During the day, shadows cast by the Sun are tinted with blue. The light which reaches the atmosphere directly from the Sun contains every colour. However, blue is the background colour filling the sky because of the size of the molecules which are contained in it, which scatter other colours. Furthermore, objects can only hinder the bright, yellow light that reaches them directly from the Sun, not the blue light from the background. So, shadows contain this type of blue light which reaches the object directly from other parts of the sky, and which can go around their edges. Coloured light, light radiated by multiple sources, or light which is reflected from several objects, can create complex, multi-coloured shadows. Illustrators use techniques such as chiaroscuro, silhouette, and cloudy effects in order to imitate this kind of shadow. On occasions, people can see shadows cast on the Earth’s face by the Sun, the Moon, Venus, and Jupiter. At the rising of the Sun, and when the Sun sets, during the twilight hours, the Earth casts a violet or blue-grey shadow on the atmosphere near the horizon, although we often fail to recognise it. In the same way, a bloody sky in the evening, or in the morning, shows a high-pressure system, and thus fine weather, arriving or departing, respectively. 

 

[David] Isn’t it funny how words, and smells, awake memories about things? Funny in the sense of ‘strange’, I mean, not funny in the sense of ‘entertaining.’ But, these aren’t empty shadows, the things people say, the scents, but rather real, physical experiences, which freeze your heart, and make your blood boil. After all, it’s me – the brand-new David Baxter – who should know, it’s me who’s undergone quite a transformation a little while back, getting knocked off balance into left-field, me who’s jumped through a time-warp, and who’s still flying about on a roller-coaster now. How did all this happen. Well that’s a story for you, if I could only bring the facts to mind. But here, now, I don’t know, but despite that, I can’t get rid of those words that’ve nested in my mind – ‘It will have blood, they say, Blood will have blood.’ 

 

[Steffan] Hey, you, lost boy, you little creep, Staffy, mun! Come on, now, steady on cowboy! It’s me here, Stevo from the future – you’re a man by now (me who’s a man I mean)! I’m going to tell you what’ll happen to you, OK? You don’t have a brother, despite that promises, only an unexpected sister called Elen – that immaculate virgin seven-times blessed – Astolat, Benoic, Corbenic, Garlot, Listenoise, the Incomparable, the Younger – you don’t know her yet, although you dream about her every night. Well, hmm, you don’t have that male role-model you’ve always yearned for, because your Dad has run off with the that little girl who was married to the old smuggler or whatever on the estate. Now then, don’t you worry, let this older lad grab onto you, hold you tight, give you a big cuddle, like only a real man can do. I know that you’ve been thrown in at the deep end, that you’ve always been in trouble, drowning in tension and drama. I was there too, remember!

 

[David] I’m almost seventeen by now, with the birthday just round the corner, and it’s a magical age, I don’t know why – the hellish exams are so important and they’re getting closer and closer. I’ve just escaped from an uninspiring double-Pretanic lesson, and I’m half concentrating in the book in front of me, half turning things over in my head, half dozing, half casting spells. In Lushfé’s name, how many halves could there be in one boy’s life? Anyway, while trying to do all these things, and failing, I’m reassured by the TV set that’s about to give up the ghost, which is broadcasting the words of some old, bald talking head called John B Grossmann. He’s a famous broadcaster from Aberdydd, whose father had fled over the Eastern Sea during the Great Tribulation, becoming a well-known international smuggler. And his voice is trying to caress my sullen consciousness— 

 

[Telescreen] “The buildings themselves, which are located in land reclaimed from the red sand-dunes, were planned by Sven Rundskop from the Lowlands. Building was begun in the Year of Hateful Love, and it was finished in the Summer of Loving Hate. Before local government was reorganised most recently, this complex was the proud headquarters of Aberdydd Town Council, and now, it is part of the offices of Aberdydd Community Region.” 

 

[David] I smile while I sigh, and then drag myself back to the text of the Bard – well, old Wilhelm at least, ‘cos he was a Dutshman, not a Kelt – I’m trying to translate into Kimbric – I dunno why. Why would he write in Pretanic anyway, or perhaps it’s Old Dutsh? But I love the horror story about spirits that wait of mortals’ thoughts, while filling them from head to toe with direst cruelty, thickening their blood! It’s like some excellent comic-book, mun! Awesome! 

 

[Steffan] Of course I’ve been where you are now, but believe me, things will be going to change soon enough, mate. You’re going to discover in the end that it’s great to get really tall when you’re still young, you’ll even grow a beard before the other kids! A few’ll admire you anyway. I admit you’ll start to look just like Dad, but you’ll be a lot taller, and the going bald will wait till you’re thirty. You’ll do things in your own time, so everything’ll be fine in the end! 

 

[David] And it gives me goose-bumps to slurp up the electrifying marrow from the bones of the words which threaten to splinter in my throat, only to choke me, as if they were fragments of some magic mirror. And then my lungs would be swimming in my own blood – with someone shouting at the top of his lungs – ‘Is this a dagger I see before me?’

 

[Steffan] I can confidently say that all the hard work’ll be worth the trouble. Think about your Uncle Procter. He was able to get a Certificate in Studies, after he’d left the army or something, doing all that research into strange topics, unidentified flying beds or other UFOs, communicating with extra-terrestrials, things like that. And all that, the poor dab, although his wife and daughter died, that’s the truth. So, you have to realise that we all have problems at times. I know your tribulations seem awful, but, really, things’ll get better. Of course, this won’t make your life easier this minute, but, well, you’d better bear that in mind on all accounts, mun! 

 

[David] And here I am, back in my childhood, eleven years old now, in the same bedroom but the colours are different, cleaner, and brighter. That little expression’s flung me back; now I’m snuggling under the dirty, oppressive quilt again. But I would never have known it then – that saying, that kind of vocab – anyway. Well, Dad never would’ve spoken like that – before he – disappeared – but, despite that – I’m not sure, perhaps he would – I can’t remember. 

 

[Steffan] You’d love to get to know your sister, to be honest, to enjoy her company, share your problems, and go on adventures. The idea of meeting, of getting together, of living happily ever after will give you something to live for in your darkest day, keeping you going. You’d get in contact with her, if things were different, but under the circumstances, that’s how it’s to be. 

 

[David] She (Mam I mean now) had gone off to the banks of the River of Tears to work like crazy in the Field of Rushes and sing praises with all the other well-behaved deceased – had died – although I hate that word. But I didn’t believe all that stuff in the least, even then. I loved day-dreaming and imagining an Afterlife full of steam, and fire, and oil, in the company of Sister Fox-eyes and her avenging army of silent but deadly commandos, hurting all the evil-doers terribly, and then killing them off for once and for all. So, Dad was let off to spend more time away from home that ever before, and he would walk the Earth, plying his trade. Doing business with the idle nobs most of the time, he told me. Selling expensive things. Giving them what they want. Providing essential services. Finding difficult to get hold of goods. Transporting special substances. Giving succour to the afflicted. And lots of other things I didn’t understand. Anyway, he left me in peace to study on my own very often. Well, there was the stupid dog, and the lovely sister, and the enchanting beetles under my care, that’s all, s’pose.

