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The orange glow of a bright new day painted the world in black and watery grey as Yasmina placed her wicker basket on the ground. Reaching out for her coffee which waited on an old stump of wood, she took a sip and closed her eyes, drinking in the cool quiet of the summer morning. It was always a struggle getting out of bed so early, especially as she seldom slept well. All the same, she was glad that she’d made the effort on a beautiful day like this.
The dawn belonged to Yasmina; a time when she had the whole world to herself and that world shrank to contain only her, the thoughts in her head and the Green Lizard’s famously clean and crisp white sheets.
Hyienna had gotten back very late, not that she minded especially. He could keep the night and she would have the morning. It seemed like a fair trade.
She watched a tiny bird swoop low through the dry and dusty undergrowth, twittering the first tentative chords of a new dawn. She often wondered what it must be like to be a little bird, flying here and there, able to flee from all danger and free of regret. Sometimes Yaz felt as though she knew nothing but regrets, the weight of them pressing down on her soul to leave it permanently crushed, scarred and misshapen.
The knowledge that many people would kill to start their days in such a manner couldn’t completely chase away the shadows that waited in the wings, ready to swoop in and turn even the brightest summer morning to a darker shade of melancholy. If only things could be different. If only she’d told him...if only.
She sighed heavily and picked up a freshly laundered sheet from the basket by her feet. Her laundry routine had become something of a ritual, and she missed the wet days when she couldn’t hang sheets out before six in the morning. In truth it was better to be doing something useful rather than just lying in bed, kicking over the same old regrets, the same old emptiness born of the past as well as the same old uncertain future.
Maybe one day she would do something different. Maybe one day she’d wake up and make the call, just like that. Maybe she’d drink too much and blurt it out one evening, telling Solomon everything. Maybe.
Why was happiness always ethereal while anguish was an all too real and constant companion? Why did it have to be that way? Why did she hide the truth, even from her own sister?
She quickly grabbed another sheet to distract herself from the bitter yet directionless anger she so often felt welling up inside. Why did she have to be the other woman? Why should Sarah be living the high life at Casa Hermoso while she rose with the sun to hang her sheets? Why?
She let the second sheet drop back into the basket as she felt a hot tear well up in her eye. Why should she hide? Surely Sarah must suspect something, so why didn’t she say anything? If it was her man carrying on behind her back, she’d be setting things straight right away. Nobody would be taking Solomon away from her, so why did she let herself play second fiddle, happily waiting for whatever scraps of affection he could spare, either in or out of the bedroom?
If only he knew; if only she could find the courage to tell him.
She gazed out across the tranquil glittering ocean as she tried for the hundredth, no, the thousandth time to summon the courage to just tell the truth. Perhaps one day she might find some untapped reserve of strength hiding somewhere in the corner of her aching soul; some new way to square the circle of love, fear and regret...perhaps one day.
Once more Yasmina felt her eyes drawn to the surface of the glittering ocean, her mind drifting away on a gentle current of daydreams, suppositions, and heart-warming speculation. She wondered where Samuel might be today, what he might look like or even what his name might be. Would he remember her, and would she even know him if they met face-to-face on some far-flung day? Who might he be? What might he be?
Yaz felt her heart begin to sink as her mind refused to let her idle daydreams wander unchecked. Even if he was out there somewhere, she would never find him now and there was a more than even chance he wouldn’t even remember that little apartment in Barcelona. So long ago now. Maybe it was better just to let that part of her past, that part of herself, drift out of focus and into the shadows of history, just another story of a bereft mother and a missing child. Supposing she did find Samuel someday; what then? What right did she have to go barging into some stranger’s life as though she was entitled to something in which she’d played almost no part?
She finally looked away from the sparkling sea and up towards the faded green shutters of the Lizard’s sun-bleached exterior. Try as she might, she couldn’t imagine Solomon moving into such a humble if charming abode, while the idea of her becoming the first lady of Casa Hermoso seemed equally far-fetched. Maybe this was as good as it got, and she would have to be content with a part-time lover rather than a full-time companion. Deep down she knew that a mistress was not a natural role for most women, but still she found it impossible to make the break. Without Solomon she would have nothing left of Samuel, save for some fading memories and a crumpled Polaroid photo.
All the same, it wasn’t right to keep Solomon in the dark about something so important, but she felt sick with fear every time she tried to pluck up courage to tell him that they’d had a son together. How would she even start a conversation like that after all this time? Why should he believe her? Having lost her only son, the thought of also losing his father was more than she could bear, so she drank at night and hung her sheets in the morning, trying to live each day as though it held some meaning greater than merely sleeping long enough to see another sunrise.
Yaz angrily threw another sheet over the line and tried to ignore the headache that was beginning to form over her right eye. It was often there, brought on by alcohol and stress most likely, although this morning it seemed particularly bad, almost buzzing inside her skull as it threatened to blossom into a full-blown migraine.
