DISCLAIMER: This fan fiction was inspired by the film "Hammers Over The Anvil", story and characters wholly and completely owned by someone else. I've taken some liberties with them, but I do not intend to misuse them in any way.
The swaying of the ship didn’t seem to bother East, very few things did, he had retreated into a world no one could reach. Grace pulled a blanket up around his chest and looked into eyes that didn’t register her presence, or even his own. She leaned close studying them hoping to see something. Once in a while for an instant a heart stopping moment she thought she saw a little piece of, just a flash really, of the essence of the East she knew. But then it was gone and the aimless meandering of nonsense began again. He was not violent, and had never even when agitated struck out at her, he just drifted on in a semi-cognizant state, never reacting to anything, at least anything she could see. But regardless, this feeling of hope just wouldn’t leave her, she just knew that part of East was still alive, trapped in his mal-functioning brain, and that somehow he would come back to her. East stirred and turning his head slightly called out to his horse, and then giggled, eyes slid shut and he drifted off into deep breathing sleep. Grace sank down on the bed next to him watching him sleep, he was such a handsome man, and when he slept he looked like he would wake and pull her down laughing as he had done so many times before. She had to force herself to not sit endlessly and wait for his eyes to open. She still did it sometimes, hoping against hope that this time he would wake up East, arrogant, and strong and sure, her lover.
She took one more look at his face and crossed to the desk, somehow she still had to explain to her husband this strange and permanent behavior. She had done the right thing, the only thing she could have done, but she knew she had hurt her oldest and dearest friend beyond repair. She sighed and tore up the half-written sheet of paper tossing it in a basket full of other half-written sheets of paper. She pulled out another sheet and started again. She knew that nothing could be mailed until they landed, but she had written and discarded endless half letters and still felt totally at a loss. She tapped the sheet gently with the pen, splattering dots of ink. What to say, and how to say it? She was afraid ten years at sea would not be long enough to find the right words. She looked over again at the peaceful face of East, and wondered if he didn’t have it easier in his world, then she did in hers.
THREE MONTHS LATER Grace watched her Uncle Henry in the garden, she could see he was talking to East about the plants and the flowers in his garden; his attitude toward East had amazed her from the first. He just seemed to accept East as a child, who needed to be educated, or sometimes like a man who didn’t wish to talk but was content to sit in the sun and listen. Either way it had become common to see her tall silver haired uncle having an animated one way conversation with East. She wondered how he could sustain the energy of conversation with no feed back, but he insisted that East knew what he was talking about and in his way was participating. Grace shook her head, but then allowed herself to hope a little. Sometimes it did seem that East was more aware of what was going on around him, sometimes she could swear for a few moments at a time he was right on the verge of really participating in his surroundings.. She had arranged for him to see a team of Doctor’s and they had given her not only conflicting, but also confusing information. They had said in sequence and in the course of three days. He could die, fading away into nothing. He could recover some of his faculties over time, but would never be able to do anything. He could recover slowly and if his brain learned to compensate as it sometimes did, he could one day be almost the same as before the accident. But nobody really knew, they all just said she would have to wait and see. She smiled at her uncle who was waving a trowel and talking a blue streak about some flowering bush he was working on. She moved away from the window, and went to the front of the house to check the post. She kept hoping she would hear something from her husband. He had sent her a response to her letter by telegraph. Two words, “All right”, three if you counted “stop”. She had heard from friends that he had closed the Australia house and returned to India. No one had heard anything since. She missed him in a strange way, he had been a constant in her life for so long, they had never really been lovers, not in the way she and East had been, but had over the years developed an inter-dependency and an intellectual connection. She more than anything wanted two things. For her husband to be all right, and for East to once more look at her straight in the eyes and say her name in that deep husky voice of his. Two such simple things, and they may as well be wishing for the sun and the moon. She checked the mail and found a letter not from her husband but East's young friend Alan from Australia. He had said he would write and unlike many young boys did exactly what he said he would. Twice in the three months a lengthy letter had made it’s way on the long trek from Australia to the cold shores of Liverpool, ending up on the silver mail tray at her Uncle’s home. The first one had been so vivid, she could smell the heavy forests around her home there, and hear the birds that cried in the morning, and their counter-parts that sang in waning light of the afternoon. She had been besieged with homesickness not so much for a place but a time, if she could turn back the clock and decide again how to live the last 3 months she had spent in Australia, some how the decisions she made would change everything. She would have kept East from harm, and while her husband would have been hurt he wouldn’t have been made a spectacle of. After kicking herself for weeks she had finally realized that staying away from East, even though probably best for all, would not be an option. Even with the knowledge of hindsight, she knew her path would have eventually ended in East's arms; that was just meant to be. Fate had just taken it and twisted it with her help. And now she could only wait.
