Isle of Ancestors

I looked up from where I stand on Duwamish quay. The night is clear;
the waxing moon rises over my shoulder, and I hear the gentle rolling
of water past the barges that are lined up in the Duwamish. My eyes
fell on a worn looking barge with purple paint peeling off everywhere.
I looked up and met the eyes of a ferry woman with silver hair. She
smiled and signaled me on board. My feet moved forward and I found
myself on board the barge as if in a trance. I was soon in the middle
of the moonlit sea and under the bright moonlight, I could see the
outline of what Alice, the ferry woman told me was the Island of
Ancestors.

Alice stops by the shore and I saw a grove of apple trees. These were
the biggest apples I ever saw and their fragrance filled the air. I
could see a moonlit path between the trees and I follow it to a mound.
In the centre of the side is a doorway made of two immense upright
stones topped by a massive lintel. There are two torches burning at
the door providing light for the entrance into a passageway. At the
far end of the passage is a faint red glow.

I was suddenly gripped by fear and I froze in my tracks while cold
sweat just poured from my paralysed body. I could feel a surge of
energy from beyond the end of the corridor. I heard a sharp sound that
pierced the still night air and the sound grew into a series of
shrieks. My mind will filled with images of all the evil that I know
in my imagination and I saw something flying towards me from the red
glow. I wanted to run but I could only stare ahead. I could not even
close my eyes… The flying object grew and split into four as it
neared me… and I start to realise to my embaressment that they were
the 2 pairs of love birds from the bay! The birds flew past me into
the night and I was immediately able to move.

I proceed down the corridor and emerge into a shadowy great hall. In
the centre is a hearth with the glowing embers of a fire. Seated
before the fire facing away from me is a hooded figure. Across the
hearth from this figure is a bench. I circle halfway around the hearth
clockwise and sit facing the figure. My grandmother looked up from the
hood and smiled. She has passed over to the other side fmore than 2
decades ago, but her smile was so full of love and compassion that I
felt absolutely no fear. I just looked into her eyes and savored the
connection and intimacy of the moment.

“You looked confused” Ma Ma said as a matter of fact. “What is it that
you want to know?”

“Ma Ma, I have rediscovered my true nature and purpose in life, but I
am so scared of the uncertainty that awaits me… …” The words just
flowed past my lips in our dialect, as if they had waited all a long
time for this very moment.

The gentle smile never left Ma Ma face as she reached into her pocket
and took out a handkerchief. She handed it to me and I recognised it
to be my own… the smell was so familiar and I was suddendly back to
ahen I was 5 years old again. I was washed by a deep sense of peace
and joy.

“You only need to stop thinking and start living” she wispered, “Let
your inner child come out and play, you have imprisoned him for long
enough, he is a part of you, a very important part”.

“Make a commitment to me now. Promise to accept and love this inner
child. Can you do it?” Ma Ma said in a serious yet calm tone.

I hesitate foe a split second before replying, “Ye… Yes”.

“How?” She asked. “Tear a page from your journal, write down your
commitment, sign it and give it to me… …”

I begin to write as emotions bubbled out of my spirits and flowed down
my cheeks as tears of life. i felt alive again as I penned these
words.

“I promise to accept and love my inner child and be the best that I
can be. I wil not imprison myself anymore and I reslove to start
living fully every moment of my life starting from now!”
She waved her hand and I complied and finished my circuit around the
hearth, go behind her, and pass out of the mound and back along the
path. I was still crying uncontrollably and it feels so fresh and
good.

I wiped my tears and re-board the barge to Duwamish as the first light
of dawn breaks over the eastern horizon. It wasn’t long before I was
back at the Duwamish Inn feeling more complete and at peace than I
have ever been since I can remember… …

Anna Marie’s post got me thinking about grandparents I am a musical person, and I can relate nearly every experience in my life back to the song that described it for me. This is a song by The Waifs called Lest We Forget. It’s quite sad, but it’s beautiful.

