Fear and Aggression

by Dane Bagley

It had been a splendid afternoon. The temperature reached maximum a little after noon, yet there had been a cool and refreshing breeze. As the sun began to fall and the temperature drop, the breeze had stopped. It was neither warm nor cool, but just perfect. The sun was behind the young man and his father as they walked slowly and methodically down the path towards their home, so they could not see the radiant orange and pink sunset behind them.

  For the past twenty minutes nothing had been spoken between the companions. They had had a day of talking, learning, and experiencing together; nothing could be spoken that would have added anything to the moment. The young man, of a little over thirteen years of age, had an air of goodness, confidence, and self-assurance about him. But at the same time he held his father in such high respect and esteem that he walked with his head bent slightly down, looking, as it were, at the ground several yards ahead. The older man held a staff in his right hand and walked on his son’s right. A close look at this man’s features revealed his age of fifty-two, but to look at him from a distance of only several feet he appeared younger. He had striking—penetrating—black eyes, and a full set of thick dark hair with a slight wave. His skin had a naturally light complexion, but was darkened somewhat because of the time he spent outdoors. He walked erectly, his gaze parallel to the ground, and with smooth steady strides, less than half a pace in front of his son. On his face could be seen a trace of fatigue, and yet with his eyes he expressed the smile of a very pleased and contented father.

  “Caryell, I see your mother,” spoke the father firmly and pleasantly. Though still a long way off, their home had come into view, and the wife and mother of the two travelers could be seen doing some chores in the comfortable early evening.

  Caryell raised his eyes and gazed towards his home and his mother for a few moments while a pleasant smile slowly transformed his face. A few seconds later he looked up and over towards his father, as his father simultaneously looked down and over towards him. They both smiled warmly and brightly at each other and then continued to smile as they turned their gaze back to home. “Father, I wonder what we shall be eating tonight," spoke Caryell resolutely though quietly.

  “I will be content with anything tonight, but I am sure that your mother has prepared something special, my son.”

  As they reached the clearing, Aspiria, having just noticed her husband and son, began to wave. Her gestures were mimicked by those approaching, and she felt perplexed momentarily as to whether she should walk in their direction to meet them, or to stay and watch as they approached. Aspiria was a beautiful woman of thirty-eight years of age. She was thin, but not frail. She was somewhat tall, with slightly broad shoulders. Though she was certainly strong and fit, she also had a delicate look about her. Her long, dark brown hair glistened in the sun.

  Aspiria had spent the last couple of hours busy in the kitchen preparing a splendid feast. The fowl that was roasting was almost finished and a wonderful aroma filled her home. The table was set with vegetables, both steamed and raw, and fresh baked bread complimented the aroma of the fowl. She had a beautiful cake prepared and fruit juice to drink. The kitchen had become a little warm, and she had decided to enjoy a few minutes of the waning sunshine outdoors.

  “You look lovely this evening, my dear,” said Roloff as he approached his wife and kissed her on the cheek. Aspiria smiled softly, and gazed at Roloff for a moment and then turned her attention to Caryell.

  “Are you tired, Caryell?”

  “No, only a little bit, mother. I can smell the bird cooking. Is dinner almost ready?”

  “He must be hungry,” said Aspiria with a light chuckle.

  “He is, and so am I,” said Roloff as the family walked into their home.

  The Palador family lived in a fairly spacious one story home. As they entered the back door, the kitchen could be seen on the left; straight ahead was their living room. Aspiria had painted the walls a light yellow. The room was well lit with large bay windows on the side opposite of the door that they had entered, facing the front of the home. The windows were open, but the lacy-white curtains barely moved as there was no appreciable breeze.

  Caryell entered the living room and sat on a large off-white couch that faced the stone mantel. He laid back a little and put his left leg on the couch while letting his shoe dangle off of the front. He closed his eyes for a moment, but then opened them and stared dreamily out in front of him.

  Roloff disappeared for a little while in the direction of the master bedroom. When he returned he had changed cloths and cleaned up. Aspiria had just taken the roasted bird out of the oven when Roloff entered. He finished setting the table and then began to carve the bird while Aspiria completed some finishing touches.

  “Caryell, change and clean up; we shall eat in a few moments,” called Aspiria as she undid her apron and began to walk towards the master bedroom herself. “How did everything go today?” she whispered, stopping short near her husband.

  Roloff said nothing for a moment as he finished carving a piece. “He is a fine young man in every way,” he said slowly and methodically without looking up from the bird. “A father could not be more pleased.” Aspiria stood there for a moment, and looked at the bird, then walked to her bedroom.

  Chapter 3