 

[Steffan] Of course, friendship with a sister’s one thing, but there’ll be all the studying to do. After all, a life of quiet contemplations is to be your fate, right, mate, ‘cos you don’t want to be up to your ears in relationships and dramas. But I promise you’ll love having a bit of fun with the lads, probably, too, well, you’ve got to have some spare time now and then, in between the research, studying, writing, praying, and whatever else. Then again, a girlfriend would be nice, wouldn’t it, p’rhaps? You don’t want to end up as an old bachelor without a single friend in the world. 

 

[David] I’m staring at the darkness of the sea, whilst telling myself to relax my eyes. And I realise I’ve lost the feeling in my legs, as I stretch out my arm to massage the back of my neck. I’m trying not to think, but something in the air’s reminded me of those things that’ve happened lots of times before when my older sister comes home late – evenings full of giggling, and kissing, and cuddling on the door-step. And it makes me sick, it’s not fair, not right, not at all. How could she do such things, with me, her little brother, lurking upstairs, watching the whole performance so keenly? 

 

[Telescreen] “The buildings are adorned with sacred stone brought from Prysfenni, and there is an art-deco clock-tower some hundred feet in height. The entire project was debatable to say the least when the complex was constructed because the architect insisted on using a style called ‘Naked Ancient’ which had gone out of fashion at that time.” 

 

[David] Hmm, and talking of poetry – Oh, what a stinky, long-haired mongrel is this night, when the Treachery of the Long Knife occurs, a creature that breaks wind loudly, whilst slobbering everywhere, and then insists on feeding noisily once again, before falling asleep having spread itself so messily across the tidy furniture of the Endless Bay by the banks of the River of Tears; Oh, one of the dirty old hounds of Hell are you indeed! 

 

[Telescreen] “This famous blue tower displays characteristic features, such as the prow (that is the front end) of a Viking longboat, which will remind viewers of a historical character named Hairy-Ears, the Jarl Aber-Dyggðar, the adventurer who is believed to have founded the town. In the old language of the mothers of the Viking race, it is likely that the title means ‘Virtue’s Difficulty.’ Of course, the nickname speaks for itself.”

 

[Steffan] You’ll be dead proud when you find a best friend – David Baxter’s his name (or, that will be the name), but everyone used the nickname Dai (and lots of worse things, too!). You’ll hardly believe this. He’s younger than you – a few years’ difference. Why does he like you? Why do you have so much fun together? I dunno, but you’ll feel great with him, you’ll never want to turn your back on him, although he’ll be teasing you all the time. 

 

[David] And I’m drifting again, floating in the air, fighting the clouds while considering, meditating, weighing up. I’m trying not to think still – who is Dad – where is he – what’s he doing? But that’s the worst thing I can do. I want to pray, but I can’t find the right words; I’m trying to invoke the Old Gods, but they’re denying my pleading. 

 

[Telescreen] “The complex contains the Hall of the Images, the Town Hall, and Aberdydd Worldly Law Courts, and the County Ecclesiastical Court is located opposite it. In the Hall of the Images are displayed the Panels of the Extremely Exalted Empire of the Etruscans, which had been commissioned in the Year of Excruciating Forgiveness to commemorate the ancient Victory of the Seven Martyrs over the Seven Wise Warriors of the city of Thebe at the end of the Seven Years’ War. Most colourful, and masterfully adorned are the eight baroque panels, of enormous size.” 

 

[Steffan] It’ll be great to go the pictures with Davie-boy Monday nights after the adult art class to watch a horror film or two (adult – Oooh, there’s a word for you!). You’ll love comics, too, mun, after all, well, graphic novels anyway! But it’ll be awkward when everyone around you’s smoking the wacky-baccy, you’ll have to be careful, but inhaling a bit’ll be OK, right? It’ll make you feel stupid, that’s the thing – Ooh, as silly as that old Uncle who’s always dressing up and chanting in the forest by the old blue cottage, or in the cellar, I’m not sure. It’s quite nice Dai hasn’t got a girlfriend, that would put a spoke in the wheels! Oh, young Staffy, mun, the small-fry who’s lurking in the background! You gotta believe that these things are going to happen. You’ll flower and flourish – but, yuck, I shouldn’t say that – those are words that are too sophophilic and pompous by half. Just saying you’ll do well would be a lot better. 

 

[Telescreen] “Initially it was intended to display the murals in the Heavenly Fortress of the World-Wide Church, after they were refused by Government House in the Big, Bad, City, but they were considered too modern and vulgar due to all the uncovered flesh. By now, however, they are a gloriously exuberant background to many of the activities that take place inside Aberdydd civic centre. Everyone who casts an eye over them is enchanted by the otherworldly images. Despite that, one of the panels, namely ‘Shaman-no pronouncing the Seven Deadly Words’ is too horrendous to be seen without special preparation.

 

[David] Suddenly, back to the present – there’s shouting and swearing downstairs – not an uncommon thing in this house, Davie-boy, I think to myself while rushing out of the bedroom. The harsh moon is staring at everything, scolding in amazement, then, having considered for a bit, she smiles in a spirit of comradeship. I open the front door, my heart in my throat. Dad’s there, where’s he come from so unexpectedly? What’s happened – he’s terribly wounded – in Wezir’s name – he can hardly stay on his feet – there’s blood – floods of the stuff, everywhere – I don’t understand what he’s saying – there’s a hubbub of coming and going outside the house – then a boy, me, swept into a white fan covered in muck – and there’s something else – something wet and still, wrapped up in – in a quilt? Has Dad killed something – or, somebody? Driving for half an hour, a couple of hours, maybe, fear changes time. And then the words of the play sweeping over me once again – ‘Oh, horror, terror, trembling – here’s a spirit vile – Which tongue speaks not his name, nor heart conceives his guile.’ 

 

[Steffan] In the future the Unitechnic in Emerald Town (well, the Big, Bad City, I should say) will be calling you (not the old, awful Poly-varsity in Aberdydd!). Hmm, Dad was always on about politics all the time, and he would’ve loved seeing you as a People's Representative in Government House, or even Foremost Statesman, or something. Decision and dedication will be the most important things. I know you’ll have to work very hard, do your very best, and more, or this’ll all be just a pipe-dream. 

 

[Telescreen] “Apart from its administrative functions, civic ceremonies, concerts, and social events are held in this complex. Amongst the rituals there are school prize-givings, and the Poly-varsity’s degree presentations.” 

 

[David] And then there’s something splashing my cheek. I squirm, trying to touch the place and rub it, but I spread the stain, the blemish, over my face instead. Then, slippery slaps to shut up a tearful lad. Something made of metal, long and wet, and quite warm, shoved into my hands. The sharp, treacly moistness makes me squeak like a just-electrocuted lab-rat.

