Nana’s Reticent Wizard

Shortly after Nana began dating Papa, she realized he was different. In those days, he was a handsome young man. Seeing the tall grass at her house, he volunteered to mow it. Of course, she gladly accepted and watched him through a screen door.

A raindrop plopped on his forehead as he was about to cut the grass.

“It’s not funny,” he yelled at the sky. He held up his hands, palms facing up, beseeching the heavens. “Why me? This isn’t fair. Enough. I command you to leave!” he said to the threatening clouds, waving them off melodramatically.

At once, the wind stopped blowing, and all grew deadly still.

For a moment, his body shook uncontrollably. Nana sensed a silence, unsettling and ominous, yet intriguing. Had her young suitor caused this phenomenon to happen? Did this man have mystical qualities? Should she be worried for her safety, or maybe his?

Within a single heartbeat, as if hit by a gust of wind, an overwhelming sense of might seemed to sweep over him. Nana felt—no, she knew—Papa could, by the sheer power of his will, cause the clouds to move.

He stood straight, spread his palms wide, and squinted at the darkest part of the clouds directly overhead. As if by focusing his mind, he directed them to move. For several moments, nothing happened. He looked silly standing there.

Then, the clouds moved.

It happened so slowly she thought she imagined it. Papa blinked twice—the clouds began reshaping themselves in a circular pattern, little by little, like a kaleidoscope or  a pinwheel, around which sparkles, like tiny stars, twinkled. Diamonds maybe. Or sequins. The thought made her grin. And then, like morning fog on a spring day, the cloud cover dissolved. The sparkles stopped twinkling, and the breeze picked up again.

She was so overwhelmed by the spectacle that she stood awestruck for a long moment, gazing through misty eyes. She inhaled deeply and sighed, “Dear Lord.”

With a trance-like look on his face, Papa raised his arms, no longer her innocent boyfriend. He turned and faced her from where he stood as if he knew she’d been watching him. He raised his right hand, brought his pinkie finger to his lips, and kissed it.

Teary-eyed, Nana raised her right hand and showed it to him through the glass door. She mimicked him, kissed her pinkie, and placed her hand over her heart. This was their way of saying, “I will keep this secret between us forever.”

Years later, their bond was tested when Papa defended Nana from a drunken man at a club and was punched so hard he almost lost consciousness.

“I’m gonna call the police,” Nana said, helping Papa to their car.

“No!” he replied, a fierce intensity in his voice. “Ni lo pienses.”

“Why not? You didn’t deserve that.”

He touched his swelling jaw. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Ya te dije.”

They rode home in silence. When he walked her to their front door, he stopped. “You go on in. Allí te sigo.”

She never questioned his reason or motives. She kissed his cheek softly and went to bed.

The next morning, police officers appeared at Nana’s house and asked to speak to Papa. The taller of the two officers nodded at Papa as he neared Nana from behind.

Papa nodded back. “What can I do for you, officers?”

“Mornin’, Sir. We just need to know whether you noticed anything unusual about Clayton Thomas after your little scuffle at the club last night.”

“Is he the man who acted inappropriately?” Nana said.

Papa ignoredNana’s volunteered comment. “No, actually, we gathered our things and left shortly after. Why do you ask?”

“He died several hours after he hit you. Witnesses said you did nothing wrong last night, so don’t worry about that.” He looked back at the other officer to make sure he’d written down some notes. “I guess that’s all we need. Thank you both.”

After the officers left, a small smile came over Papa’s face. “I told you I’d take care of it.”

Had he caused the death of the belligerent drunk? Papa didn’t say what he’d done, and she didn’t ask. All she knew was she had much to learn about her man.

***

Half a century later, on a bright and sunny morning, Nana didn’t realize she was looking at a dead man. She glanced at Papa through her kitchen window as an odd, light blue orb materialized and rose from the crown of his head, floating into the sky. Her husband of seventy years sat motionless on the paint-cracked porch swing. Little footsteps sounded behind her.

“Bye, Nana. We’ll be back,” Abby said. Her six-year-old granddaughter never tired of fishing in the Los Angeles River.

Nana turned to face her. “Have fun, be safe.” She returned her focus to Papa and saw Abby approach him.

Abby tapped the old man’s forearm. “Wake up, Papa. I’m ready, let’s go.”

The old man’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t budge. Nana’s heart raced.

Abby tapped his forearm again. When he didn’t respond, she ran inside the house. “Nana! Something’s wrong with Papa.”

Nana rushed to the porch and stopped when she saw Papa, his chin resting on his chest. He wasn’t breathing. Her eyes welled as she knelt before him and placed two fingers on his carotid artery. She sensed no pulse, leaned into him, and kissed his forehead.

