Mustard Seed

Paul Kelly

Description

This is Tillie Faulkner's story. The story of her life as she saw it through her own eyes and of NATHAN STEIN'S story as he saw Tillie because he was madly in love with her. It is also the story of RAMAZAN SONMEZ who lusted after Tillie but was incapable of loving ... and concludes with the story of Mother Turkey, who hated everyone and who was the mother of Ramazan and Erdogan. Erdogan was unable to tell his story ... Erdogan couldn't speak, but nothing I have written here could have been possible without him Tillie Faulkner was a very resolute, self-willed, determined young woman who knew exactly what she wanted out of life ... or so she thought, until Erdogan Sonmez came into it and life was never to the same for her after that. Tillie had been the victim of an incestuous relationship when she was a small child and although 'love' was not a word in her dictionary, she was soon to find out that love was indeed becoming a fact in her life that she could not deny. She fought against it as a folly for as long as she could and refused to marry Nathan Stein, a fellow university student who was deeply in love with her.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 13 décembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781849898935
• Langue: English

Extrait

Title Page

THE MUSTARD SEED

A FICTION NOVEL OF FRUSTRATED LOVE



By
Paul Kelly




Publisher Information

The Mustard Seed
Published in 2011 by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Paul Kelly

The right of Paul Kelly to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.




Foreword

The young man’s silhouette stood out clearly in shadow against the pale lilac wall, flickering as the candlelight played in the faint wind that came from the cracked pane in the window; his arched form held fast at the chest and waist by the straps of his wheelchair, giving the impression of him being much larger than he was, for he was no more than five stone in weight and diminutive in stature. A mere boy despite his entry into manhood . . . Erdogan was fourteen years of age, approaching his fifteenth and his closely cropped, jet black hair emphasized the skull like appearance of his smooth, olive skinned face. His eyes, large and deep set, if likewise darkly haunting, glistened in the flickering flames, as if in search of something that he had lost ... or that he had never ever possessed. His fingers, skeletal and unshapley, twisted around each other in an effort to find comfort from the silence and loneliness of his state, but his efforts were in vain and the silence remained resolute.
Beside him sat an old man, crouched in a wicker rocking chair, wrinkled of face and with hair as white as snow, but there was an ethereal look in his eye.
“I am soon to leave you, my son ... for God has other duties for me to perform, but I will not be taken until He sends you another who will love you and take care of you, for He leaves no-one without an angel to guard them through life,” the old man said to the boy as he looked lovingly into the boy’s eyes.
The youth turned awkwardly to look at his companion, but his eyes were vacuous as a weak smile crossed his face and a strange noise came from his throat as a slither of saliva drooled down to his chin, forming a thin crystal-like thread that vibrated as it clung to one of the tiny buttons on his shirt
“Do not fear,” the old man continued, “He will not abandon you and your new companion will be even kinder to you than I have been, through the years that we have been together and that has been quite some time now, hasn’t it?”
The old man wiped the youth’s chin with a square of gauze and took his scrawny hand in his own as the boy leaned his head on his companion’s shoulder.
“We have been happy together ... have we not?” the old man said, “ Yes, I can see by your smile that our companionship has been a good one, but another will come to you with more love and more joy than I could ever give you, for this other will be like you, a HUMAN. An angel can only give so much, but we have our limitations, for our love is mystical and cannot be engendered. This other will caress your heart and will produce a covenant that will bring with it the real joys and beauty of human love, which can grow ... and which is yours by rights and by your inheritance.”
The youth began to shake and to ram his fist into his mouth, but the old man held him fast by the wrists to calm him, as he stared into the boy’s frightened eyes.
“It is true you cannot speak, nor can you understand as other humans can. You cannot even stand on your own without help, but you can hear what I have to say and you can see. People may think you have nothing; no emotions, no feelings ... but you have been blessed in other ways, for the evils of this world will not touch you and He will receive you into the highest mansion of his Kingdom when your earthly life is over. He has taken away your free will for reasons of His own and because of that, there are people who will ignore you and treat you with indifference as if you are of no concern and that your life is useless and of no consequence, but greater things are about to happen to you my dear boy. You will learn to love with the purity and intensity that is your nature, where many a human will stand back in awe and in reverence. You will experience a love that few, if any, ever achieve ... a love that will give all and likewise take all, for that is what love is all about and a life without love is indeed a life without consequence.”
The young man moved his head. His brow became wrinkled and his face was strained as if he wanted to comprehend what had been said to him, but the old man simply smiled as the boy’s eyes narrowed in pain and he patted his hand gently.
“And now I must soon leave you, but I will never be far away and if you should need me at any time, day or night, call me. Call me please ... Will you do that? Remember that it is the WILL and not the power of speech that unites us.”
The old man rose from his rocking chair and the boy twisted his mouth as if to speak, but again, only the strangest of sounds came from his purple lips as he struggled against the restraining straps of his wheelchair, making an effort to follow the old man wherever he would go, but without success. His iron chair rattled and rocked from side to side with the bolts straining to burst loose and the wheels grinding into the floor as the brakes held fast as the old man continued to speak.
“I have been God’s ambassador and your companion, but soon another will come to teach you LOVE. Someone warm and compassionate who will touch your heart and impregnate it with beauty, where I have only been able to guard it from evil and from harm.”
A gust of strong wind blew across the room and again, the boy’s chair shook with the bizarre vibrations that filled the air. His head jerked upwards from his chest and his eyes rolled backwards in their sockets as he began to twist violently from side to side; his body being gripped in a seizure where his hands and feet were locked in a violent spasm with his fingers stretched rigidly to the full, as if to touch the object that defied his efforts and his smooth skinned face went into contortions, thrusting his tongue out from his mouth and pulsating against his dry lips. Moments later he fell back and became still and calm, but his eyes ... those large dark, limpid pools of mystery stared at the ceiling and a smile crept over his now gentle face as if to await the new love of his void and empty life ... As if to welcome this new companion who would bring him this thing strange thing called ‘LOVE’