 

[Steffan] But then again, well, you’ve always hated and opposed whatever Dad likes. In terms of education, then, we could say that you’ll see the light to find a calling. After debating fiercely with a monk who’s a friend of Dad’s and a member of the Cowled Brotherhood, called the Old Holy Warrior, you’ll be head over heels in love with Most Holy Divinity, with a career in the True Church awaiting. Imagine the sublime sophophilic ideal of discerning the truth. Hypothesis, consideration, praying, mortification, discussion, submission, illumination, acceptance. And so you'll take part in the world’s most ancient process, whereby incorrect concepts, and vile ideas contrary to the orthodoxy, together with the debased language used by the common folk and the uneducated to express them, shall be swept away entirely from the table of the covenant as the Overseers of the Church Militant say. And only then shall truth, and order, and purity, and spiritual power, prevail. 

 

[Telescreen] “There, are performed concerts of all kinds, including, for example, candle-lit Birth and Death Ceremonies, appearances by rock bands such as ‘Hebé the Grey,’ and traditional entertainment by the Choir of the Guild of Secrets. Aberdydd Viking Festival and the yearly celebrations called Arrival of the Pirates are examples of social events that are held for public amusement.” 

 

[Steffan] But, despite that, the methods of such poetical sophophilia, the processes of speculative divinity, the techniques of the Great Work, are so essentially disordered, so unsatisfactory. There’s too many opportunities to be unsure, to make mistakes. You’ll have to be careful – don’t go after the shadow and miss the substance – in case you lose yourself in unfathomable whirlpools of cogitation. So, having considered everything in great detail, you’ll conclude that you need to concentrate on numerology, on patterns. After all, that’s the human mind exercising its highest creative ability, rejoicing in using its splendid skills. 

 

[Telescreen] “Since the National Independent Broadcasting Agency commissioned the exceptionally popular television series called ‘Out of the Shadows’ by Mamrick, several episodes have been filmed inside the complex—“

 

[David] It’s not the last act, no indeed, not by a long chalk, but it’s this event that’ll seal all our fates. There’s some tall and thin figure, almost skeletal, lurking in the shadow under the bridge over the river a few metres away, and Dad trying to push me out of the vehicle towards him – ‘Hurry, boy … Take the magic box full of special stuff to our best mate … over b’there … run … go … stupid!’ Suddenly, in one hand there’s an ancient snuff-box, and the other one’s still clutching a black dagger, sticky with blood. I hear the command as my heart drums, as if my head’s almost exploding – and if that’d happened, I wouldn’t be the only creature to die that night, maybe.

 

[Steffan] Oh, you’ll consecrate your life to this discipline. And seven will be your favourite number by a long way – the seventh of July was when you were born – the seventh day of the seventh month – so your zodiac-sign’s the Crab, with the Bull rising. And also, there’s – the Seven Dwarfs – the Seven Seas – the Seven League Boots – the Seven Orders of Architecture – the Seven Colours of the Rainbow – Seven Intervals in a Scale – Seven Continents. And knowledge brings confidence, say the Brothers in Charge in the Unitechnic’s Seminary. Yes, numerology, that’s what you’ll do, you’ll become a numerologist, someone who thinks, meditates, creates, explains, tests, predicts, educates. And in time, you might attain the grade of mentalist, maybe. Then everyone’ll regret what they’ve done before.

 

[David] The oppressive, sticky warmth wants to suffocate me as I pass the box to the spectral bogey on the threshold of the Two Worlds. But then Dad’s petulant voice cuts across weakly, like a blast of brittle, hateful coldness, gnawing at me – words straight from the horse’s mouth indeed – and it sounds like his spirit’s rapidly ebbing away – ‘Come on, son – the knife, that’s it – chuck it in the stinking river – we gotta unite metal and water – hurry, for Lushfé's sake!’ Ah, well, I’m not sure, but of course, that’s what I do. And then, definitely, it’s me who wanted to kill, with my whole heart, and mind, and soul. And I chant over and over, ‘Come, let me grab thee. I hold thee not, and yet I have thee still.’

 

[Steffan] Indeed, that’s why you were born, probably. Oh, what a thing it shall be to live amongst the brainy, beautiful youths, the stars of the heavens, whilst learning, discussing, shining like a resplendent light in a foggy world, revealing truth, flying so high, close to the Sun, even, like Thethalu and her son Ithru escaping from the unclean hordes with their wings of paper, and sealing-wax, and string. You doubt you’ll have the ability, the talent, that you won’t succeed. You’ll work so hard, so that the exams won’ t be too much. You’ll only occasionally get tempted by that shocking spice from Sanjibaar that the Old Holy Warrior gives you so you can have visions of glory, I promise. You don’t want to let the chance slip through your fingers, or sacrifice your future for nothing, do you? 

 

And then, after what's seemed like an eternity of driving, on the river-bank, in front of the Blue House of old renown, which is so beautiful, while I – David on the threshold of his manhood – fling the bloody knife into the silent water, Lushfé with his flaming wings spread wide reads my mind, and he comes completely unannounced in answer to the call like a shooting star cutting across the troubled sky carrying his white-hot sword. Dad’s laboriously puffing on his last ever fag, feeling safe, probably, in the Neutral Southern Commonwealth, whilst Hebé the spectral, skeletal mare prances wildly on the tempest’s wind. And as usual she has betrayed a man into the hands of the Seven with her promises that contain an element of truth, and on the other hand, her half lies. 

 

Dad’s throwing his smoke down, completely exhausted. For a minute, a second, the blink of an eye, I stare at him, with hatred, cold, and sharp as a razor, in my heart, while the pool of petrol spreads from under the van. Why it's leaking like that, I'll never know. There's some who've said it was a slow-acting booby-trap of some kind, or somethin', I dunno. But then he really disappears, once and for all, that man who was clever, wild, and cruel at the same time – with a thunderous click and a blinding flash that sets the world on fire, deafening me too. I’m hurled into the still, black river, and on its surface are bits of the van, and chunks of burning human flesh. After this, I’ll never see, or hear, my bloody, devilish Dad, alive again. He’s ascended to glory according to his plan. That’s it. Only much later I realised that he’d been a drug-dealer all the time – dragging me with him and his dirty, criminal cronies hither, thither and yon, to other lands, other homes, other families, other lives, across the huge, cruel, fruitful oceans, even. And although I’d survived, I knew only too soon that I’d got terribly scarred in the explosion.

 

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

 

In the future, somewhere else entirely, the stinking air of some cellar’s teeming with a myriad of fiery insects. They’re calling the appropriate sacrificial bull to the ceremony of the scarabs, that the Old Soldier, the Old Holy Warrior, who believes he’s the true master of secrets, has initiated. This man, Steffan Grossmann, who’s sad, wise, and enormous at the same time, is supposed to provide the heart and the life-force for the one who has been, and who will be again, so that he shall exist in the time to come as he existed in the far past. And then the voracious shadows devour the man, who’s a virgin, and who was about to kill himself at one stage, transporting him towards the Day of Judgement he has chosen for himself. Without sound, without movement, without change – he gets deleted from existence on the face of the Earth – there’s no hole, or gap; now there’s just a lack, where fullness was before.

