The last note (short story)

THE LAST NOTE

In the town, nobody knew where she had come from or what her name was.  All they knew was that she sang.

Nobody knew her age and by looks it was impossible to tell. She was rarely seen and the very few people who saw her would never agree on that point. As they tell in the neighborhood, she was one of those people that seem at the same time young and infinitely old.

Most of the time, there was only voice. It’s not that she would isolate herself there inside, only that she didn’t have friends anymore — or never had them. She would open the door when people knocked, but nobody did. So, most of the time, there was only the song.

Oh! The song! What was the lady always singing?

Nobody knew, it had no lyrics. Some say in the beginning — and when was it? No one could tell. — there were, but no more. Her words were long lost, or so they said. But the feeling that speechless voice could unlock in everyone’s hearts was true, very true.

It was always the same melody, only changing tunes. And as it changed it talked about happiness, sadness, loneliness, courage, fear, peace, war… You could feel it in your heart, as the song went on and on. It touched your soul, they say, like if the lady’s spirit itself was getting into you. And as scary as that may sound people eventually got used to that.

And one day the silence.

It took a while until they noticed. Little Mary was the first one: “Mommy! Aren’t the birdies singing louder today?”

The town was astonished. Where did the lady go?

Soon enough there was a crowd in front of the little house. Everyone wanted to hear the absence of sound. At last, not a single voice would rise. Even the birds were quiet. “Is she ok?”

Finally someone knocked on the door. No answer.

“Let us break in, she might need help!” — Might was not sure enough. Hold on a second. There was a key under the carpet. Why should that surprise them? But who was she waiting for? Was she?

They got in. A child went on the front, of course. And what did they find?

First of all, there was a note. Hanging there, sounding and resounding she was. Suspended between time and space. The longest echo on earth, until it disappeared.

Through fear they searched. What else was there? A cup of tea still warm. A scarf. And a name. Written all around the place — a name. Was it her name? The name she was singing for? The name of her song? No one could tell.

Long have they waited, but the lady never returned. So they forgot.

And in the town’s yard it is said:

She sang.

And became song herself.

Andressa Andrade

Written on September 8th, 2014.