Chapter three

III          
         “A quick pass through the city.”
         “We can grab some groceries going back.”
         “…and I’ll be going to the bank…”
         “For…”
         “A withdrawal.”
Sienna chewed the piece of fruit slowly, observing the dining table. Lately, Papa had been growing more and more absent minded. He would work more slowly, and stare out the windows often. He talked rarely and barely ate at all. He avoided meeting everyone’s eyes, in fear of probably giving himself away.
         “Can I stay home?” Sienna asked.
         “No,” Papa said quietly, creating strong eye contact with the eggs on his plate, “You’re coming along.”
         “Okay then.” Sienna said, working her fork through her breakfast, “I’ll probably have to….buy corn for the chickens and grain for the mice.”
Mama nodded. “A boy called. He said his name was Sheldon.”
         “Yeah? What did he say?”
         “Looking for you.”
         “What did you say?”
         “I said you were fast asleep. Why does he call so early?”
Sienna shrugged. “I don’t know.”
         “I’ve seen him before, I think?”
         “Yeah. He’s the big one. Lives beside Fontano’s Repair shop. His dad owns the bar.”
         “Yes. The big one.”
Sienna nodded. Later she went up to her room to change. It was a certain time in the morning where the sun’s rays would be right at the level of her window and they would shine through, coating the room in a veil of the palest gold, and time stops fleetingly. And in a few seconds the veil would lift and disappear, and time would move again.  After changing Sienna lay on her bed waiting to be called. Last night made her joints ache and her head hurt from secondhand smoke. One day, perhaps, she just might turn her back away from the passion of the night and pursue other things. Then it would be a memory, to visit at the back of her mind. But Sheldon, she didn’t want to forget Sheldon. She remembered their first meeting, it was an instant connection; instant connections made permanent, unchanging impressions. For her there was no sort of romantic twinge, no breathtaking feeling of teetering over the brink of somewhere high up and endless, for such things never mattered to her; She felt only that there was a certain connection she shared with Sheldon, a certain openness that she didn’t have with other people; Sheldon was a person who really mattered, because in instant connections, there was meaning.
         “Sienna, where are you?” Mama called from the outside.
Sienna jumped up from bed and ran outside. “I’m coming.”
         “Hurry up.”
         Hurry. What was the hurry all about? When they reached the capital, the traffic was solid, one great unmoving thing leading towards the palace in which the now departed King once dwelled.
         “Why is everybody going there?” Sienna asked from the back seat. Watching from the window, the people from the outside were leaving their cars to continue the move forward on foot. This made the streets more crowded than it already was.
         “The King gets cremated today.” Mama locked the doors.
         “They’re letting the people inside?” Sienna asked.
         “He was a king of the people.”
         “And he wanted his body to go on display for several days just for everyone to see?”
         “And bid their goodbyes, darling. To bid their goodbyes.”
         “Remember the pope, honey? Thousands came by to say goodbye.” Papa remarked quietly.
         “That was a really long time ago.” Mama said.
         “We’re moving!” Sienna exclaimed.
The car inched forward slightly.
         “Papa, Sheldon says the road to the bank is wide open.”
Papa didn’t speak. He drove forward, forward, carefully, against the people jostling against each other up front. The engine died quite a few times; Papa let it run on clutch for quite some time until they reached the crossroad. And took the wrong turn.
         “That was the way to the bank, Papa.” Sienna said, pointing to the other direction.
Papa didn’t speak. And neither did Mama.
         “Papa,” Sienna said. “Where are we going?”
Silence.
         “Papa?”
         “To see Grandpa.”
Sienna leaned back. Grandpa. She had never seen him; only talked to him no more than a month’s worth her entire life. When she was younger, she never asked why she never got to see him; she had immediately assumed that he lived in a place far, far away. He called during holidays, during birthdays and during other special days. He and Papa talked for long hours, about the weather, about Mama, about Sienna, about food, philosophy, life, and politics. Especially politics.
         There was no face of him in Sienna’s mind; for Papa kept no pictures of him in the house and didn’t talk about what he looked like. There was no talk about his past, no talk about what he did, what he was, just his voice, just his gruff laughter and wit and wisdom. It was like he was only a disembodied voice, faceless, devoid of any physical form. He had existed, at least, for Sienna, only through the telephone.
         “He lives in the city?” Sienna asked, “How come he never came by to visit us?”
Papa didn’t answer.
         “He was always…busy.” Mama answered quietly.
Sienna smiled and decided to ask no more questions. She was finally going to see Grandpa. Leaning against the window, watching her reflection smile slightly, she closed her eyes and remembered the last conversation she had with her grandfather. It was on her birthday, almost one year ago.
         “Hello?”
         “Happy birthday!”
         “Thank you Grandpa.”
         “How are you, puppet?”
         “I’m fine. You?”
         “Exhausted. The weather is quite glum.”
         “I know…it makes you just want to lie down and sleep.”
         Gruff laughter. “Yes, Yes, quite a thought…”
         “Yeah. There’s always something with how the sky changes color.”
         “What is it?”
