Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX
WARM HEART PLUS
WARMER WISDOM
copyright 2007 Brian Clopper

Graham made sure he listened carefully to the rest of his sister’s volcano presentation that night at dinner. Thanks to Flenn, Graham had outwitted his enemy. The gargoyle was happy. What was even nicer, the bully, after their encounter at Parsons’ Plateau, had stayed home, allowing Graham a school day free of teasing and torment. As soon as his sister finished her presentation, Graham stood up and clapped proudly for her.

“That was excellent, Flenn! You are a volcano expert!” said Graham.

“Graham’s right. You know quite a bit about volcanoes.” Graham’s mom looked surprised at her son’s enthusiasm.

“Thanks. Miss Brennan wants me to share it with the Level One students on Friday. I can’t wait.” Flenn neatly slapped a stretchy wa-wa vine around her note cards and returned them gently, like she was transporting a baby to her backpack.

“What’s for dessert, Mom?” Graham asked as he finished his second helping of mukka root stew. He hoped she had made blumbleberry muffins. They were the young gargoyle’s favorite. His grandfather said blumbleberries helped with wing growth, and Graham needed all the help he could get.

“Now, now, you know we don’t have dessert until your father gets home. I didn’t think he had a council meeting tonight, but I might be wrong. He should be home soon. Besides, someone under this roof hasn’t been fed yet, has he?” His mom motioned with her head to the hall containing their bedrooms.

“I’ll do it!” Graham rushed to the kitchen to fetch a bowl before his sister could swallow her next mouthful and volunteer. Even though it was his job, Graham still was quite possessive of it. He valued the time he got to spend with his favorite family member. He ladled a sizeable helping of stew into the bowl and darted down the hall.

His mom shouted back to him as he entered the second bedroom on the left, “He already has a drink, but he might need a refill.”

“Okay, Mom. Thanks.” Graham closed the door behind him and approached the immense bed before him.

Ragged breathing came from the bed’s sole occupant.

“Grandfather, I brought you dinner.” Graham climbed up on the stool next to the bed, careful not to spill the hot stew on himself or the elderly gargoyle stretched out before him. “How are you feeling?”

The aged gargoyle turned his head and slowly adjusted himself so he was sitting up in bed. Graham noticed how stiffly his grandfather moved. The bed creaked its protest under the weight of the hardening gargoyle. Deeply warm eyes stared at Graham from hollow sockets framed with neatly arranged wrinkles. The gargoyle’s most distinguishing feature was not the white horns that jutted downward from his jaw creating the appearance of a wise beard. The gentle smile that spread across grandfather’s face at the sight of his grandson lit up the room. “I’m doing just fine.”

“You look good,” Graham said, smiling weakly. He hated lying. His grandfather did not look well. It was obvious that he had hardened more than the day before. His skin looked as coarse as sandpaper, and slight cracks at his joints were beginning to paint an unsettling picture. “You should eat.”

“Thank you.” His grandfather slowly pulled the bowl of stew from Graham and placed it on his stomach, balancing it with one hand while fumbling with the spoon with his other. Graham noticed that the fingers looked the most like stone. As the weathered hand closed around the spoon, Graham thought he saw dust escape from the cracks and crannies forming at the joints.

“Your day was good?” asked his grandfather.

“It was nice. Ot and I got top marks on the geometry quiz today.”

“That’s good to hear. Anything else happen of note?”

“Well,…” Graham wanted to tell his grandfather about what happened with Blord and the volcano. He wanted to share how he and Ot had outwitted the bully. He wanted to, but didn’t. “Did you know Malcolm Parsons?”

His grandfather slid the spoon out of his mouth and deposited it back in the bowl. He returned the bowl to his lap and licked his lips, a task that seemed more a chore than a pleasure. “Once. Your grandmother and I met him once.”

“Oh.” Graham had hoped he would share more details about their encounter.

His grandfather sighed. “We bought rhinecorn from him. He grew the sweetest crops of them all. He was kind, thoughtful and honorable. Why do you bring him up?”

Graham fidgeted. Here he was, about to sprinkle another lie into the conversation. “Um, well, I went over to Parsons’ Plateau this morning to see the, uh, morning sky. After hearing so much about volcanoes from Flenn, I also wanted to get a better look at Mount Prometheus.” Almost as an afterthought, he said, “His statue is pretty neat.”

His grandfather said nothing.

Graham looked down at the quilt covering the bed, uncertain what to say next.

“You want to know how I feel about what he did?” asked his grandfather.

“Um, yes.” Graham shifted in his seat.

His grandfather blinked once, then began, “Crossing over is a very personal journey. Climbing to the top of a church and declaring yourself its protector is deeply honorable.” He paused to catch his breath. “Many will tell you Malcolm Parsons knew nothing of honor, that his decision to stay in Cascade was selfish.”

His grandfather’s words seemed to linger in the air. He was a very wise man. Graham leaned forward and inhaled slightly, hoping wisdom was contagious.

“Malcolm was honoring his new home. In a way, he is the most noble protector of us all. From his final resting spot atop the plateau, he greets each day with hope and wards off the everyday evil that attempts to enter our village.”

“Was it wrong for me to go there?”

His grandfather chuckled. “No. It shows you have courage, that you seek your own answers.” His grandfather resumed eating his stew. “Any more questions?”

The young gargoyle nodded. “Are you scared about crossing over? Is that why you haven’t gone yet?”

His grandfather smiled. “Graham, I’m not afraid. I’m waiting till the last possible moment in the hopes that I will see my only grandson do his family proud and take to the air. I want to watch you touch the clouds for the first time on Friday. That’s why I’m waiting to cross over.”

Graham hopped on the bed and gave his grandfather a tender hug. The aged gargoyle smelled of flint and sandstone. “What if I can’t fly? What if my wings are too small? I don’t think I have enough courage. All the other kids keep telling me they have the courage to fly and I don’t.” A tear escaped from Graham and splashed onto his grandfather’s chest. For a comforting instant, Graham imagined the tear having magical powers and turning the stony body into its younger, less hardened former self.

His grandfather pulled him closer and whispered, “Courage lies not in the saying, but in the doing. Anyone can talk about having courage, but you never know you have it until the moment it is required of you.”

Graham sniffled, attempting to hold back his worry and frustration.

“Unless, of course, they have a very wise grandfather who can spot courage in a fine, young gargoyle from a mile away.”

Graham giggled. “Grandfather?”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if I stay in your bed for a little while longer?”

“Not at all.” The elderly gargoyle hugged his grandson. For Graham, the world seemed a little more understandable and a little less complex and terrifying.