Don't Let Go: Day 4

Word Count: 26,061

Summary of Events:

Tor and Opa went to visit the lawyer, who gave them the document in which Uncle Zikki had detailed his funeral arrangements; Tor was moved to tears by Uncle Zikki's choosing of him to be a pallbearer. Soon after, Opa had a meeting of everyone involved in the funeral, where a date was decided on specifically because it allowed Tor to participate in upcoming back-to-back race weekends. Many people felt that he should take time off to grieve — his team was more than willing to give him the time — but Tor refused, craving the escape from outside cares racing offered him. In Italy, where the first race was happening, Tor was given many hugs, handshakes, and condolences before he raced. Heading into the last lap, Tor had successfully passed a somewhat arrogant Italian rival and had his sights set on pursuing the Japanese driver who was close ahead…

Excerpt of the Day:

Tor pushed as hard as he could to shift the bulk of the gap between Valerio and Akio to be behind himself while being simultaneously offensively and defensively prepared.

“Who is next in front of Yamauchi?” Tor asked.

“Ventura,” his engineer replied. “The gap is six seconds, six seconds.”

Plenty of space.

Tor gained significantly on Akio — as well as staving off a few attacks by Valerio — by the end of the lap, and noticed by a glance to his pit board that it was the final lap. Even if he didn’t get past Akio, so long as he could hold off Valerio for one more lap, he was good.

What he wanted to do more than just stave off Valerio, however, was to get past Akio, which was an effort that was helped down the main straight, as he managed to close the gap between himself and Akio, and not to lose too much of it as they went into the corner.

Since Akio was not merely a better defender than Valerio, but a significantly better defender than Valerio, however, getting past Akio would still be a lot easier said than done.

Nonetheless, Tor focussed more on the task ahead of him than the pursuer behind him, seeking out every chance he could find against Akio until finally, just over halfway through the lap he was able to fake Akio out and sneak past him.

Tor’s engineer swearing startled him. “Well done!”

“I’m not catching Ventura, though,” Tor said.

“That’s alright,” his engineer said. “That’s alright.”

Tor wanted to catch Amaro Ventura, though, and so he pushed as hard as he could for the rest of the lap, but he hardly even got a glimpse of him.

“That is the chequered flag, chequered flag,” his engineer said. “You finish P-fifteen, P-fifteen.”

Tor sighed. No points.

“It was an amazing drive out of you,” his engineer said. “You finished, you made it.”

Lifting his foot off the throttle, Tor started into his slow lap.

“You did amazing,” his engineer said. “You did amazing Tor. It was a tough fight and you did it. And I’m sure your uncle would’ve been proud.”

Almost like a light being switched on, tears flooded Tor’s eyes and started streaming down his cheeks. He couldn’t hardly see. He slowed his car down to a crawl, then finally to a stop at the side of the track.

Lifting his visor with his fingers, he slid them into his helmet to absorb his tears into his gloves as sobs shook his body as much as his tightly-secured seatbelts would allow. There would be no text from Uncle Zikki waiting on his cellphone when he got to his driver room, no call to discuss the race,  not today, and not ever again.

Pronunciations:

Valerio: vahlehreeoh

Akio: ahkeeoh

Yamauchi: yahmahoochee

Amaro: ahmahroh

Don't Let Go: Day 3

 Word Count: 19,006

Summary of Events:

Tor spent the night and much of the following day at his grandparent's house, as many of his relatives gathered there to mourn together. Tor's friends came by to visit — or, just sit with him while he cried — a couple days later as well. Later on in the week Tor learned that Alexa had miscarried her and Uncle Zikki's baby. Soon after Tor was informed that Uncle Zikki's body had arrived in Germany and his Opa was going to confirm the identity, offering to send Tor some photographic proof, as Tor didn't want to believe Uncle Zikki was dead. Soon after that call was ended, Tor was startled by his cellphone ringing…

Excerpt of the Day:

Bringing his cellphone out of his pocket, Tor looked at the screen. According to the ID it was a law office. Tor was confused, but he decided he probably ought to answer it.