Lest we forget,
your deeds as a younger man
like how when you were nine,
you fell in love because
she was the first girl
you’d seen throw a cricket ball
You knew that you’d be together
for the rest of your lives
now you sit alone in the sun,
in the backyard,
feeding the birds
reading the newspaper
thinking about
the love that you shouldn’t have lost
Love that you lost,
love that you shouldn’t have,
love that you lost,
love that you shouldn’t have,
love that you lost,
love that you shouldn’t have lost
When i was a child,
i didn’t see her much
she passed away before i was five
i was so young that it barely affected my life
then one day when i asked
you told me she was magnificent
all that i had was your word
and a photograph
but that look in your eyes
told me all that i needed to know
Love that you lost,
love that you shouldn’t have,
love that you lost,
love that you shouldn’t have,
love that you lost,
love that you shouldn’t have lost

As I make my way to the docks darkness is falling. There’s a full bright moon already up and illuminating the few clouds surrounding it. I’m slightly concerned that I’m going to reach the dock and there’ll be no-one there, as I am running fairly behind, but as soon as it comes into sight I see one barge, close to the pier, with a lantern shining and the figure of a woman waiting. I quicken my step, not wanting to keep her waiting, and reach the barge puffing slightly. The woman looks at me intently for a moment, then smiles slightly and nods and steps onto the barge. I follow her lead, and am surprised to realise that the rear of it is covered with cushions and silk material. I quickly sit down, thinking it’s likely I will fall out – I don’t want to spoil the beautiful material by getting it wet, and I don’t much fancy making the entire journey across the river shivering on the wood bottom of the barge. As I settle myself in, I can hear my guide quietly singing. Her voice is pure and clear, as it weaves it way up and down, dancing around the melody of a song I do not know and cannot understand, but find incredibly comforting nonetheless. She does not speak to me across the river, but continues to sing the whole way. I nestle in amongst the silk and cushions, and as the gentle sway of the water rocks me like a mother cradles a child, I stare at the sky and listen and wonder who I will meet and try to think of what I should ask them. I am actually disappointed when I feel the gentle swaying motion stop as the barge runs aground on a small beach. My guide is already on the sand, looking at me expectantly. I step off the barge and look around, slightly bewildered.

“Where do I go” I ask her.
She smiles at me and nods her head toward a path in a nearby grove of trees.
“but-“ she gently lays a finger across my lips, telling me to hush, and nods towards the trees again, then turns and starts singing again as she moves back towards the barge.

I look at the trees somewhat hesitantly, and slowly start off. Soon I pass through a doorway and down a corrider into a great stone hall. There is a fire in the centre, and two benches either side. One is already occupied by a figure wearing a long cowled robe, it is thick, soft material and deep purple. I cautiously sidle around the fire to the other bench and sit down and wait. I’m not certain if I’m supposed to speak or wait to be spoken to, I still don’t know who it is as they are looking at the ground and the hood is shadowing what I may be able to see of their face. Minutes pass as I wait. I am beginning to think that perhaps I’m in the wrong place after all, maybe that is why the hooded figure is not speaking to me, when I hear a small noise. I look around the cave – it sounded like the growl of a small animal. Again!! Where is it coming from? The noise slowly gets louder and louder until I realise. It’s not a small animal after all!! It’s snoring!! The hooded figure awakes with a start at my sudden laughter and looks around quickly. “Papa!!” I exclaim and jump over the fire to grab him in a fierce embrace. My grandfather lets out a hearty laugh and gathers me into him.
“Oh I’m so sorry dear! I must’ve dozed off as I was waiting” he says as he kisses my head like he did when I was a child.
Suddenly he becomes serious and looks hard at me.
“You have a question. I need to tell you some things first though. I cannot tell you what you don’t already know, so ask carefully child.”
I look at him and think hard. All that I can think of is the morning he left, I was called to rush the hour to where he was to say goodbye, and I didn’t make it. The hundreds of other questions floating around my mind disappear, and all I can ask was
“You know I tried, don’t you? You know I tried to get there to say goodbye to you”
He smiles at me, his serious face suddenly gentle and nods.
“I know princess. I know you tried.”
“Now, a question for you that you must answer honestly. Are you doing all you can with all you have?”

I look at him slightly puzzled. “what do you mean?”
“Are you doing all you can with all you have?” he repeated. “Are you doing all you can to make your life what you want it to be? Are you doing all you can to make your dreams come true? Are you doing all you can to be kind and generous to other people? Are you doing all you can to be honest and truthful? Are you doing all you can to cultivate and share your talents? Are you doing all you can, with all you have, to live your life well and kindly?”
My eyes drop from his gaze. I know the answer to this, but I cannot say it looking at his face.
“No” I whispered.