Nana sobbed. “He’s asleep, Honey. He’s gone to heaven.” She knew Abby understood. They hugged and wept together.

Two days after Papa’s funeral, Abby sat on the same porch swing, her spindly legs swinging back and forth. It was obvious she missed her grandfather.

Before Papa’s sudden passing, Abby accompanied him everywhere. Whether it was a trip to the hardware store or a visit to a flea market, she was involved. Each weekday morning, she’d wake up, have breakfast, and join Papa for their daily outing. She also spent time with Nana, learning how to bake cookies and make jams.

Most young girls learn these things from their parents, but Abby’s father wasabsent and  irresponsible dad. Her mother died of cancer when she was still a toddler. As a result, her grandparents' attorney told them they were now in loco parentis, standing in for the parents.

Nana and Abby, still grieving, stared at an old photograph in Abby’s hands. The image showed her and Papa alongside a horse-like creature with a single horn. Abby looked perplexed, unsure of the animal beside Papa.

“Oh my!” she called out, her voice causing the pigeons in the nearby tree to scatter in flight.

Nana’s eyes crinkled with concern as she studied the photograph. “Let me see,” she said, taking the photo from Abby’s hands.

“Nana, what is that?” she asked, pointing to the animal in the photograph. “What is Papa standing next to?”

Nana’s expression faltered, and a bittersweet sadness/ache filled her gaze. She handed the picture back to Abby. “That, my dear, is a unicorn,” she whispered, as though revealing a long-held secret.

Abby’s eyebrows arched high, her mind no doubt spinning with wonder and disbelief.

"A unicorn?" she repeated, her voice no louder than Nana’s whisper.

Nana nodded, a wistful smile touching her lips.

“Yes, darling. Your Papa must’ve had a hidden side to him. Maybe he lived a secret life filled with magical creatures and adventures.”

She tried to comfort the child who had been downhearted since Papá’s death. The pediatrician said healing would take time. At six, she struggled to understand death and why it happens. Though Abby was smart, the concept of life’s end was beyond her grasp.

Nana asked the only thing that came to mind. “Did you take this picture?”

“Yup.”

She didn’t want to confuse Abby, but she had to ask. “And you don’t remember this creature?” Abby’s face contorted, trying to come up with an answer, so Nana changed the subject. “What do you miss about him?”

Abby took a moment, mulling over what to say. “Well, I can’t tell you everything cuz Papa and I had our secrets.”

Nana turned toward her. “Really? Are they still secrets?”

“Yeah, my lips are sealed.” She made a motion as if zipping her lips shut. “That’s what Papa used to say.”

Abby’s gesture piqued Nana’s curiosity. Papa used to say those words to her, too, when he didn’t want her to share their confidences with anyone outside their circle of trust. “Were there things you talked about that weren’t secrets?”

“Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like, why does our neighbor, Mr. Miller, smell yucky every time he passes by.”

“Why does he smell yucky?”

“Papa said Mr. Miller wades in the river we fish, but only takes one bath on Wednesday and one on Sunday.”

Nana nodded. “That would make you smell bad.”

Papa’s possessions and Abby’s memories of him consumed her; the vacuum in her heart was obvious, even to those who hadn’t met her before Papa’s passing.

Papa had always presented as a gentle and wise man, but tying him to a world of fantasy felt too extraordinary for her. Yet, she had hush-hush stories of her own.

Abby was insistent. “But why was part of his life a secret? Why didn’t he tell us?”

Nana sighed, her eyes filled with sadness and a yearning desire to have him back. She gave her a gentle hug. “Sometimes, people have things they keep hidden. It’s their way of protecting those they love and the things they hold dear.”

A sobering thought came to Nana’s mind. Should she tell her?

***

In the days after discovering the unicorn photo, Abby spent hours exploring Papa’s old journals and photographs. Each picture provided a glimpse into her grandfather’s private, magical world. She found photos of her first carp, her first taste of cooked snake meat, and some intriguing cloud formations. However, she didn’t uncover any more unusual objects or animals.

On the first anniversary of Papa’s death, Abby and Nana stood at his graveside.

Nana draped her arm over Abby’s shoulder. “Papa’s secret life was his way of living out his dreams and passions. He said he connected with energies from the universe, although I’m not sure what he meant by that.”

Abby stared at the headstone and grinned as if she knew something Nana did not.

Nana continued. “Maybe with your vivid imagination and his legacy, you can carry on his stories, weaving your own tales of magic and wonder.”

Nana kept her secret about Papa to herself. Just the way she promised him that fateful day when he moved the heavens and maybe more.