CHAPTER I - First Day in Drentwych
I’d like to begin my story with my arrival to Drentwych, a town in England that immigrants and the unwanted washed into from whatever life they had left behind. Many hoped that a fresh start in a new place would alter their fate. That was the hope my parents held in their hearts when we boarded the ship that would take us far away to this strange and barbaric land now called England. As for me, I was too young at the time to have any clear thoughts regarding the transition.
I reached Drentwych, more than fifty-five years before the Norman Conquest. Then, it thrived as an immigrant town. I say ‘I’ because my parents became gravely ill during the journey to England and passed away shortly after our arrival. I was a boy of eight winters then, freshly orphaned and lost.
Drentwych was like a bizarre dream to me, it resembled nothing I knew in my homeland. The trees were towering and huge, dwarfing any man who stood before them. The surrounding stone walls and tall, armed guards speaking in their barbaric language gave me a very strong feeling of being a miniature man surrounded by man-eating giants. Then there were the cold, chilly winds and the snow. It was the first time I’d ever seen snow, and I tried to grab a few flakes to study, wondering all the while why snow turns to water upon touch. I was tiny compared to all of this. I was just a small boy. My parents had just died, and I really did not know how to cope with that — with everything. In my own way I concluded that people are like snowflakes; unique and fragile. I couldn’t really think about anything else.
I walked rather aimlessly around town, uncertain of my steps, and lacking the adult direction which all children take for granted. I was awed, at first, by all the novelty around me. Yet as the spell lifted, I saw the place as it truly was: wretched, just like my homeland only in a different way. It was like a story being repeated by a dull bard, where the characters have different names, and the scenery is different. Yet somehow, they all play the exact same role as the sad stories you’ve heard before. A smelly bucketful, which may or may not have been dung, poured out a window, broke the spell of childish wonder. I noticed how the snow mingled with the filth, becoming an oozing, repulsive substance which I did my best to avoid. I nearly bumped into a stump-footed man lying in the snow and waste — probably half-dead by the looks of him. He was covered head-to-toe in filthy rags, and underneath them he wore a dirty soldier’s uniform.
Obviously he had been injured in battle and left to beg for alms. My heart went out to him and I felt my own misery more keenly. Tears welled up in my eyes and I forced myself to look away, only to see a young maiden with a raven-black mop of hair, green teeth, and a slightly swollen belly leaning against a door dyed blue, offering whatever hidden wares she had to offer. I wondered as to her wares, and why some people gazed at her with disdain while others studied her as one would a horse. Needless to say I did not realize the significance of the blue-dyed door. I actually found myself leaning against a wall, staring at her, until time and would-be clients made me reach the simple conclusion that the wares she was selling were her own body. I knew girls like that in my homeland too; they were shunned by society who took no pity on them.
I hurried to get away from all the wretchedness, passing by a larger house when a wooden sign, portraying a large drink-filled mug, creaked on its hinges, and then a strange sound caught my attention. In a ditch to the left of the house a man leaned down and vomited, coughing and spitting. No one seemed to care, so I too decided it best to leave him alone. I felt ever so sorry for stepping foot in this town. My parents had died for nothing, I realized. This place is no heaven, but an icy version of hell.
I wandered aimlessly through town, too proud to beg for food and refusing to submit to the misery that surrounded me. In a way, I saw myself as Aladdin, a young idle boy waiting for his wizard to unknowingly fulfill his dreams. In the merchant’s quarter I finally rested, too cold and weary to go on. I sat on a barrel and watched the world go by, waiting for the dream to end and for me to wake up back home. At some point I must have fainted, for I woke up the next morning in a bed. A man whom I recognized to be the smith from the merchant’s quarter gave me a bowl of unidentified food. I thanked him gratefully with a nod and a warm smile, and cherished the feeling of warmth in my palms as I held the bowl.
When I had finished eating he took the bowl and said something in his strange language. I held my palms up in reply, signaling that I did not understand. Eventually, after several awkward attempts at conversation, he pointed to his chest and said, “Ivar.” I mimicked the gesture, pointing to my chest and saying, “Adam.”
He gestured for me to stay put, pointing at me with both hands and then pointing down. I did as instructed, and sat upon a barrel feeling an immense sense of gratitude. I thought to myself that there was indeed one admirable man in Sodom. Ivar descended some stairs. I discerned this from the sound of his footsteps, and shortly afterwards I heard the sound of hammer on anvil, and understood that he had gone to his place of work. I rested for some time, and then followed him downstairs.
I wanted to thank him in some way, so I decided I’d pay him back by working. His old face seemed surprised to see me up as he took a break from work. I smiled at him, and looked about the room. Finding a broom, I commenced cleaning his smithy, purposely ignoring anything he said. I had to pay him back somehow, and quite frankly I also had to prove my usefulness, else I feared I would fall from his good graces. He resumed work.
As soon as the place was clean I dared to look at him. He paused his work and smiled, saying something which I believe was a thank you. I found a corner to sit in and waiting for the first sign of work which I could do. That day I learned how to carry two water-buckets on a cane across my shoulders, as well as other menial tasks. In the evening he offered me food again, which I took gratefully, and in the morning we both woke at dawn and began our daily work. That’s how I was adopted by Ivar, the man who became a father-figure to me, who taught me the common language of this strange new land, and eventually his craft. Our relationship was one of few words — initially, and many deeds.
If there is anything I learned from this chapter of my life it’s this: There are two kinds of people in this world, those that had the privilege of living sheltered lives, and those that had to fight for shelter. Regardless of the circumstances of one’s birth, prosperity can be obtained by those of tenacious nature. Though I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I was happy living with Ivar.