His hand lifts my chin to look at him again. “There’s no wrong answer princess, only a lesson to be learnt from the question, so go and make sure you do all you can, with all you have, from now on.”
As his hands move away I realise he has put a necklace around my neck. It is a St Christopher medallion he had given to my Nona, then to me when I was a child, after she died. I carried it for years and had thought for long that it was lost for good. “We are all travellers princess, whether we ever leave our homes or not. We are all travellers, we are all students and we are all teachers.”

I remember that I can give Papa a gift too, and let out a cry of dismay when I realise I have left my bag on the barge. Frantically I search through my pockets to find them empty.
“I haven’t got anything to give you!” I wail, tears streaming down my face.
Papa reached out his hand and caught one of my tears, and instantly it crystallised into a solid drop. “You have many gifts Lisa, for now I will take this until you come again. When you go back into the world, you can find a gift you feel suitable, but I do not want material trinkets. Every song you sing, every story you write, every act of kindness, every picture, every sunset you allow to take your breath away, every heart beat you let yourself feel, every dream you realise, every truth you tell – they will be your gifts to me, it is up to you what you give me, and how generous you are. In the meantime, you must return. You have a journey to make and your ferrywoman awaits you.”

I fiercely grab on to him one last time, trying to etch every detail of his embrace in my memory. Gently he peels me off and steers me to the door through which I entered.
“Go princess, the fire burns low and the night passes. I will see you again”

Nodding dumbly, and clutching the St Christopher pendant I stumble back up the path to the ferry, tripping and meandering because of the tears blurring my vision. I feel the ferry womans gentle hands on my arm and she guides me to the barge and helps me sit down as we begin our return journey. This time she is silent, there is only the sound of the water. I’m still not sure how I get back to my quarters at the hermitage, but when I wake the sun is shining brightly through the window and I am positive that it was all just a dream, until my hand moves tentatively to my neck and I feel the pendant. The emotion and grief of the night before have given way to comfort and certainty, and a smile crosses my face as I jump out of bed to go find a gift for Papa.

Lisa

The meditation room in the hermitage gave me enough time to get in tune with myself and my soul. It truly was a peaceful experience and at this point I’m waiting for more. I think of myself as a complete unit- mind, spirit, body and soul –and that all of them are getting to a balance were each can leave in peace with one another. Especially my mind that is always in the clouds and not were it belong. But still I like it when she takes me to places I never been or want to be.

There was in front of my room door a piece of paper lying in the floor. I pick it up and opened it. The journey was going to take me know to another place, this time an island. But for what it is called it seems it was not going to be a regular island. You see it is called The Island of Ancestors. A chill ran down my spine for no reason I can explain. But I figure it was going to be an experience I was not going to forget. If it was an island of ancestors, maybe I might find great philosophers of old. Like Aristotle or maybe Pluto. Who knows!

I went to the stables to see Güarionex whom was waiting for me and was ready. Rob, the Horse Whisperer, was holding him. When Güarionex saw he got much exited moving his head up and down. I smiled and went to him immediately giving him a kiss on his forehead. He made a sound with his nose that tickled my neck. The Horse Whisperer climbed his horse and I climbed Güarionex. We set out as we did the first time we met going as fast as the wind like we were on a race against it. It was really lost of fun.

As we slowed down Rob told me a thing or too about the island. He explained that weird things happen to those who visited it. Some come out full of joy others are traumatized by the experience. None are allowed to tell what happened there to them. For that will decrease the curiosity in people and travelers alike who want to visit the island. But it seems it is a most popular place for the waiting list is long. Only especial invitations are granted like the one I had. He instructed me not to pass this opportunity.

“Have you been there?” I asked him curious for he spoke of it as he knew it very well.

“Yes.” He answered looking a head to the sea were you could see the Island from afar.

“How long was it that you visited it?”

“Many years ago.” His voice sounded sad and his expression changed completely. I wanted to asked but remember what he had told me of not speaking of the experience gain on that island. I wonder if he was one of those who where traumatized by it. But it seems that was not the case for if it was like that he would not have accompanied me here and would have stayed in the hermitage.

As we approach the coast a ferry was visible from the top of the hill we were standing. A beautiful island was visible in the distance. It was all covered with nature and looked as an emerald was drop in the middle of the river. I breathed deeply for I was a little nervous because I didn’t know what to expect.

