He heard the sound again. It drifted, wisp-like on the breeze. He strained with all his being to catch the harmony, to listen to the music. He looked around; no-one else appeared to be hearing anything. Walking off to one side of the picnic crowd, he brushed close to the edge of the cliff that rose above the rippling motion of the sea below him. It did seem to be coming from that direction, and yet, he could not be sure.
“Be careful” he heard the shouted warning” the edge might break away! It’s not safe, come away”.
The spell was broken, the music faded from his hearing . He turned from his view of the sea and walked back to the group of his laughing friends and family. “Sit down” he was invited” you’ll miss all the food , if you don’t sit down’ He complied willingly, sitting between his cousins and looking at all the dishes being brought out of the wicker baskets.
Fresh bread, cheeses, hams, salads, pastries, fruit; plates, glasses and cutlery were being displayed on the blankets now surrounded by the chattering group. Bottles of good wine, and home=made lemonade appeared from the depths of the baskets , and eager hands thrust glasses to the person who was ready to uncork and pour. His cousins leaned past him to gather the foods they fancied and then allowed him space to serve himself with some crusty bread and cheese and fruit.
Silence descended like a blanket, only disturbed by the sounds of eating, and the clatter of cutlery on plates.
The natural sounds of the world intruded only slightly; the humming of the bees, busily collecting the pollen in the heather on the clifftop, birds wheeling and calling in the air currents sweeping up from the sea.
Replete with good food and in some cases, refreshment of an alcoholic nature, the group of picnickers returned all the used and now empty food containers and utensils to their places in the wicker baskets and many lay out on the blankets to enjoy the warming rays of the late afternoon sun. Shadows slanted low across the grassy cliffs. Some of the group walked slightly inland to examine the ring of standing stones to examine the mossy circle of granite. Others simply lay, totally relaxed.
He remembered the stories he had been told about the stones; they held ancient magic; they were the bodies of fallen warriors, never to return; they had been carried to this place from far away by giants of another land. So many stories, but the stones were not what carried the music that only he could hear. That came from the sea. He knew that now; deep in his soul it was calling to him and to him only.
He followed the music to the edge of the cliff; it was no longer a faint whisper on the breeze lifting the birds into the spiralling air currents. ; it crashed and thundered like the waves below. The wind rose again, lifting the pale blond hair on his head; the hairs on his arms crackled with the energy he was feeling from the booming music of the water.
Lifting himself as high as he could on his toes, his arms outstretched as though to fly with the gulls, he stepped over the edge.
****
With weary movements he pushed open the door, ready for another night of loneliness. A surprised smile tugged at his lips when he heard the faint sounds of his wife’s singing. It had been months since the sound could be found in their apartment. Although it was out of tune and far from perfect, he couldn’t help but love it. If she was singing again, it meant she must be happy once again, or at least on her way there.
Letting the sound guide him through the halls, he reminisced about the first time he had heard the sweet melody. His chest had tightened with joy when he had seen the sheer bliss on her face as she had sung. That had been the moment he had decided to put a ring on her finger. Things had started well between the two of them, the honeymoon period stretching from a month to a year, one whole perfect year. Fights were resolved, decisions made but all with a smile and a look of love.
And then her mother had passed away.
Suddenly her ever present smile vanished. The woman who had lightened a room drew into herself, became little more than an empty shell, a shadow.
Her mother, who had been a single parent, was her best friend and without her, it was as if things became too much. He had tried to help her – of course he had – but it was if she couldn’t hear him, let alone see him. For days on end, she stayed in bed with the curtains drawn. When he returned from work in the evenings, the food he ahd put out were barely touched, as were the meals he brought each night.
He had watched in despair as the pounds dropped from her, her hair losing the glossy look he had always loved. The woman he loved was disappearing before his eyes and he didn’t know how to stop it.
Although he hated to admit it, there had been moments when he had wanted nothing more than to leave. As he coaxed into a shower, did his best to keep things working, he had wondered what he would do if she didn’t get better. The thought was fleeting but the guilt was not.
He had remembered the promises he had made and knew that he wouldn’t leave her, couldn’t leave her.
She turned when she heard his footsteps. The smile had widened; she was back. The radio which had been as silent as her, was blaring as she busied herself in the kitchen. The hurt was still there, as it would be for a while yet, but it was finally under her control.
“I thought we’d have lasagna tonight?” There was an unspoken apology, a plea for forgiveness in her voice.
“That’d be great,” he said and he meant it, because he was sure of one thing. He loved her and always would, no matter what.
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