Rala, Rala - a clear whisper among the shouts, a clean cut straight through the storm's eye which manages to surpass the illusion, to separate chaos from anarchy as it travels in one direct line toward me. In the tornado I am always steady, firm, rooted to the arid soil, but recently the whipping has gained strength and now I sway in the wind, letting the current wash over me in waves that reach their crescendos at various points on my body. Once I would have curled up in a ball, duct taped my ears, pulled my hood over my head, but the wind quickly taught me there was no stopping it once it's quiet breath began to rattle.
I jerk to the gusts' erratic beats, up and over, down and round. It's impossible to tell if its moving me or if I move it as we melt into one another; the last sombre dance, the final melancholic call home. Swaying, twisting, two chess pieces racing to check mate, a rolling dice yearning for the beginning of the game and the stillness it brings, stagnancy. A trembling arm reaches into the damp air, a cautious leg taps brittle stones. Moving my heavy starving body is consuming and yet with each turn I make I can still hear the call. Out there, beyond the wasteland and over the mangled noise, someone is saying my name.
With my eyes closed its easy to ignore, to pretend it's not Danny or Angela, or any of the others whose names are now frozen to our lips, tiny icicles leaking drops of our unspoken emotion onto the floor as we hover. It's not safe to touch the land for long periods of time anymore but still we try to recreate walking with the machines, a reach there, a pull here, anything to feel the normalcy that used to bleed our lives dry. Nor is it safe to say their names anymore yet whenever I glance over to Wolram his fingers are never too far away from his lips.
Neither of us imposed the rule of silence but we both recognised early on that talking meant acknowledging all we had lost, the big freeze. Our natural tendency to be alike, to reach the same conclusions without draining explanations of perspectives, has continued to be our anchor as we navigate this new terrain alone, a lighthouse we can count on to steer us to safety, a loyal puppy whose motives we never have to guess. Denial, the compass told us, and we obeyed willingly. Blocking it out is the only we have managed to survive so long, shut it down, disappear.
I am a freshwater stream glistening in the sunlight, mossy rocks dancing with the current. I am hydrating water breaking through tired flesh and worn bones, rejuvenating those who had long given up on a second chance. I am the only thing that makes sense anymore, that still ticks to the rhythm of time as we once knew it, linear, congruent.
No more am I skin dried like dates or an impenetrable numbness that disconnects so many neurones Danny is no longer recognisable from a picture. I no longer know harshness because of the calm conditions that never rise above a gentle breeze, or an intense ray of sun that forces tired bears to seek relief under dense trees. My mountainous habitat appreciates the tranquillity that a balanced environment fosters, equilibrium, harmony.
Danny understood it too, the lightness that used to come after hours in the fields, the air working right through you, but that was when the air was subtle, so soft you couldn't feel its presence until you were out of it, at home, with an unknowable joy releasing the tension in your foundations. Being the recipient of that delight strapped across Danny's youthful face was all that woke me up most mornings, but back then I was selfish, unaware of what I had, how much there was to lose.
Each morning Danny dragged me to the park, pulling my reluctant heels with the optimism of one whose life has not yet tugged at the loosely woven fabric of their ambitions. Nestled between louder empty women, I feigned happiness to Lottie, Baundy. A casual wave, a confident smile, it wasn't the type of place where people needed convincing.
Danny knew of course and went out of his way to cheer me up, making jobs for me to do, distractions, small moments of release. I cleaned his sick with a deep relief, wiping as slow as I could, covering, packing, throwing away; movements mechanical for others but cathartic for me. It was that every day feeling, the satisfaction that poured over my body wrapping me in liquid gold after having completed a task people did daily without thinking. A turn of the cooker to switch it on, smoothing of sheets softening skin, folding of laundry oozing lavender, these actions were my dynamite, flashes of hope within which it seemed possible to get things back to the way they were.
The illusion of the past offered us just that in the end, an unattainable mirage, a constantly shifting picture impervious to our attempts to keep it still. We had to put the image down after a while, for both our sakes. Now we avoid the park as if it never existed, a place outside of our area obliterated, a blank zone, nothingness. But somehow on this day, three years later, we find the courage to return.