“Hallo?” he answered warily.

“Hallo, am I speaking to Tor Bergmann?” a man on the other end asked.

“Ja,” Tor replied.

“I am Wendell Riehl,” the man said, adding that he was a lawyer for the office whose name had appeared on the ID.

Tor nodded, then remembered he was talking on his cellphone. “Ja.”

“I would like to first express my sincerest condolences to you for your loss,” Herr Riehl said.

“Danke,” Tor said hesitantly.

“And now the purpose of my calling is to inform you that your uncle left a Testament,” Herr Riehl said.

“Oh,” Tor said. “But why are you calling me?”

“He left me with instructions that if I heard that he was deceased I was to call you and inform you of it,” Herr Riehl replied.

“Am I allowed to… see it?” Tor asked.

“Well, I would presume you are to be the executor of his estate,” Herr Riehl said.

“But I’m only sixteen,” Tor replied.

“Oh,” Herr Riehl said. “Well, then you’ll probably need to bring an adult with you.”

“Like my Opa?” Tor asked. “His father?”

“Ja,” Herr Riehl said. “And I do believe there were some funeral instructions in the Testament as well.”

“Oh,” Tor said. “Well, I will… have to contact my Opa. And… then… will we have to book an appointment?”

“Ja,” Herr Riehl said.

“We will do that then,” Tor said. “Danke.”

“You’re welcome,” Herr Riehl replied. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Tor replied.

He ended the call and hurried to his bedroom door.

Opening it, he looked around. Mama wasn’t in sight.

“Mama?” he called. “Mama!”

Seeing a handset on the little table just outside Vater and Mama’s bedroom, Tor hurried over to it and saw on the display that the line was still in use. He didn’t recall hearing the phone ring while he’d been talking to Herr Riehl. Mama still had to be talking to Opa.

He pressed the button to answer and put it to his ear.

“…and talk to her,” Opa said.

Tor felt relief. He’d guessed right.

“Opa,” Tor said.

“Tor?” Mama asked. “Where are you?”

“Upstairs,” Tor replied.

“Ja Tor?” Opa asked.

“I was just called by a lawyer,” Tor replied.

“Lawyer!?” Mama exclaimed.

“Why?” Opa asked.

“Uncle Zikki left a Testament,” Tor replied.

“Oh,” Opa said. “But why were you informed and not me?”

“I don’t know,” Tor replied. “But apparently it has some funeral instructions in it.”

“Oh,” Opa said.

“You and I are to… make an appointment to see Herr Riehl and read it,” Tor said.

“Herr Riehl is the lawyer?” Opa asked.

“Ja,” Tor replied.

“Well, I will make an appointment for us then,” Opa said. “Danke schön Tor.”

“You’re welcome Opa,” Tor said.

Pronunciations:

Wendell: vehndehl

Riehl: reeehl

Danke: dahnkih

Vater: fahteh

Schön: shehn

Don't Let Go: Day 2

Word Count: 12,004

Summary of Events:

Uncle Zikki was determined by the medical personnel to have sustained only minor injuries; in fact, he was released from hospital and able to chat with Tor the following day, where he explained that an issue with getting his seatbelts undone was what caused him to take so long getting out of his car. The following Saturday Tor was a bit sluggish because he'd been up late gaming the night before, but unable to sleep in because he had an appointment at the hair salon and family photos, which made him drowsy when it came time to watch Uncle Zikki in the Indianapolis 500. He was woken by Alexa screaming on the 145th lap, as Uncle Zikki had been in an accident, thus Tor, Alexa, and Opa waited anxiously for news, which came by phone to Opa…

Excerpt of the Day:

He looked at Alexa, whose face looked pale as her gaze fixed on Opa, whom Tor turned to look at again and saw was setting the phone back in its cradle. His face, to Tor’s dismay, looked even more ashen than Alexa’s.