         “Drastic…and somehow—dramatic. You can fall in love with the colors.”
         “Really? The sky outside my window has always been smog gray.”
         Sienna laughed. “With perspective, Grandpa, it can look so much better.”
         “Smog gray. Like the smoke has replaced the sky completely.”
         “You live in a city, Grandpa?”
         “Yes.”
         “Then we might have the same smog gray. In the Capital, the sky is Smog gray and makes me want to shut down my system and rest without feeling. But the city sky can change color…Sunrise and sunset, Grandpa, they’re divine.”
         “Like heaven, indeed, indeed.” Grandpa said thoughtfully, “Ah, resting without feeling. That’s probably the best state of all…”
         “You mean like…almost like in death?”
         “Death is the best rest one can have.”
         “That’s dreadful.”
         “With perspective, puppet, it can look so much better.”
         “How can death be better?”
         “Look at it this way, puppet; you won’t be tired anymore. I don’t mean it for you to end your life if you’re tired. But there is a certain point in your life, especially in your old age, after accomplishing so much, you get so tired you want to see an end to it all.”
         “Are you tired?”
         “Yes, quite tired.”
Silence.
         “Will you come see us before you get so tired you just want to end it all?”
Again, gruff laughter. “I can’t promise you that, puppet. You can see me before or after, I have quite a pleasant place.”
         “All right grandpa.” Sienna said, laughing, “Oh, I have to go. Papa wants to talk to you now. Goodbye for now.”
         “Kisses, puppet.”
         “Love you too, Grandpa.”
Sienna fell asleep to dreams of phone conversations and the sky’s different colors. It was a brief draft, and suddenly she awoke to the car doors opening and closing.
         “We’re here?” Sienna muttered. She was so groggy; she realized she hadn’t had a decent rest, spending all of last night in the city and the remaining hours trying to slip into the house unnoticed and trying to get the smell of cigarette smoke out of her hair.
         Papa opened the car door for her. “Come quickly.”
         Sienna rubbed her eyes and looked around, immediately she saw people. Hundreds of them, all lined up towards one direction.
Papa pulled Sienna and Mama into the sea of people, pushing and pushing. Sienna didn’t see where they were going; she didn’t have any time to ask since it was difficult to multitask when you’re clinging to your father’s hand pulling you through a dense crowd of people.
         Many people were crying, and it was dim. The place was large, but the lack of lights made it rather frightening, how the candlelight lighted only the path that was leading somewhere, and lighting nothing else. Sienna wondered why they were here; perhaps Grandpa had wanted to see the king too, and wanted to meet with them afterward. She already envisioned him, waiting outside, beside the gates, or beside the guards, laughing his gruff laugh and asking them out for coffee or for dinner. Then while eating, he might ask Mama how she makes her excellent dinners and tells her she must invite him over for dinner. She could already see Mama laugh and tell him not to be silly; of course he was welcome for any meal of the day. She was already envisioning their first conversation face to face, and it would be about the colors of the sky. She would tell him how the sky turned gold in the late afternoon, and how it looked like heaven was opening its gates at dawn, how the sun pried its golden rays through the clouds, making them bright, and he would laugh and ask if the view was better on the roof, and tell her the colors of the sunrise in the city and how it looks better and better each day thanks to the pollution. And then of course, after the meal, he and Papa would talk until Mama would complain about how sore they all were and they would all probably continue their conversations long afterward…
         “Sienna, are you daydreaming again?”
         “Um…sort of, yeah.”
Mama laughed softly. “About?”
         “Nothing important, really.” Sienna stood on her toes and looked up ahead.
         The coffin was magnificent. It had an intricate web of designs threading all over, the thinnest of gold and silver intertwined to create the finest of designs. There were small gemstones amid these designs, of various colors, of just the right sizes. The inner lining was midnight blue, almost like the night sky, embedded with twinkling diamonds…a night sky for the King to behold in his afterlife. The King lay underneath this makeshift night sky, underneath his priceless refuge, surrounded with flowers whiter that the finest linen that he wore. He was an old man, with a thick gray moustache that was neatly combed into place, as seen several times on television, and sad, sad eyes that used to twinkle but were now closed for all time, seemingly in slumber, in rest without feeling… 
         Papa burst into a flurry of silent sobs. Mama did too.
Papa wrapped an arm around Sienna’s shoulder and Mama did too.
         “Puppet,” Papa whispered into Sienna’s ear, “say goodbye to Grandpa now.”
Silence. Sienna looked at the old, lifeless body, the closed eyes and remained silent. She looked at the coffin again and thought that the colors were a humble imitation of the sky’s changing colors, though made with the finest of materials. She laughed, in disbelief, in the ironic realization of it all, in the irony of it all, of loss, of false hopes, of everything. The realization of this irony poured out of Sienna’s eyes, like the rain of mourning that came days ago, when the world knew of the king’s death, at the loss of a leader, at the loss of a king, at the loss of greatness, at the loss of hope for a fragile nation newly reborn. But the three of them mourned for no king, and Sienna sobbed loudest of them all.