Short Story Draft

The Amulet

The young boy never thought it would come to this. On that day in a cold December of 1918, he stood, looking, thinking. Seeing the pale corpse of his grandfather, plagued by bullet holes, and smelling the foul odor of slowly rotting flesh, was nearly too much for him to handle. It brought him to tears before, but not now; not in front of his family. World War One was a devastating conflict, and it left the political and economic sides of London, and almost all of Britain, at near collapse. Most importantly, Marcello Salviati lost the person who he believed was the only one who cared for him since his family immigrated from Italy. He felt sick, knowing that his grandfather’s casket would be closed in a matter of hours, and never would his body be seen again. Soon thereafter these dark thoughts had crossed the young man’s mind, the priest appeared from the vast, red velvet-carpeted corridor of the funeral building, wearing the common white robe and carrying his ever-precious bible, tightly gripped in his right hand. He started preaching, but Marcello didn’t care. For one, he had never much believed in any religion, despite the constant pressuring of his parents, but he was also wrapped up in his thoughts. What’s going to happen to our family now? Does grandfather have a will? Does anybody get anything? Will grandmother move in with someone else as opposed to being alone? were but a few of the things that crossed his mind has he ignored all ambient sounds, be it the priest, the noses blowing into the tear-stained handkerchiefs, or the crying, Marcello was unaware of it all. Observing this, Mr. Salviati, a very tall, tan, and intelligent man, approached, stroking his goatee, with an angry look in his eyes. He whispered into his son’s right ear, so quiet that neither the man nor the child knew exactly what was being said: “Go to the corridor. Now.” Every child knew that now that fathers used when they were angry, and it usually meant trouble.

“Marcello,” the patriarch began, closing the door behind him, “you’ve… declined, since we lost your grandfather. Your grades have fallen, you’ve no hobbies anymore, and because of this, so many of your friends have left you to find someone more interesting and less depressing. What’s going on? He’s gone! You need to get over it. Get it together kid or— ” Realizing the error in word choice, he stopped, waiting for his son’s responce.  Marcello was astonished at his father’s ignorance. My grandfather, the only one who actually cared about me is dead, and you want me to just get over it? Are you kidding me? Deciding his child wasn’t going to respond, he started again.“Here, this might help. Look for your name, then come back in for the service.” He concluded, handing his son a an old, odorous. folded sheet of paper, and walked back into the room. He was left an amulet. The one his grandfather wore when he was killed.

***

Back at their cramped apartment two weeks later, on 3 High Street, Marcello just sat at his desk in his tiny room, the amulet drifting in his palm, thinking.. I can’t believe he’s gone forever… and father expects me to just get over it… His mother, a short, pudgy sort of British woman, dressed in a white and black dress, stepped into the room, pronouncing “We’re going out to dinner with your grandmother. Change into something appropriate and let’s go.” She rubbed her hand through his thick, brown hair, looked into his blue eyes, and said to the younger one “You should wear the amulet. Your grandmother will think highly fond of it.” Marcello was satisfied that they were going out to see his grandmother, but he wasn’t happy about it. He had recently been diagnosed with major depression, and was almost never happy about anything anymore. He picked the amulet from the table and slipped it onto his pale neck. I hope i find out something about this thing. He walked out of his room to hear his parents arguing. “He’s not going anywhere until he does something with himself. Get friends, hobbies, improve his grades! I honestly don’t care as long as he improves. It could cure his depression, you know.” He heard his father shout in his deep, angry voice. This is the reason Marcello was always with his grandfather: his father’s yelling, either at his son or his wife, and both the victims took it like they had no other choice. Marcello and his grandfather did everything together; everything from fishing to flying to basketball to music. But now that was gone forever; lost in the depths of time and war that had come too soon to take his best friend from him. All that was left was the stupid amulet, a green ring, shaped like an “o” and carrying letters of an old language in an orange rusted inscription, with a large leather ring passing through should one wish to wear it around the neck.

He remembered the first time he saw this amulet: His grandfather pulled it out of it’s place in the closet, producing a glossed, black marble box. “This amulet,” he proclaimed in his booming voice, “has been in our family for many hundreds of years, my boy. Since the third crusade of the 1180s, it has been passed down from father to son before the time of my great-grandfather's great-grandfather. Some day it will be your father’s, and after that it shall be yours.” His grandfather would then proceed on to talk and rant about how special and beautiful the was. This memory lingered in his mind as he observed the amulet. Is father angry that he never got the amulet? Should I give it to him or keep it for myself? Marcello decided that it was given to him, and not his father, and therefore should be the one to keep it.

***

“That pendant looks beautiful around your neck, Marcello. Your grandfather would have loved to see you wear it.” Marcello’s grandmother shouted, embracing him with strength that did not match her age. “I like it a lot, grandmother. I’m glad grandfather gave it to me.” was the only thing he could squeek out under the pressure of his grandmother’s clutch. “I trust you understand why he gave it to you, correct?” The boy’s face turned pale as a ghost and then red as a fresh strawberry. The elder saw this as the group proceeded into the depths of the restaurant, toward their table. She explained that her husband wanted to give it to his favorite grandson so that he may be with him in spirit forever, even after death. The recipient could then pass it on and continue the legacy of the heirloom. I had never realized that sort of significance. How could I have just passed it off as just a stupid amulet? I need time to think… All he could respond past his newfound thoughts of the amulet and the shock of realizing the truth behind it’s passing down to him was “Oh, cool.”

He stayed silent for the rest of the evening, even after leaving to go home. This revalation changed him. His grandfather died physically, but that didn’t prove that he had died through spirit. In fact, the amulet had proved the opposite. His grandfather would always be with him, and that helped him.

***

It was now June, 1919, and the school year was almost over. Marcello had recieved perfect marks in all of his classes since the start of the second semester, which had amazed everyone, not to his surprise. He had taken up the chess and fencing clubs, and planned to join the ranks of the student government at the start of the new school year after the summer holiday. He and his family planned to visit America over the summer, and see New York. He was ectatic about the opporitunity, and was bursting with excitement since he had heard about it. He waved goodbye to his friends that he had made since joining the aforementioned groups, and walked up the several flights of stairs to reach their apartment on the 6th floor. His father had often commended him on his improvement, and had started acting far more proper to him and his mother since his psycologist had confirmed he no longer suffered from depression. This news baffled the Salviattis, but was underwhelmed by the happiness that Marcello could now feel once more. The Salviattis still thought of the decesed every so often, but remembered that through the pendent their son bore around his neck, he was still there.

“And that, my grandson, is how I aquired this amulet, and I now pass it onto you. Bear it well, for it carries memories of generations of the Salviattis” Said an old man, plauged by thinned white hair and wrinkles, in his raspy voice as he passed on the black marble box to a young man sitting beside him, and the heart monitor fell still...