Opa looked at them, looking on the cusp of tears — which was a look Tor hadn’t seen on Opa’s face since his mother had died seven years ago — but said nothing.

Striding toward them, Opa’s movements seemed leaden, as if ten-tonne weights had been attached to his legs. His posture seemed more heavily downcast than Tor had ever seen it — even when Great Oma had died — almost as if Opa had lost the will to live.

He dropped down into his chair heavily, like he was a doll some giant, invisible child had released from their hand, his jaw trembling so significantly Tor was surprised he didn’t hear Opa’s teeth clacking.

His breathing also seemed accelerated, but yet as if he was fighting tooth and nail to bring it back down to its normal resting pace.

Tor didn’t like what he was seeing. It couldn’t be merely bad if Opa was struggling with his emotions like this. It had to be horrible.

Opa wasn’t one to ever seem completely out of emotional control; he always seemed to have something of an irony fist on the reins of his emotions, keeping them in some degree of check, even as he did show them.

In this moment, though, his grip seemed to be slipping, which was not a good sign at all. Tor didn’t dare try to ask the questions his mind was coming up with and even desperately repeating over and over.

“Who called?” Alexa asked in a tremulous whisper.

“An official from Indianapolis,” Opa whispered back, his voice also trembling.

“Why?” Alexa asked, desperation tensing up her voice.

Opa’s jaw seemed to be trembling madly, and Tor was sure the ashes in the fireplace beneath the television would burst into flames at any moment owing to the intensity of Opa’s stare in their direction.

Finally an anguished cry rose from Opa’s throat and his hands shot to his face as if they were magnetised. Even when Great Oma had died — and her death was the most recent death of a family member that Tor could recall — Tor hadn’t heard Opa sob with the deep anguish that was filling his ears. Tor was at a loss for an adjective that conveyed something worse than horrific, but the anguish of Opa’s sobs suggested that things were even worse yet than Tor had thought before, which filled him with deep dread.

Along with the dread, was an intense desperation; Tor had to know what the caller had said. He didn’t want to believe the fear that was raging in him.

“What did they say?” Tor asked desperately, looking at Opa’s bent figure.

Opa’s shoulders trembled and his body shook. Tor was going to repeat himself more frantically, but Opa raised his head from his hands, moisture glistening on his face as he moved.

“The worst,” Opa whispered hoarsely. “Zikki is dead.”

Don't Let Go: Day 1

Word Count: 6,006

Summary of Events:

Tor joined his Opa and Uncle Zikki's girlfriend Alexa — who had moved back to Germany recently because she was expecting a baby and didn't want to give birth in the US — in watching both the qualifying for the F1 Monaco Grand Prix, and the Indianapolis 500. Uncle Zikki was participating in the latter, and had set a time that put him in ninth place, but the session wasn't yet over, giving Uncle Zikki a chance to better his time…

Excerpt of the Day:

Seeing a cloud of something in the background of a shot down the main straight, the commentators exclaimed, and soon footage cut to show a damaged car smashed into the wall just out of the fourth corner.

Alexa gasped and Tor felt his insides contract when the first thing he saw outside of the car’s crashed state was Uncle Zikki’s number twenty nine.

It wasn’t long before some replays were shown, to which Tor listened to as intently as the commentators’ chattering would allow to try and figure out why Uncle Zikki had smashed into the wall instead of completing the turn.

“Motor,” Opa said.

Tor nodded. It had sounded like something related to the motor to him too.

Once all the replays had been cycled through — including a replay of the red flag being waved calling off the session for safety reasons — the crashed car, now surrounded by medical personnel, was shown again.

Anxiously, Tor scanned among them for Uncle Zikki’s racing suit, which was predominantly blue, with trimmings that were mostly black and white, as well as his helmet, whose design Tor had always somewhat mimicked on his own helmet, but he saw no sign of them, or of Uncle Zikki’s custom racing boots which had black toes, red middles, and yellow heels, creating a sideways rendering of the German flag that was also a backdrop for Uncle Zikki’s personal logo, which combined his initials with his number.