 

Yn ystod y dydd, arlliwir cysgodion wedi’u taflu gan yr Haul â glas. Mae’r golau sydd yn cyrraedd yr awyrgylch yn uniongyrchol o’r Haul yn cynnwys pob lliw. Fodd bynnag, glas yw lliw’r golau cefndir yn llenwi’r awyr oherwydd maint y molecylau a gynhwysir ynddi, sydd yn gwasgaru’r lliwiau eraill. Ymhellach, ni all gwrthrychau atal ond y golau melyn, llachar sydd yn eu cyrraedd yn syth o’r Haul, nid y golau glas o’r cefndir. Felly mae cysgodion yn cynnwys y fath olau glas sydd yn cyrraedd gwrthrych yn anuniongyrchol o rannau eraill yr awyr ac a all fynd o gwmpas yr ymylon.Gall golau lliw, golau wedi’i belydru gan darddleoedd lluosog, neu olau a adlewyrchir gan sawl gwrthrych, greu cysgodion amryliw, cymhleth. Y mae arlunwyr yn defnyddio technegau fel ciarosgwro, silwét, ac effeithiau niwlog, er mwyn dynwared cysgodion o’r fath. Ar adegau y mae pobl yn gallu gweld cysgodion wedi’u bwrw ar wyneb y Ddaear gan yr Haul, y Lleuad, Gwener, ac Iau. Gyda chodiad yr Haul, a phan fydd yr Haul yn machludo, yn ystod yr oriau cyfnos, bydd y Ddaear yn taflu cysgod dulas neu laslwyd ar yr awyrgylch wrth y gorwel, er inni fethu ei adnabod yn aml. Yn yr un modd, awyr waedlyd fin nos ynteu yn y bore sydd yn dangos system bwysedd uchel, ac felly tywydd braf, yn dynesu neu’n ymadael, yn ôl eu trefn.

 

[David] On’d yw’n ddoniol meddwl sut mae geiriau, ac arogleuon, yn deffro atgofion am bethau? Doniol yn yr ystyr ‘rhyfedd,’ rwy’n feddwl, nage doniol yn yr ystyr ‘digrif.’ Ond, ddim cysgodion gwag yw’r rhain, y pethau mae pobl yn dweud, y sawrau, ond yn hytrach profiadau corfforol go iawn, sy’n rhewi’r galon, ac yn gwneud i’r mêr ferwi. Wedi’r cwbl, fi – y David Baxter newydd sbon – a ddylai wybod, fi sy ‘di diodde’ cryn drawsnewidiad gynnau fach, gan gael ‘y mwrw oddi ar ‘yn echel i law chwith y cae, fi sy ‘di neidio drwy ystumdro amser, ac sy’n dal i hedfan o gwmpas ar ffigyr-êt erbyn hyn. Sut ‘naeth hyn oll ddigwydd? Wel dyna stori i chi, ‘swn i ddim ond yn gallu dwyn y ffeithiau i gof. Ond yma, nawr, sa i’n gw’bod, ond er ‘ny, dw i’m yn gallu cael gwared ar y geiriau ‘na sy ‘di nythu yn ‘yn meddwl – ‘Efe gaiff waed; ebe hwynt, Gwaed a geith waed.’

 

[Steffan] Hei, ti, fachgen ar goll, y sinach bach, Staffy, w! Dere ‘mlaen, nawr, gan bwyll, gwboi! Fi sy ‘ma, ti, Stevo o’r dyfodol – rwyt ti’n ddyn erbyn hyn (fi sy’n ddyn dw i’n feddwl)! Dw i’n mynd i weud wrthot ti be’ fydd yn digwydd i ti, iawn? ‘Sdim brawd ‘da ti, er gwaetha’r addewidion, dim ond chwaer annisgwyl o’r enw Elen – y forwyn ddihalog ‘na wedi’i bendigo saith gwaith – Astolat, Benoic, Corbenic, Garlot, Listenoise, y Ddigymar, yr Iau – dwyt ti’m yn nabod hi ‘to, er fod di’n breuddwydio amdani bob nos. Wel, hmm, ti heb y model rôl gwryw ‘na ti wastad wedi chwennych amdano fe, achos bod dy Dad wedi rhedeg bant gyda’r ferch fach ‘na oedd wedi priodi â’r hen smyglwr neu beth bynnag ar y ‘stad. Nawr 'te, paid di â phoeni, gad i’r llanc hŷn ‘ma, gydio ynot ti, dy ddal di’n dynn, rhoi cwtsh mawr i ti, fel dim ond dyn go iawn yn gallu’i ‘neud. Dw i’n gw’bod i ti gael dy fwrw i’r dwfn, a fod di wastad wedi bod mewn trafferth, yn boddi mewn tensiwn a drama. Bues i yno ‘fyd, cofia di!

 

[David] Bron yn ddau ar bymtheg dw i bryd hyn, gyda’r pen-blwydd jyst rownd y gornel, ac mae’n oedran hudol, dw i’m y gwybod pam – mae’r arholiadau uffernol mor bwysig, ac yn dod yn nes nes. Dw i newydd ddianc o wers ddwbl Pretaneg ddifflach, ac rwy’n hanner canolbwyntio ar y llyfr o’n blaen i, hanner hel meddyliau, hanner pendwmpian, hanner bwrw hud. ‘Neno Lushfé, faint o haneri allai fod ym mywyd un llanc? Ta be, wrth drio ‘neud yr holl bethau ‘ma, a ffaelu, dw i’n cael ‘y nghysuro gan y set deledu ar fin mynd a'i phen iddi, sy’n darlledu geiriau rhyw hen ben parablus, penfoel o’r enw John B Grossmann. Mae hwn yn ddarlledwr enwog o Aberdydd, tad pwy oedd wedi ffoi dros y Môr Dwyreiniol yn ystod y Cythrwfl Mawr, gan ddod yn smyglwr rhyngwladol adnabyddus. A dyma’i lais yn ceisio anwesu’n ymwybod swrth—

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Cynlluniwyd yr adeiladau eu hun, a leolir yn nhir wedi’i adennill o'r twyni tywod cochion, gan Sven Rundskop o’r Tiroedd Isel. Dechreuwyd codi ym Mlwyddyn Cariad Cas, a gorffennwyd ef yn Haf Casineb Serchus. Cyn yr aildrefnwyd llywodraeth leol yn ddiweddaraf, pencadlys balch Pwyllgor Tref Aberdydd fu’r cyfadeilad hwn, ac yn awr, rhan o swyddfeydd Bro Gymunedol Aberdydd ydy.”

 

[David] Dw i’n gwenu wrth ochneidio, ac wedyn llusgo ‘yn hunan yn ôl at destun y Bardd – wel, yr hen Wilhelm o leia’, achos taw Dytsiwr oedd e, nage Kelt – rwy’n ceisio’i gyfieithu i’r Gimbreg – ‘dwn i’m pam. Pam fyddai’n sgrifennu yn y Bretaneg ta be, neu falle taw Hen Ddytsieg ydy? Ond dw i’n dwlu ar yr hanes arswyd am ysbrydion sy’n gweini ar feddyliau meidrolion, tra’u llanwant o’r corun i’r sawdl â chreulondeb enbytaf, gan dewychu’u gwaed! Mae fel rhyw lyfr comics gwych, w! Ardderchog!

