[Novnarwen]

Ingemar

It was with heavy heart Ingemar watched the soldiers march away. He wanted to follow, but something stopped him. He was no longer curious about these men, who he’d met a few days ago. They didn’t interest him, and neither did their business. Everyone marched in straight columns. He felt the earth shake under his feet as they went and the sound of the steel that covered them, either fully or partly, rang in his ears. Soon the drumming of their feet ended however, and Ingemar was entirely alone, left to do whatever he wished.

Snow still covered most of the ground, but some places it had already vanished, revealing handfuls of blades of grass that in the meantime had hid under the white carpet. Ingemar found himself a spot, by a most steady tree trunk. Sitting down on the cold, wet ground, he cast off his helmet and looked up. For a few moments, he let his eyes rest on the pale, grey sky. There was something about this; something which he couldn't explain. It was a feeling; the feeling of loneliness. It was odd how firmly it had suddenly grasped him, especially as it had never in his life appeared before, and yet, he'd always been alone. All of a sudden this sensation struck him as the most obvious in the world, the most natural, like he’d never felt anything else in his entire life. Could it be? He was alone, he realised this, but had he always been? Restlessness came over him, as it had so often before, while being a child and as a grown up man. He bit his lip; the columns were really gone; there was no man within his eyes’ reach.

As he sat there, he felt his bottom getting colder and colder by the minute; why was he here at all? He missed his cottage. He could in fact see it, in his mind, right in front of him; the cosy little cottage.

His entire body shook as the coldness of the wet snow crept upon him. The frost seemed to have no mercy on the poor man, and was biting him eagerly in his face, in his hands and on his feet – yes, it was taking bits of him all over his body. To comfort himself, he started humming silently, first tearing his lips apart from one another as they seemed to have been glued together by the cold. It was a sombre melody, which reflected the life he’d lived. Yet, Ingemar was not aware of his life during childhood or even his life the last couple of years. In addition to being one who was completely unaware of his mental situation – him being only about eight to ten years in mind – he had also a very short memory. On his best days, he could remember what had happened two days earlier. Other than that, only specific events and situations were printed in his mind. Norna, his sister, a well known figure to him, were one of these ‘things’ he could remember. Gladly, the times he had shared with her were stored as happy memories. One could dare to argue though, that his lack of memory was a good thing; when thinking it through thoroughly, due to the life he’d lived, it certainly was. It was fortunate however that the few memories he indeed possessed were of the happy kind.

**

In his early childhood, his parents had discovered that there was something different about their dear firstborn son. Ingemar was not like everyone else. He was far from it; one ting was that he hadn’t learned walking when he passed his fourth birthday, another thing was that he didn’t talk; he could not. It seemed that his tongue was stuck in his mouth and he couldn’t move it. Then, when they realised that Ingemar was terribly absent–minded, his parents never being able to get in contact with him no matter how long and how desperately they tried, they knew that they had been given a son who would not fit into society - their society. This discovery of what they called a ‘very serious defect,’ made them realise that Ingemar was not after all so dear to them. The thought of having a son who was not ‘normal’ was horrifying. At last they concluded, after almost ten years after his birth, that they were to send him away. After building a little cottage in the outskirts of Dale, they left the boy there to bring up himself and live on his own.

Ingemar can’t remember his parents. They too, seemed to have forgotten about their son a long time ago, almost before they even started visiting him in his cottage after they had left him there. During his childhood and his adult life, here speaking of adult as in bodily, not in mind, as Ingemar never grew to be an adult in mind (and would not either), only his younger sister, Norna, came visiting him frequently. These were happy visits, (that is why it’s good that Ingemar is able to at least remember them) where both of them, Norna knowing the story about Ingemar and how he was not normal, played and had tremendously fun. This is how he learned how to hide, how to not be found, as he often played such a game with his sister. Through all these years, Norna had been nearly the only person he’d seen and he loved her as a mother. She however, was torn. She was struggling with bad conscience about her parent’s doings, but when both of them passed away, she had the chance to something about it. However, seeing how Ingemar loved the forest where he lived, how he climbed the trees, how he spent hour playing in the snow in winter and noticing his devoted passion and fascination for birds, she could not take him away to live with her in Dale. The differences between Ingemar and herself were too great. Ingemar hardly spoke; he mostly imitated animal sounds, he’d hardly been around others; his whole world was centred on this little, dilapidated cottage. Could she take away the only thing he knew?

Greatly pained, she decided to let the matter be. She knew that society would not accept him. She had grown, like everyone else, he had not.

**

His cottage was just another vague memory. A hot, sparkling, coloured carpet had been threatening enough to suppress even Ingemar’s curiosity and forced him thus to keep at distance. Still humming his melody, this particular memory seemed to influence him as he pronounced, rather weirdly, yet if one listened carefully, they clearly were ‘fire’ and ‘orc’. This is what he’d seen the day his cottage had disappeared, but he’d never realised it before. Who knows, maybe he didn’t realise it now, even though his song consisted of only those two known words.

The wind breathed extra roughly now. It was whipping him around the face, making him shake uncontrollably. His voice trembled, but faded slowly away, choked by the firm iron grasp of the winter day.