Awake
The old man settled back into the tangled welter of sheets and blankets that comprised his bed and sighed. From somewhere near his feet, his sigh was
answered with a similar exhalation. In
the moonlight that leaked around the edges of the drawn curtains, he could just
make out the silhouette of two large, pointed ears beneath which two concerned
eyes glistened and watched. Then, as if
in agreement, man and dog grunted in unison and lay their heads down once more.
For
the old dog, sleep returned easily and she was soon snoring, but for her
master, a lifetime of loss, regret, and now, loneliness, always awaited his
return to consciousness and seized him fast in its talons. To counter this, he had developed a process
by which he could sooth his mind of its anxieties and eventually return to
sleep. This method consisted of a simple
inventory of all the familiar and comforting sounds that his home and dog made
within the overall silence of the greater night. It always began with his companion.
Her
deep, steady breathing told him all was well, and this provided the first step
towards his greater relaxation. Keeping
his own breathing regular while attempting to slow his heart rate at the same
time, he allowed his mind to wander through his home of forty years seeking other
familiar sounds that reassured him.
First and foremost
was the furnace. During the winter
months, the reliability of its great warming breath held no equal as his ideal
of comfort and safety from the elements, and now he looked forward to that
series of sounds that heralded its arousal.
The light, tap-tap-tap of the contracting water pipe he had so recently
used warned him of the dropping temperature, even as the winds outside
scampered with tiny claws across the wall next to his bed. Then, as if on cue, he perceived the barely
audible click of the thermostat signaling from its perch on the wall that the
moment for action had arrived. With
pleasurable anticipation, the old man listened for the sounds that must
follow.
From within the
greater darkness of the attached garage came the barely audible hiss of gas
followed by, after what seemed a long and dangerous time, the business-like
snap of the igniter. Then, with a
satisfying, distant roar, the flames were brought into being to warm his
home. In his mind’s eye he could picture
the dancing light playing across the stained concrete floor of the garage. And then, as the finale, the heater fan
located beneath the staircase whirred into life as the warm air coming through
the vent reached it to trigger its assistance in pushing the warmth up to the
second floor. The house now hummed
contentedly to itself as it dispelled the tendrils of cold that had seeped
silently through the walls. The old man
secured the blanket beneath his chin, even as his eyes began to dart and play
beneath his eyelids.
As sleep began to
reclaim him at last, the voices of his wife, Claire, and their children, called
to him from somewhere not far away, though their actual figures were still withheld
from him. In the dusty living room, the
French clock he had bought her as a gift in Europe
began to chime the hour in light, tinkling notes and, like a hypnotist; he
counted each one as they sank him deeper and deeper into the welcoming
darkness.
The old man, now
decades younger, watched as his lovely young wife toweled off his children next
to the pool beneath a benign sun in a peerless sky, and smiled contently. The only sound that intruded was the
reassuring crackle of expanding wood that signaled the triumph of the furnace
over the nascent cold; the walls and door frames returning to their intended
shapes and sizes.
Claire noticed him
watching and returned his smile. The
kids were fussing about being called out of the water and though he could not
hear their words; their body language was unmistakable. A popping sound from somewhere to his left,
startled him, and he found himself vaguely troubled as to its source and meaning,
but loath to turn away from his wife and children even for a second. Even so, Claire’s face wavered in his vision
like the surface of a pond disturbed with a pebble. When it settled again into the plump-cheeked,
grey-eyed features that he was familiar with, her expression had changed to one
of concern, the laughing smile having vanished like the sun he could no longer
feel nor see above him. She approached
him still carrying a dripping towel. The
kids leapt soundlessly into the pool behind her back.
She spoke to him
and he strained to hear her words, “Did you remember to lock the front door?”
she whispered, the words seeming to come from a great distance.
He stared back at
his wife in bereaved silence. Was this
all she had to say to him…her husband of fifty years; after so long a
separation? The mundanity of her words
struck him to the heart and a sob caught in his throat that snatched him back
to awareness.
As he opened his
eyes, his young wife’s words blew into tatters like an old cobweb, and he
struggled to catch them before they vanished.
But the sound that seemed to have prompted them returned to him with
terrifying clarity and he understood in that instant that it had come from one
place and that place alone—the seventh step of the stairwell outside his
bedroom door. As the furnace switched
off and its efforts faded into a long sigh, the house lapsed into the silence
of a held breath. Then the dog began to growl…
