When the River Sings

           They say that when the River sings, in the still of the night, beyond the edges of the East Wood, the melody can remain with you forever.

            That night she heard it. The sound was so loud that although over a mile away, it sprinted through the East Wood, danced across the golden field, crept into her bedroom and whispered her awake. Her body acted as if of its own accord and she left, bounding through the front door and into the street. Through the town, through the field, through the wood, she ran. As she neared the end of the towering pines she began to slow her pace. Her lungs burned and her legs ached and her eyes strained in the dark. As her bare feet flinched under the weight of her body, Caroline began to regret the haste in which she had hurried from her mother’s door. The ground here was soft and moist and littered with what she could only guess were fragments of ancient weapons once lost by immortal warriors; her feet screamed and pleaded and yet still she continued. Her outstretched hand pushed aside a long, thin pine branch and suddenly she could see it. Its glittering surface reflected the soft moonlight, moving and shivering, heaving as if it were the breast of the living land.  The river was long and narrow and its rocky banks herded its mass with authority and strength. It did not roar. It did not weep; it did not howl. Caroline approached, slowly now as if not to disturb its rest and break the spell, and as she tiptoed over the sopping earth, the river sang. Its solemn hymn swirled around her with the strength of ages and she listened, unable to turn away if she had wanted to. When sailors long ago first heard the whale’s song, they thought they were being captivated by the ghostly prayers of passing mermaids. As Caroline looked out across the river’s glistening surface she felt as they had, enchanted and confused. Not willing to wonder why, but instead content to wonder. She wished suddenly to be fish or frog, her life spent here on these placid banks only living to listen. She wished that she were brave enough to dip even a toe into the waters edge, and let the magic wash over her. Still she stood, frozen by those icy notes, held by the warmth that it brought her.

            The early hours of the morning found her asleep, her back pressed against a dry stone and her feet perched on a clump of moss. She stretched, wiped the sleep from her eyes and smiled: the river still sang. It was not as loud as before but instead it was a soothing tune which eased her awake. As she crept back into her mother’s house that morning, Caroline did not fear what would assuredly be a less than gentle conversation if her mother were to wake. She did not contemplate the schoolwork that certainly lay in wait for her. She did not even consider the deep growling of her stomach to be an annoyance, only accompaniment to the beautiful melody of the river. As the next few weeks went by, Caroline seemed to everyone she met to be stuck in a trance. She floated from one place to the next as if carried by the air around her. She always seemed as if she were not quite there, not quite someplace else. She hummed and sang and smiled. Every night she visited the river and every night it did not disappoint. The rapture of its exquisite lullaby eased her gently to sleep and the warmth of its morning chorus awakened her as tenderly. She longed to understand it, to know what eternal secrets lay buried under its ever changing surface, to decipher its haunting poetry and be granted the wisdom of time. The river just sang on. For weeks and months it continued its delicate aria, and for weeks and months Caroline alone was granted the beauty of its song.

            Then one day, as the morning sun woke her from her dreams, Caroline realized that it was gone. Without triumphant fanfare or solemn dirge the music had left her alone. She stared at the river, its soft flowing gown of blue and green stared back, but silently. Her heart broke and bled and melted into her stomach. She stared at the river, it stared back, no music. She had never dared to assume that the song would last and yet she crumpled to the ground, tears welling around the corners of her cheerless eyes. She sat there until dark that day, not caring that a mother was worried about her lost child, not realizing that large men with iron eyes and concerned voices scoured the woods behind her, not understanding why the river wouldn’t again speak its song to her. She cried and screamed at it: silence. She begged and prayed and pleaded but it remained quiet.

            “Please…” she sobbed. “Please don’t leave me.” Its glistening edges lapped against the shimmering stone and it remained noiseless.

            “Please...” the word squeaked from her throat and barely escaped her lips before it was drowned out by the sound of breaking branches and boots. That night as the relieved townsmen led her back to her anxious mother, they noticed the eyes which had always been so lustrous and bright were now dull with defeat. They daren’t ask about the river or the woods or the eyes, and Caroline didn’t tell them.

            Over the next few days the people of the town noticed that Caroline hardly seemed to be the same girl who had floated through their lives. She dragged and sighed and did not hum at all. Caroline felt as though the river’s song had somehow been propping her up like a felt puppet, and now her limbs became too heavy for her to bear. Her voice came out in a rasp and her golden hair fell over her somber face in unkempt strands. After a week of this, as she lay in bed, Caroline became angry. Why had it ever sung at all? Why grant her the most amazing gift only to tear it away? She left the house, just as she had on that first night and ran. Through town and field and wood she ran, only this time with anger, not curiosity, forcing her step. She ran the entire way, her lungs feeling the familiar fire as she stood at its banks.

            “Why?” she yelled. “Why did you leave?” There was hatred in her voice. The wind began to whip her yellow locks across her tear streaked face but she didn’t care. She screamed the questions at no one in particular and was terrified to hear the reply. The wind was howling now, its cold breath pushing the tears from her cheeks with an icy sting.

            “I did not leave.” The voice echoed from the ether and chilled the little girl’s soul. This time when Caroline spoke it was fear and misery that pulled the words from her chest. “But why can’t I hear you anymore?” To this the voice did not respond, and yet somehow Caroline understood the answer. She turned, glanced back one more time and began her long walk home.

            And life went on. The town grew, the houses grew, Caroline grew. The small, shy, brown-haired boy in the back of the classroom was soon standing taller than Caroline’s mother in the pictures on their walls. Caroline woke up each day, ate, talked, laughed and cried as an ordinary girl, and soon she became an ordinary woman. She laughed and lived and loved her three shy, brown haired boys. And some days if the air was still enough and the time was just right she could hear it, soft and distant but just as beautiful. On these days it wouldn’t matter if it had been weeks or months or years since the river had last sung, she would sit and smile and be content.

            When gold turned to gray and the world became dim, the song grew louder. One morning as Caroline lay in bed she awoke to its gentle verses. The fluttering notes flowed around her as if she were once again that little girl standing on the shimmering banks of that great river. She closed her eyes and could see its jeweled surface flickering like blue firelight. Suddenly the verses she had tried to interpret her entire life became clear. Suddenly the notes made such perfect sense that she could predict their movements and recognize their purpose. Suddenly she understood, and she was home.