We went down the hill and got closer to the port. A woman was waiving her hand to us and we approached her. She was very happy and a little weird I might add. Well this woman was not a woman and you could see that after getting closer to her. Her skin was covered with scales, green ones and she had no ears. Her hands and feet were a strange mix of fingers and fins. Her arms were like those of a human being but she had no nose and her mouth was of a round shape like those of a fish. When we got down of our horses and stood in front of her I smiled slightly. Rude of me, of course, but I was perplexed with what I saw. To think I should expect to encounter everything in this journey.

Suddenly, the fish-woman opened her arms wide and went to Rob who was doing the same thing. They both grab their hands up high and hit their foreheads. Then they laughed hard.

“It is good to see you again, Rob.” The fish-woman said but it sounded more as if she was underwater than in land.

“It is good to be here, Trucha. I’m here to take her to the Island of Ancestors.”

Trucha turned to me and did the same as before. Probably that was the way she greeted people so I did the same. The hit in the forehead was not that hard and it was a cool way of salutation for you feel like you are under water for an instant. Then just like that you feel like you are back on land.

“I have been expecting you my dear. You may live the horses here they will be taken to a place were they can relax and stretch their legs. Come on board for everything is ready for you but we have to wait until nightfall. It’s the best way to navigate for the guardian of the Island is sleeping. He gets a little cranky during the day for the spirits are sleeping and he doesn’t want anybody disturbing them.” Trucha said.

We got on board the ferry and ate on the deck that had been prepared with a dinning area. We chat, drank and laughed for hours until the stars covered us completely. That’s when Trucha got up and said to me:

“It is time. You may wait here while I navigate.” Said Trucha standing up from the table then she went up some metal stairs and got into the cabin on the second floor of the ferry were the control room was.

I stood up and walked towards the rail as I saw the elegant night covering us completely. The stars looked like tiny diamonds sparkling elegantly. The breeze was soothing but it carried a strange smell that was sweet. Maybe it came from the island were flowers bloom at night and perfumed everything around them like a special gift for those who dare to go to the island.
The journey on water took approximately fifteen minutes and the island was very visible indeed. A port could be seen getting nearer as we got closer. It was lighted by torches that help see the beginning of it for the ferry fish-woman to see her way to it. When we got to the port Trucha came to me, as I was very nervous for the time had come for me to live and start my journey into the depths of the Island of Ancestors, and said:

“We will wait for you here until you come back, we can not go any further. Follow the torches until you find an apple groove. There is a path that goes inside the groove, take it. Keep walking forward; do not take any other paths, only the one that goes between the apples trees. If you do take another path you will be lost. When you reach the end of the groove you will find a mound and there a door, you must go through it. The rest is up to you.”

“What will happen if I take another path?”

“The ancestors will claim you. I do not need to say more.”

“Very well, off I go.”

I got down from the ferry and walked to the path as instructed, always looking at the trail beneath my feet. I didn’t want to get lost and be claimed by the Ancestors of the Island. Passing the apple groove I took one apple to eat it as I walk. At the end of it I saw the mound and in it the door. Two large torches lighted the way, I made my way through.

The passage was narrow and dim, it went downward. At the end of it I saw a light like that of a fire. I hurried my pace so I could find out what was in that room at the end of the corridor. Once there, in front of a great fire, sitting on an armchair there was a person covered with a black hood. Slowly I got near the figure, once in front of it I sat down on a marble bench. I waited for him or her to say a word but nothing happen. Nervousness ran through my whole body as I stared at the person in dismay not knowing what to do. My head was trying to understand the situation but it was too complicated for it had never been in this kind of situation before.

Then, the person’s hands removed the hood and there I was looking at his face. My jaw dropped as I was astonished and out breath. For in front of me was a man that had and still is the love of my life. The person that even thou passed away many years ago still had a special place in my heart. Tear drops came from my eyes as they could not believe what they were seeing.

It was inevitable an explosion of sentiments took over me completely. He approached me and hugged me tight as he used to do when I was a little girl. His smell was already gone from my memory and I could not remember it as I smelled him when he got closer. I cried more and more trying to hold on and didn’t want to let go of his grip. I was not letting go ever again.