*
"It's time," Wolram utters, his voice husky from non-use. I agree even though his statement releases a catapult of screams that rush up in me.
We walk through the deserted neighbourhood and peer into the empty houses. Neither voices our nostalgia as we find comfort in our continued commitment to silence, even in these final minutes that cannot be taken back. An unyielding quietness stretches beyond the residential streets, the broken lamp-posts, towards the horizon blurry from chemical residues. Usually it would have been enough for me to disappear, but instead I lean into the silence between Wolram and I, which embraces me with fluffy hands.
It's been two months since we last ventured outside, just as I was beginning to wonder why we had stopped trying to make use of the space even if it was just us. Children used to play in the streets, a shoal of fish spreading out through the roads. Without one the others were lost and would wait for the straggler while darting into one another - above, below, no direction was off limits. But now I remember why we built a fortress out of these dilapidated walls, because now the only sign of children in the streets are their final yells, their last screams to each other, their pleads as they searched among the debris. There is no joy in our neighbourhood anymore, no candle to burn the darkness, no purr to wake the dead birds.
The park is exactly how it used to be and nothing at all like it was. Everything is the same, swings, slides, play areas, benches; and yet it has all been tainted with the air. The energy hits me as we open the gate and I stop in a weak step, but Wolram pushes me on.
"We have to do this, for them," he urges, taking my hand.
His flesh is warm compared to the harsh jacket pocket and I turn toward it. I close my eyes, my heart relaxing at the feel of his blood rushing. He kisses the top of my head so gentle it could be a pat, a light touch. It's enough. I open my eyes and look at him in the face for the first time all day.
"You lead," I say to those firm watery blue eyes. They blink back at me and let a tear leak out.
He nods and we continue forward into the middle of the park, to the beginning and end of things as they were.
We see the cavity, the rotting hole, and stand on either side.
Wolram takes a wide stance, his winter clothes swaying in the wind. His long hair moves along with it and I am amazed by his steadfastness, his ability to remain calm as we say goodbye to everything we once called home. But there was no familiarity in the vastness of this landscape anymore, no peace in the wreckage, only love among the ghosts.
I am the forest stream, icy water coursing over bony legs. I am the only chance, the blip of light shining through weeds of doubt, the hope you cling onto not out of naivety but necessity, for there is no living without belief in something beyond the destruction.
Above, two birds fly in the sky. One chases the other - fast, light, two black dots flitting across a pale blue watercolour. The front one calls back to the other in a daring laugh before setting off into the distance over dark strokes of navy, not needing to look back for its companion, relying on years of repetition to feel its presence. Cold wetness against my sticky cheeks jolts me back to the present and there is Wolram, majestic, regal.
What surrounds us is decaying, deconstructing, a final picture of the planet once called Earth, and above it all he is the earthliest, most humane thing I know to be true. A lone deer weeping, the last fish bumbling along ice, isolation is all he comprehends now, all he turns to, and yet still somehow he is able to rise above the solace in his solitude to face the unspeakable with a resolve that makes me question how long he has foreseen this end. Maybe if I had his tenacity we would have done this day sooner, but I could not leave Danny, even if he was only a voice now.
Wolram clears his throat, conscious of where my thoughts have strayed. I can't tell if spending so long together just the two of us like this has been good or bad for us, his mind reading and my running away. But in the end it doesn't matter and his steady smile tells me just the same.
"We come here today as instructed, to finish what should have been," he says in a strong voice that cuts over the wind.
Not today, we won't be silenced by you, his tone talks to the storm and it listens, calming down so I no longer have to dig my heels into the earth to stay still. Without the gusts, it's easy to see the borders of our landscape, how far our solitude has extended. Usually I would close my eyes but I force them open; I won't have to look for long.
"Our lateness is not because of unwilling, but due to a reluctance to separate from the souls left behind," he continues and the wind whips up again, angry.
"We are ready now, to join the others, to start the long return," he shouts at the wind which yells back at him.
His eyes fix on mine. I know the meaning of his unwavering stare and before he jumps into the never-ending pit tears stream down my face as I am unable, even in these last moments, to tell him what he means to me. He's gone in a flash, and then so am I.