For a long time he had been unaware of much of anything only, dark, cold, and pain. But occasionally he had swam up from oblivion and realized something was very wrong, he had been asleep a long time and couldn't wake up. He seemed to be in a constant state of half sleep, a twilight kind of existence that he couldn't quite shake. Then the fear would start, and the pain and he would go back to the deep chasm from which he had emerged. No matter how many times he did this something drew him more often up toward that half place, warm hands, a soft voice, and a cheerful rumbling of voice always flavored by flowers and dirt. He was frightened a lot of the time, but he had to stay where he could feel and hear these things. He even managed for a second of two to understand a word or a phrase. The soft voice saying East drew him most but he wasn't sure why, he just felt less frightened when he heard it.
TWO MONTHS LATER Henry looked sideways at the broad shouldered young man walking easily along next to him. Henry had discovered when East's body had healed that he was quite willing to use it. Henry had simply one day took hold of East's arm and started walking, East had kept up with him, stopping when he did, going again as soon as he started. This had gone on for a week. One day he had stood up and low and behold East had stood up as well and when Henry started walking East did too. Now East was usually beside him a quiet, graceful companion that never wandered off and would sit for an hour waiting without fidgeting at all, all together a satisfactory fellow. Henry was sure that East was improving. But if one of the Doctors had asked him why he thought so, he couldn't have really told him. It was just a feeling that sometimes, East was right on the verge of answering him, or reaching out and gripping his shoulder, or picking up a rake and going to work. Henry had just received word that a group of Grace’s horses from Australia had been shipped here and would arrive later this month. He hadn't told Grace that one of the horses was a stallion named Nero, that young lad Alan had written him East was so fond of. Henry had arranged for the horse to be included in the shipment with young Alan’s help. He had hopes that maybe the horse would get through the last barrier between East and the world. He looked at the younger man again, and wondered if he would ever get to see the master horseman at work. His Niece had told him that she had never seen anyone who rode quite like East. He and the horse merging into one entity galloping like an earthquake across the plain, Henry would like to see that. Grace had always been an accomplished rider and if East had impressed her, it would be worth seeing
East was getting better, but even he didn’t know it for sure. The deep dark place he had lived in for a long time was gone, he couldn’t get back there, the path was closed. He was now a resident of a sensation-flooded place that played constantly on his consciousness. He only escaped the stimuli when asleep and even there dreams had started again. He was aware of things but unable to move fast enough to participate, it was like when he was fed, he ate and much later realized he liked or didn’t like it, but by then he was being bathed by warm soft hands that smelled of Lilac. He wanted to grab one of them and smell it up close, but by that time he was in the garden again walking and looking at the latest blooms that the man who smelled like sunshine and bay rum had planted. And on and on, he just wasn’t fast enough it was like he was on a slow motion Merry-Go-Round, never quite able to grab the brass ring, but not able to stop riding either. East wasn’t quite able to be frustrated yet, but a feeling of dissatisfaction was starting to take root, and it would be the key through the last door as it grew and grew.
