THE PRISONER OF COLLIOURE
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
My father died at sea. Life is not easy for a woman who sews and darns for a meager income in a world where all women sew and darn. This woman, my mother, named me Manion and taught me to sew and darn.
A child has little ability to measure the hardship of life without experience or education. I do recall hunger, simple gowns void of color, and an ache for friendship beyond four dark and damp walls. A certain man would knock at our door and seek my mother’s assistance with the mending of his clothes. As time ensued, he would stay to share our simple fare, and on a special occasion, bring a chicken for our table. Mother called him Priest. He was large in stature with long black unruly hair, and thick eyebrows that looked like a hat upon his head. He spoke few words beyond a brief reading of the Bible carried in a large coat pocket. As for me in the early years, he paid little attention.
The time came when we were to be put out on the street by the landlord. Priest intervened, offering his home as large enough for the three of us, and promised to care for me should my mother die before my coming of age. How should I describe my new dwelling? It certainly was not a house, and too small to be called a castle. It was not a lighthouse although it did have a tower with a beacon light toward the ocean, and a clock facing the village. It sat alone at the waters edge like a fortress, and cast an unwelcoming face to anyone who might approach.
Did Priest have a premonition as to my mother? She died soon after our move. You will hear more about this man in due time, but first let me state the one positive, he taught me to read and write. I was the one who now prepared our meals, darned his clothing, and to the best of my ability swept and cleaned his dwelling. Often after our simple evening meal, he would have me read a passage from the Bible. Seldom would he speak, but either nod, frown, or wave a hand at me as a signal to stop. On several occasions when a reading conflicted with his image of right and wrong, he would abruptly grab the book from my hand and storm to his bedroom.
Seldom was I allowed to go outside in my younger years, but with age and constant pleading, I was eventually allowed to attend the village school. As one could say, this certainly opened my eyes to the outside world. Each day was a new experience, sometimes exhilarating, and often quite frightening. Even with my naivety, it was soon clear that many thought of me as a pariah, and I quickly understood that living with Priest was the cause. Any effort on my part to explain my circumstance was met with ridicule and shaming. I say sometimes exhilarating because I met Mathias.
Mathias was a year older and destined to be a fisherman like his father. His deep blue eyes and natural smile were a welcome balm against the hurtfulness of others. He said I should ignore the taunts as they were an ignorance spawned by the idle gossip of mothers. The man who keeps you is not a real priest, said Mathias, and he encouraged me to not speak of my home life to others. We would linger after school in the village square by the large water fountain while the afternoon breeze would blow a welcoming mist. I would help him with his studies and he would fill me with wondrous stories of the world I hardly knew.
As we came to know each other better, Mathias expressed his true desire to be a winemaker. His favorite pastime was walking through the hillside vineyards and asking every conceivable question of the workers. “Manion” he said one day as he spoke of buds emerging on the vines, “We could do this together.” My heart raced with this invitation to share his life, and from that moment forward, he was seldom far from my thoughts. The more I attempted to experience a new life beyond home, the more angry and possessive Priest became. He repeatedly threatened to withdraw me from school whenever he felt I exhibited independence, and soon backed his anger with a belt.
On a beautiful afternoon I walked into the vineyards with Mathias as he described the process of winemaking from the soil to the grape crush. The owner appeared and invited us to come into his cellar as he explained the aging process of the bottled wine. We were both mesmerized by his stories and the excitement of roaming through softly lit tunnels with rack upon rack of fragrant wine. At a table where he would open a bottle for tasting, he invited us to sit as he cut some cheese and broke pieces of a dark crusty bread. Time passed quickly, and emerging from the cellar, we were both surprised by the darkness of the early evening.
Upon entering the main room, I found Priest asleep in a chair with his head upon the table amid scattered food scraps. His belt was wrapped tightly around his right hand. Moving quietly to my bedroom, I entered and cautiously closed the door. In the midst of my undressing the door was flung open and Priest froze as he stared at my nakedness for what seemed an eternity. Fumbling to cover myself as I stepped backward toward a corner, he suddenly dropped the belt and left the room.
The next morning he made no eye contact and would not speak. I was grateful to leave for school without further incident. Although the bedroom scene had left me shaken, it also imbued within me a fierce determination to continue my quest for freedom and personal happiness. That afternoon I asked Mathias if we could hike to the top of the hill above the vineyards. He sensed I was troubled but also perceptively understood that I would talk when ready.
The thick soft grass of the hillside provided a perfect bed to lay back and take in the vineyards, village, and sea below. The sun shone in one portion of the sky while rain fell in another. A beautiful rainbow appeared, a stunning arc of concentric colored bands. Mathias took my hand and said that from this day forward a rainbow would always be a reminder of our connected spirits, no matter how far apart. Ready to speak, I chose my few words carefully, and my dear friend fully understood.