The camera angle was changed and Tor felt hope as he saw Uncle Zikki moving in the car, into which medical personnel were reaching, working to help Uncle Zikki out of his belts and the close-fitting cockpit.

Tor was heartened by the cheers of the crowd as Uncle Zikki swung his own legs over the windshield and out of the cockpit while medical personnel helped him keep his balance.

On the racing surface, Uncle Zikki looked a bit unsteady, but he descended the banking with a medic’s arm around behind him and his own arm across the medic’s shoulder to the waiting ambulance.

The fact that he had needed to be helped out of his car and looked unsteady on his feet — not, Tor was sure, that the slope of the track was much help — left Tor feeling worried about Uncle Zikki.

He couldn’t deny, however, that he felt a touch of gratefulness now that the race wasn’t for a week yet, as that meant Uncle Zikki would have time to recover for the race instead of missing it owing to any injuries — unless things were worse than they seemed.

Once Uncle Zikki was sealed inside the ambulance, Tor looked at Alexa, whose gaze was still fixed on the screen, her anxiety showing on her face, one hand resting on her abdomen, almost as if she was trying to quiet the baby within her, despite the fact that he hadn’t seen what had happened to his father like she had.

August Novel Essential Information

 Novel Title: Don’t Let Go

Time Setting: 2021

Genre: Life

Minimum Word Goal: 90,000

Timespan: late May–August

Locations: Cologne & Nürburg, Germany; Spielberg, Austria; Zandvoort, Netherlands; Misano Adriatico, Campagnano di Roma, & Imola, Italy; Born, Luxembourg

Main Characters: Tor Bergmann

Background Information: 

Born the only son and youngest of two children to a high-ranking corporate executive and his photographer wife who make their home in Cologne, Tor has enjoyed a wealthy, privileged upbringing.

The company for which his father works was established by his forebears over a century ago, and is currently owned by Tor’s grandfather. Tor’s father is the only son in his family, and, as the only son of his father, Tor is expected to follow his father into the corporate world and take over the company after his father.

Tor, however, lacks any corporate interest whatsoever, not only because he finds his paternal grandparents quite stiff and intimidating, but because, thanks to his kind, loving maternal family, he’s become interested in something vastly more interesting: motorsport.

His maternal grandpa’s wealth comes largely from motorsport, where he manages drivers, including Tor’s only uncle, Zikki, who is one of Tor’s motorsport heroes — the other being Sebastian Vettel, who competes in Formula 1, the class of single-seater motorsport which Tor dreams of someday driving in.

He was introduced to Formula 1 by watching races with his grandpa and Uncle Zikki on TV before he attended his first race of any kind at the age of seven, where he was surprised and delighted to learn that Uncle Zikki had been one of the drivers in the race when Uncle Zikki finished in one of the podium positions.

Immediately Tor wanted to race for himself, especially when he learned there were racing series for kids his age, and thanks to his mother’s persuasive arguments, his father was convinced to permit Tor to start karting, which — along with going to watch Uncle Zikki race and being taken to other races — quickly took up a lot of his summers.

Tor has been widely recognised as a reasonably talented driver in every level of karting that he’s participated in, with comparisons to Uncle Zikki suggesting that he’s the better of the two, which Tor doesn’t think is fair to Uncle Zikki, even though Uncle Zikki doesn’t seem to mind.

One of the highlights of Tor’s life so far was when Uncle Zikki succeeded in making it to Formula 1 when Tor was ten. Unfortunately, Uncle Zikki’s career was short-lived because the team who signed him were financially troubled and after two seasons of struggling, finally folded, leaving Uncle Zikki without a car to drive.