When he died the only person he wanted to see was me. But the doctors at the hospital did not grant his last wish for I was a little girl and wasn’t allowed to go to the rooms. I knew he was gone for his sister, my great-aunt, came down crying inconsolable. But it did not hit me until my mother explained to me what happened. Then and there I knew the Lords of Time had denied me of a moment that was mine, of a wish that might have changed my life and my healing process. Now that I was there holding him tight no one was going to deny me of that moment.

“I have missed you so much!” I sob.

“I know.” He said.

“Grandpa, I wish so much you could still be alive. Sometimes I think life would have turned so different for me if you just been there. I know I would have been someone else with you by my side.”

“But think of all the things you would have lost if our story was written differently. Think of my great-granddaughter. She reminds me of you so much and it made me so proud that you though of me when naming her.”

I laughed full of joy and looked at his blue eyes. They were as I used to remember.

“Well” he said “You are here to ask me question. What would that question be?”

“I just want to talk a little longer. I don’t what to ask questions right know. Can we just talk please?”

“You see, mi reina, we will have time for that in another life. When God sends for you I will be waiting at the entrance to greet you and for ever be together. Know we have but little time to spend and I want to answer what ever question you have for me.”

“Then I shall stay here with you. So we could have an eternity know and not later!” I exclaimed crying.

My grandfather dried my tears and his hand felt soft. Looking at me straight in the eyes he said:

“I can’t let you do that. There is too much at stake. Besides you are needed back there, Versaly needs her mother and our family too. Think of your grandmother that loves you as much as I do. Your mother, your husband and of your brother that even thou he sometimes looks as there is no hope for him there still is. But you must be there and as always be strong for them.”

He kissed my forehead gently and I finally stopped crying understanding that my time with him was limited. I grab his hands tight and smiled once again not knowing what to ask.
“I have always asked myself if you were proud of me. Of what I have become and what I wanted in life. You have always been in my thoughts when I think of my life. What would you say or do or advice?”

“There is no doubt that I have always been proud of everything you have accomplished in life and of what you want of it. I know sometimes you feel alone and with out guidance but I’m always there for you. Look for me inside your heart and feel the warmth of my arms hugging you when ever you feel alone and lost.”

We both smiled and I kissed his hand. The fire dimmed a little and my grandfather looked at it and said:

“Time is running out. Know I have a question for you.”

“What is it?” I ask curiously.

“Will you promise me to take care of yourself and our family?”

“Always.”

“Then, please heal your heart of my loss. Do not cry for me with sadness but with joy for I am in a better place know. A place you will be when your time comes. So no sad faces only happy ones, ok.”

“I promise.” As I said that we hugged for a few minutes and I felt in peace with myself as I accomplished one of my most desired dreams. To see him one more time before living my life to the place he is now.

“I have a gift for you grandpa. It’s a lock of Versaly’s hair from when she was a baby. I want you to have it so you could have a little of her until you can finally meet her.”

“Thank you. I see her everyday you know even thou is from afar I’m always watching over her and praying for her. Here’s something for you too. I think someone lost this and couldn’t find it.”

He opened his hand and inside it was a small image cover in plastic of the Sacred Heart he used to wear everyday. It was lost when my brother and I argued about who should have it. My heart rejoiced when I saw it for I thought it was lost for ever. He had taken it to guard it and to give it back when the time was right.

“This means so much to me. I’m just sad I have to go.”

“Me too but will see each other again and spend eternity together.”

“We’ll do that; I will hold you to it.”

We hugged again and he gave me his blessing. My heart, my soul and my spirit felt like crying again but I hold it back. I had gained what once was denied to me, a final goodbye and a farewell. That moment right there could never be replaced.

So I got up and walked away only looking back once to see him smiling and throwing a kiss to me saying:

“This is for your grandma, but don’t tell her is from me. Just give it to her.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I walked away feeling the tears come down my cheeks. I kept walking toward the port just looking at the relic my grandpa had given me. When I looked up I saw Rob, the Horse Whisperer, waiting for me at the port smiling happy to see me. I stopped to look back to the trail that had given me such an immense gift hoping to see a final glimpse of him. But he wasn’t there. Smiling joyfully and content I turned back to Rob and climbed aboard the ferry.

My grandfather Kenneth Melford Fetterly.  I daydream of him often.  All I have are pictures and stories from my mother as he passed away suddenly two years before I was born.  “Fet” as he was affectionately known to all had a wicked sense of humour.  The stories and visions of him came back to me at the Isle of Ancestors.  They always make me smile (and feel rather proud).