 

[Steffan] Wrth gwrs mod i ‘di bod ble rwyt ti nawr, ond creda di fi, bydd pethau’n mynd i newid yn ddigon buan, mêt. Ti sy’n mynd i ddarganfod ym mhen yr hir a’r hwyr taw gwych fydd dod yn dal iawn pan fod di’n ifanc o hyd; ‘nei di hyd yn oed dyfu barf cyn y cryts eraill! Ambell un fydd yn edmygu ‘ny, ta p’un. Dw i’n cyfadde’ byddi di’n dechrau edrych yn union fel Dad, ond, byddi’n dalach o lawer, a ‘naiff y mynd yn foel aros nes i ti fod yn ddeg ar hugain. ‘Nei di bethau yn dy amser da dy hunan, ‘lly bydd popeth yn iawn yn y diwedd!

 

[David] Ac mae’n codi croen gŵydd arna i lyncu mêr gwefreiddiol o esgyrn y geiriau sy’n bygwth torri’n ysgyrion yn ‘y nghorn gwddf, dim ond i ‘nhagu i, fel ‘sen nhw’n deilchion o ryw ddrych hudol. Ac wedyn byddai’n ysgyfaint i’n nofio yn ‘y ngwaed ‘yn hunan – gyda rhywun yn gweiddi o hyd ei lef – ‘Ai dagr yw hwn rwy’n ei weld o’m blaen i?’

 

[Steffan] A dwi’n medru gweud yn hyderus fe fydd y gwaith caled yn werth y drafferth. Meddylia am dy Wncwl Procter. Roedd e’n gallu ennill Tystysgrif mewn Astudiaethau, ar ôl iddo adael y fyddin neu rywbeth, gan ‘neud yr holl ymchwil i bynciau rhyfedd, gwelyau hedegog anhysbys neu iwffos eraill, cyfathrebu gyda bodau arallfydol, pethau fel ‘ny. A hynny oll, y pŵr dab, er bu farw ei wraig a’i ferch, dyna’r gwir. ‘Lly ti’n gorfod sylweddoli bydd problemau ‘da ni i gyd ar amserau. Fe wn i fod dy helbulon yn ymddangos yn ofnadw’, ond, mewn gwirionedd, ‘naiff pethau wella. Wrth gwrs fydd hyn ddim yn ‘neud dy fywyd di’n haws y munud ‘ma, ond, wel, well i ti ddwg ‘ny mewn cof, ar bob cyfri’, w!

 

[David] A dyma fi, yn ôl yn ‘y mebyd, un ar ddeg oed erbyn hyn, yn yr un ‘stafell wely, ond mae’r lliwiau’n wahanol, yn lanach, a mwy claer. Mae’r ymadrodd bach ‘na wedi ‘y lluchio ‘nôl; nawr rwy’n swatio dan y cwilt llethol, brwnt ‘to. Ond fyddwn i ‘rioed wedi’i w’bod e’r pryd ‘na – y dywediad ‘na, y fath eirfa – ta p’un i. Wel, fyddai Dad ‘rioed wedi siarad fel ‘na – cyn iddo fe – ddiflannu – er – serch ‘ny – dw i’m yn siŵr, falle byddai – alla i’m cofio.

 

[Steffan] Fe fyddet ti’n dwlu ar ddod i nabod dy chwaer, a bod yn onest, i fwynhau ei chwmni, rhannu dy broblemau, a mynd ar anturiaethau. Bydd y syniad o gwrdd, o ddod at eich gilydd, o fyw’n ddedwydd byth oddi ar ‘ny, yn rhoi rhywbeth i ti fyw er ei fwyn yn dy ddyddiau mwya’ tywyll, gan dy gynnal di drwyddo. Byddet ti’n cysylltu â hi, ‘sai pethau’n wahanol, ond dan yr amgylchiadau, ‘lly y bydd.

 

[David] Roedd hi (Mam dw i’n ei golygu nawr) wedi mynd bant i lannau Afon Dagrau i weithio fel lladd nadredd ym Maes Brwyn a chanu clodydd gyda’r ymadawedigion ufudd eraill oll – wedi marw – er mod i’n casáu’r gair ‘na. Ond do’n i ddim yn credu mewn pethau fel hynny o gwbl, hyd yn oed bryd ‘ny. O’n i’n dwlu ar wlana a dychmygu Ôl-fywyd yn llawn ager, a thân, ac olew, yng nghwmni Chwaer Lygaid Cadno a’i byddin ddialgar o gomandos distaw ond marwol, yn brifo’r holl droseddwyr yn enbyd, ac wedyn eu lladd nhw’n gyfan gwbl ac am byth. ‘Lly gaeth Dad ei ryddhau i hala mwy o amser oddi cartre’ nag erio’d o’r blaen, ac fe fyddai’n cerdded ar y Ddaear, gan fynd o gwmpas ei bethau. Masnachu â’r crachach segur ran fwya’r amser, fe ddwedodd e wrtha i. Gwerthu pethau gwerthfawr. Rhoi iddyn nhw beth maen nhw eisiau. Darparu gwasanaeth hanfodol. Dod o hyd i nwyddau anodd cael gafael arnyn nhw. Cludo sylweddau arbennig. Cynorthwyo’r cystuddiedig. A llawer o bethau eraill do’n i’m yn gallu deall. Ta be’, ‘nâi fe adael llonydd i fi ddysgu ar ‘y mhen ‘yn hunan yn aml iawn. Wel, roedd y ci dwl, a’r chwaer hyfryd, a’r chwilod swynol dan ‘yn ofal i, dyna i gyd, sbo.

 

[Steffan] Wrth gwrs, cyfeillgarwch gyda chwaer yw un peth, ond bydd yr holl astudio i ‘neud. Wedi’r cwbl, bywyd o synfyfyrio tawel fydd dy dynged di, reit, ‘achan, achos fyddi di’m am fod at dy glustiau mewn perthnasau a dramâu. Ond rwy’n addo fe fyddi di’n dwlu ar gael tipyn bach o hwyl gyda’r llanciau, siŵr o fod, ‘fyd, wel, rhaid cael rhyw amser sbâr nawr ac yn y man, rhwng yr ymchwil, meddwl, ‘sgrifennu, gweddïo, a be’ bynnag arall. Eto i gyd wejen fyddai’n neis i ti, on’ byddai, ‘lle? Fyddi di’m eisiau’i gorffen hi’n hen lanc heb yr un ffrind yn y byd.

 

[David] Ar dywyllwch y dŵr ryw’n syllu, wrth weud wrtha’n hunan am lacio’n llygaid. A dyma fi’n sylweddoli mod i ‘di colli’r teimlad yn ‘y nghoesau, wrth i fi ymestyn y breichiau i dylino ‘ngwar. Rwy’n trio peidio meddwl, ond mae rhywbeth yn yr awyr wedi ‘nghofio fi am y pethau ‘na sy ‘di digwydd lawer gwaith o’r blaen pan fydd 'yn chwaer hŷn yn dod ‘nôl yn hwyr – nosweithiau llawn piffian, a chusanu, a chwtsio ar y stepen drws. Ac mae’n codi pwys arna i, dyw’m yn deg na reit, ddim o gwbl. Sut allai hi ‘neud y fath bethau, a fi, ei brawd bach, yn llechu lan staer, gan edrych ar yr holl berfformiad mor frwd?