Uncle Zikki was able to get work as a test driver in Formula 1 for the next three seasons, and Tor held out hope that his uncle would be able to earn a seat with the teams who employed him, but, unfortunately, such never happened and Uncle Zikki decided to move to the United States with his girlfriend to race in IndyCar.

Tor was saddened by this, as he felt it proved Uncle Zikki had lost hope that he’d ever get back into a Formula 1 seat, a dream which Tor refused to give up on for either Uncle Zikki or himself.

The dream of driving in Formula 1 for himself hasn’t been without its challenges, as Tor’s grandfather has been even less understanding of Tor’s affinity for motorsport than his father has been — having even resisted the idea of the family company sponsoring Tor in his racing efforts — and has even gone so far as disinherit Tor because of the fact that Tor’s academic marks in the subjects he needs to take on the corporate role both his grandfather and father expect him to fulfill is generally poor, even as he excels in the mathematic and scientific studies which are central to motorsport.

Although wanting Tor to have better academic performance in the subjects necessary to take over the company as well, Tor’s father hasn’t gone to the same extremes as Tor’s grandfather has done, even if his support for Tor’s racing aspirations is barely warmer than the ice-cold support Tor’s grandfather shows, especially since Tor has finally reached the age where he can compete in Formula 4.

This frustrates Tor most especially because of the fact that his sister is actually interested in the corporate world of her father and grandfather, and would gladly take over the company from them, except that they won’t have her, exclusively owing to the fact that she is female.

Tor is sure that if his father and grandfather would acknowledge his sister’s interest in and knack for all the corporate stuff that he considers dreadfully boring he would be able to pursue his racing dream without any sort of worries or inhibitions, but as of yet neither he, his sister, nor his mother have figured out how to convince them of such a thing.

Pronunciations:

Nürburg: nuhrburg

Spielberg: shpeelberg

Zandvoort: zahndvohrt

Born: bohrn

Bergmann: behrgmahn

Vettel: fehttl

Helpless: Day 15

Word Total: 90,031

Year to Date: 595,239

Summary of Events:

Mikolaj and his fellow prisoners are placed onto two gallows, each with six nooses, but when the trap drops from beneath Mikolaj, he falls instead of hanging, and so do the others; they are then relieved of their nooses and directed to crawl through a tunnel — which Mikolaj finds terrifying — that takes them to a building where they're put in sacks and covered with potatoes before being loaded onto a wagon and taken on a long journey into the forest, where they emerge at the camp of the friends of the man in green, who feed them a tasty dinner before their leader addresses Mikolaj and his fellow prisoners . . .

Excerpt of the Day:

“Greetings,” the man said. “My name is Dobrosław, and these are my Swięty Rycerz.”

In accordance with the man’s gesture, Mikolaj surveyed the men in green who remained gathered around, most of whom looked to be tending to the cleanup of the meal which they’d all just enjoyed.

“It is our belief that Lasnaród is suffering in the throes of injustice and immorality, precipitated by decades of negligence within the house of the Wódz Książę, and, previously, the Książę,” Dobrosław said. “Thus, it is our goal to see justice and morality return to Lasnaród, that peace, prosperity, and success might flourish within our fair borders once more.”

A twinge of scepticism rose in Mikolaj, and a glance down the line of his cellmates showed it was not merely within him, but there were others who were thinking of the conduct of the man in green who’d been their cellmate and wondering what exactly Dobrosław and his Swięty Rycerz envisioned.

“I was told you were all convicted unjustly,” Dobrosław said, looking and sounding a touch bemused. “Why do you not look gladdened at what I have said? Do you not want justice?”

“We do,” the new man said. “But we must also add that your man who was among us was rather an unflattering emissary for your cause.”

“That does not surprise me,” Dobrosław said. “He is not strong in his self-discipline.”

“So, then, you mean to say that you want true justice and morality?” the new man asked. “You do not mean to hold others to a higher standard than you yourself seek to maintain?”

“No,” Dobrosław replied. “It would be unfair of me to do so, for if I cannot do it, how can I expect others to do so?”

