The Mighty

 

Chapter Three: A Song

 

“Anne, where are you going?” Otto’s voice carried after his daughter as she left his and Edith’s room.

 

“Up to the attic, Pim,” she replied.

 

“To see Peter?” His voice was sharp.

 

“Yes, and to get some fresh air,” Her tone was bland.  She was in no mood for another lecture from her father about being alone with Peter.  “Don’t worry Papa.  I’ll be back for the rest of my lessons in half an hour.”

 

She swiftly climbed the stairs before Otto could say anything more.  As she entered the attic, however, Peter was exiting.

 

“Anne!”  He exclaimed, surprised to see her.

 

“You don’t need to stay if you were going somewhere Peter,” she said gently as he blushed, “I came up here for two reasons, and while you are downstairs I can still get some air.”

 

“I’ll be up as soon as I can, Anne,” he replied with a sigh of relief.  “Mother wants me to help her with something in hers and Father’s room.  There are some crossword puzzles on the bed if you want to do any.”  He indicated to a sheaf of paper on his bed.

 

“Thank you.” She smiled and picked up a pencil and one of the puzzles as he left the room.

 

Crossing over to the back window, she shrank in to the shadows and breathed the cool air that was streaming in through the open panes.  It was the beginning of May, and still the air was cool at this time of the morning.  She felt slightly more awake now that she was up here, having removed the stuffiness and cobwebs from her lungs and head.  Still hidden in the shadows, she moved to the side of the window and gazed down at the chestnut tree in the yard.  Despite the chill, it knew that Spring had arrived and the chestnut had opened its leaves almost overnight.  The song of birds nesting in its branches drifted up to her and she stood still for a moment, sure that amidst everything, this was a form of heaven.  Then another song began, and she closed her eyes listening, for here was a bird whose like she had not heard before.  Rich and varied was its melody, and sadness was woven into every theme.  She suddenly realized that she was not listening to birdsong alone.  For the birds had joined their voices to the themes, enriching it and the voice of the singer.  For the singer was no bird, but a man.  Anne could hear that more clearly now, and searched in vain for him under the great branches of the tree.  Hardly daring to come into the full light, she scanned the grounds around the tree, but the singer was hidden by the chestnut’s spring foliage.  No-one should be in the yard and, despite this and all that had happened since they had gone into hiding, Anne did not feel afraid.  She knew in her heart that this was no enemy, and somehow, she felt the song was meant for her alone.

 

Shrinking back in to the shadows, she listened as one spellbound.  At first, all she heard were harmonies and a melody interwoven through their cores.  Then the melody became more defined, and Anne imagined she was listening to some great orchestra that was about to display the talents of the soloist in the grand concerto.  She held her breath as the singer breathed forth the first words of this beautiful melody, and her heart shattered, though she did not know why.  She could not understand the language he sang in.  It was neither Dutch, nor German, nor French, nor English, nor anything she had ever heard before.  Yet, it was old, ancient ever, and visions appeared before her eyes of a great land that was beset with evil and the people who struggled valiantly against it.  In her mind’s eye, she saw seven brothers struggling to regain three shining jewels, battling against the evil that had taken them and against all others who laid hands on those same jewels.  She saw the estrangement of this family from others of their kind, and the evil deeds that resulted.  When only two brothers were left to claim the jewels, they laid hands on them and were burned.  One threw himself and the jewel into a chasm of fire in the earth; but, the other, who Anne now recognized as the man from her memory on the bridge, threw his into the sea and wandered the shores of the world for ages in sorrow and regret.  This was his punishment the crimes he had committed long before.  Now, the singer lingered; worn by the ages; tired of the world; despairing in the evil of this day; haunted by memories and anguish.  He worked to heal the wrongs he had caused in the hope that one day he would be redeemed.

 

She gasped, tears pouring down her face at the realization that that man was one and the same with the one in the vision.  Indeed, it was he who sang beneath the chestnut tree.  So it was that she understood his sadness. 

 

The song drifted off into silence, and Anne moved closer to the window.  A black-haired man moved out from under the canopy of the tree and raised his hands to the sky.  To an outside observer, he looked as if he were trying to touch to leaves on the outermost branches.  His palms, however, were turned to Anne; it was only she who saw the black scars burned there.

 

“I understand.” She whispered.

 

He walked out of the courtyard.