Compass And Torch
The road ends at a gate. The boy waits in the car while the man gets out. Beyond the gate is the open moor, pale in the early evening with bleached end-of-summer grass, bruised here and there with heather and age-old spills of purple granite. The boy, though, is not looking that way, ahead. He is watching the man: the way he strides to the gate, bouncing slightly in his boots, his calf-muscles flexing beneath the wide knee-length shorts, the flop of hair at the front and the close-shaved neck as he bends for the catch.
The boy is intent. Watching Dad. Watching what Dad is. Drinking it in: the essence of Dadness.
The man pushes the gate with one arm, abruptly, too hard - the boy misses a breath - and sure enough, the gate swings violently, bounces off the stone wall and begins to swing back again while the man is already returning to the car. But then it slows, keels out once more, and comes to rest, wide open, against the wall: the man judged correctly after all. The boy is relieved. And, as the man drops into the driving seat something in the boy's chest gives a little hop of joy and he cries excitedly, 'Oh, I brought my torch!'
Coming downstairs after finding his torch, he overheard his mother say what she thought of the expedition.
Mad, she was calling it, as he knew she would. 'Mad! The first in four months he has his eight-year-old son and what does he plan to do? Take him camping up a mountain! Talk about macho avoidance activity!' Her voice was low, and light and mocking, but he heard it catch, and he could also hear Jim, his mother's boyfriend who lived with them now, shifting at the kitchen table with an unhappy kind of rustle. His mother said: 'Well, what do you expect?' There was a choke in her voice now, and suddenly a kind of snarl: 'You wouldn't expect him to start now, would you - accommodating his child into his life?'
When the boy stepped into the kitchen he saw her start with alarm and shame. He said, 'I found my torch.'
'Oh good!' she said quickly, wrenching a look of bright enthusiasm onto her face.
The light seeping through her fuzzy hair made the bones of his shoulders ache.
Jim asked kindly, 'Is it all in working order?'
The boy forced himself to put the torch into Jim's big outstretched hand, to stand still and attentive while Jim gently twisted the barrel to make the bulb come on.
'It's a good one,' said Jim, pointedly approving, handing it back.
'Yes,' said the boy, forcing himself to acknowledge Jim's kindness and affirmation.
But Jim is not his dad.
'It's a red one,' he tells his dad now. 'It's in my rucksack.'
'Oh,' says his Dad, 'good, good,' a little distractedly, driving the car quickly, efficiently through the gate. His dad parks the car neatly, gets out smartly and shuts the gate.
Some yards off on the tufted moor a scattered group of wild ponies lift their heads and sniff the air. One, dappled grey, moves with interest towards the car, man and boy.
The boy is still in the car, tugging at his rucksack, fighting with stiff straps to get at the torch. As the man comes back and puts his head into the open door, he holds it up: 'Here it is!'
'Great!' cries the man. He isn't looking at the torch.
He is looking away, seared by the glitter of anxiety in his little boy's eyes.
The horse comes up to the car. She nudges up, puts her nose over the edge of the door. The man bats her away.
It's OK, the boy decides, that his dad hasn't looked at the torch, hasn't studied or handled it like Jim. It's better: the torch is not for looking at now. It's better to have for it a proper purpose, to put it away, to carry it carelessly but with meaning, as a warrior might carry his sword. A torch is for lighting when the time comes, for lighting up the expedition of father and son.
'Come on!' says the man, all briskness now, and holds the door back for the boy to get out of the car.
Neither man nor boy take much notice of the horse. The man steps back, and she swings her head out of the way. They go to the boot, and after a moment she slowly follows.
The boy is chattering:
'Have you brought one too, have you brought a torch?'
'Oh, yes!'
Is this a problem? the boy suddenly wonders. Does this make one of the torches redundant? There is a brief moment of uncertainty.
'We can use both of them, can't we, Dad?
'Oh, yes! Yes, of course!'
Then a swoop of delight: 'We can light up more with both, can't we?'
'Oh yes, certainly!' The man too is gratefully caught on a wave of triumph. 'Oh, yes, two are definitely better! Back-up, for a start.'
Two torches are for lighting a bigger space in the wilderness, for lighting it together. Two torches are for father and son to back each other up.
The man has swung up the car-boot door. The horse, softly curious, is standing behind.
'What colour is your torch, Dad?'
'Er...' The man is peering into the boot. 'Er... it's green.'
Unseen by the man and boy, clouds sweep like opening curtains above the brow of the hill and the grass lights up, bright yellow. Ancient rocks glint like heaving carcasses asleep.