Latter that evening I was dutifully reading a bible passage when Priest suddenly said “What was that, read it again.” I read from the book of Romans “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do. But what I hate, I do”. He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath and looked upward. A smile appeared as he declared “I am no different than any man.”
With careful planning, I was able to balance a stable and harmonious life in our dwelling, and still have precious time with Mathias in the early afternoon. Perhaps unwittingly, I was showing a happiness that reawakened a jealousy within the man. After school one day while sitting in the plaza in animated conversation, Priest surprised us unexpectedly. He raged incoherently at Mathias, saying that he was to stay away from me, and that he knew his father and would make his life difficult. Although I was becoming a young adult, I could not control my emotions and wailed as he pulled me back to a life of isolation.
For a week I protested his treatment and would not prepare his meals nor clean, accepting his threats of punishment. On the eighth night while lightly sleeping, I heard what sounded like a small rock hitting my window. Opening the window and leaning out I saw Mathias below as he softly called up “Manion are you safe?” I tried my best to speak calmly and to reassure him. He said he had spoken to the winemaker about working for him, and that there was a small cottage on the property where he could live. He took a deep breath and spoke again, “At daylight I will speak to my father and seek his approval. If you will allow me, I want to tell him of our love, and to explain your difficult circumstance.” Unable to hold back tears, I started to give my heartfelt consent when Priest started screaming from his window.
I would not leave my room the next morning, and was jarred from deep thought by numerous voices outside my window. The village gendarme was in a heated discussion with Priest, and lying on the ground between them was the ladder from our cellar. Going outside and ignoring his shout, I protested the story Priest had concocted. He was claiming Mathias had secured the ladder and was attempting to enter my window. He further stated that he had surprised us several weeks earlier in the vineyard, saying that the young man was attempting to take advantage of his naive ward.
Eventually I was allowed to return to my final school days. Priest said he was securing for me an apprenticeship with a village dressmaker and within time would give his approval for my living independently. Mathias was no longer attending school and his younger sister told me that their father felt obligated to accept the allegations as factual. She further stated that he had been forced to join his father on their fishing boat, the one with the large red main sail. Handing me a crumpled piece of paper, and in a handwriting I knew well was the one word “Remember.”
My new life as an apprentice dressmaker was a satisfactory experience as the woman was kind and encouraging. Often I would think of my mother and ponder what our life might have been had she lived. I would still venture into the vineyard from time to time and recently happened to see the winemaker in the field. He surprised me with a story about his wife.
They were discussing the small cottage on their property. He wanted to tear it down and further expand the vines, but she said to wait. She reminded him of that young couple that he would often describe, and at that moment, he touched my arm and with a twinkle in his eye, he continued. “Perhaps” said the wife, “They might marry one day and come to live with us. We will need the right people who share our passion and can carry on.” I treasured that thought from the winemaker’s wife. Could I be worthy of such happiness?
These days I seldom dream, but on this early morning I awoke lying on the floor and startled by a surreal experience. I remember climbing our tower and hearing the stairs fall away with each step forward. At the top of the turret I was floating and the walls were falling away. The billowing sea howled, and the mist rushed upon my face. Slowly appearing out of the darkness a red sail moved closer, looming larger until it fell upon me with a great force.
Priest had warned me to never climb the tower. He said the stairs were fragile and the lack of a railing would add to the risk of falling. I ran from my room to the entrance. Barefoot and still in my dressing gown, I started climbing. Ignoring the sounds of rotten wood, and with my left hand pressing against the damp stone, I ascended. At the top, with the large opening to the sea before me and the beacon lamp at my back, I beheld a miracle. A morning sun from the east was meeting a rain from the west, and arced above the water was a most magnificent rainbow!
I quickly descended the tower, changed into the first piece of clothing I could find, and started running toward the hilltop. The village was still deserted as I ran ever faster toward the vineyard. I would not allow a glance backward, but simply pushed myself upward, stumbling several times. Above the vineyard and nearing the ridge, I needed to move slowly as my lungs burned and my eyes watered. The thick grass was wet and slippery as I fixed my attention on just the right spot. Closing my eyes, I knelt down to feel the ground, and slowly turned to lay upon the hillside. With my eyes still closed, I thought of his note with the word “Remember.”
Extending my arms out wide to my side, I felt like an angel testing her wings. Slowing opening my eyes, and never doubting what I would see, the rainbow shimmered brightly with every color of the world. I stared so long without blinking, perhaps my eyes were playing a trick, as from the arc of red there appeared a boat.
