The Flutist

The young woman strolled through the market stalls, browsing, humming to herself, clutching at her hat as the sea breeze tried to catch it and take it for its own. The sun hung low in the afternoon sky, trying its best to pierce the clouds but only managing to lighten the grey. 
A song caught the corner of her mind, and she looked about, wondering if it was something in her ears or only in her head. It was a beautiful song. Haunting, but warm. Inviting. She couldn’t quite tell where it was coming from, but she followed the sound in her heart. 
As she wound her way past the market, she found herself at the pier. Rocks cropped up out of the frothy water, making perches for seabirds and seals and obstacles for docking boats. The music was clear now, real and full in the air: the sound of a flute, sweetening the sounds of the dozens busy people carrying about their business. No one else seemed to mind the song, however; only she had stopped to listen, following its tones towards the shore.
Where the music rang clearest, she spied the flute player, standing with her bare feet in the surf, down from the raised dock. Her fair tanned skin was dappled with patches and spots of dusky brown, almost as dark as her short, jagged hair. She was dressed in a short skirt and tunic of suede, and a pelt was draped over her shoulders. The notes of her song drifted about on the turbulent sea breeze, and the young woman sat on the edge of the dock to listen. She wasn’t the only one: the seals that sat on the rocks a short stretch out to sea seemed to listen as well, laying and watching the shore silently.
The song ended, and the flute player looked up at the woman with a smile, tight-lipped and earnest. Dark freckles dotted her cheekbones, and her eyes were dark but glittering bright. The woman on the dock smiled back. “I’ve never heard such a beautiful song! That was wonderful!” Almost as if to agree with her sentiment, the seals barked, clapping their fins.
The flutist looked away modestly, replying, “Thank you.” She smiled demurely, “I’ve seen you around town. I’ve seen you in the markets, along the docks. I’ve heard you sing. You’re beautiful.” The girl blinked, blushing and looking away with embarrassment; she’d never thought anyone was listening when she sang to herself while doing her errands. Turning up towards her she asked, “Will you sing with me?” The girl flustered and blushed, but the woman brought the flute back up to her lips and began to play, silencing her protestations. She listened to the song for a few minutes, enjoying the comfort of the melody, finding something familiar in its lilting tune. Shyly, almost silently at first, she began to hum along with the music. The flutist seemed to thrill at the addition of voice, and the song’s elation served to encourage the singer on further, and her voice grew louder as it mingled with the flute. 
----------
It became a regular occurrence, the sound of the flute. She would come down to the water day after day to sing with the flutist who stood in the water. It became familiar, and good. The seals would go quiet and listen, even though no one else seemed to pay them any mind. Everyday she would stay a little longer, and was a little more sad to go. The flutist never said any words, but her gaze spoke volumes: she was so happy when the woman came to sing with her, and so sad when she turned to leave. The singer always promised to come back, and the dappled woman’s tight-lipped smile was hopeful and sincere.
------
The sun was setting, when suddenly the woman cut her song short. The sudden stop caused the flutist to miss her note, and the seals barked and clapped as soon as the music stopped, as though offended that the song stopped as it did. The flutist looked up at the woman, confusion in her eyes. “I have to go,” she explained, pulling up her legs from where they dangled off the pier. “I didn’t notice how late it got.” This did nothing to alleviate the loneliness in the flutist’s expression. “I’m sorry,” she offered, “but my husband will wonder where I am. I have to go.” The flutist blinked as the other woman stood up, “I’ll see you again later,” and rushed away. The flutist watched her fade back into the village streets, but her gaze lingered long after she had left. Her eyes narrowed, and the seals barked over the sound of the angry waves.
-----
A haunting sound wove its way through the night-time village: a chorus of voices, singing a melody that told of sorrow, of loss, of looking for something. The town slumbered, lulled further into their dreams by the song, and those still awake at this late hour dozed and drifted off into their thoughts, even for just a moment. One man, however, stirred from his sleep. Blinking and shaking his head, he couldn’t get the song out of his mind. Sitting up, he staggered to his feet. He rubbed at his sleep-delirious eyes as he took shuddering steps, one after the other, moving inexorably towards the hall, the stairs, the front door. The ocean breeze whipped through the village, carrying with it the sound of song, ruffling the man’s nightclothes. Walking barefoot down the damp dirt road, he shuffled in a daze through the empty streets, towards the pier, towards the sea. The song became louder, clearer, more urgent and longing; he half-ran towards it, needing something, wanting it as badly as the singers, never waking enough to understand what it was that drove him on.
As he staggered to the end of the docks, he could see something vague in the darkness, in the foamy sea. Figures were sitting on the rocks, among the waves, singing with the beautiful voices of women. He slid down off the edge, lowering himself onto the rocky coast, the wet rocks gouging his feet. The clouds were thick, and not even stars lit the night. Only the vague rays spilling from streetlamps, the odd candle from a distant window, gave any definition to the shapes on the ocean. The man took one step, then another, heavy footfalls into the choppy water, ignorant of anything but the singers on the rocks. They were lounging, lying on the rocks, calling to him. The water came up to his knees, his waist, his shoulders, so he began to swim, taking untrained strokes through the rising waves. The song called to him, and he had to answer. As he swm out to sea, the song swelled. The figures rolled over and pushed themselves into the water, swimming out to meet him. Their sharp teeth glinted in the wispy light.
-------
The flutist looked up at the young woman, whose face was stained with tears. Her expression was questioning, pleading for explanation. “He’s been missing for days…” she said, voice heavy with exhaustion and sorrow. “We went to bed, but in the morning, he was gone. No one’s seen him for days.” She rubbed her eyes, “I don’t know what to do…”
The flutist looked up at her from where she stood in the surf. With a hint of a hopeful smile, she held out her arms. The girl wiped her face and looked at her, despondent. Slowly, carefully, she lowered herself down into the shallow water, into the woman’s arms. The flutist hugged her tightly and smiled warmly, joyfully, showing the edges of her sharp teeth.
Category:Tiny Books