“Brother, what on earth brings you here?” cried the tall girl as she answered the door.
“Is that what you’re supposed to say after seeing your brother after three years we did not met?” he asked tiredly.
“So you do remember.” Said she sarcastically.
Irked by her tone, he pushed her away from his face. “Where’s mother?”
“She’s waiting for you inside.” She said with sigh and left him at the door.
He looked at his sister figure long before proceeding to the family room. As he passed the many rooms and doors of the house, he realized that this house was quite big. He chuckled painfully. If he thought of that then what will be his mother felt living in this house with only his sister. It was three years ago, since he last came to this house. It was when his father unexpectedly died in an accident.
“Izzy, you came…” said his mother with a meaningful smile as she rose from her seating.
“Mother…” he approached her with an overwhelming relive surge in his body. He took her hand and kissed it. The hand was wrinkled all over. Deprived from its former strength that once can spank him quite hard. She has aged. How can he do not realized it sooner… He pulled his mother into a long hug. Suddenly he cried. He did not know why. The tears suddenly fall from his eyes. His mother gingerly raised her arms and returned the hug.
Deep in her heart, she knew he had it hard. The bombarding pressure he received from the company, his works and also from her husband. All who had high expectation for him. The sudden death of her husband must be a great blow to him. The strong world that still backs him up despite the pressure suddenly collapses leaving him all the responsibilities that he had been running away from. She sighed and hugged him tighter. Even after all the growing up he done, he still the same scared little child deep down inside.
“So mother… Why did you call me here?” he asked awkwardly. He felt strange sitting across her after all those years.
“I just want to see my only son. Is that so wrong dear?” she asked teasingly.
He fidgeted in his seat, hearing her answer. She knew he must have felt restless after showing his weaknesses in front of her. He was very prideful. Even though she was his mother, he still put a wall against her. He cannot accept the idea of people knowing his insecurities.
“You’re still the same after all those years…” she said under her breath. “I was just joking. Here,” she issued him a small piece of paper, “find sometimes to go to this place. He was your father’s friend. He might be able to help you.”
He read the name, Dr. Youssef Smith, and the address. He looked back at his smiling mother with questioning eyes.
“You will know when you meet him.”
After having dinner together and spent the rest of his weekend at his mother’s house, he came back to the busy world he lived in. he finished some paperwork and took a three days’ vacation. Then, he when back home to pack his things before setting out to the far away destination.
The silver sport car stopped at the end of the cliff. Its owner heaved a deep sigh. The billowing winds stroke his handsome face and raked his dark brown hair. His light emerald eyes scanned the areas around him before continuing his journey to the looming mansion at the end of the paved road.
The mansion was enormous. However, it looked like it has been awhile since it last received a visitor. He drove and parked his car in the open space between the rows of classic cars parked outside the mansion. As he climbed out from his car, he kept checking the address in his hand. At long last, he stood in front of the big oak doors. The doors were beautiful, said his inner artistic self. The chiseled patterns were flawless and breath-taking. His fingers gingerly stroke the chiseled patterns. Then he pulled the rope beside the door. A loud chime can be heard throughout the mansion. Unaware of a flock of bats that flew from somewhere within the mansion, the man waited.
The big oak door opened revealing the butler of the mansion. The man smiled. The butler looked exactly like how common thought might imagine. With droopy eyes and half bald head. The upturned mouth opened as he said “Yes. What may I help you with?”
“Is this Dr. Youssef’s house?” he asked.
“And you are?” questioned the butler without answering the question.
“My name is Izz ad-Din Walt. I believed Dr. Youssef was expecting me.” Smiled the man.
“Yes, he is, sir. Now, if you could kindly follow me sir.” Gestured the butler for the man to follow him.
As he walked inside, he could not fail to notice the various masterpieces filling the place up. Van Gogh’s, Picasso’s, Monet’s, Dalí’s and Munch’s “The Sick Child”. However he also noticed the unfamiliar arts that also plastered on the wall. They took a turn in the great hall before entering the huge sitting room. A man in his late fifties was sitting at the center of the room. When he saw his visitor, he rose up and bellowed friendly greetings.
“Izzy, how time has passed since we last met.” Said he as they took their seat.
“Have we ever met sir?” asked the man.
“Don’t you remember me, Uncle Youssef?” He bellowed. Then with realization he added “Owh, you were five when we last met.” He looked at him with a fatherly look. “You sure grew up well. Saif must have been proud of you.”
He could not ignore the past tense in the sentence. He found it quite funny. It has been three years…
“So, your mother called me the other day, saying that you need some help with your work. I don’t know what she said to you but you can stay here as long as you wish.” He said to his solemn visitor.
“Thank you sir…” he answered when again the man bellowed “No, it is Uncle Youssef to you.” Again, he answered bashfully “Yes, Uncle Youssef.”
The old man chuckled hearing the man tone. “When I look back at you, you really do resemble your father a lot. Except your eyes. That has to be your mother’s. Saif’s were grey.” Said the man. “Well, you better change your clothes. It must have been a long ride from your place to here.” With that he called the butler to show the man the room he will be staying at.
“Owh, sir… I mean, Uncle Youssef, who painted those paintings?” he asked as he was about to leave the room.
The old man looked at the paintings and smiled. “That’s Aaron’s works, my son.”
the second part... it's a bit art congested...