La Grande Jatte

La Grande Jatte

During the course of a major battle, I escaped from the horrors of war and followed the watercourse toward home.

As I ran along the river’s edge, I dropped my weapon and tore at my bloodied uniform as though I were trying to scratch my skin off.

I ran until I stumbled from weariness, until my legs trembled, and then dragging myself upright, I ran some more, spurring myself on from the fields of death that lay behind me.

The river ran with me, colored red and brown with the blood of brave men. It was a constant reminder that screamed at my broken heart and made me moan and cry-out uncontrollably with an abhorrence to all that I had witnessed since my service to the King.

The river. I’ve always hated the river, hated it with every fiber of my being, and, I believed, it hated me too.

I developed the terrifying phobia very young in life after my twin sister, Jocelyn, drowned in its raging, icy depths. I could not save her then, though I had tried desperately, nearly drowning myself. The odd thing was, she never struggled, nor did she try to save herself. She simply sank beneath the rushing water with an expression of bewilderment upon her face. A look to this day I carry with me.

Since then, I have not been able to enter the river, and even now, being in such close proximity to its edge, fills me with dread. I hear it call to me. It wants my life, and offers only death in return; it stabs at my heart as it cuts through the countryside like a great oozing wound.

Yet, I continued to follow its twisted and horrid course for two days, eventually coming out upon a cluster of mountains that leaned away from each other to unfurl a wide valley. At the head of the valley, the slopes were more even, draping down from the cliffs like a mussed skirt. The foothills acted as fingers knotted in the valley floor, pulling the valley wider apart; and between the fingers lay steep vales and clefts.

In the afternoon light, the whole floor of the valley had a lush hue, an aspect of luxuriance, filled with rich grasslands, and verdant meadows in springtime. All fed by the hateful river. The whole scene was like a place out of time, sheltered from the world by the huge surrounding peaks.

After I had rested among the boulders shadowed by the high cliffs, I began to climb down from the mountain toward the valley. The descent was arduous, but I eventually came out upon the northern side of a pristine township that by all accounts had escaped the horrors of war.

There, upon a great expanse of grass, a crowd had gathered and stood with their backs to me, watching the river as though mesmerized. Cautiously, I made my way toward them.

As I squeezed myself between small groups of genteel people, no one gave me a cold look, nor did I feel unwelcome amongst them. Instead, they behaved as though they were accustomed to seeing strangers; the women smiled at me and the gentlemen tipped their hats. I began to relax a bit, feeling the weariness of my escape from war beginning to overtake me.

For some unknown reason, I felt safe here, and comfortable. I decided to lie down in the cooling shade of a willow tree to rest, and watched as courteous ladies of fashion and educated looking men, all dressed in vogue, chatted pleasantries. I have to admit that I felt somewhat out of place in their midst attired in nothing but my sleeveless undershirt and pants. But it was good to see the niceties of refinement once again, and to hear gentle laughter. I was among civilized and unthreatening people; people who knew nothing of war and death; people who appeared to be unconcerned and indifferent to the comings and goings of strangers. I felt at peace.

Far above me, the sky still held the bright sun gently in its arms, and eventually I closed my weary eyes and let the affability of the moment carry me to sleep.

I was awakened by the warm, wet tongue of a black dog licking at my face as it searched for hidden scraps within the deep grass. I lifted myself up and looked around. Everyone was staring toward the river, dispassionately. I, too, casually glanced toward the shoreline.

A small child in a beautiful white dress was wading out into the deep water. My first thought was that her parents would see the danger she was in, and at any moment, call her back toward the shore.

But no one moved.

The people remained nonchalant and unemotional. Quickly, I bolted up, the dread and panic in my mind expanding to my arms and chest. Couldn't they see? Were they blind?

The child was waist deep in the icy water when the current grabbed her and knocked her from her feet.

I immediately sprang to the shoreline, hollering for help; but my terror of the river forced me to stop at the water's edge.

“Help her!" I cried. "Somebody, help her!”

But they did nothing.

They were totally apathetic to the entire situation as if they couldn't see it, and I, watched horrified as the girl’s head bobbed up and down in the water while they continued their senseless, petty conversations.

In dismay, I shouted at the crowd, “What’s wrong with you people? Why won’t you help her? Can’t you see she’s drowning?”

And then something very strange happened.

I was a kid again, and the drowning little girl was my sister, Jocelyn. Without any fear of the water at all, I plunged in after her.

The icy teeth of the river bit at my skin as I swam with all my might to rescue her. Lifting my head, I could see the waterflow had pinned her between two small boulders that rose above a backwash of whitewater.

“Jocelyn!" I screamed. "Jocelyn, hang on!”

I reached out for her arm, clutched it, and held on tight.

“I’ve got you!" I hollered, holding on to her for dear life. "I’ve got you! And this time I’ll never let go!”

I pulled her toward the bank, swimming as hard as I could until we reached an outcrop of rock, slippery with algae and just big enough for one person to sit upon. Somehow, I managed to push her up on it, where she was safe from the river's fury. She looked down at me then, that same expression of bewilderment upon her face that I had remembered from all those years ago. Then she smiled knowingly as the river dragged me away.

I suppose this is the way it should have been the first time I tried to save Jocelyn and failed. Now I had finally redeemed myself in some other strange now, some other different time.

The river flowed over me, pulling me out toward its center. I fought to stay alive, but the rigors of the last few days had finally taken their toll.

My head went under, and I could not raise it again.

I felt the cold arms of the water wrap about me and take me along its way, as if it had been waiting for me all this time: soft, caressing, as loving as a mother's embrace. Together, we continued our journey, never-ending, never reaching the shore, or ever seeing my sister again.