My mother, her brother, and parents all lived in China for many years because “Fet” was the head of Foreign and Domestic Freight for the Canadian Pacific Steamships Co..  As was their station in life at the time they had amas and cooks and houseboys to help them manage things around the house.  Fet had his routine of a pipe, special lighter, and ashtray that lived on a small table in the “throne room” for the times when he attended to his “daily constitutional” as it was politely referred to in those days.  Much to my grandfathers frustration the houseboy would constantly “clean up - and out” the things off of the table after Fet’s visit.  No matter how hard he tried to explain to the houseboy that he preferred his things be left alone, his beloved pipe and such were always taken away.  Now, some of you may know that the Chinese (at least back in my grandfathers day) were highly superstitious.  Apparently it was quite the sight to see one morning the houseboy come running out of the bathroom white-faced,  and screaming in Chinese to the other house staff that the bathroom was haunted.  There was much ado and fuss as they all raced to the bathroom to see.   It seems my grandfather had finally had enough and he had glued the pipe, matches and ashtray to the table!

My other favorite story my mother told me which is rather bittersweet is of the years they lived here on the North American continent and “Fet” had a great travelling companion for a long time.  He and the gentleman took the train into the city to work everyday and it was their habit to pick up a newspaper at the train station and have a little friendly competition to see who could do the daily crossword puzzle the fastest.  Day after day, month after month my grandfather consistently beat the other gentleman much to his anger and frustration.  One day my grandfather died suddenly from a heart attack when settling a strike in England and his travelling companion came to my mothers home to pass on his condolences.  He found my mother on the front steps and sat with her for a few quiet moments.  At last my mother said to him “I suppose it would be alright if I told you this story now that daddy is gone”.  She continued,  “Every morning daddy would get the newspaper delivered early here at the house and do the crossword  before he left for the train station”.  “That is why he always won”.  The gentleman’s face grew red and he exclaimed “that cheater!”  “all these months he’s beaten me”  and then grandfathers friend broke into tears along with my mother.  A bittersweet memory of a wonderful man with a cheeky, mischievious, sense of humor.  I so wish I had a chance to know him.  I know one day we will meet.

Bobbi

My ancestors are ghosts. They drift in and out of the haze. You see, I never really knew them. My grand parents on my father’s side passed on when I was very young, though I do remember sitting by the river which could be reached through a gate at the bottom of his garden. This was in North Wales, in the village of Corris. I remember a man sitting in an overstuffed chair but I can’t see his features. I do know that he worked in the slate quarries when he was younger. I don’t recall my grandmother at all. The only women I remember seeing there were aunts that lived nearby, or were visiting.

I do remember my grandmother on my mother’s side. She lived in Haverfordwest in South Wales. The Grandfather King that I knew was her second husband and not my real grandfather at all. My mother’s maiden name was Rees. I think Grandfather Rees was gone before I was born.

Grandfather King worked in the brewery and, much to my mother’s ire, thought it prudent to feed me a tot of hard cider now and then. He was my buddy.

My grandmother was a little woman with jet black, straight hair. I recall the smell of moth balls. But mostly I remember her kitchen with the fire always burning brightly and with a huge kettle hanging from a hook above the flame. I used to sit on the settle, a wooden seat with a high, straight back, and storage underneath, and watch her cook over the coals. The settle was uncomfortable to say the least, but it didn’t bother my childhood bones.

I didn’t see much of them after my father died. My mother and my grandmother became estranged and when she, my grandmother passed on, my mother put me on a train and sent me at age twelve to attend the funeral.

My father was my buddy, too, and when he passed away at age forty-one I was devastated. He was way too young to die.

I look at pictures of my father and I am as proud of him now as I was then, even though he was the one to inflict the punishment I supposedly deserved, usually on my mother’s command. He was the one, you see, who wore that wide leather belt. I think it probably hurt him more than it did me.

My sister was born in 1937 but lived only seven years. She contracted TB-meningitis from the school milk program. My mother was never the same after that and as I got older we drifted farther and farther apart. My sister, you see, was her favorite, the little girl she wanted. I was a tomboy. My father had wanted a son so when I came along he promptly started calling me Sam and taught me to hunt, fix cars, and ride his motorcycle with him. Perhaps I do my mother a disservice, but I feel she resented losing my sister when she had less-feelings, I think, for me.

