Raphael is an important side character in the Whisper of Water books. However, he had a very difficult childhood that the books could only hint at.
Trigger warning: Domestic Abuse
The air was so thick Raphael felt that he would break it if he spoke. His stomach turned as if trying to escape as he stared unseeing at the steaming pans on the table. His short legs wobbled high above the ground, still some years before he could touch the ground.
A door opened. A jolt went through him as his father entered the house.
His mother, a pale-faced woman who had once been stubborn as a rock, long been reduced to sand, winced at the sound.
She stirred in the pan as his father walked into the living room.
“Welcome home, honey. How was work?” She asked, her eyes flicked through the room. Raphael could already feel his father's heavy mood; his short legs froze.
“Bah!”
He spat as he lurched his seat back. A strong, bitter smell came from his father, which was usually when he was in his foulest moods. “No-good Lestro was at it again. The bloody idiot can’t seem to get it through his thick skull that I know what I’m doing after 6 years of running the bloody bar. It’s not my fault the price of spirits has surged!”
“No, honey, of course not,” Raphael’s mother said while she scooped stew onto her husband's plate.
His nose wrinkled.
“This slop again!? You know that the Waywaters have fresh greens and big pieces of beef every night? And they own a joke of a bakery!”
“I thought you liked leek,” Raphael’s mother said, her voice high like a fairy.
“Like leek? Nobody likes leek! Nobody!”
Raphael swallowed and stared down.
Then his father grabbed his plate, and for a moment Raphael thought he was going to throw it against the wall. But his father let go and looked up at his wife. “Well, I can’t blame you that this is the best you can do.”
His mother filled his plate and then her own. The yellowish drab held some green and white vegetables in it.
Raphael didn’t dare complain; he moved as if he were caught in a cage with an aggressive dog, and every move could result in a painful bite. But no matter how carefully he moved, his father’s ray of focus moved on him.
“How’s school doing?”
School had not been going well. He had gotten a low grade for spelling and reading, with a letter to his parents asking them to help him because he was falling behind his classmates. He might have to redo a year.
“F-f-fine, Sir,” Raphael mumbled into his stew.
“Don’t lie to me, son. What’s going on?” His father smiled at him. The corners of his mouth turned up, but his eyes didn’t blink.
“He’s not lying,” his mother put a warm hand on Raphael’s. He wanted to draw it away, but couldn’t bear to see his mother’s hurt face.
“Do you think I’m blind?” His father sneered.
His mother froze, the grip on his small hand tight.
“I’m just t-tired,” Raphael said, staring at the grains of the wooden table. There was a little bit of food on it.
“You see, he’s just tired.”
“He’s not tired.” His father’s tone had gotten an edge. “He’s a growing boy. He needs better food, not this slop.”
The spoon fell back in the bowl with a heavy clang. Stew splattered over the table.
Raphael wolfed his food down, afraid he might not get another chance.
“See! The poor boy eats as if he hasn’t had a meal in weeks!”
Raphael put his spoon back on the table as if it burned him. “I’m full now.”
Nobody listened.
“He’s been eating and growing fine.” His mother said, a hint of defiance in her voice.
“He’s tiny! When I was his age, I was much taller.”
Raphael pushed the words out of his head; he didn’t want to hear them. He knew where this would end.
He sat staring at his clay mug of water. Pushing out the voices, pretending he was playing at the beach with Darya. He focused on the sound of the waves, the touch of the cool water. The push and pull of the cerulean blue.
They were like his breathing.
Going, coming, going, coming.
He blinked. In his mug, the water began to move. Not in circles like when you bump against the table. But like the sea. Tiny waves rolled over the surface.
Going, coming, going, coming.
Raphael pushed and pulled it with his mind. Voices out, sea in. The waves became bigger. The mug shifted.
Outside his head, his parents shouted. But inside, he only heard the waves of the ocean.
The mug began to tilt, back and forth, back and forth. The water sloshed inside it. Until he heard a loud thud, he looked up.
His father was on his feet, and his mother was kneeling on the ground. The mug fell, splintered, and spilled the water over the table. His father turned, his face pale, his eyes showed too much white.
“What’s that?” He asked.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” Raphael stuttered. The words like gravel in his mouth. “I don’t kn-kn-know what happened.”
“That’s alright, dear,” his mother was on her feet and grabbed a towel from the kitchen. A red mark blossomed on her cheek.
****
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Darya looked at him with her big blue eyes. Eyes the color of the sea in front of them, which lapped calmly at the shore. She smiled. Not like father, but happy. Her dimples showed in her full cheeks. “Jup. I like secrets.”
Raphael got up, and walked to the water's edge. “You ready?”
