A short story

The night was really cold and damp. He was alone, sitting in the dark, hoping so hard the mist around him would clear away. That way he would see them: the moonlight and the stars. They are everything he needs when something worries him. Lying on the ground, feeling the wind on his skin, in his hair, staring deeply into the sky and all his troubles run away, each time. But this night was different, it seemed the stars did not want to help him, they even seemed to show him how disappointed they were by making the atmosphere so heavy, as if a storm was coming but without the heat.

Noises appeared quietly. Footsteps on the path became louder. The newcomer was already really close to Sam when the pale figure appeared in the mist. It was Anton, Sam's younger brother.

“Mum wants you to come back to our place. You know, she does not like us to be outside in this kind of night. Nobody knows what could happen. You know, she is still upset about you. You have not talked to her since you came back. Why ? Anyway, I saved the leftovers for you, you must be starving. But you should see how sad and angry she was in front of your empty chair. I think she is really worried for you. You know, you should talk to her. She has the right to know. She has always been here to support us, whatever happened.”

He was always like that. Talking all the time. Although he was the youngest of four brothers, he was by far the most wise and clever of them. Always giving useful advice, without reproach, without expecting it to be followed, but just to be taken under consideration, just to try to help whoever might need it.

Still quiet, Sam stood up and started walking back alongside his brother.

The good thing walking with him was he did not need to talk, his brother was talking for both of them and was not expecting any kind of involvement. Dribs and drabs Sam was not able anymore to understand what his brother was saying. He was thinking of those last five weeks, he saw Lydia's smile in his mind, he almost heard her laughing merrily. Suddenly, her pretty face looked disfigured by horror and she screamed.

“Hey Sam ! Sam ! You alright yeah ? Sam ! Is everything OK ?”

Sam opened his eyes.

“Damn! You scared me ! Do you need a hand to get out of there ? You really should be more careful about where you put your feet.”

After few seconds Sam understood these last words. He was now lying on the ground, in the thick of decomposed leaves and mud. His left foot was still held by an outward root. Hopefully the mud had broken his fall, he did not feel any pain on his body.

“For how long haven't you slept ? It seemed like you just fell asleep while walking.”

“I was... away”

“Definitely ! But I'm happy to hear you still can talk. Come on ! You can't stay like that.”

After an heavy sigh, Sam grasped his brother's hands and got up again.

There were few miles left before get by home. The night was still strangely threatening and the sound of the unusual silence was a bit oppressive. The two brothers finished walking without a word. As soon as they crossed the threshold their mother rushed to them. She looked so relieved to know they were back. She said nothing when she saw how grubby her eldest son was. She went back with bath towels.

“Anton, you're cleaner: you go first. Make it quick, your brother will go afterwards.”

“Sam, you go in the kitchen. You can thank Anton for having saved food for you. Give me your clothes and stay close to the stove.”

Although all her boys were grown up kids, the youngest was 19 years old and the oldest 27, she had always kept the same authority over them when they were back in the family home. None of the brothers ever dared to dissuade her. For that matter, there was something sweet and reassuring to be considered as a little kid, like before. So nobody never complained and life went on peacefully following this code.

Sam undressed himself in silence, forced himself to eat some food, convinced his stomach to keep it down and went to the bathroom. The image of the looking-glass greeted him. He looked awful. Besides his skin coloured by the brownish yellowish greenish mud, his face was gaunt, his eyes looked as though they had popped out of their holes, black for the left one. His upper lip was a bit swollen, his hair had not seen a comb for months. He watched with disgust his ghostly skinny body. He could distinguish each rib precisely. He had never been as skinny, even after three weeks spent in an hospital five years ago.

He started washing his face in the sink to remove most of the dirt. Then, he immersed himself in the bath. The water was already cold. He scrubbed. He soaped. And finally he held his breath and lay down into the water.

He could not escape this story any longer. He had to talk about it to someone.