Man and boy both peer intently into the boot. Behind them, the horse looks in too, through dark, deep-fringed eyes.
The man lifts up the tent in its smart holdall-style bag.
The boy still chatters. 'Is that the tent? What colour is it? Is it that round kind? Does it have a little porch?'
The man says with robust authority: 'It's an all-weather mountain tent. Two-man.'
The boy is thrilled. A tent to weather all conditions. In which he and his father will be two men.
The man looks up - for the first time - at the path they will take, which runs from the gate to the brow of the hill. Then he groans: 'I didn't bring a compass.'
The boy's eyes are suddenly wide with fear and dismay: not with the notion that they'll get lost, but because of the way the man's shoulders slumped and the tent in his hand dropped back onto the boot floor.
But then the man says quickly, almost brightly, 'Never mind!' and swings the tent out.
The boy breathes with relief. 'I've got a compass,' he cries, 'and guess what, I forgot mine too!'
He ought to have remembered it when he went upstairs for the torch. He might have thought of it if he hadn't already heard from his room the intent murmurings in the kitchen, and known the sort of thing his mother would be saying, and wanted badly to get back down there and make her stop.
No hope of him relating to his son on any personal, day-to-day level! No hope of him trying to RELATE to him!
The boy might have remembered it, the compass, as they were leaving. But he couldn't wait to get going, for it all to be over: the way his dad said, 'Hi there!' in that brittle, jovial way to Jim, and the way Jim dropped his eyes when he'd said Hi back, as if he understood all there was to understand about Dad, and didn't want to embarrass him by letting him know that. As if as well as despising him, Jim also - horribly - felt sorry for Dad. And the way his mother said hardly anything, and made her face blank whenever Dad spoke to her or looked her way, and kept shredding a tissue so bits leaked though her fingers to the floor. When they were ready for off she put her head in through the car window, and her eyes were bulging and wobbly with tears, and he thought he couldn't bear this: that this moment which he had looked forward to, longed for, as his moment of joy, was a moment of sadness for her. And that terrible thing she had said to Dad: 'Now you will be careful? Don't go camping too near the edge.' Unforgivable - as if she and Jim didn't think that Dad could think of such a thing for himself.
And then the worst thing of all: that brief but really awful moment when the car slid out of the drive and he felt, after all, he didn't want to go. That was another reason the compass never entered his head.
But they don't need a compass after all. They are adventurers, after all. Compasses are things that boys and dads tend to have, but which, when they are alert and strong at heart, they can leave behind. It is no accident that they both left their compasses behind.
'I keep mine by my bed,' he tells his dad. 'Where do you keep yours?'
'In my desk,' says the man.
The boy nods with satisfaction. He struggles unsuccessfully to get his arm in his rucksack strap; his arm flails.
The man's chest twists. He holds the strap wide so the boy can get his arm in. The horse nuzzles the rucksack top and the man pushes her away.
The horse sighs. She wheels around. Facing the open moor, she lifts her tail, spreads her hind legs and provides a close-up display which could easily fascinate an eight-year-old boy: opens and flexes her bright-red arse and lets out a steaming stream.
'Is it the kind of compass where the top lifts up, like mine?' asks the boy eagerly, with eyes only for the man.
As the stream goes on hitting the ground, the man snaps the boot shut, with satisfying clicks attaches sleeping bags and tent to his own pack, and shoulders the lot. The boy is gratified by his speed but unsettled by his subtle nervy hurry. The man checks the car locks. 'Right?' he says, and decisive, without looking round to check the boy is following, sets off.
Which is good, thinks the boy: no nonsense. There's an important adventure ahead, which means there's no time for hanging around. 'Right!' he echoes, and sets off too, running to catch up.
Neither looks back at the nestled shiny car, the snaking wall, the ghost-coloured ponies in the hummocky grass.
The man strides; the boy walks fast, gladly half-runs, proud to keep up. They reach the top in no time. When they get there, they do not stop, as most walkers there do, to take in the view, the purple sweep of the plain towards the blue wall of mountains beyond. They keep going, and the boy is asking, 'Is it one of those tents where you don't have to use pegs?'
Halfway down the next incline a thought suddenly occurs to the boy. He slows briefly, arrested. 'Dad, hey, do you think that horse wanted something to eat?'
'Maybe,' says the man, cheerfully, dismissively, having to call because the boy has fallen behind.
The boy puts his concentration into keeping abreast.
Ten minutes later, when the ponies reach the brow, heading in for the night, there is no sign on the plain of the man and the boy. Too purposeful to loiter, too focused on their goal to stop and gaze at the still black mirror of lake, man and boy have crossed the tract of land and are gone.