Several of Mikolaj’s cellmates nodded, looking pleased by Dobrosław’s words, but Mikolaj still felt wary, and he couldn’t really say why.

“It would, thus, be reasonable for us to expect that you would engage in advocacy efforts when it comes to seeing our names cleared of the unjust charges which were brought against us, and led to our being on the cusp of death this afternoon, until you and your men so graciously liberated us?” one of the men asked critically.

“Of course,” Dobrosław replied. “True justice doesn’t convict innocents.”

If he was honest, Mikolaj felt surprised at the pleasure some of his cellmates expressed. As much as he wanted to have his name be cleared, or even be able to be sentenced to something more along the lines of giving an appropriate recompense to the Wojewoda for the slaughter of his bull, Mikolaj still didn’t feel like he trusted associates of the man who had addressed him with such appalling vulgarity as the man in green had to be the sort of help he wished to have in such an effort.

Pronunciations:

Dobrosław: dawbrawswahv

Rycerz: rihtserz

I will be taking a summer break again this year, so look for the next post on 31 July.

Helpless: Day 14

Word Count: 84,050

Summary of Events:

Filled with dread, Mikolaj listened as the prisoners of the first cell were chained together and led out of the dungeons. He agonised over regrets as the other cells were emptied by turns until finally Mikolaj and his cellmates were chained together and led away on a long and winding parade through Wielisów, led by a knight who proclaimed their charges to the gathered crowd. A distraught woman in the crowd tried to rush to one of Mikolaj's cellmates — her husband, he presumed — but was forced back, and Mikolaj wept silently to think of what his own family would've done if they'd been able to see him . . . 

Excerpt of the Day:

He was sure Roksana would’ve run to him in tears, but Agatka, likely also crying, would have stopped her and saved her from the harm of the guard’s blade. Mama might have also rushed out, either that, or she would undoubtedly have collapsed, maybe even died in that instant of shock and agony to see her last living son being paraded to the gallows because he’d been trying to ensure she and his sisters lived to see another spring.

Considering the idea that Mama might collapse and die of heartbreak and agony at the sight of him, Mikolaj was glad that Mama wasn’t in Wielisów to see him, but at the same time he wished he could’ve seen everyone’s faces one more time before he died, maybe even been able to bid them farewell, but it was far too late for that now.

Wearily Mikolaj trudged onward with the others and began to wonder where in the world the gallows they were to be hanged on had been hidden and when they might possibly end up either back where they’d started or retracing the route over again.

From what Mikolaj could tell, they seemed to be getting nearer and nearer to the largest of Wielisów’s market squares, which Mikolaj supposed would be a place where some gallows could be set up, but he wasn’t really sure, as he did feel a little turned around, and his weariness from the physical and emotional burdens he was bearing he felt was clouding his perceptive abilities.

Mikolaj wanted to put his face in his hands and sob, but the chains and shackles he wore prevented him from doing so, while the consistent pull on the chain that connected him to the man ahead of him forced him to keep moving forward even though he also wished that he could stand still.

Through his tears, Mikolaj thought he recognised the statue of Książę Sobiesław I, the first ruler of a united Lasnaród, which stood at the entrance to the largest of the market squares in a valiant pose, but they carried on down the eastward street before Mikolaj could get a good look at it.

Before going very far they turned and trudged north for a short distance before turning and trudging back west again.

They were nearly at the broad street that led to the market square when Mikolaj heard the sound of a bird. He startled slightly at it, for it was not the hoarse call of a crow, but the sound of a summer songbird that oughtn’t be in Wielisów at such a time of year.

A little further down the street, Mikolaj heard the call of another songbird that was nearly ubiquitous in the summertime. He was confused as to where these birds might have survived the cold, even if not snowy, winter so far, and wished that hearing them would’ve given him some measure of hope, but it didn’t, for the knight had turned his horse north again, going past the statue of Książę Sobiesław I and into the market square at last.