That was all she needed! Still, Ermina could step in if it got really bad, if she could stop yakking and actually get something done for a change. Yasmina was a woman, and like most women she liked to talk, but Ermina even wore her out with her insatiable appetite for idle rumours and trivial gossip. It was a bad habit that would lead her little sister out of her depth one day.
Yaz hurriedly pegged out the last sheet and picked up her basket, wanting to get out of the sun before her headache got any worse. She turned towards the back door of the inn, squinting against the flashes of light and blotches of colour that were the outriders for one of her famous belting migraines. She was well used to them, although she hadn’t actually had one in a while. The symptoms were pretty predictable although this time there was something else, something unusual, a strange kind of hum or buzz accompanying the blotches and the dancing flickering lights behind her eyes.
She stopped and rubbed her forehead, trying to focus on the strange noises that seemed to emanate from inside her own skull, yet drew her in a very specific direction. Was she hearing things, or was she hearing something? It was hard to tell one from the other.
Putting down her basket, she made her way towards the tumbledown stables which had long since been converted to general storage. For a moment she thought the sound was coming from the shed, until she realised that the strange vibration was emanating from some place near the cliffs, just beyond the peeling wooden fence marking the boundary of her property.
She ducked under the sun-blasted wooden rail and promptly stopped. She wasn’t sure if migraines caused hallucinations, but that distant buzzing hum had somehow evolved into a very distinct sound, a sound that she and all mothers knew only too well.
It was the sound of a child crying.
It couldn’t be not out here surely? On the other hand, it wouldn’t be the first time some kid had got lost or...oh God, the cliffs! Her headache forgotten, Yasmina ran towards the cliff edge, careful not to slip on the loose stones and dry dusty earth as the ground began to tilt downwards. “Honey, where are you? I can hear you, just hold on.”
Puzzled, she looked around, searching for the source of the sound. It was close, but she still couldn’t see anything. “Don’t worry, I’m here. Can you wave your hand?” She slowly walked towards a parched and wind-dried patch of scrub. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just take it easy, I won’t hurt you.” She reached out and parted the tinder dry foliage, fully expecting to find a small child huddled beneath it.
The crying promptly stopped.
Confused and concerned, Yasmina walked around the edge of the scrub and looked in at a different angle. “Don’t be frightened, honey. You’re safe now.”
Nothing.
She swallowed hard and felt the hairs on her neck stand straight. Something was very wrong, and she had to fight against a sudden urge to back away, return to the inn and pretend the whole thing had never happened. Why was she even feeling like that? What kind of woman, what kind of mother would turn her back on a frightened child? She pushed through the gorse, aiming for what looked like a dark shadow at the base of a large, flat rock.
Sure enough, she soon found herself peering into a small void beneath the smooth stone, probably caused by water flowing down towards the cliff edge. “Don’t be frightened, honey; I’m here.” Yaz reached into the darkened hole and felt something soft. Taking a firm grip, she pulled what she thought was a terrified child out into the early morning sunlight.
The object of her search was much lighter than she’d anticipated, meaning that she soon ended up on her backside as the result of pulling way too hard. She barely noticed the sharp stones and gorse branches that she stared mystified at the small rucksack that somebody had obviously hidden beneath the rock.
She stood up and looked around again but still there was only silence. “Honey, can you hear me? Can you shout out?”
Nothing; only the restless breeze hurrying through the parched undergrowth.
Laying down flat, she reached under the rock once more, her hand searching every part of the void beneath, but there was nothing else.
She turned her attention to the rucksack, wondering if she should open it or just put it back where she’d found it. After all, it wasn’t unheard of for smugglers and criminals to leave stashes of illegal cargo or cash payments close to quiet coastal locations. It wasn’t a huge problem in Yasmina’s neck of the woods, but it wasn’t like it had never happened either.
After minute’s deliberation she decided she had to open the bag. She certainly didn’t want to be accused of complicity if someone was using her property as some sort of stash house. As she looked a little more closely, the mysterious bag seemed kind of familiar, but she couldn’t place where she might have seen it. Most likely it had been carried in by a patron, but she couldn’t be certain.
She reached out for the plastic clasp, wondering why her hand had begun shaking and her back was suddenly soaked with sweat. She hesitated; overcome with a sudden wave of fear that she couldn’t really account for.
Get a grip, girl! What would your sister think if she saw you shaking at the sight of some tatty old bag? Just open the dam thing first and then figure out what needs to be done.
She withdrew her hand, swallowed hard, then quickly reached forward again, un-buckling the simple clasp and throwing open the top before she lost her nerve again. For a few long seconds she just sat there, staring in mute incomprehension as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing, or rather not seeing.
At last, she remembered to breathe, taking a long, gasping lungful of air as she stared into...into...what? What was she actually looking at? She rubbed her eyes and tried to keep them focused as she stared into the impossible dark nothingness somehow contained within the nylon walls of that little knockoff rucksack.