I asked her once when she was in her declining years to tell me about he father and mother and her childhood. She told me in no uncertain terms that she did not want to talk about it. So I am left with the ghosts who drift in and out. But, I always wonder who am I and where did I really come from.

Vi
August 17, 2005

Island of Ancestors
My ancestor summoned me. Seated with his back to me, he waited before a round hearth burning in the center of the stone floor. Long shadows cast by a glowing embers flicker on the stonewalls of the Abby’s great hall. A path of carved stone circled him like a labyrinth. It meandered to a wood bench, continued round, and formed the complete arc.

Cloaked in a deep blue hooded robe, his garbed arm motioned me inside and then swept out toward the bench. I turned, took two quick steps left and stopped when a voice said, ”Michelle, think. If you continue, you will walk into the future. Is it the future you want or is it the past?”

“The past.”

“Then you must move against time to find your answer.”

I walked counter to time, faced my ancestor and sat on the bench. The vague memory I have of his face is from single digit years. He was old then. He is old now, but the same, with a face not defined so much by age and wrinkles, but by experience. He pushed the hood back and his hair, a familiar sungold red of reflected fire, gleamed in the dim light. It’s a color that skips through the generations, bypassing my dad. On me, it became a red gold highlight glinting in dark brown.

My grandfather’s eyes, eyes I gaze at in a daily mirror inventory, are Sicilian blue-gray, a lit fire of amusement, and they smiled at me. His eyes are his legacy passed from son to daughter to my sons.
He is fifty-year fast forward, in face shape, personality, and coloring, a reincarnation of my oldest child, Shane.

“You give a him en a Irish name.” He laughed.

A smile lit my face. I nodded, remembering stories are rarely told about my Dad’s family.

My grandfather left Sicily as a young man. He married a girl of sixteen; one so naive she didn’t know how her pregnancies happened. He brought her and my two uncles to the promised world, land buried in the Allegheny foothills of rural western New York, the village of Falconer, home to autumn’s colorful hardwood trees and relocated Italian immigrants.

Little was said about my grandfather’s arrival in Falconer. Signs posted for employment stipulated, “No Italians need apply.” He found work because they thought he was Irish with his red hair and fair coloring. To survive, he didn’t speak at work, but insisted my Dad and his siblings become bilingual and Americanized. He emphasized the need to blend in and become citizens, except in the family home they spoke the old language and lived the old school Italian way.

He changed his last name from Federico to Frederick and his first from Ignatius to Tony. Ma, changed hers from Constantina to Mary. Franco became Frank and Karl became Cross. My dad, little Giovanni, became Johnny. Later, my grandparents would adopt a daughter, Rose Marie. Ma, the story goes, needed someone to help with the household chores and the small corner grocery store they opened and operated from the front of their brick, two-story home until they were stopped by age.

He handed me a small paper bag. Inside were life lessons, messages given since childhood. Candy bars, wrapped in colorful paper. He said, “Almond Joy is a for happiness an a because some a times one should a feel like a nut. Snickers is a for laughter. Lotsa Hershey kisses for love. A $1,000.00 candy bar, success. A Heath bar, with its sweet outer coating and its hard amber core is a for adversity removed is a
inner strength. A Baby Ruth bar, life is a game an a to be a winna you must a touched all a you
all you bases to reacha you dreams.”

“Thank-you, Granpa.” I stood up and hugged him., something I don’t recall ever doing. I was so young when he died. “I wish I had something to give to you.”

“Michelle, will you a do a sumptin for me?” I nodded. “You can give a me the gift of remembrance. Honor the entrepreneurial spirit. Keep a going with the things you know are a right in a you heart even if it goes against what others say and social climate says you a no good. This a family it is a family of survivors, even if there are only a few of us left.”
I reached into the bag of candy and handed him three kisses. I smiled and said, “One for now, one for later and one for when you go to bed.” I laughed. “Oh, grandpa, so that’s where that saying came from.”

This image is in honor of my ancestors
who have reminded me to be brave.
Beauty is just a by product, luckily.

Beaver, Maree and Gail in Ireland, 1949

My ancestors
Hitched the horses to the wagons and traveled with the dawn.
At night they camped
Under the stars and lit their fires to roast rabbit or stolen pheasants.
My ancestors
Called no place their own and everywhere their home
All they owned
Was bundled into the wagons, under the beds, overhead in lockers
My ancestors
Left little trace of themselves as they moved through the world
Little but stories,
Told round the campfire and passed down through the generations.