*
They camp under the highest peak, on the far side of the plain. They have pitched their tent, they have lit their stove, and in the quick-dropping dark at the foot of the mountain they have eaten their reconstituted soup. And all the time the boy talked: about the stove, about the valve at the top of its canister of gas - gabbling, his voice growing shrill when the man failed to light it first time and the flare sputtered and died.
In the plummeting darkness, the man's own anxiety began to mount. He could feel it gathering in the blackening chill: the aching certainty that already, only one year on from the separation, he has lost his son, his child. And the thought grew so strong that he could only half-listen to the child's earnest desperate voice.
At last the child, tucked up in his sleeping-bag, chattered himself out.
The man gently takes away the torch.
It isn't long before the man, already expert at blanking out pain, falls asleep too.
Neither hears the horses moving round the tent in the night.
For years to come, though, in his dreams the boy will see their wild fringed eyes and feel the deep thudding of their hooves.
Comments
had to hold back tears, I had a little boy that grew up..
had to hold back tears, I had a little boy that grew up dadless.
Wonderful view into each of the characters. The boy in..
Wonderful view into each of the characters. The boy in particular, but each character is complete, understandable, and relatable. Excellent. C. Agosta
Poignant - the anxiety of both the man and boy is shown..
Poignant - the anxiety of both the man and boy is shown very well. The bones in my shoulders ached at times too. Occasionally, I felt that when the viewpoint was firmly with the boy, he seemed too knowing for his age? And in a couple of places the repetition seemed a little unconscious. But the symbols of the torch and compass are great, and a vivid closing image. I enjoyed it.
Im definitely going to read this again because the use of..
Im definitely going to read this again because the use of language is good. My only comment after reading it once is that in the course of the story there is no indication that the father has tried to get involved with his son.To me the father seems distanced from the start, does not really involve himself with his son when he has the chance to do so.This may be your way of showing that he feels he has lost his son. But it doesnt work for me as the son is totally into his dad, talking, asking questions, wanting to be part of the relationship. Surely his dad would act upon this if he wanted to find access to his lost son? Your idea would work if the father attempted to gain access to his son and you showed that the boy rejected his dad. Also the part where you explained that the father feels he has lost his son is dealt with too quickly and rushes to a closure which detracts from the rest of a good story. Glynis
This story was very abrupt at times and needs some..
This story was very abrupt at times and needs some revisions in its wording. It was rough to follow at times and was seemingly written during several attempts. The rough spots should have been ironed out before its submission. There is often too many adjectives like "His dad parks the car neatly, gets out smartly and shuts the gate".. give me a break!
I agree with the comment just previous. The improper use..
I agree with the comment just previous. The improper use of adjectives is distracting. I dont know how a horse can be "softly curious" for instance. "The essence of Dadness" gave me an image of a proud wife looking on as the father takes their child off to a camping trip, but we find that to be the farthest characterization of the mother -- she looks on him with disdain in fact. This opposite mixing of imagery is confusing. I did not understand the dialogue of the mother in the kitchen. At the beginning, I think instead of "Oh I brought my torch," the writer probably meant "Oh I forgot my torch" because the next scene shows him going to get the torch. If that was meant to be a flashback, then it should have been made more clear that it was a flashback. These kind of mistakes tell me that the writer wrote too quickly and did not edit. Writers: Edit, edit and re-edit! Check for grammar and misspellings. Take your time. This reads more like prose than a short story. I like the title, which made me ask myself, "What do you do with a compass?" And, "what do you do with a torch?" Well, a compass is used to find direction. The father seems to be trying to find direction and the torch illuminates the way, which I think the son is trying to do. Its like neither the son nor the father know what direction they are headed, but they both can see what is at hand presently. So, it is a fine title, I think, but the actual writing needs improvement.
Loved this. Captures the difficult to describe tiny,..
Loved this. Captures the difficult to describe tiny, flickering details of any relationship with precision and confidence. Excellent.
Great insight into the subtle complex interactions of any..
Great insight into the subtle complex interactions of any relationship. Should be included in Psych textbooks along with the sender/receiver communication model. Amazing how people can miss each other by a fraction. Time and time again. As for the writing, while I would agree with some of the previous comments about the conclusion being a bit underdeveloped and hasty, I would also assert if a reader cant imagine how a pony could be "softly curious", it is his or her lack of imagination rather than the writers lack of talent that is to blame. B. Oconnell
I couldnt get past the first two sections. The description..
I couldnt get past the first two sections. The description was forced and at times inappropriate.
it waz good. yea baby.
it waz good. yea baby.
People, get a life. The story was good. Quit being a critic..