Shaking her head to dislodge the buzzing whine in the centre of her skull, Yaz gingerly reached forward, snatching her hand back as her fingers made contact with...something. She put her other hand to her chest as she felt her heart beating against her ribs, forcing herself to breathe slowly and she tried to still her shaking fingers. It was hard to remain focused on that strange, buzzing emptiness as it tricked the eye and blurred the vision, defying the mind tried to map out the division between something and nothing...except that the nothing was actually something! She could touch it, she could feel some kind of cloth against her fingertips as she reached into that endless blackness and grasped a handful of infinity, bringing it out into the sunlight and staring mystified at the hole in the world that wavered in the breeze right in front of her.
The blanket, for want of a better word, defied all rational description as it remained completely impervious to the bright dawn sun, that infinite darkness swallowing every point of light that dared intrude on its surface.
Yasmina just stared, mesmerised as her forearm completely vanished behind the impossible nothingness she held in her hand, its edges erasing the world and then restoring it as the nothingness moved and rippled just like a blanket would. She barely registered that her migraine was at full force as she stared unblinking into...into, what should she call it? Was it a trick, an illusion, something magical? Perhaps it was the doorway into another world, perhaps some wonderful place or maybe an endless plateau of pain and suffering? There was no way to know anything as she willed the impossible object to reveal some hint as to its true nature and purpose.
Yasmina would never know whether the change had come from within her or whether the impossible blanket was some kind of dark mirror, drawing out and reflecting the deepest depths of her own pain, loneliness and despair. The shift in her consciousness was subtle at first, so subtle that she barely noticed her own thoughts slowly moving towards her long-lost son. It was true that she thought of Samuel every single day, but this was different somehow. Just like the wavering emptiness before her, the thoughts in her mind also defied description, as though somehow that endless inky blackness was drawing those ideas and memories from some deeply hidden wellspring inside of her.
Yasmina felt her face begin to burn as the thoughts of her long-lost son became sharper and clearer, crowding in on her and clamouring for ever more space on the screen of her mind as images and sounds rushed faster and faster. Fond memories and long forgotten moments merged into a growing cacophony of uncontrollable and unbearable melancholy.
She could hear herself sobbing freely, yet she was strangely detached as she watched her little boy’s life stretch out in a single instant, from the day he was born until the day he vanished. He was right there, she could see him, hear him and even smell him as the tornado of images crowded everything out and drowned her mind in one single, unifying thought. Samuel!
* * *
“SAM!” YASMINA WINCED and put her hand to her chest, gasping against the sharp pain that knotted tightly inside her ribs. Her mind raced as she struggled to breathe. Is this a heart attack? Can’t be I’ve only just turned thirty! What’s happening to me, where am I, where’s Sam?
At last, she drew a ragged, shuddering breath and pushed hard with the heel of her hand as the agony began to subside. Finally, her breathing steadied a little and she slumped back onto the bed.
The bed! She sat bolt upright again, wincing at the pain in her head and chest as she looked around her darkened bedroom. Sunlight streamed between the curtains to charge the heavy, thick and sultry atmosphere.
Confused, she lay back on the bed and grimaced as she realised her whole body was bathed in a sheen of perspiration. For a minute she listened to the thudding of her heart slowly subsiding to a steady beat. When she was satisfied that she wasn’t actually suffering from a heart attack, she gingerly swung her feet off the bed and sat up again, not trusting her legs to hold her weight as she tried to figure what was happening.
Slowly the recollections swam back into focus as she saw the image of that impossibly dark fabric in her mind’s eye. Everything was hazy after that, with flashes of memories that seemed impossible, yet were as real as the crisp white sheets she’d hung on the line that morning. She felt tears welling up in her eyes once again as she thought of Samuel; his laughter, his childish embrace and even his smell were still with her as though he would come running through the door at any moment.
But it wasn’t true though; she knew he was gone and somehow that strange encounter with the rucksack had left her knowing, not feeling, that her little boy was truly absent. It was difficult to vocalise or even express as a rational thought, but some force, some power had showed her that little Sam no longer dwelled among the living. He wasn’t out there somewhere, living some other life because he’d actually passed away some years before.
However, that dark and desolate knowledge was tempered by the understanding that Samuel’s passing was not the end. Somehow his essence and maybe the essence of others continued in some strange way that defied description. Samuel was gone and yet he was somehow not gone. It was truly heart-breaking to know that she would never see him or hear his voice again, yet the promise of something beyond the mortal realm filled her with a peculiar melancholic calm.
She looked at the clock and was shocked to see it was the middle of the afternoon. She’d lost several hours to that darkness, that thing hiding beneath the rock beside the cliffs. Yasmina had no memory of where she’d been or how she’d arrived in her bed, or whether if she’d been anywhere in this world at all.
It was all too much, and she already knew that she would learn no more from her strange encounter with something truly otherworldly. She’d unwittingly stared into the abyss, and the abyss had offered up the answers to her deepest, darkest questions. The constant crushing weight of uncertainty was replaced by the searing pain of finality.
Samuel was dead, but there was more to the grave than just the cold dark earth. Perhaps that barbed comfort might let some sort of healing finally begin.
Perhaps.
Yasmina turned onto her side and silently wept.