The Tale of Sisters Three
It was a breezy winter afternoon the day Albert Helfenberg lie cold and still on the bathroom floor.
His heart had given out from the sheer rate at which he gave so earnestly throughout his life.
This is the tale of Sisters Three…
The first daughter Silvia, was the one to find him. For her it was as if a silence fell upon the world as she ran wailing with broken concern to his side. As she sat there rocking a whimper deeper into her chest, a small but noticeable tremor ripped presently throughout the neighboring counties. It wasn’t until later that this tremor would become a colloquial referencing point in time. People would pass each other by- old wives would sip coffee and say such things as, “Oh, I haven’t seen him since before Helfenberg’s Fault”; and those who knew would share looks of surprised empathy and certain intuition.
Francine, the second oldest was a distinguished gallery owner in a far off land. Her reaction to Albert’s passing was cold and stoically placid. Magazines and tabloids raved consistently about her silver slipped sentences, and they were no lie. Where Francine decorated her gallery walls with flamboyantly persuasive masterpieces, so too did her words wax silky on the ears of fated purchasers. It wasn’t until a whimpering whisper passed through her ears that curtains closed and shutters clanked shut as she made immediately her presence homeward. Where once she spoke- now there was silence. Only glares of pale red paint leaked impatiently to far off places as her hands made real the preparations entailed for the funeral.
The Sisters Two made plans and sang silent sobs in step with smiles, saying such things as: Yes, thank you for your thoughts; Of course you can come, wouldn’t dream otherwise; and- I’ll make sure to save you one of his coats… etc. etc.
It was until many days the third daughter, much younger than the olders, hopped flatly on horseback and rode with derelict thoughts to the stately manor in which her family crest laid home. She was small, quiet and none the wiser, but many thought her otherwise. Yonah came silently to greeted smiles and warm hearts. The Sisters Three now reunited, packed plans with purpose and sent their father off with joyous praise and pious contemplation.
This is the tale of Sisters Three…
Food was eaten, and tears were thrown. Smiles were fakened and people roamed- in and out and in and out and in… and finally out. Until there were no more ‘ins’, even in thoughts and payers.
Long before the manor grew use to under visitation, Francine left to secure a trade deal across the sea. It was under the pretense of helping upkeep fathers financial affairs but all sisters knew it was to get away. And so she needed.
Years and years went by for The Sisters Three until scars grew over the wound where their father once lay. Each year they reconvened with amicable spirits on the manor that held their fathers name. Here, they would catch up and share stories about new lovers and old memories- but mostly they would talk about Albert. It became a custom for the daughters to exclaim how great their love for their father was, how bold they felt. And after drinks imbibed, the mockery would slur about distant members of the familia und clan, and how simple their desires were for coats and things to remember him by.
One year, after many drinks as usual, they conversation drew on an unfamiliar path.
“What did you keep of Fathers,” asked one of the sisters?
It was never any secret but nor of any interest before, that these daughters three each had snuck away something of their own to remember their found patriarch by. After much jest, diversion and crpyt telling weavings; the sisters began, earnest now, to discuss their prized possessions.
Silvia, stood with bogarting pride and thrust her confession with theatrical vigor.
“I, my dear sisters, as the most dignified of us three, kept nothing physical but his demeanor and charm.”
She brandishes here, to her pleasantly entertained sisters, a speech of prose which highlights the greatest lessons ever taught to them by her father.
“Love with kindness, be not selfish, strength in action, but keep it small, humble, thankful, remember others, and do well for yourself- most of all.”
She flourishes a bow as Francine spoke gingerly through the light applause.
“I, my dear sisters, as the most elegant of us three, find in my possession not trinkets nor character, but passion and success.”
She then speaks softly of sailed salt seas. Bringing experience after new experience to light.
“Here, there, anywhere but samenity and bleak. Experience yourself the worlds best and learn diversities keep. We live, we laugh, we come up short but never fail this test, outside there offers beauty and- the version of you that’s best.”
The olders gleaned happy with gaze and looked with inquiry to the younger.
“What about you, Yonah my dear. What of our fathers did you keep?”
“A shoe,” she said. “A single shoe.”
With face shifting puzzles, “A shoe?” they replied in jest.
And under their loving laughs a whimper through grounds was felt. The youngers reason never heard sat lingered stale. And over the years the sisters grew older until Francine first was to lay cold and still. A person of assistantship found her lying on the gallery floor. Her newest painting hung crooked where she last knitched her fingers to right it for viewing. Her fall to death betrayed her the art. It was then once news reached her, the most dignified began to travel; seeking for the success her sister often spoke of.
The younger took the painting, cut it in twine; half kept, half forgotten.
It was again, cold and still- Silvia fall foreign to the land in which she slept. The heat of this place got to her in the night. It was as if the warmth in her was called out thickly by dustly air and unfamiliar music. Travel she did, but find herself she did not. Aye though, neither could speak her language the becklers and findlers knew her as magnificent. They knew nothing of her life back homeward. It was to this fact why no news reached Yonah the Younger for far more time than appropriate.
She was small, quiet and none the wiser, but many thought her otherwise.
It was on the death of Silvia, where Yonah began to speak solidly. She took a lover and made her homeward where she stay. It was the older Silvias speech she kept and nothing more. But here, forever, until she too slept; Yonah trekked to Helfenberg Manor alone annually to talk in silent solitude about how great her father was… and how bold.
@Polandros