The first day went smooth and serene; however those calls which remained without answer (thirty calls, to be exact) can be considered as absolute exaggeration and harassment. I just frowned and sighed as I checked my cell phone, but the even more confusing and surprising fact is, that I have found the same amount of calls on the private telephone device too. As a matter of fact, I found this quiet extraordinary and interesting, what kind of need did the people have when they kept calling this number, but beside the reasons for their own good, I couldn't come up with any other idea. Anyways, I didn't see any importance of answering these meaningless calls. Indeed, I didn't even miss their voices. None of them. None. Once again... None.
The night was peaceful and calm; long enough to relax, and wake up fresh in the morning, but with sore muscles all over my body. In fact, I didn't even move in my bed, I found myself conscious in the position I remembered last time, before falling asleep. The Sun shone clearly and warmly outside of the small house, however I had no intention of going out on the terrace. I finished my breakfast in the dining room, and then, basically, I spent the day playing the piano in perfect solitude, although I felt that even these activities brought me temporary peace or the opposite, just strengthened my longing. I find myself on the edge of my bed in the evening, holding my head in my palms and thinking, trying to figure out, what should I do with myself if I am unable to cut this rending and piercing knob out of my bosom.
The phone which belonged to the house hasn't rang all day, which meant good. If I could, I would use these days for sleeping or spending time in the forest but three days are gone, and nothing changes. Moreover, I am in complete silence vainly, having a raging storm inside, here the wind shatters and raindrop cuts, the thunder shakes me. Sometimes I find myself leaning on the piano, my slim fingers holding my chest, at the place of my heart.
Alfred called me fourteen times on the second day, on the third, seventeen times. Francis, two times in two days, Peter once, and he wrote in message that he arrived home.
On the fourth day I'm playing the violin, and I was quiet surprised that I could play even those old, and long forgotten melodies, the Scottish and Irish ones as well. It meant a small, but still cheerful relief, it felt better than playing the piano, probably because for some reason, I found the violin's sound in harmony with the cries of my heart. I was playing through long hours without break, until all of my muscles were in pain, my shoulders were shaking and I couldn't feel my fingers, but I couldn't make myself to stop. I consumed my lunch with shaking and weak fingertips, half of the amount that I normally eat, then I left the room and continued to play.
The staff forbore to the status pretty well. They paid attention on avoiding me, to be quiet and still, to have everything in order around me. Basically, I was rather satisfied with their work.
Although, I couldn't find answer for one particular question. How will I go back? What will I tell them? What will they ask from me, where have I been? What will I answer to this? Will I have to lie?
Hm.
In moments like these, I just put my palm on my forehead for a second or two and keeping my eyes shut, I tried to get rid of these troublesome thoughts. My life became careworn as I spend the fifth day in the mansion; slowly, almost without cognising my actions, I get up from the bed by routine and every single time, I can't tear my eyes away from one of Alfred's little cut-out drawing on the wall, or from the shut door of his room. No one is inside, I tell to myself every single time, sometimes saying it out loud without realizing it, and then, being accustomed to the aching pain in my heart, I continue my way down on the stairs. The breakfast is ready and warm, but I have no appetite, I eat a couple of bites and I already feel it coming back, but I fight their way down. The hours are spent with playing the violin, or with a small porcelain cup in my hand, the other in my pocket, I'm just walking around in the rooms of the ground floor. The library room, the living room, the kitchen, the corridor behind the stairs, with the bookshelves, and the room beside it with the musical instruments. A decent amount of books, notes, equipments... everything is here, that once belonged to my life, and was an essential part of it. But the most important is missing.
Often, I find myself caressing the pillows on the sofa in the piano-room, and stroking the blanket beside them, or looking at the corner behind the piano, where once he was drawing, playing, and learning to read and write. With a slight, weak smile on my face, I let myself recall his voice, saying the letters out loud, or singing songs for me. Even today, sometimes I look there when I'm playing the piano or the violin, just from an old habit.
I would like to see myself decay first, than telling all these to him.
In the afternoons, I'm laying. Sometimes on the sofa, sometimes in my bed, or just relaxing in the armchair in the library room, but most of the times, on the couch beside the piano, with Alfred's pillows and under the blanket. I like to be there. That is the rear end, the most hidden place in the whole house. Even the sunlight comes through in small patches, among the breaches and leaves of the tall and old nut tree, and even if the room's location is behind the kitchen, it is isolated and quiet from that direction too.
Maybe it's on the sixth day, that I wake up for Mary's voice, she is talking on the phone and I can tell, I absolutely don't favour this, I had to get up, and just as I was, covered in a dark-blue blanket, I made my way out of the room, still hugging the cover around myself. I reached the corridor behind the stairs, and I could listen to her words properly. Her voice is a bit frustrated.
"Yea, that's broken for a couple of days, and we can't repair it, could you please come by and fix it?" Small pause, probably she got an answer from the other person. "Alright, of course, sir, it'd be lovely. We all hope there won't be a storm until you arrive here, but I'm afraid it's completely ruined." Pause again. "Leave that to us, Dave will take care of it. Where do you come from, exactly? Which town? Oh, thank you. Two days, then. Thank you for your time, sir. See you then!"
I'm standing in complete silence, leaning on the wall in the semi-darkness when she turns around and almost faints when she sees me. "Dear God! Sir?"
"Whom did you talk?"
"A carpenter, he knows how to fix the gutter. On the right side of the roof one part is coming off, and I don't let Dave to climb up there, better to call a professional. Of course, this has nothing to do with you, my Lord, the upkeep is our responsibility."
Humming, I return to the room and lay down on the sofa, back into the position where I was before, then shut my eyes, and fall asleep again in a couple of seconds. Maybe it's not really healthy that I sleep that much, but currently that's the only way that can keep me away from those pains which find me when I'm close to being conscious, or awake, and they don't release me for a second.
"Sir. You have to eat." My eyes open again but my body shivers as I focus my gaze and find the plate in Mary's hands. "Please, just a few bites. You must eat, you need food like everyone else."
She puts down the plate on the footstool beside the piano, helps me to sit up but looks to her movements, to keep the blanket on my shoulders, and the pillow in my arms. She practically forces me to stay awake and eat. "I brought the quarter of your normal portion, my Lord, you must eat this amount of food."
I nod, but I didn't really understand what she was talking about. My mind was empty and became emotionless. My eyes are gazing into nothing as I'm chewing almost robotically, and breath. As I gain back a bit more of my conscious, it came to my realization that the day turned into evening again, and Mary has switched on the lights. If she didn't wake me up now, I would have spent the night on the couch, in my clothes.
"Then, I'll have a bath." I whisper to her, and she nods.
"Yes, my Lord."
Haltingly, with careworn moves I get up from the sofa, and when I realize she left the room, I call her back and give the pillow and the blanket into her hands. –"Bring these up in my room, please."