People, get a life. The story was good. Quit being a critic on writing. Writing is an art and the artist can miss-match anything they want to make it their own. If you want structure, take up mathmatics. Fragmented sentences, and incoherancy for your enjoyment ;)
a little boring
a little boring
To me the essence of dadness was evocative, not of being a..
To me the essence of dadness was evocative, not of being a dad as such, but the individual and who he is to the son who desperately craves him. I liked it, this child was drinking in as much as he could from the experience, and the writer showed this desparation well. I felt the dad had shut off from the son because he felt he had no choice. I dont agree with that, but it is how many separated fathers deal with it. It was painfully true.
I agree with the previous comment that the story seems to..
I agree with the previous comment that the story seems to have bben written and submitted without any attempt to proofread and edit. The ending was abrupt and did not make much sense to me. The father made no attempt to interact with his son, so it doesnt make sense for him to be aching that he has lost his son. Needs a bit of work.
I agree with the previous comment that the story seems to..
I agree with the previous comment that the story seems to have bben written and submitted without any attempt to proofread and edit... Nonsense. This story has been thought about, lived, worked on. The author knows what shes doing. Shes put a lot of effort into this piece - and everything in it is in it for a reason. Fine stuff, Elizabeth. John Ravenscroft.
Quite right, John. There seem to be a couple of time..
Quite right, John. There seem to be a couple of time wasters around at the moment posting completely unjustified comments about proofreading. I suspect they just learnt the word in class.
I think this important adventure is beautifully handled,..
I think this important adventure is beautifully handled, the boys urgent desire to please his father, the fathers equally urgent need to find the son he thinks he has lost... and that little scene with the boys mother and her new boyfriend, terrific stuff. Thanks for the read, Elizabeth.
YEA YEA,KID AND FATHER JUST LIKE THE OLD TIMES. CHAVEZ
YEA YEA,KID AND FATHER JUST LIKE THE OLD TIMES. CHAVEZ
i didnt like it
i didnt like it
This was good story, all of the characters were well..
This was good story, all of the characters were well developed and then again very understandable. This was a interesting yet not boring read. later jenn
I really enjoyed the story. I liked the way Baines built up..
I really enjoyed the story. I liked the way Baines built up the childs admiration for his father,and contrasted it with feelings of dissapointment and inadequacy experienced by the father. It was obvious that the father was completely oblivious to the childs love for him
I am just wondering what is the significance of the gates..
I am just wondering what is the significance of the gates at the begining and the tittle. I found this story a little bit to complicated for me(I am in grade 8)I would really like to understand it further. Can someone help me
please!
I find this is a terrific expample of how devorced fathers..
I find this is a terrific expample of how devorced fathers deal with life with their children. After something dramatic like a devorce, most people go into a reculsed state, like the father in this story. The author is trying to tell us that it benefits no one if your sulking all the time. The best thing you can do is cherish every moment with your kids.
What was the theme? and what does the compass and torch..
What was the theme? and what does the compass and torch represent? please this is urgent
What was the theme? and what did the compass and torch..
What was the theme? and what did the compass and torch symbolize?
reverof elur sbah
Anyone know what the theme really is and what the ponies..
Anyone know what the theme really is and what the ponies really symnbolize. Awesome story by the way.
Essentially a good story, difficult to decifer the meanings..
Essentially a good story, difficult to decifer the meanings however. BElieve it or not, I have to write a response to this. Themes and imagery! I beg of you! PLEASE!
Also, i feel that the relationship between the father and son are inadequate. ITs unfair to the boy who seems to worship the father who barely notices his son
"The boy is intent. Watching Dad. Watching what Dad is...
"The boy is intent. Watching Dad. Watching what Dad is. Drinking it in: the essence of Dadness."
I love that line. Not exactly my type of story, but its stil good. It was hard to understand at times, but after rereading it, it became a lot easier. I still dont get what the horses are for though...
A marvelous story, both gentle and overwhelmingly..
A marvelous story, both gentle and overwhelmingly powerful, a hard skill to master. I will seek out more from this talented author.
I really didnt like this story. I didnt understand it. It..
I really didnt like this story. I didnt understand it. It was WAY confusing. Maybe adults get it better than teenagers. but anyway..yeah i didnt like it one bit..i mean i understood a little bit..but not about like the horses and stuff
This story was very confusing. Why the horses?
This story was very confusing. Why the horses?
I thought the story was alright, but it seemed to lack the..
I thought the story was alright, but it seemed to lack the normal lusty that I normally like in a story. To me, it was just five pages of "Blah blah blah"
-Logan-
it was not very good... too many..
it was not very good...
too many holes...
contrieved...
forell
hazus
What was the motivation to write this story? And were the..