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Addurnir yr adeiladau â cherrig cysegredig a ddygwyd o Brysfenni, ac y mae yno dŵr cloc art-deco rhyw gant o fedr o daldra. Dadleuol a dweud y lleiaf oedd y prosiect i gyd pan adeiladwyd y cyfadail oherwydd bod y pensaer yn mynnu defnyddio arddull o’r enw ‘hynafol noeth’ a oedd wedi mynd allan o fri y pryd hynny.”

 

[David] Hmm, a sôn am farddoniaeth – O, am frithgi hirflew, drewllyd yw’r noson hon, pan ddigwydd Brad y Cyllell Hir, creadur sy’n torri gwynt yn uchel, wrth lafoerio ym mhobman, ac wedyn mynnu bwydo’n swnllyd unwaith yn rhagor, cyn syrthio i gysgu wedi lledu’i hun mor flêr dros gelfi twt y Bae Di-ben-draw ger glannau Afon Dagrau; O, un o hen gŵn brwnt Annwfn wyt ti’n wir!

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Y mae’r tŵr glas enwog hwn yn arddangos arweddau nodweddiadol, megis ffureg (hynny yw pen blaen) cwch hir Llychlynnaidd, a fydd yn atgoffa gwylwyr o gymeriad hanesyddol o’r enw yr Jarl Aber-Dyggðar Glustiau Blewog, yr anturiwr y credir iddo sefydlu’r dref. Yn hen iaith mamau’r dras Ficingaidd, mae’n debyg bod y teitl yn golygu ‘Anhawster Rhinwedd.’ Wrth gwrs mae’ r llysenw yn llefaru drosto ei hun.”

 

[Steffan] Balch iawn fyddi di o ddod o hyd i ffrind gorau – David Baxter yw ei enw e (neu, dyna fydd yr enw), ond bydd pawb yn defnyddio’r llysenw Dai (a llawer o bethau gwaeth, ‘fyd!). O’r braidd byddi di’n credu hyn. Mae’n iau na ti – rhyw flynyddoedd yw’r gwahaniaeth. Pam mae’n dy lico di? Pam dych chi’n ca’l cymaint o hwyl â’ch gilydd? ‘Dwn i’m, ond fe fyddi di’n teimlo’n braf gyda fe, fyddi di byth eisiau cefnu arno, er bydd e’n dy blagio di’n atgas bob amser.

 

[David] Dyma fi’n drifftio unwaith ‘to, nofio yn yr awyr, ymladd â’r cymylau, wrth gysidro, myfyrio, pwyso a mesur. Rwy’n trio peidio meddwl o hyd – pwy yw ‘Nhad – ble mae e – beth mae’n ‘neud? Ond dyna’r peth gwaetha’ fi’n gallu ‘neud. Rwy eisiau gweddïo, ond alla i’m dod o hyd i’r geiriau cywir; dw i’n ceisio galw ar yr Hen Dduwiau, ond maen nhw’n gwadu’r ymbil.

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Cynhwysa’r gymhlethfa: Neuadd y Delweddau, Neuadd y Dre, a Llysoedd Cyfraith Fydol Aberdydd, a lleolir Llys Eglwysig y Sir gyferbyn â hi. Yn Neuadd y Delweddau yr arddangosir Panelau Ymerodraeth Dra Dyrchafedig yr Etrwsgiaid, a gomisiynasid ym Mlwyddyn Maddeuant Arteithiol er mwyn coffáu Buddugoliaeth hynafol y Saith Merthyr dros Saith Ryfelwr Doeth Dinas Thebe ar ddiwedd y Rhyfel Saith Mlynedd. Tra lliwgar, a phenigamp o addurnedig yw’r wyth panel baróc, o faint dirfawr.”

 

[Steffan] Bydd yn wych mynd i’r pictiwrs ‘da Davie-boi ar nos Lun ar ôl y dosbarth celf i oedolion i wylio ffilm arswyd neu ddwy (oedolyn – Ww, dyna air i ti!). Fe fyddi di’n dwlu ar gomics ‘fyd, w, wedi’r cyfan, wel ‘nofelau graffig’ ta be’! Ond bydd yn chwithig pan fydd pawb o gwmpas yn ‘smygu’r mwg drwg, rhaid i ti fod yn garcus, ond anadlu tipyn bach fydd yn iawn, reit? Fe ‘naiff i ti deimlo’n wirion, dyna’r peth – Ww, mor dwp â’r hen Wncwl ‘na sy wastad yn gwisgo lan a siantio yn y fforest ar bwys yr hen fwthyn glas, neu yn ei seler, dw i’m yn siŵr. Eitha neis na fydd dim wejen ‘da Dai, dyna fyddai’n rhoi sbrag ynddi! O, Staffy ifanc, w, y sil mân sy’n llechu yn y cefndir! Rhaid i ti gredu bydd y pethau ‘ma’n mynd i ddigwydd. Blodeuo a ffynnu ‘nei di – ond, ych a fi, ddylwn i’m gweud ‘ny – dyna eiriau sy’n rhy athronyddol a mawreddog o’r hanner. Jyst gweud byddi di’n ‘neud yn iawn fyddai’n llawer gwell.

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Ar y cychwyn y bwriedid dangos y murluniau yng Nghadarnle Nefol yr Eglwys Fyd-Eang, ar ôl iddynt gael eu gwrthod gan Dŷ’r Llywodraeth yn y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, ond fe’u hystyrid yn rhy fodern ac aflednais oblegid yr holl gnawd noethlymun. Erbyn hyn, fodd bynnag, cefndir gogoneddus o afieithus i lawer o’r gweithgareddau fydd yn digwydd y tu mewn i ganolfan ddinesig Aberdydd ydynt. Fe gyfareddir pawb fydd yn bwrw llygad trostynt gan y delweddau arallfydol. Serch hynny, rhy arswydus i’w weld heb baratoad arbennig, yw un o’r paneli, sef ‘Shaman-no yn adrodd y Saith Air Angheuol.’”

 

[David] Yn sydyn, yn ôl yn y presennol – dyna floeddio a rhegi lawr staer – nage peth anghyffredin yn y tŷ ‘ma, David bach, rwy’n meddwl wrth ‘yn hunan wrth ruthro mas o’r ‘stafell wely. Mae’r lleuad lem yn syllu ar bopeth gan geryddu’n syn, wedyn, wedi ystyried am ychydig, mae’n gwenu mewn ysbryd o gyfeillach. Dyma fi’n agor drws y ffrynt a ‘nghalon yn ‘y ngwddf. Dad sy yma; o ble ma’ ‘di dod mor annisgwyl? Be’ sy ‘di digwydd – ma’ ‘di’i glwyfo’n ofnadw’ – ‘neno Wezir – o’r braidd gall e aros ar ei draed – ma’ gwaed – llifogydd o’r stwff, ym mhob man – sa i’n deall be’ ma’n weud – ma’ cynnwrf o fynd a dod tu mas i’r tŷ – dyna fachgen, fi, wedi’i ‘sgubo i mewn i fan wen yn llaid i gyd – a dyna rywbeth arall – rhywbeth gwlyb a llonydd wedi’i lapio mewn – mewn cwilt? Ydy Dad wedi lladd rhywbeth – neu, rywun? Gyrru am hanner awr, am gwpl o oriau, falle, bydd ofn yn newid amser. A dyna ‘sgubo geiriau’r ddrama drosta i unwaith ‘to – ‘O, arswyd, ddychryn, ysgryd – dyma ffiaidd bwyll – Na ddywed tafod ei enw, na deall calon ei dwyll!’