Grace watched East from across the room, he was sitting by the window with the sun on his face, he no longer looked sick at all, in fact she had to remind herself constantly that he was still not a well man. He looked good, tan and fit, his eyes clear if unfocused. She still loved to touch him and bathing him was always fun, even though sometimes she wished he enjoyed it more. In fact she wished he enjoyed it the way he would have in the past. It was hard to touch him and brush his hair and not be able to do other things that she remembered all to well. Sometimes when she touched him she had this strange feeling that he was watching from afar, playing possum, like a game of master and maid. A game from which he would tire of half-way through the bath and chase her across the field only to tackle her and make her giggle helplessly in the grass. So far he hadn’t chased her, but she had been unable to shake the feeling that on any given day he might. Grace smiled to herself, she would love to be chased and thrown down in the high grass. She blushed, his occasional arousal during baths or other times were a reminder to her of how things had been, and she was embarrassed to admit that she had thought of pursuing that arousal on a couple of occasions. But in the end she had left East, and his body to deal with it as they might. He seemed none the worse for wear, but Grace was feeling less content to let it go by the day. She realized that one of these days she was simple going to make love to East whether he participated or not. He was just too much to resist. She shook her head, what the hell was she thinking of, and started to the kitchen to start lunch. She glanced back from the doorway and saw East framed in the sunlight golden highlights in his hair, golden reflection on his long lashes, a broad shouldered statute, she was hit with how really beautiful he was, and knew exactly what she had been thinking of. Shaking her head and for some reason wanting to laugh she went on to the kitchen. Lunch first, wanton thoughts later. Despite her resolve, one last thought crept in as she entered the kitchen. Why would East mind? She thought. He had always been ready to make love, and this time she did laugh out loud, well that was an understatement, always might cover it
One Month Later It was in Alan’s third letter that Grace got one of her wishes, the boy had written that her husband had returned to handle the sheep shearing and to sell three two year old colts. His father had bought one and was quietly going about training the horse with the remnants of the skills he hadn’t used in years. Alan said that with East no longer breaking and training horses the task had gone undone for the most part. Although one of the aborigine had taken to riding the horses until they were ready to be trained. He would then disappear back into the bush country to the north not to reappear until a new horse called him. Alan laughed about this because the men in town were perplexed at how the black man could possibly know when he was needed. Alan said he figured the birds told him, or maybe the wind. Alan had seemed very proud that his Father was once again working horses, and wondered if he would again be called by his nickname of old. Grace read his letter to East as she had the other two but she couldn’t tell whether he was aware of it or not, as she folded the letter away she wondered idly out loud what Allan’s fathers nickname had been.
She had to go into the train station to meet a shipment of horses that were coming from Australia. It had taken a while to arrange everything and they had spent almost two weeks with an acquaintance outside London before finally being put on a train. She was a little perplexed about the number she had expected four mares and a yearling, but her friend insisted there were 6 horses not 5. She was anxious to see which of the other horses had been sent on to her by mistake. She was dreading having to go through all of this in reverse to get it home to the station. She left East in the parlor by the window, she figured he would stay there or as was his practice suddenly get up and go to the garden. She had learned that he never seemed to do anything that would hurt himself, and her Uncle would more than likely come in from the formal garden soon and as was his way take East back out with him. She stroked East’s hair back and told him she would be back.
East sat by the window for 5 minutes after she left the room. He suddenly turned his head toward the door and quite clearly in hoarse rarely used voice said “Bushman”. He then turned back and looked out the window. He saw Henry walking across the garden and got up moving out the door into the garden.
Grace found the note that Allan had sent with the papers for the horses. It said, “Nero should be with East, I took care of him, but no one can ride him except East, and maybe you.” She looked at the beautiful animal and almost cried, she had managed through concentrated effort to dim the memories of how East had been on this horse, but seeing Nero, she could see all of it like yesterday. The two of them chasing the Ostrich, East on a the prancing stallion laughing and handing her an ostrich feather, strong arms pulling her off her mare to ride on the front of his saddle. Memories so vivid she could smell the rainforest, and the saddle soap mixed with Neets foot oil, and feel the rough gentle callused hands holding her bare arms. She looked at the stallion and was flooded again with remorse and guilt. For a while it had seemed that East was improving, but she had seen no change in quite a while and had decided he would fit the Doctors second diagnosis, he would get some better but would never really be able to do anything. The sight of Nero broke her heart, he would have to be sold, she just couldn’t bear the sight of him. First he would have to get used to someone besides East riding him. She arranged for the horses to be delivered to the estate and rode back heavy-hearted and for the first time in months crying.
Henry looked at East who was standing under a tree. Seemingly staring at a leaf. Henry had noticed this kind of behavior lately. East seemed to be aware of things on some level. There was a concentration about him that had not been there before. He still did not really respond much, but still he seemed to be more aware of what was going on. Henry shook his head; maybe he just wanted to believe it. He had become very fond of the young man, and would welcome him as he was for life, but he hated to think of East in this condition forever. He was sick for his Niece too; he had seen how she cared for East and looked at him. Grace might not know it, but she was doing all this less out of quilt and more out of love. He would love to see her realize that, and have the intense happiness he had had wife his wife Helen, God rest her soul. He glanced at East who seemed to still be looking at the same leaf. He shook his head, who knew what was going on in East’s mind, if anything.