RICHARD SWAIN
A SHORT STORY BY RICHARD SWAIN
My father died at sea. Life is not easy for a woman who sews and darns for a meager income in a world where all women sew and darn. This woman, my mother, named me Manion and taught me to sew and darn.
A child has little ability to measure the hardship of life without experience or education. I do recall hunger, simple gowns void of color, and an ache for friendship beyond four dark and damp walls. A certain man would knock at our door and seek my mother’s assistance with the mending of his clothes. As time ensued, he would stay to share our simple fare, and on a special occasion, bring a chicken for our table. Mother called him Priest. He was large in stature with long black unruly hair, and thick eyebrows that looked like a hat upon his head. He spoke few words beyond a brief reading of the Bible carried in a large coat pocket. As for me in the early years, he paid little attention.
The time came when we were to be put out on the street by the landlord. Priest intervened, offering his home as large enough for the three of us, and promised to care for me should my mother die before my coming of age. How should I describe my new dwelling? It certainly was not a house, and too small to be called a castle. It was not a lighthouse although it did have a tower with a beacon light toward the ocean, and a clock facing the village. It sat alone at the waters edge like a fortress, and cast an unwelcoming face to anyone who might approach.
Did Priest have a premonition as to my mother? She died soon after our move. You will hear more about this man in due time, but first let me state the one positive, he taught me to read and write. I was the one who now prepared our meals, darned his clothing, and to the best of my ability swept and cleaned his dwelling. Often after our simple evening meal, he would have me read a passage from the Bible. Seldom would he speak, but either nod, frown, or wave a hand at me as a signal to stop. On several occasions when a reading conflicted with his image of right and wrong, he would abruptly grab the book from my hand and storm to his bedroom.
Seldom was I allowed to go outside in my younger years, but with age and constant pleading, I was eventually allowed to attend the village school. As one could say, this certainly opened my eyes to the outside world. Each day was a new experience, sometimes exhilarating, and often quite frightening. Even with my naivety, it was soon clear that many thought of me as a pariah, and I quickly understood that living with Priest was the cause. Any effort on my part to explain my circumstance was met with ridicule and shaming. I say sometimes exhilarating because I met Mathias.
Mathias was a year older and destined to be a fisherman like his father. His deep blue eyes and natural smile were a welcome balm against the hurtfulness of others. He said I should ignore the taunts as they were an ignorance spawned by the idle gossip of mothers. The man who keeps you is not a real priest, said Mathias, and he encouraged me to not speak of my home life to others. We would linger after school in the village square by the large water fountain while the afternoon breeze would blow a welcoming mist. I would help him with his studies and he would fill me with wondrous stories of the world I hardly knew.
As we came to know each other better, Mathias expressed his true desire to be a winemaker. His favorite pastime was walking through the hillside vineyards and asking every conceivable question of the workers. “Manion” he said one day as he spoke of buds emerging on the vines, “We could do this together.” My heart raced with this invitation to share his life, and from that moment forward, he was seldom far from my thoughts. The more I attempted to experience a new life beyond home, the more angry and possessive Priest became. He repeatedly threatened to withdraw me from school whenever he felt I exhibited independence, and soon backed his anger with a belt.
On a beautiful afternoon I walked into the vineyards with Mathias as he described the process of winemaking from the soil to the grape crush. The owner appeared and invited us to come into his cellar as he explained the aging process of the bottled wine. We were both mesmerized by his stories and the excitement of roaming through softly lit tunnels with rack upon rack of fragrant wine. At a table where he would open a bottle for tasting, he invited us to sit as he cut some cheese and broke pieces of a dark crusty bread. Time passed quickly, and emerging from the cellar, we were both surprised by the darkness of the early evening.
Upon entering the main room, I found Priest asleep in a chair with his head upon the table amid scattered food scraps. His belt was wrapped tightly around his right hand. Moving quietly to my bedroom, I entered and cautiously closed the door. In the midst of my undressing the door was flung open and Priest froze as he stared at my nakedness for what seemed an eternity. Fumbling to cover myself as I stepped backward toward a corner, he suddenly dropped the belt and left the room.
The next morning he made no eye contact and would not speak. I was grateful to leave for school without further incident. Although the bedroom scene had left me shaken, it also imbued within me a fierce determination to continue my quest for freedom and personal happiness. That afternoon I asked Mathias if we could hike to the top of the hill above the vineyards. He sensed I was troubled but also perceptively understood that I would talk when ready.
The thick soft grass of the hillside provided a perfect bed to lay back and take in the vineyards, village, and sea below. The sun shone in one portion of the sky while rain fell in another. A beautiful rainbow appeared, a stunning arc of concentric colored bands. Mathias took my hand and said that from this day forward a rainbow would always be a reminder of our connected spirits, no matter how far apart. Ready to speak, I chose my few words carefully, and my dear friend fully understood.