 

[Steffan] Yn y dyfodol bydd y Prifdechnig yn Nhref Emrallt (wel, y Ddinas Fawr, Ddrwg, fe ddylwn i weud) yn galw arnat ti (nage’r hen Boly-ysgol ofnadw’ yn Aberdydd!). Hmm, roedd Dad yn berwi am wleidyddiaeth bob amser, ac fe fyddai fe wedi dwlu ar dy weld di fel Cynrychiolydd y Werin yn Nhŷ’r Llywodraeth, neu hyd yn oed Gwladweinydd Blaenorol, neu rywbeth. Penderfynu a dal ati fydd y pethau pwysica’. Fi sy’n gwybod bydd rhaid i ti weithio’n galed iawn, 'neud dy orau glas, a mwy, neu dim ond breuddwyd gwrach fydd hyn.

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Heblaw am ei swyddogaethau gweinyddol, cynhelir seremonïau dinesig, cyngherddau, a digwyddiadau cymdeithasol yn y gymhlethfa hon. Ymhlith y defodau y mae cyfarfodydd gwobrwyo ysgolion, a chyflwyniad graddau’r Boly-ysgol.”

 

[David] Ac wedyn dyna rywbeth yn sblasio’n moch. Fi’n gwingo, gan drio cyffwrdd â’r lle a’i rwbio fe, ond fi’n taenu’r staen, y mefl, dros ‘yn wyneb yn lle. Wedyn, slapiau llithrig i roi taw ar lanc wylofus. Rhywbeth wedi’i ‘neud o fetel, hir a gwlyb, ac eitha twym, wedi’i hwpo i ‘nwylo. Mae’r lleithder trioglyd, miniog yn ‘neud i fi wichian fel llygoden fawr mewn labordy, sy newydd gael sioc drydanol.

 

[Steffan] Ond eto i gyd, wel, ti wastad wedi casáu a gwrthwynebu be bynnag mae Dad yn lico. O ran addysg felly, fe allem ni ddweud byddi di’n troi i’r iawn i gael hyd i alwedigaeth. Ar ôl dadlau’n ffyrnig gyda mynach sy’n ffrind i Dad, ac aelod o’r Frawdoliaeth Gwflog, o’r enw Yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, byddi di dros dy ben a’th glustiau mewn cariad â Dewiniaeth Lanaf, a gyrfa gyda’r Eglwys Gywir fydd yn aros. Dychmyga’r delfryd athronyddol, aruchel o ganfod y gwirionedd. Damcaniaeth, ystyried, gweiddi, marwhau, trafod, darostwng, egluro, derbyn. Ac felly fe fyddi di’n cymryd rhan ym mhroses mwya’ hynafol y byd, fel y caiff cysyniadau anghywir, a syniadau ffiaidd yn groes i’r rhai uniongred, yn ogystal â’r iaith sathredig a ddefnyddir gan y werin bobl a’r annysgedig i’w mynegi nhw, eu hysgubo ymaith yn llwyr oddi ar fwrdd y cyfamod, fel y medd Goruchwylwyr yr Eglwys Filwriaethus. A dim ond wedyn bydd gwirionedd, a threfn, a phurdeb, a nerth ysbrydol, drechu.

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Yno y perfformir cyngherddau o bob math, yn cynnwys, er enghraifft, Gwasanaethau Geni a Marwolaeth yng ngolau cannwyll, ymddangosiadau gan fandiau roc fel ‘Hebé Lwyd,’ ac adloniant traddodiadol gan Gôr Urdd y Cyfrinachau. Gŵyl Ficingaidd Aberdydd a’r dathliadau blynyddol o’r enw Cyrraedd y Môr-ladron yw enghreifftiau o ddigwyddiadau cymdeithasol a gynhelir ar gyfer hwyl y cyhoedd.”

 

[Steffan] Ond, serch ‘ny, mae moddau’r fath athroniaeth farddonol, prosesau dewiniaeth fentrus, technegau’r Gwaith Mawr, mor anhrefnus yn eu hanfod, mor anfoddhaol. Fe fydd gormod o gyfleoedd i fod yn ansicr, i ‘neud camgymeriadau. Bydd rhaid i ti fod yn ofalus – paid ag ymlid y cysgod a cholli’r sylwedd – rhag i ti dy golli dy hunan mewn trobyllau affwysol synfyfyrio. Gan ‘ny, o ystyried popeth yn fanwl iawn byddi di’n casglu bydd rhaid i ti ganolbwyntio ar rifoleg, ar batrymau. Wedi’r cwbl, dyna’r meddwl dynol yn ymarfer ei allu creadigol ucha’, gan lawenhau yn defnyddio’i fedrau ysblennydd.

 

[Sgrin Deledol] “Ers i’r Asiantaeth Ddarlledu Annibynnol Genedlaethol gomisiynu’r gyfres deledu eithriadol o boblogaidd o’r enw ‘Oddi mewn i’r Cysgodion’ gan Mamrick, ffilmiwyd sawl pennod y tu mewn i’r cyfadeilad —”

 

[David] Nage’r act ola’ ydy, nage’n wir, ddim o bell ffordd, ond y digwyddiad ‘ma fydd yn seilio’n tynghedau ni i gyd. Dyna ryw ffigur tal a thenau, esgyrnog bron, yn gwisgo clogyn hir, llwyd, yn llechu yn y cysgod dan y bont dros yr afon sawl medr i ffwrdd, a Dad yn trio fy ngwthio ma’s o’r cerbyd tuag ato fe – ‘Bysia, fachgen …Cer â’r bocs hud llawn stwff sbesial at ein mêt gorau … draw fan’na …  rheda … cer  .. y twpsyn!’ Yn sydyn, mewn un llaw ma’na flwch snisin hynafol, a’r llall yn dal i gydio mewn dagr du’n ludiog o waed. Dyna fi’n clywed y gorchymyn wrth i ‘nghalon ddyrnu, fel ‘sai ‘mhen i bron â ffrwydro – a ‘sai ‘ny ‘di digwydd, nage fi fyddai’r unig greadur i farw’r noson ‘na, falle.

