037 - Father and Son

[Rune Walsh]

Neil arrived at the hotel room, satisfied with his speech. Believing to have enlightened the crowd, he felt as if he was making a difference, in return for being recognized for his unusual heritage, something he was ever proud of.

“Dad, I’m home” He said out loud after stepping through the door, then proceeding to check on his sickly father.

He heard coughs. Not normal ones, but the ones where you can almost feel the pain in them. Neil caught a glimpse of his father spitting the red blood of humans on a napkin and trying to hide it from his son.

“Father…” Neil said, sounding a bit more depressed than he wished to.

“It is nothing, Neil. Nothing new at least. Never mind my condition.” He said stoically

“I wish you’d only allow me to try to heal you. I’m sure I could try to make you better.” He offered, one more in dozens of other tries. Albert Portgas only laughed.

“Give it up, I told you already, I would only be prolonging my sickness, and I would die eventually anyway. I’m ready to go, and you’re ready to take care of yourself, Neil. It’s only a matter of time until destiny catches up to me, now.” The father said, his former years as a scholar making him sound like a professor even in his daily routine, well-spoken and articulate in an almost rehearsed way.

Neil just looked down in silence, thinking his father to be selfish and resenting him for it. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t feel ready.

“But moving on, Neil, where were you?” Asked the father, distractedly.

“Talking to some people.” Neil omitted

“Friends, already? We’ve only been here for a week. I guess this is the kind of hospitality you can’t expect from big cities…” His father pondered.

Neil thought the matter was over and no more questions would be asked and felt relieved for it.

“Do you know what that commotion was all about? I could hear a crowd in uproar in the distance.”

Neil cursed to himself. He hated to lie, and could not do it, especially to his father.

“…I was the cause of it.”

His father turned his head, his face suddenly frozen in a mix of surprise and fear.

“…What did you do?” Albert asked, slowly and worriedly.

“Opening the people’s eyes.” Neil answered very seriously. He knew this was going to lead into an argument.

“You told them about yourself.” Albert wasn’t asking, and Neil didn’t answer.

Then Neil witnessed something his father had done only a one or two times during his entire life.

The old man slapped his son, square on the cheek.

Neil could see the anger in his father’s eyes after the violent outburst after he was hit with a force you wouldn’t expect from an almost bedridden man in his sixties.

A few seconds passed before the scholar parent’s expression went back to the calm and gentle man he normally was. Neil proceeded to look down

“We’re leaving town.”

Neil quickly looked to his father in surprise.

“But father! You shouldn’t strain yourself by roaming again…” He was genuinely worried about his father, completely having forgotten that he had just hit him. But he also didn’t want to leave this small town he was growing fond of.

“We’re leaving town.” And Albert Portgas started packing. His son observing his father with a resigned look.

He was hoping his father would realize, but he never did. It was Neil’s 18th birthday.
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