Latter that evening I was dutifully reading a bible passage when Priest suddenly said “What was that, read it again.” I read from the book of Romans “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do. But what I hate, I do”. He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath and looked upward. A smile appeared as he declared “I am no different than any man.”
With careful planning, I was able to balance a stable and harmonious life in our dwelling, and still have precious time with Mathias in the early afternoon. Perhaps unwittingly, I was showing a happiness that reawakened a jealousy within the man. After school one day while sitting in the plaza in animated conversation, Priest surprised us unexpectedly. He raged incoherently at Mathias, saying that he was to stay away from me, and that he knew his father and would make his life difficult. Although I was becoming a young adult, I could not control my emotions and wailed as he pulled me back to a life of isolation.
For a week I protested his treatment and would not prepare his meals nor clean, accepting his threats of punishment. On the eighth night while lightly sleeping, I heard what sounded like a small rock hitting my window. Opening the window and leaning out I saw Mathias below as he softly called up “Manion are you safe?” I tried my best to speak calmly and to reassure him. He said he had spoken to the winemaker about working for him, and that there was a small cottage on the property where he could live. He took a deep breath and spoke again, “At daylight I will speak to my father and seek his approval. If you will allow me, I want to tell him of our love, and to explain your difficult circumstance.” Unable to hold back tears, I started to give my heartfelt consent when Priest started screaming from his window.
I would not leave my room the next morning, and was jarred from deep thought by numerous voices outside my window. The village gendarme was in a heated discussion with Priest, and lying on the ground between them was the ladder from our cellar. Going outside and ignoring his shout, I protested the story Priest had concocted. He was claiming Mathias had secured the ladder and was attempting to enter my window. He further stated that he had surprised us several weeks earlier in the vineyard, saying that the young man was attempting to take advantage of his naive ward.
Eventually I was allowed to return to my final school days. Priest said he was securing for me an apprenticeship with a village dressmaker and within time would give his approval for my living independently. Mathias was no longer attending school and his younger sister told me that their father felt obligated to accept the allegations as factual. She further stated that he had been forced to join his father on their fishing boat, the one with the large red main sail. Handing me a crumpled piece of paper, and in a handwriting I knew well was the one word “Remember.”
My new life as an apprentice dressmaker was a satisfactory experience as the woman was kind and encouraging. Often I would think of my mother and ponder what our life might have been had she lived. I would still venture into the vineyard from time to time and recently happened to see the winemaker in the field. He surprised me with a story about his wife.
They were discussing the small cottage on their property. He wanted to tear it down and further expand the vines, but she said to wait. She reminded him of that young couple that he would often describe, and at that moment, he touched my arm and with a twinkle in his eye, he continued. “Perhaps” said the wife, “They might marry one day and come to live with us. We will need the right people who share our passion and can carry on.” I treasured that thought from the winemaker’s wife. Could I be worthy of such happiness?
These days I seldom dream, but on this early morning I awoke lying on the floor and startled by a surreal experience. I remember climbing our tower and hearing the stairs fall away with each step forward. At the top of the turret I was floating and the walls were falling away. The billowing sea howled, and the mist rushed upon my face. Slowly appearing out of the darkness a red sail moved closer, looming larger until it fell upon me with a great force.
Priest had warned me to never climb the tower. He said the stairs were fragile and the lack of a railing would add to the risk of falling. I ran from my room to the entrance. Barefoot and still in my dressing gown, I started climbing. Ignoring the sounds of rotten wood, and with my left hand pressing against the damp stone, I ascended. At the top, with the large opening to the sea before me and the beacon lamp at my back, I beheld a miracle. A morning sun from the east was meeting a rain from the west, and arced above the water was a most magnificent rainbow!
I quickly descended the tower, changed into the first piece of clothing I could find, and started running toward the hilltop. The village was still deserted as I ran ever faster toward the vineyard. I would not allow a glance backward, but simply pushed myself upward, stumbling several times. Above the vineyard and nearing the ridge, I needed to move slowly as my lungs burned and my eyes watered. The thick grass was wet and slippery as I fixed my attention on just the right spot. Closing my eyes, I knelt down to feel the ground, and slowly turned to lay upon the hillside. With my eyes still closed, I thought of his note with the word “Remember.”
Extending my arms out wide to my side, I felt like an angel testing her wings. Slowing opening my eyes, and never doubting what I would see, the rainbow shimmered brightly with every color of the world. I stared so long without blinking, perhaps my eyes were playing a trick, as from the arc of red there appeared a boat.
RICHARD SWAIN