The first thing I could
see was the dirty boot-heels walking at a slant towards the bright light
breaking though the dense trees. The colour came seeping back, dark green
leaves shining, rich brown rot of old leaves and loamy soil. I could smell the
earth’s musk; it curled and coiled into my nostrils insistently. The damp
cooled my cheek pressed firmly to the ground. I wanted to get up; I knew I had
to get up; I stayed sprawled beneath the tree, across the narrow path. I
focused instead on the dirty boot-heels and their owner. For an instant I could
see the stiff-legged strut stutter into the fluid gait of the tall
glossy-haired young man walking away. As he stepped out of the shadows into the
afternoon, I felt life crawling back into my limbs—all tingles and jangling
nerves. It made me shake as I sat up and leaned against the tree. I pulled off
my neckerchief to wipe the muck from my face. My fingertips brushed my neck; my
skin felt strange, emptied. I expanded my diaphragm and the air came whistling
in, sharp and cool. I held it in my lungs, rounded my lips, and… the air came
rushing out, aspirated and moist.
I put my hand to my
chest to stop the arrhythmia, the sudden tunneling of vision. A second later I
tried to clear my throat –not even the hoarse phlegmy grunt gurgled under my
hiss of breath. It was gone, completely gone! I rubbed my throat and down to
collar bones, tracing my trachea. The strap was gone too, the pretty shiny
crystal my cousin had presented to me with mystical fanfare. The one I had
fawned over in that booth in Camden. I dug my fingers into the loose loam; my
hands found nothing but skeletal leaves and disgruntled bugs. I stood up,
propping myself against the tree. I swept the ground with my right foot then my
left in ever increasing circles—nothing. I turned to face where I had been. The
path looked back innocently. I gulped air for a massive, soundless scream. I
stamped my feet instead. I pouted. I shook my fists. I shook my head.
I turned back to the
path I had yet to cover and walked towards the bright afternoon. The path
widened out into open daylight. I looked up from pointlessly scanning the
ground and tripped, leaning forward but not falling. I caught my breath, rested
my hands on my knees, straightened up. I looked to my left at the world sloping
away, to my right where the ground lumbered up like a dragon’s back with trees
for scales. I looked straight up at the periwinkle sky and the golden curve of
the afternoon sun. I put both hands in my dreads and pulled them back. I could
do with a good and lengthy scream to stop the tears stinging the corner of my
eyes. I turned all the way around slowly until I faced the quiet wood. The
trees seemed the same. There was the old oak with the odd crooked fingered
branch that should have been pointing at the steeple of the village church,
pointing at a fluffy pinkish cloud floating over the lea.
I bowed my head and
forced air through my nostrils; it was the loudest expression of anger I could
muster. I lost my voice and my way. I couldn’t understand either loss. I had
managed to sing without croaking that morning. I had even caught my cousin
wiping a tear from her eyes—it was always her favourite hymn. I had walked this
path by myself just fine all month long. How could I have lost my voice and my
way? I crossed my arms against the cool breeze running through the path between
the trees. The sun was sinking its way to rest and the gloom gathered thick
under the trees, already deeper than twilight. I stepped back quickly—I felt my
head grow big. I took another step back and slipped, tumbling down the incline.
I was pinned to the
grass in the fading light, and there he was again, the young man, striding
along the horizon. It had to be him. The landscape was empty otherwise. I
gathered myself together slowly. I was in one piece, but I had to pull the
strings tight again, retie the knot that held me all together. I forced my arms
and legs to coordinate with my head, hoisting myself up on all fours as the
young man crested the horizon and disappeared. My blood started pumping hard. I
jumped up and kicked my legs out into a graceless gambol across the grass. I picked up speed, swinging my arms for
momentum. I leaned forward into the run, covering ground so fast that I soon
discovered the horizon was a ledge separating land from bright purple twilit
sky, and the air rushed about me like a flurry of wings. I was turning
somersaults against the liquid glaze of deepening night. White blue stars
spangled the lush purple around me. I wasn’t falling, just spinning like a ship
out of orbit in space. There were no more reference points above or below, only
stars. I closed my eyes.
I could still hear the
flutter and fury of wings in flight, but my back pressed against a warm, soft
down. I opened my eyes and the stars were streaking by. I stretched my arms;
there were feathers extending past my finger tips. I rolled over cautiously.
Glossy black feathers brushed my cheeks. All around me smaller birds kept pace,
silent, concentrating on the flap-glide pattern smaller birds use to fly. One
or two at a time would hop onto the giant bird’s back to catch a moment’s rest.
They all stared at me. Some nodded hello, some tutted and shook their heads.
They felt sorry for me, I could tell. I wanted to ask why, opened my mouth and
let out a hiss. That’s why. We were approaching a shore. I could smell the
freshness of the water, the sweetness of trees flirting with wind and insects.