My father
Rose with the dawn to tramp the fields looking for the horses
No room for hay
So the beasts were turned loose at night to forage their own food.
My father
Welcomed the invention of the internal combustion engine
Although
He still often had to leg it when the motors broke down.
My father
Fished and foraged for his food, and entertained the crowds
In a tent
Lit by flaring Tilly lamps and candles in glass jam jars.

My mother
Cooked on a small temperamental kerosene stove outside the wagon
She washed by hand
And hung the sheets over bushes, and ropes looped to trees, to dry.
My mother
Was not born a traveller and she walked in two worlds
One our world
And one where the houses never moved and tea was always served at five o’clock.
My mother
Kept some of her old ways – she loved to read and write long letters
She taught me
The beauty and the joy of words caught like butterflies in the pages of a book.

I remember
Going fishing with my father, listening to him teach the ways of nature.
I remember
Exploring musty bookshops with my mother, the closest we ever bonded
I remember
Wishing sometimes I had been born in her world, so I could have an attic room
Full of books
And a pony in the orchard and a proper school with chalk and exercise books.
But I remember
Oh, I remember
Being so young and free in the world that now it seems like a dream.

The cold presses against me.
I pull my cloak tighter.
The ferry woman pushes from the shore,
She is quiet.
I wonder if the mist will clear,
it doesn’t.

We bump into land.
I cannot really tell if I am on an island.
The ferry woman solemnly nods to me.
I walk up a small hill
to a red pavilion.

The shoji screen doors are open to the night.
Inside a large fire pit gapes.
Covered from head to toe,
sits a man.
He calls me by my mother’s name,
deep from his throat, “Shinjo…”
I bow my head.
Yes, I am Shinjo, the last of this line.

I ask him “What am I to do?”
He looks up at me.
“Don’t you know?” he asks in a thick accent.
I grin. “I think I know, but I want to ask you.”

He nods his head.
“You are the last…remember us.”
“Don’t forget what the Samurai represents.”
“Call on their guidance. They will listen.”
I nod gravely.
My mother is very superstitious,
maybe for good reason.

“And you, the last Shinjo…
Will you bring honor to your family name?”

I bit my lip.
“I will try.”
“Try! You will try?!” he shouts.
He stands up and his coverings fall away.
He stands in full battle gear.
As blood trickles down from his heart.
I gasp.
“Do not try!”
“Bring honor to your family!”
“There is not other way!”

I fall to the floor and ask for forgiveness
To the floor I say,
“In this age, honor is not so valued.”

I hear the frightening sound of a sword being unsheathed.
My nose pressed to the floor.
I see blood dripping in front of me.
The sword is laid before me.
“Bring honor and do not fear darkness.”
“Be brave, be the warrior.”

I sit up in the Japanese style.
And understand.
“My blood runs through you,” he says.
“Do not fear death, do not fear failure.”
“Be brave and all will be well.”
“Be deliberate and do not regret.”

He puts the sword in its sheath.
My ancestor bows his head
as he holds out the sword to me in both hands.
I grasp it, thrilled by it weight.
I notice ornate decoration.
He looks me in the eyes,
I recognize myself in his face.

From my pocket,
I pull out a picture,
me and my mother.
I look at it and remember the day
we laughed on the grassy hill.
It is my favorite picture of us.
I give this to my Samurai ancestor.

He looks at it and presses his lips together.
His face contorts with pain and pride
as he looks at the picture,
his daughters.

I want to put my arms around him.
But instead I take his hand
and kiss his calloused knuckles.
“Thank you for this gift”
I hold up the sword most formally.
He smiles and replies,
“And I thank you for this, Shinjo.”

We bow to one another.
And I quietly take my leave.
Out of the corner of my eye,
I see him still looking at the picture.

I am oddly satisfied.
Bringing the family honor
is more than I have ever wanted.
I have wanted to escape my family
and here I am promising
honor…
to my ancestors.

Who, I understand now,
have every right to demand it.
I feel ashamed at my own brazen ideas.
To think I am without them.
They will always be with me.
I cannot escape them,
even in death.

The ferry woman helps me into the barge.
As we set back to the Hermitage
the heavy mist has lifted.
I can now see it really is an island
as the morning light turns the clouds pink.