What was the motivation to write this story? And were the horses a symbol, good idea though maybe better suited for a novel for better details
What did the horses mean? I dont get it...Why does the..
What did the horses mean? I dont get it...Why does the father think he has lost his son if the son cant get enough of him? All he has to do is turn around and listen instead of being mad at the boys mother for the rest of his life... And really I thought the story was kind of pointless to be honest... Im in 9th grade by the way
thought it was boring and a waste of five pages make it..
thought it was boring and a waste of five pages make it more interesting other than that i hated it.
Okay what was th point of this story? it was not fun to..
Okay what was th point of this story?
it was not fun to read at all.
Can somone explain to me what happend? I didnt understand...
Can somone explain to me what happend? I didnt understand. THanks. =)
Wow, I didnt understand it much at all. Why was the horse..
Wow, I didnt understand it much at all. Why was the horse there? Without being able to tell what was going on at the beginning of the story, how can I tell what goes on at the end? Very confusing; I think if I knew what was happening I would like it.
okay, what was ging on here? i relized that im not the only..
okay, what was ging on here? i relized that im not the only teen who didnt understand it! it was confusing! i felt that the details were added because you needed somthing there. after the first two paragraphs i wanted to stop! however i did like the line about taking in the essence of dadness.
I thought it was a great story. You really detailed it..
I thought it was a great story. You really detailed it enough to make it seem like the reader was actually there.Brilliant work and keep on writing. =)
I think this is a pitiful story, I dont get the point. What..
I think this is a pitiful story, I dont get the point. What are the horses for?
Has NO meaning!
I do not understand this story in the slightest. I have to..
I do not understand this story in the slightest. I have to compare this short story to another one for an assignment in Ad. A. However, I cannot do that if i do not understand it. Please help asap!(:
It was very hard for me to follow this story. It took me..
It was very hard for me to follow this
story. It took me two times to actually
understand what was going on. Very
confusing.
A poignant story with nice symbolism but the horse crapping..
A poignant story with nice symbolism but the horse crapping and/or pissing was over the top.
this is a confusing story and i agree with every one about ..
this is a confusing story and i agree with every one about the horses whats up with that. i am reading this story for a home work essay and i dont get this story so some one should explain this to me
~tiara
ASAP
i didnt get it, and i realized that the only person you..
i didnt get it, and i realized that the only person you
named in the story was jim, what was that about? i
dont understand the horses, and why was the dad
referred to as "the man"? it made him seem like
pedifile.
ugh this is the hardest thing to understand! I still dont..
ugh this is the hardest thing to understand! I still dont get it. Something about a horse and its looking like Jim and "the man" dont like each other. Well what ever.
" No hope of him relating to his son on any personal,..
" No hope of him relating to his son on any personal, day-to-day level! No hope of him trying to RELATE to him!"
Reason his father is usually called "the man" is because the boy & the dad have nothing in common. The dad is not involved in the boys life.
"Mad! The first in four months he has his eight-year-old son and what does he plan to do? Take him camping up a mountain! Talk about macho avoidance activity! "
Jim is named because he is probably the only father figure he has. But he disregards Jim because he is not Dad.
"In the plummeting darkness, the mans own anxiety began to mount. He could feel it gathering in the blackening chill: the aching certainty that already, only one year on from the separation, he has lost his son, his child. And the thought grew so strong that he could only half-listen to the childs earnest desperate voice."
He separated from his wife, and lost his connection with his son. But instead of focusing on relating to his son now. All he is concerned about his his on afflicitions.
" For years to come, though, in his dreams the boy will see their wild fringed eyes and feel the deep thudding of their hooves. "
The horse thing is really weird. I dont know if this was edited for length and Im missing why the horses are involved. All I can think is that this trip was severely treasured by this boy because it was something he did with his dad..so hell remember the horses that they walked by.
I very much enjoyed this narrative and wish all these..
I very much enjoyed this narrative and wish all these wannabe editors would quit criticising ... it isnt the author whos miswritten it, its you thats misread it ... I am struggling to see what the horses symbolize: I am sure they are there for a reason but I cant figure out what that reason is :P I found tha characters very easy to relate to and it was a very realistic situation with the man being scared to force the relationship and therefore missing his chance ... NOT intentionally ignoring his son as some on here seem to think. Any help with understanding the symbol of the horse would be much appreciated or if the writer just included to add it to the atmosphere of calm measured action versus axiety to contrast with the father and son thats equally valuable :) thanks a lot - great read
Add new comment