small forgotten café in some quiet village along the Italian Riviera. The sort of place where peeling wallpaper and broken tiles was smiled upon. He was sat at the window, sipping on a large Negroni. Watching as the sun worked its way across the square outside. It had been beating down all day and naturally, he had sought shelter. An avid lover of the sun, but forever resigned to sit on the edge of the shadows. Just out of its reach, never to feel its warmth. One of many cruel ironies life had handed him. An aging bus pulled up opposite the window and off she stepped. Floral summers dress and hiking boots, all beaten and dusty from a long day’s walk. She was all smiles as she took in her new surroundings. From the off, he was in love. Not a word he threw about often, but in this case, a word he did not hesitate to use. She looked for the nearest establishment and to his joy, she found the café. Her approach stirred something in his stomach. Something he had not felt before. A weird churning from somewhere deep within. Almost as if he were about to relieve his stomach of its contents and excited to do so. She came through the open doorway and sat on a table three down from his. He shifted uncomfortably as she scanned the room and found him. A smile came his way and with it, more strange sensations in his mid-section. He smiled back but couldn’t help but think he was making a fool of himself. She ordered a glass of white wine. He finished off his Negroni and ordered another, the whole while not taking his eyes off her. He simply must talk to this woman. The Negroni came and he saw to it with haste. The gin lined his stomach and filled his confidence. He made to stand up and make his move, but by some freak coincidence, she had beaten him to it and was stood at his table. “Leaving so soon?” His eyes met hers and he melted. He melted. Him! He who had been at the game for longer than she could comprehend and had seen many a woman fall for his charm, was at that moment, struggling to find words. He shook his head, cleared his throat and found himself once more. “No please.” He gestured to the seat opposite him. Eyes down as he steadied his breathing. She sat down and this time, it was his turn to be on the offence. He brought his eyes up and focused in on her. The pair sat in silence for a few moments. Both taking the other in. “So.” He brought his glass to his lips and took a sip. “What brings you to this here, sleepy corner of the world?” And that was that. The pair drank and talked and talked and drank. Not once moving from their table by the window. Exchanging tales and swapping stories. Throughout the day and well into the night. All of that but twelve months prior to where they were right now. Locked inside this great manor that was his families. She, excited by the prospect of being loved and welcomed into his family with open arms and he, sick to the core with guilt.
The morning came and the servants made the rounds and woke up guests and family members alike. Breakfast was being served in the great hall and the place was once more, excited. A great feast had been put on. Blood sausage, bacon, fried potatoes, and eggs. All the bad stuff that people adored so much. All the stuff that marbled flesh with fatty deposits. Jean sat, head bowed, staring at his plate as Mol ate greedily. Hungover from the night’s antics and hungry for some grease to soak up the remaining alcohol. She, and the other guests, ate with such haste that they did not notice that it was only them who were eating. The family members all sat around, watching on with anticipation in their eyes and hunger in their bellies. Jean glanced around and noticed several of his aunts, uncles and cousins eying Mol up. Their eyes met his and smiles and nods of appreciation were sent his way. Mol looked up to see him not eating. “Jean, Hun? Why you not eating?” He looked at her. Took her in and felt water fill his eyes. He shook his head and readied his reply. “Mol...” Without warning, the bells stared ringing. The bells that he was dreading. The bells that signified the end. Mol looked at him with panic and screamed but the bells were so loud, her screams were not heard. She clasped her hands over her ears, but they were grabbed by two of his cousins. She spun round to see a group of family members behind her. All laughing manically in the din that filled the room. She span back to face Jean, but he could not get his eyes to meet hers. He couldn’t do it. He owed her that much. Owed her at least some explanation as to what was going on, or at the very least a final moment of comfort, but he could not. He looked down at his feet and let the tears take him. The bells stopped and the room was taken over by screams and laughter. A hundred guests all crying, a hundred family members laughing, and Jeans sobs. “JEAN!” Mol’s voice pierced him and tore out his heart. Held it before him and forced him to question it all. Question the point in all this. All these traditions that for so long he had upheld and done so with pride. All these traditions that until Mol, he had not dared question. All these traditions that for so long had been the focal point of his life. He looked up once more to see Mol’s red hair flaying about in the air as she kicked and struggled and fought with every ounce of energy she had left, as she was carted off to the basement below. Watched as all the other guests did the same and as his family, his oh so beloved family, chased after eagerly. As quickly as it had started, it was over. The hall was empty. Only Jean remained. Sobbing into his lap. Regretting every moment of his hollow, lonesome life. He stood up. Deciding right there and then that all of this was going to end. He turned and waked away from the crowds. Walked with pace towards the great ebony doors that he and Mol had walked through. Not hesitating, not once. Even at the doors he pushed through them with the strength and speed of a dozen men and stepped out into the mornings sun.
It was a glorious morning. Blue skies dotted ever so slightly with tiny balls of cotton. Birds were drifting along, singing their songs. Rabbits and hares could be seen darting around the trees. Wildflowers were in full bloom and last night’s rain was forgotten and gone. He stepped out, into the heat and into the sun. Finally, feeling it on his skin. Finally feeling the warmth that he had longed for his entire life. On he walked, embracing every moment, every step, and every sensation.