The Boy Who Moved The Clouds by Ali Arya

“When I was your age,” the old man said. “I once moved the clouds.”

“C'mon, grandpa,” the boy shrugged. “You did not.”

“Do you want to hear the story?”

The little boy was struggling to pull the blanket up to his chin.

The man tucked him in the way the boy wanted.

“I still remember our house when it happened. “

He dimmed the light on the boy's bedside table.

Through the window and by the street light, he could see the tree dancing with his old friend, the eastern wind.

“It was a windy night,” he said. “Close your eyes and listen to the wind telling the story.”

***

The house had a wooden door that opened from the street into a hallway, with the kitchen on one side and the bathroom on the other. It led to a courtyard with a tall pine tree and a pond.

Across the courtyard stood the main two-story building, with bedrooms on the upper level and a balcony. On summer nights, they loved sleeping there and watching the stars.

The balcony was his favourite place in the house, where he could see the courtyard, street, neighbours’ houses, and Mr. J's pigeons who lived on his roof.

When his cousin E visited and they played knights, the balcony was the watchtower of his castle, where he could spot any approaching enemy.

  He was only six then, but he still remembered the summer when his mom's cousin and her family came to stay and see her mom after many years. He had not seen them before, and they had no kids his age. They seemed like boring guests, and they took over the second floor and the balcony.

  One morning, when his mom was preparing breakfast in the kitchen and talking to her cousin, he went to see if he could get a baby pancake. Mom always made a baby-size piece of anything she was making, just for him. His brothers were too old to admit they wanted the baby pancakes, so there was no competition anymore. They were setting up the breakfast table in the courtyard and didn't pay any attention to him as he walked to the kitchen.

“Go upstairs and wake up Nel,” his mom told him. “She's sleeping on the balcony. Tell her breakfast is ready. Then come and have your baby pancake.”

Nel was the guests' teenage daughter. She spent most of her time on the balcony sleeping or reading.

“I can go get her,” said his brother, who now remembered him. “You can go have your pancake.”

“No, thanks,” replied his mom and her cousin with a smile. “You guys set the table.”

He didn't understand the meaning of that smile or the disappointed look on his brother's face.

Morning air was cool. Nel was lying under a sheet with a blanket crumpled on her feet, but her long light hair was all over the pillow.

He couldn't see her face, so he sat down next to her and gently touched her shoulder.

“Hey. Wake up,” he said softly. “Breakfast is ready. “

The young girl turned around and faced him.

“Hi,” she said. She had a beautiful smile and big blue eyes. “Where's it?”

“Where is what?”

“My breakfast. I thought you brought me breakfast in bed.”

“Oh, sorry. I just meant it is ready downstairs. “

She made a sad face.

He wanted to see the smile again.

“Should I go get your breakfast? I can bring you baby pancakes. They are tastier than the big ones.”

She laughed.

“No, I was teasing you." The smile was back. “Just give me a minute. It's cold, and I can't get up.”

She was covered with only a sheet.

He pulled the blanket up and covered her.

“Thanks. I was too lazy to pull the blanket up!”

As he tried to cover her shoulder, he touched her arms. Even covered with the sheet, he could feel her soft skin.

“You're such a sweet kid,” she said. “You want to come under the blanket and warm up?”

She raised the sheet and the blanket. He could see her bare arms and smell her scent.

“Are you coming in or not? It's getting cold, you know.”

He saw her chest moving as she spoke. He looked away.

“Ok,” she laughed. “I'm getting up.”

She quickly grabbed him, pinched his cheeks gently, and winked.

“Thanks for taking care of me. Promise to always do that?”

He felt the warmth of her body and the heat of his own blushed face.

“I promise.”

“Let's go and try the baby pancakes.”

“Oh, and then we can watch the pigeons.”

***

Mr. J, their neighbour, was on the roof waving at his pigeons and watching them fly.

His father didn't like Mr. J. He always had a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and “waiting time with pigeons“.

He liked him, though, and he liked watching the pigeons.

His mom liked J too, especially because in winter he would shovel the snow off the roofs.

Mr. J would call Mom from up there.

“Your tree is celebrating Christmas!”

He didn't know much about Christmas, but it must've had something to do with snow-covered pine trees.

Mom always laughed when Mr. J said that. She never laughed with Father.

He liked Mr. J and his pigeons.

Nel liked pigeons too,

She liked watching them from the balcony.

***

He woke up very early the next day.

The sun was not up yet, and the house was quiet under the pre-dawn dark sky.

He had a dream.

He was playing knights with his cousin, E.