I looked over the bird’s shoulder. A lake sparkled in the darkness, suddenly
solid and reassuring. Trees stood in clumps round the bank, ladened with flowers and fruits of all colours and descriptions,
an explosion of fecundity.
I was gaping at it all
when the giant bird banked sharply to the right and I lost my grip. I was
spinning again in open space, falling like a kite that had lost the wind. I could
see the lake growing, closing in. it had the ageless gaze of a giant turtle’s
eyes. Wisdom still and glassy, waiting for me to enter. The lake reflected the stars on its smooth
black surface. I met the stars, went through them. translucent jellyfish went
by like so many kings and queens across the Savannah stage. they towered over
me, swaying, dancing. I followed behind. I moved along, but I can’t say how. I just
kept moving until I could feel the sandy bottom.
And I was walking out
of the water onto the shore. I felt strange breathing air again. I looked up at
the trees. Everything was technicoloured, dazzling. The fruits hung low, plentiful,
enormous. A mango, as big as my head, brushed the grass. It was bright, rosy,
out of place like me. We were fish out of water, sort of; two tropical things
interloping in this temperate place. I felt homesick and turned to watch the
lake. The water was crisp and blue, reflecting a mid-morning sky. Peace enveloped
me. I was part of this. I had done nothing wrong. For the moment it felt like
nothing wrong had been done to me. I watched the dragon flies flying in the
sunlight for a long time, my toes splayed in the soft dirt, my shoulders
relaxed. The lake sighed, lapping the shore with slow undulations like the
contented drowsy movements of an innocent child at breakfast. I smiled.
The sun arced and
dipped. It was turning to night again. The horizon was bleeding a bright
vermillion into the fading blue sky. I looked away and noticed the foot prints
on the ground, leading into the trees. They hadn’t been there before. I knew
they were his. I knew I had to follow him. The trees parted for me, nodding
their fruit-and-flower-garlanded heads. Go
on, they said, remember you’ve done
nothing wrong. I followed the footprints into the hush of the forest. I walked
for a while. I could hear birds settling in the trees, gossiping in shrill
whistles, cacophonous caws, sweet melodies. One of those melodies sounded
vaguely familiar. It was mocking and drawing me on, always repeating itself
ahead of me.
I started running. The trees
whipped by. I jumped up and landed on a sward, a little circle of turf in the
middle of the trees. I came face to face with the young man. He had sleek black
hair, a bright white waistcoat. He regarded me with the blackest, shiniest
eyes, full of mischief and challenge. I stood my ground. He smiled. I did not. It
was as if the sun had reserved its last rays for this spot. Sunlight danced off
of us. He bowed low, gesturing, offering me a seat on the grass. We sat facing
each other in the lotus position. He started singing. He started singing my
song. In my voice. My voice! I put my hand to my throat. He mimicked me. His long,
thin fingers brushed my crystal round his neck. He sang louder, smiling wider. I
unfolded slowly out of the lotus position. He did the same. We stood up. I reached
across the gap, but he stepped back. I lunged forward, but he leapt into the
air, half bird half man. I caught his foot and yanked him back down. He stopped
smiling. We faced each other, looking into each other’s eyes. I didn’t blink. He
didn’t flinch. We held each other’s gaze for so long.
I reached out my hand
slowly. My fingertips brushed the crystal. I opened my mouth. Words twisted
out, jumbled. I gripped the crystal. We never stopped our staring match.
You’ve got some nerve. (croaked)
Coming here? (soft but solid)
Yes.
But you sssstole it. Give it back.
No.
I want it back
Apologize
I wanted to blink, but to blink was to lose.
Why?
Because…
Why?
Don’t blow your mind with why. Because.
I yanked the crystal, but the cord would not give.
I’ve done nothing wrong!
My eyes stung with frustration, but I stared
all the harder, angry till it burst out of me. He was now almost entirely a
bird, except for his face. A giant bird with glossy black feathers and a white
throat. The sun was up again, morning bright. I smiled. A memory was stirring—something
my cousin had told me once, a funny local custom.
You stole it off. Give it back, Mr. Magpie.
No
You know you should
But I won’t.
Good morning, Mr. Magpie, how’s your wife today?
He smiled, cawed and beat his wings. The
sky filled with black feathers. Everything went blank—inky dark.
I
was standing by the tree where it had all started. I looked up at the branches.
A magpie bobbed its head at me. I nodded back. “Good morning, Mr. Magpie. How
are you today?” It shifted on the branch and flew away. I took a deep breath
and burst out singing. I sang all the way back to my cousin’s house near the
end of the village road past the church, swinging the crystal on its cord in my
hand.