Everything had started the day he decided he wanted to earn his life by playing music. He was feeling perfectly good only when replacing words by musical figures, meaningful silences, tuned harmonies. He had talked to an old friend of his dad, Mike. Since his friend's death, Mike probably felt concerned by the four fatherless brothers. That is why he suggested Sam to join a band he managed. The band was made up of two boys and one girl. They had just lost their double bass player, Sam would replace him. Jesse was the drummer, but the dreamer as well. He always seemed lost in his mind. Talking less. High most of the time. But paradoxically his rhythm was precise and perfectly reliable. Lydia was the guitarist and the singer, she could play violin or piano accordion as well. She was the beautiful girl everybody wants to see in a band. The one with the shy but irresistible smile, the fragile appearance but a voice powerful enough to make 1,000 hearts pound at one note. John was the keyboards player. Much more lively than the others, he could be very rude on the words he used and had the need to always put others down to shine better. Of course he thought Lydia's heart belonged to him and she never really tried to discourage him. She probably did not want any trouble by contradicting him. They were all very different people, but they were all brought together by their passion: music. They played original music which mixed jazz inspirations and trip-hop spirit. In that way they all had the opportunity to express themselves freely. The musical component of the band was perfect, but as soon as they stopped playing: it was a total mess. Alcohol, drugs, fights, cries, the band was unmanageable. Sam had already noticed it and was quite good at dealing skilfully with it. But this time was even worse.

“Hey Sam, have you done yet ?” Sam's mother got in the room. As her son was coming up, she said “It's not the right time to drown yourself, I need you to help me to clean the house. Let's start by hanging up your and your brother's fripperies. We can't do it outside in this weather. I don't like it. It reminds me each time something's going wrong.”

Sam swallowed with difficulties, it was now or never.

“Mum. John's dead.”

Sam's mother looked her son as if she could not understand what he just had said.

“You wondered why I was back before the end of the tour. That's the reason.”

She was still as frozen when she asked: “How did it happen ?”

“A fight.”

“What? Can you explain more? How much were you involved?”

Sam did not know what he could say. It was like after each gig. As always they were still dizzy with their music, the stage power and the public energy, but exhausted as well and of course frustrated at have to come back to the real world. The world in which they had to use words to understand each other, the world which makes them grumpy, quick-tempered and sometimes, violent. To forget this state they can not act on, they used to use different kinds of drugs or strong alcohol. It made them forget for a while why they could not be together without playing. But this artificial balance was not that stable, and a little thing could heighten the tension between their differences and blow them up.

That night, Lydia looked really happy. She had just got strong congratulations and was thinking about a new project with different people. He had never seen her talking and laughing so much before, she looked even more beautiful when thrilled. Since the day they met, he had a crush on her and now was so happy to see her so beaming. But in his corner, John did not enjoy the moment. He was growling to himself. Definitely affected by the fact that she might escape him, but because he was not the focus of the evening anymore either. And this second reason pleased Jesse. The drummer who was usually so quiet concerning John's big ego, got a wicked pleasure provoking him each time he could. Making wry and humiliating jokes. When he came to the point of joking about the relationship between John and Lydia, John did not even try to control himself and rushed on him to crush his nose with his fist. The fight began. Lydia screamed. Sam threw himself on both to separate them. He get some strikes from both of them, explaining his black eye and the several scratches on his body. Lydia could not stop them by yelling, so she took the first chair next to her and punched all of them indiscriminately. Unfortunately, she reached the back of John's head who collapsed on the floor.

“When Mike came to compliment us as he does after each gig, we were still all around the dead body, speechless, lifeless. He ordered us to go back home: the tour was over, he would contact us later. So here I am. I guess I will have to tell everything to the police once again later. Or maybe Mike disguised the way John died. I don't know. But I'm definitely a witness and have a hand in this story.”

Done. It was done. He had told her everything. There was nothing else he could do anymore. He just had to wait. Wait to know what fate had been chosen for him. He went back to his room and closed the door, sagged on his couch and turned up the Hi-Fi system without thinking. The voice of Nick Cave singing The Mercy Seat filled the room. “Well, I hope it won't end the same...”