(Photo of Talya Tavor)
Papa and the Purple Cloud
In the days leading up to my grandpaÕs death, a purple cloud
appeared to follow him. Aside from his age, he had been recently diagnosed with
pancreatic cancer; the treatments seemed to be working, so we could not predict
the meaning of the cloudÕs arrival.
I know he was annoyed by the cloud from the beginning. When it
first appeared, the size of a palm, it was during a family dinner. I thought it
was cute. A little fluff bouncing around the dining room before settling on top
of the china cabinet. Papa, the chef of the family, found the cloudÕs small
bursts of humidity to be a rude dinner interruption, as he believed the moistness
to hasten the spoilage of his hard work.
A few days later, I drove to PapaÕs apartment after school. When
I opened the door, I saw him sitting in his favorite lazy-boy recliner, arms
crossed, and frowning. He had just come back from a treatment and without
saying a word, he pointed over to the dining room. The cloud was still perched
on top of the china cabinet, though now it was the size of a pumpkin, it looked
like it was resting.
ÒIt started misting, today,Ó Papa said in a huff.
I tried to convince him that we should feel lucky this seeming
magical being had chosen him as a companion. The cloud seemed to fold itself in
a manner which let me know it agreed, but Papa wasnÕt convinced. We played
rummikub for the rest of the afternoon, I left promising to bring back tarps
the next day.
By mid-week, PapaÕs entire apartment was covered in plastic. The
cloud had grown in both size, and confidence, and had moved on from a mist to a
drizzle then finally settled on a steady rain.
ÒHow am I supposed to live like this? This god-damned thing
wonÕt leave me alone!Ó Papa said between tired bites of a brown sugar flavored
pop tart. We were sitting at the dining room table for breakfast, as I decided
to skip school that day, holding umbrellas with our free hands. I think he was
extra sour because his socks were wet. I offered first for him to come stay
with me and Mom, but he refused. We didnÕt have a good lazy-boy for him to
sleep in, and besides, he could only sleep in his chair anyway. I promised
instead to run out and get him some rainboots.
When I got back, I found Papa in his chair, unmoving. The entire
apartment felt still, blanketed in fresh snow. The purple cloud, who looked
mournful, was sprawled out on the couch next to him. Papa had always loved the
snow so I looked to the cloud in thanks.
The cloud disappeared after we buried Papa, I think I was the
last to see it. My mom caught it outside the Synagogue during the MournerÕs
Kaddish, the cloud was pressed up against a window, a steady rainfall pouring
down. My uncle swears he saw it misting over a cousinÕs corvette, though that
didnÕt sound much like the cloud at all. I saw it peeking out from behind a
rather large catacomb after we buried Papa. I tried to wave at it, but it
ignored me, blowing some of the dirt into PapaÕs grave before it, too, wisped
away for good.
© Talya Tavor. You
can email comments to her at mailto:tavortal8@gmail.com
Bio:
Talya Tavor is the lead author of The Campaigns Advocacy Manual, a
non-fiction how-to book that teaches anyone how to create and run a progressive
campaign. Talya is also a published poet, has released a studio album titled
"Tavor" that features her folk and dirty blues singing and
songwriting, and she is currently working on her first fiction novel.