Anything old, Anything new

The Artisan

By Nance Abrams

My father Alexi worked late in the evenings while my brother played along the hillside trails up by our house. Finishing the last shimmering metal piece in his workshop as the sun faded, a pinpoint of light from his headlamp reflected off the copper metalwork in his hands. He brushed and scraped its uneven surface, carefully flecking away dirt and sand to reveal grooves in the shimmering art.

His pride in his work showed in his eyes as turned the pieces for a final inspection, then wrapped them each in an old piece of cloth, and gently inserting them into a worn briefcase. He took several more from the table and added them to the case, then headed out into the cooling evening.

Along the cobblestone street the last rays of sun illuminated a row of hillside homes in the middle eastern village. Curtains fluttered in windows as he walked up the hill. Doors stood open to capture the evening breeze. Children played along the street and the faint scent of jasmine filled the air.

The side of a woman’s dress fluttered in the wind as she worked in the kitchen by the open door. Dinner is almost ready. A young girl is outside in the light of the doorway reading, one hand holding back her hair as it moves in the breeze. She lets it fall forward around her book as she leafs through its pages.

Summer Breeze

In another home faraway in North Carolina, a light haired boy, about 7, looks out a window. His mother is working in the kitchen as he moves across the room to the door and peers out over the students and shops. Walking and laughing, eating yogurt and wearing bright colored toe-socks. The year is 1976. The song Summer Breeze is playing on the radio.

The newspaper was laying on the sidewalk, so I picked it up and took it to the house next door. The music drifted from inside, I tapped on the screendoor and entered a world lost in time. The lair of UNC professor and physicist instructor, Homer Wilkins, filled with tall shelves of books and ancient navigation tools. I walked across the floor to peer over his shoulder.

Our neighbor, professor Wilkins, has inhabited this college town for as far back as anyone can remember. I laid the newspaper down on the entrance table and looked around for signs of life. Books faught for space in every nook in Homer's house and porch. A sun dial caught a faint shadow of light as it filtered though the vines surrounding the porch, rays glinting on the slowly swirling dust. I pulled down one of my favorite books and flipped through the illustrated pages. It's massive tattered cover, a deep reddish brown, still barely showed an ancient nautical instrument. Inside, a collection of old maps and star charts.

Metal Books

Under the starry Mediterranean sky, their father arrived home to the family's hillside farm. A farm which had been in the family for many generations. His briefcase was heavy, filled with work from the previous three months. The lights of the kitchen cast a warm glow across the yard's olive trees as he arrived at the door.

His wife turns toward him as he walks by the window, the edges of her dress shimmering with a colorful pattern of gold and burnt amber. He places the suitcase against a wooden chair in the corner of the kitchen. A warm pot bubbles on the stove. He inhales deeply, waving his hand to take in the aromas of Mediterranean spices, basil, sage and bay laurel, then calls the two children to come eat.

Feel the arms that reach out to hold me
In the evening when the day is through

After dinner, I peer though my father's partially open suitcase. Candlelight plays off copper and gold covers of metal books, with rings around all their sides. A bundle of clay sculpting tools, old coins and a stack of photos bound in a tattered piece of cloth lays in one corner of the suitcase.

Outside, my brother is listening to the hum of cicadas mingled with the sounds of families finishing their dinners. I stand behind him, tilting my head to catch the faint music from down the street while moonlight begins to move between the houses. The lights have begun to flicker now and soon we'll return to the house to prepare to sleep so we can rise early with the sun.

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