In the micro thought process of East’s mind, he had noticed a leaf, and slowly he had realized that it was not a familiar leaf, it was shiny, and glossy, and smooth edged and had a small hole where a bug had tasted it. All this took an incredible long time by any human standards, but from a mind that until recently had only sensed and reacted to a few things, it was a huge accomplishment. East had started noticing things, in an intense concentration only those who have no notice of outer stimuli can produce. Unlike the average human that is filtering 100’s of pieces of data at once, East was maybe aware of 3 or 4 at any given time. Hot, cold, night, day, pain, hungry, pleasure and now Leaf. But Leaf was not a feeling but an object; he had noticed something exterior to his own needs and feelings. When he moved his foot, because something hurt, he found the white rock with the sparkling crystal dots in it. He bent down and haltingly picked it up. He was now aware of Rock, and was holding it in his hand. He had seen, picked up and studied an object. The beginning of the bridge to cognizant thought. East stared at it for a long time, he finally thought. I wonder why it’s shiny in spots? With a question he couldn’t answer, and the formulation of the question, he crossed the bridge. He was immediately hit by a multitude of things at once, bright sun, a bee buzzing nearby, a thump thump from the other side of the garden, and an overwhelming urge to cover his ears. Too much, he sat in the grass, under the tree, and heard and saw, and finally retreated away from it all leaning his head on a tree drifted off to sleep.
Grace found him sleeping under the tree, and had to smile. She had stopped crying half way home refusing to indulge in the tears again that had been so much a part of her existence for the first couple of months after the accident. She had decided to accept things as they were and not waste anymore time on guilt or remorse. East was what he was and that was OK, she would just take it one day at a time. She walked over and sat down next to East. The sun-felt good filtering through the tree branches, she stretched out on the grass next to him putting her head in his lap. She looked up at his sleeping face and smiling to herself let the fatigue caused by the morning’s strain, lead her to sleep as well.
Henry saw the horses in the dray and went to find the groom, and then Grace. He found her snuggled up on the grass next to East sound asleep, but East was awake and looking down at Grace. Henry studied him for a minute and smiled. There was a difference in his expression an animation that had not been there before, he stopped backed up and left the garden. He would deal with the horses; it looked like Grace was right where she should be.
East looked down at Grace, he carefully looked through his recently re-animated brain for memories of her. He saw a giant bird, a little boy, and then his house. Grace was in it making tea and laughing. Then he was assaulted with memories of making love in the barn, the grass, and in his bed by the barn. He picked up her hand and smelled the lilac. His Grace. He heard a commotion, horses, one horse in particular raising a fit screaming as only an angry frightened stallion can. Grace woke suddenly and jumped up, she ran toward the stables, not noticing that East was right behind her. The scene at the barn was right out of a wild west show, Nero was standing on his hind legs pawing the air, eyes wide showing the whites, nostrils distended, screaming a challenge. In front of him was the groom’s assistant with a whip used on the buggy horses a tall stick with a nasty triple lash on it. He was screaming back at the stallion and snapping the whip at his chest. Grace reached the paddock and started to say something. East’s voice came from behind her hesitant at first and then more sure. “Stop, Stop that” He climbed the fence and went over taking the whip forcibly from the groom’s hand and throwing it. He turned toward the hysterical animal and softly started talking to him. “Nero, easy it’s all right, shhh, calm down. The horse put his ears forward and snuffled the air. “Nero it all right boy”. He dropped to all fours and flicked his right ear forward. “Nero, whoa, that’s it, easy boy.” Nero walked the three feet that separated him from East and stuck his head forward burying his forehead in East’s chest. East stroked his neck and crooned softly to him. Henry could barely contain himself it had worked. Grace stood at the edge of the corral frozen, watching East and Nero. Unable to move or breathe. It wasn’t possible, East was, well, East was East. He snapped a halter on Nero and turned toward Grace. He looked at her questioningly. “Grace”? She moved slowly toward him not wanting to spook the now calm stallion, she walked to his side and looked into his eyes, he was still not all together the same but it was definitely East looking back at her. She smiled and buried her face in his shoulder. She smiled she had gotten the sun and the moon. Amazing.