She followed him and frowned, wondering where the secret would come from. Raphael focused on the waves. He breathed with them, in and out, in and out. A large wave suddenly splashed on the beach. Drops wetting Darya’s skirt and his trousers.
“Hey!” She shouted at the sea.
“That was me.”
“What do you mean?”
“The wave!” Raphael said excitedly as he pointed at the sea.
Darya giggled. “No doofus, the sea always has waves.”
“But I made it have a bigger one!” Raphael pointed at himself with his thumb. He was very proud of this new trick.
Darya looked at the sea and then back at him. She crossed her arms. “I don’t believe you.”
“But I did!” Raphael heard his voice break.
“If you did it, you can do it again.”
With a deep breath and all the concentration a six-year-old could muster, he breathed again. He went deep inside himself, just like when his parents were fighting.
In and out, in and out.
Small waves lapped on the shore, then a big one surged and slapped on the sand.
“See!” He said excitedly, only to see that Darya was looking up at a pair of seagulls who squawked loudly.
“You weren’t looking!” He said crossly.
“Yes, I was!” Darya shouted back. “It’s just the sea. Sometimes it has big waves, sometimes it has small waves.”
Raphael was so angry that he punched her in the shoulder. “You should have been looking!”
First, Darya’s eyes welled up with tears, and then she started crying. Her mother came running. Her boots were throwing sand everywhere. “What happened?”
“He punched me!” Darya managed to cry through her sobs, holding her mother.
The grown-up's face was upset. “You aren’t allowed to punch people!”
“She wasn’t listening!” Raphael said defiantly.
“You can never punch people, Raphael! You hurt her!”
He didn’t want to hurt Darya. “But-”
“It’s never alright to punch someone, Raphael! Under no circumstances!” Darya’s mother berated him.
He thought this over as Darya cried and her mother led her away from him. He stood there, guilty, confused, ashamed.
“But what about adults?” he asked. No one heard him.
****
That evening, Raphael sat at the table with his mother. Waiting for his father to come home. “I am very disappointed in you, Raph. You shouldn’t hit your friends.”
He stared at his empty plate. He was so confused. Why was he in trouble, while his father was never in trouble? “No, mom.”
“Did you apologize?”
Raphael shook his head. He whispered, almost inaudibly, “Does father a-a-apoli-gize?” But she heard him anyway.
“Your father doesn’t mean it. He is under a lot of stress. And yes, he apologizes.”
“Every time?”
His mother halted. “Did you tell anyone?”
Raph shook his head. He was ashamed of what happened in the evening, telling Darya felt very wrong. Even if he didn’t fully understand why.
“Good boy, this is family business, and no one needs to know.”
The door opened.
Father came in, a whistle and a spring in his step. Raphael’s shoulders relaxed. This was alright, this was good.
“Good evening!”
“Good evening, honey,” his mother answered and stood to give him a peck on the cheek. “How was work?”
“Ah!” He waved his finger in the air. “We made a good deal today. Tolim got some spirits that fell from a truck, and the mayor loved the party we hosted for him. Man oh man, do those people know how to drink. Let’s celebrate!” He disappeared into the kitchen, and after some wooden cupboards opened and glasses clinking, he showed himself again.
He put down three small glasses and filled them to the rim with liquid that looked like cherry juice. “Honey, Raph is too young-”
“Nonsense, he’s my age when I had my first drink.” His father gave him a wink and ruffled his hair. Raphael’s chest swelled. “A growing boy needs a drink now and again.”
His mother’s smile turned sour, but he didn’t care. His father was happy, so everything was alright.
He took the small glass with both hands and sipped it. It was sweet and bitter at the same time; it burned down his throat. It was nothing like he had ever drunk before. A small current traveled from his warm stomach to his head, where it exploded.
“I like this!” He lied, and his father smiled fondly at him. It was a special thing to stand in the warm gaze of his father. He took another sip, the liquid syrupy against his lips.
His stupid mother started again, “Honey, I really don’t think-”
“You are a spoilsport, aren’t you?” His father turned to his wife with a dangerous twitch around his mouth. “You know what, never mind. I thought we could do something nice as a family. Make some memories. But you are always so prudent.”
While taking a step back, his mother said, “But he’s six! He shouldn’t be drinking at all! He might-”
“What? He might what? Turn into his old man? Is that what you're saying?”
Raphael sat frozen. Everything was alright a moment ago. How did they get here?
His father swung his arm, and his glass shattered against the wall. Red liquid sprayed over the floral wallpaper. His mother winced took a step backward.
“No!” Raphael shouted his newfound wisdom. The drops on the wall stopped sliding down, the liquid in the glasses froze. A small layer of frost crawled over the table. His father stared at him. He felt water pulse through his father’s body. “You are not allowed to hit people.”