 

[Steffan] O fe fyddi di’n cysegru dy fywyd i’r ddisgyblaeth ‘ma. A saith fydd dy hoff rif o bell ffordd – y seithfed o Orffenna’ oedd pan gest ti d’eni – seithfed dydd y seithfed mis – ‘lly’r Cranc yw dy arwydd y Sidydd, a’r Tarw yn codi. A ‘fyd, ceir – y Saith Corrach – y Saith Fôr – y Botasau Saith Lig – Saith Trefn Pensaernïaeth – Saith Lliw’r Enfys – Saith Cyfwng mewn Graddfa – Saith Cyfandir. Ac o wybod y daw hyder, medd y Brodyr mewn Gofal yn Athrofa’r Prifdechnig. Ie, rhifoleg, dyna beth fyddi di’n ‘neud, fe ddoi di’n rhifolegwr, rhywun sy’n meddwl, synfyfyrio, creu, egluro, profi, darogan, addysgu. Ac ymhen amser, byddi di’n cyrraedd gradd meddyliaethydd, falle. Wedyn bydd pawb yn difaru be maen nhw di ‘neud o’r blaen.

 

[David] Mae’r twymder gludiog, llethol, eisiau’n mygu fi wrth i fi basio’r bwlch i’r bwgan rhithiol ar drothwy’r Ddau Fyd. Ond wedyn dyna lais gwan, ceintachlyd Dad yn torri ar draws, fel chwythiad o oerni atgas, brau, yn ‘y nghnoi – geiriau’n syth o lygad y ffynnon yn wir – ac mae’n swnio fel bod ei ysbryd yn cyflym ‘sigo – ‘Dere ‘mlaen, fab – y gyllell, dyna hi – rho ffling iddi hi i’r afon ddrewllyd – rhaid i ni uno metel a dŵr – brysia, er mwyn Lushfé!’ A, wel, sa i’n siŵr, ond wrth gwrs, dyna be’ fe ‘na i. Ac y tro hwn, yn wir, fi sy eisiau lladd, â’n holl galon, a meddwl, ac enaid. A dyna fi’n siantio dro ar ôl dro, ‘Tyrd, gad im’ dy gythru. Ni’th ddaliaf, ond fe’th ddaliaf di yn wir.’

 

[Steffan] Yn wir, dyna pam gest ti dy eni, siŵr o fod. O, sut beth fydd byw ymhlith yr ieuenctid prydferth, peniog, sêr y nefoedd, wrth ddysgu, trafod, tywynnu megis golau llachar mewn byd niwlog, datgelu gwirionedd, hedfan cyfuwch, yn agos at yr Haul, hyd yn oed, fel Thethalu a’i mab Ithru yn dianc o’r lluoedd anfad gyda’u hadenydd o bapur, cwyr selio, a chorden. Rwyt ti’n amau na fydd gen ti’r gallu, y ddawn; fyddi’m yn llwyddo. Byddi di’n gweithio mor galed, fel na fydd yr arholiadau i gyd yn ormod. Dim ond o dro i dro fe gei di dy demtio gan y sbeis syfrdanol ‘na o Sanjibaar fydd yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd yn roi i ti fel gelli di gael gwelidigaethau o ogoniant, rwy’n addo. Dwyt ti’m eisiau gadael i’r cyfle lithro drwy dy fysedd, neu aberthu dy fywyd yn ofer, wyt ti?

 

Ac yna, ar ôl gyrru am dragwyddoldeb, mae'n ymddangos, ar lan yr afon, tu blaen i’r Tŷ Glas o hen fri sy mor brydferth, wrth i fi – David ar drothwy ei ddyndod – daflu’r gyllell waedlyd i’r dŵr mud, dyna Lushfé a’i adenydd flamllyd ar led yn darllen 'yn meddyliau, ac mae’n dod yn gwbl ddirybudd mewn ateb i’r alwad fel seren wib yn torri ar draws yr awyr afluniaidd gan gario’i gelfydd eirias. A dyna Dad yn llafurio bwffian ar ei ffag ola’ erioed dan deimlo'n saff, siŵr o fod, yn y Weriniaeth Ddeheuol Niwtral, wrth i Hebé y gaseg esgyrnog, rithiol brancio’n wyllt ar wynt y dymestl. Ac fel arfer mae hi wedi bradychu dyn i ddwylo’r Saith gyda’i haddewidion sy’n cynnwys elfen o wirionedd, ac ar y llaw arall, ei hanner celwyddau.

 

A dyna Dad yn taflu’i smôc i lawr, wedi’i flino’n llwyr. Am funud, eiliad, chwinciad, dw i’n llygadrythu arno fe, a chasineb oer ac mor finiog â rasel, yn fy nghalon, wrth i’r pwll o betrol ledu oddi dan y fan. Pam mae'n gollwng y stwff fel 'na, fydda i fyth yn gwbod. Rhai sy di dweud taw magl ffŵl gydag amserydd araf o ryw fath neu rywbeth oedd hi, ta be. Dwn i'm. Ond dyna fe’n diflannu’n wir, unwaith ac am byth – y dyn ‘na oedd yn glyfar, gorffwyll, a chreulon ar yr un pryd – â chlec daranllyd a fflach lachar sy'n tanio'r byd, gan ‘yn byddaru i ‘fyd. Dw i’n cael ‘yn hyrddio i’r afon ddu, lonydd, ac ar ei hwyneb ddarnau o’r fan, a thalpiau o gnawd dynol ar dân. Ac ar ôl hyn, ni fydda i byth yn gweld, na chlywed, ‘y Nhad cythreulig, gwaedlyd yn fyw eto. Mae wedi esgyn i ogoniant yn ôl ei gynllun. Dyna’r cyfan. Dim ond yn hwyrach o lawer sylweddolais i taw deliwr cyffuriau fuodd e drwy’r amser – gan fy llusgo i gyda fe a’i gyfeillion troseddol, brwnt fan hyn fan draw, i wledydd eraill, cartrefi eraill, teuluoedd eraill, bywydau eraill, dros y cefnforoedd dirfawr, ffrwythlon, creulon, hyd yn oed. Ac er i fi oroesi, fe wyddwn i’n rhy fuan taw fi sy wedi ‘nghreithio’n enbyd yn y ffrwydrad.

 

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Yn y dyfodol, yn rhywle arall yn llwyr, dyna aer drewllyd rhyw seler yn heidio o bryfed tanllyd, fyrdd. Maen nhw’n galw’r tarw aberthol, priodol i ddefod y sgarabau, mae’r Hen Filwr yr Hen Ryfelwr Llwyd, sy’n credu taw gwir feistr cyfrinachau ydy, wedi’i chychwyn. Fe fydd y dyn hwn, Steffan Grossmann, sy’n drist, call, ac enfawr ar yr un pryd, yn mynd i ddarparu’r galon a’r grym bywiol i’r un a fu, ac a fydd drachefn, nes y bodola ef yn yr amser a ddaw fel y bodolai fe yn y gorffennol pell. Ac wedyn dyna’r cysgodion rheibus yn llyncu’r dyn, sy’n ŵr gwyryf, ac a oedd ar fedr ei ladd ei hun ar un adeg – gan ei gludo fe tuag at Ddydd y Farn mae wedi'i ddewis ar ei gyfer ei hun. Heb sŵn, heb symud, heb newid – mae’n cael ei ddileu o fodolaeth ar wyneb y Ddaear – ‘does ‘na ddim twll, na bwlch; dim ond diffyg sydd bellach, lle mai llawnder fu gynt.