He was Ivanhoe and E was the Black Knight.

From his watch tower, he could see the army of the Black Knight getting closer,

He was guarding a princess.

She was leaning against the wall, wearing a white dress, and her long, soft hair reached her waist.

He could see her chest moving. She was afraid.

He went close and held her hand.

“Don't be afraid,” he said.

But he was afraid himself.

He could remember the softness of her skin even now that he was awake.

He looked out through the window.

He could hardly see anything, except the wall around the courtyard, looking all black, and the dark blue sky.

His heart was beating fast from his dream.

Suddenly, he saw a shadow on the wall. It was carrying a small light.

Who could that be?

The shadow was coming from the roof of their neighbour’s house toward theirs, waving its light.

Was it a thief?

No. It had to be the Black Knight, giving a signal to his army to come to the door and wait for him to jump down and open the gate from inside.

Or he could keep walking and go to the balcony where Nel was sleeping.

Slowly, he opened the door and walked into the courtyard.

Everybody was asleep.

It was up to him to save them.

  A cool breath touched his face.

He looked up, and behind the shadow, he saw a cloud in the distance.

The army of the White Knight, his ally.

If only it could attack the shadow, cover him, grab him, and take him away.

“I can do it,” he thought. “I can ask the cloud to come.”

He stared at the distant cloud.

“O big cloud, I command you to come closer.”

He felt the wind on his face.

“Big cloud, it's time to move. Hurry!”

Yes.

It was moving.

The cloud seemed to move a little closer.

The shadow was still waving his light, not noticing the approaching cloud.

“Faster. Faster.”

  The door behind him opened.

“What are you doing out here?” said Mom. “It's cold and dark. Come back in.”

“I have to stay here,” he said.

But Mom picked him up and went back in.

He looked out again.

The cloud was on top of them, and there was no sign of the shadow.

“Yes,” he thought. “The cloud came right on time.”

“I moved it,” he said to his mom. “I told the cloud to move, and it did.”

“I'm sure you did,” said Mom, kissing his forehead.

“Everyone is saved,” he thought to himself. “Nel is safe.”

***

“So you saved her?” asked the little boy.

“Yes, I did,” said the old man.

“What about the shadow?”

The old man remembered seeing Mr. J so many times when he was older, in early mornings, shoveling snow, cleaning gutters, or just walking around, always with his cigarette.

He smiled.

“I'm not sure,” he said. “What mattered was that they were all safe.”

“And you were the hero.”

“Nah,” he touched the boy's hair. “I didn't tell anyone the story. Just about the cloud that I moved. My brothers laughed. They remembered for years that I would go on the balcony and sing, ‘Clouds are moving. I told them one night to do that,’ And we’d all laugh.”

“How about Nel? Didn't even tell her?”

“No,” the old man sighed. “I didn't want her to be afraid. I wanted her to keep sleeping on the balcony.”

“Do you think I can move the clouds?”

“I don't know,” he said as he fixed the boy’s blanket. “That was a different time, in a land far away. But who knows? If you want it badly enough and for a good reason, maybe you can. Now go to sleep.”

“Good night, grandpa.”

“Good night, love,” he said, kissed him, and got up.

Outside, the wind was getting stronger, and tree branches were shaking and lashing at the window.

“It's starting to rain,” the man said before leaving the room. “It's going to be a stormy night.”

“Are you afraid of the storm, grandpa?”

“Not with a brave boy like you next door,” the old man said with a smile and left.

Lightning flashed.

The boy saw a shadow with many arms on his wall.

“Who was that?” he thought and quickly pulled up the blanket over his head.

Grandpa. Next door. Brave boy.

He slowly looked out his window.

Dark clouds were pouring rain.

Far from them, in the distant sky, he saw white clouds.

Ali Arya grew up in Iran and migrated to Canada for work and study, only to find and raise a family that gave him a new understanding of what he was looking for in life. Ali is a professor of Information Technology at Carleton University, Ottawa, and a geek at heart. He develops games and interactive stories with his students, investigates how people use computers, and have written books and articles in his professional field. He has studied children’s story writing at Gotham Writer’s Workshop, and has been a member of the Society of Children Book Writers and Illustrators (SCBWI) for years. He has published two parts of a 3-part story series with DarkWinter literary magazine in April 2023 (https://www.darkwinterlit.com/post/chasing-the-wind-by-ali-arya) and December 2024 (https://www.darkwinterlit.com/post/the-woman-the-man-and-the-sea-by-ali-arya). This submission, “The Boy Who Moved the Clouds” is the middle part of that series.