Chapter One

Nathan’s Story

I first met her when we were both students at Winchester University, in the summer of 1961 when days were long and lazy ... and very, very happy, with studies and debates on our minds and love in our hearts. I remember making a little note in my diary as I was so happy. I wanted always to remember things as they were then and I could look at this little ‘scribble’ at any time to remind me of how much I loved Tillie Faulkner. “ Each day was a Spring day for we were in love,” I wrote, “ and the winter never came our way. Each day was a day of sunshine and music and laughter, with the sense of belonging and of being cherished: a day when we wished for more than twenty-four hours, if we could have made it so, but love is for the human heart and only angels can defy the chronology of mankind.”
I was happy, possibly for the first time in my life and I felt that she was happy too ... as I so wanted it to be ... so much ... so very much for both of us.
Tillie was studying Economics and Social Science. She had a mind that seemed to absorb everything to do with what Social Science stood for and I admired and respected the time she spent and the devotion with which she approached her subjects. Long, long hours pouring over books and jotting notes into her dog-eared notebook, when I would have rather she had spent those hours with me. She wasn’t what one would describe as a beautiful girl ... well, not really. Not in the ‘dolly’ sense of the word I suppose, but she was beautiful to me, although most would regard her as more handsome, I would have thought. To me, her eyes said everything and her wit was as sharp as a razor. She had a perfect figure and lovely hands, with the most beautiful legs, but somehow her mind; her intellect didn’t fit into the particular framework of beauty that I could see before me, so much so, that I often wondered what it was that attracted me to her, since I have always felt that I would marry a woman of intellect, primarily. A woman, more given to the studies of humanity, without the constant self-awareness that she was female. I was consequently puzzled that I should find Tillie so attractive, in every way. She was indeed truly ‘female’ but what I would have described as being female without the usual trimmings that one usually finds in a female and which in many ways is perfectly natural So what was it that made me stop twice to look at Tillie Faulkner? Was it simply the body, despite my inner convictions, or was it the mind or perhaps as I prefer to think now in hindsight of so many years gone by, that it was her spirit ... her soul ... and of course, her love of life which could pull you gently from any depression and make you think it was your own doing and that there was so