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Something
had changed. He had woken from sleep half-way through
the night. He glanced about his bedroom, trying to
make out in the dark if anything had happened, if
something had moved, fallen, had produced a sound
of relief from pressure, like wood sometimes did.
He couldn't spot anything unusual, and yet noticed
something, a change so subtle yet so deep it almost
escaped him. He lay back, closed his eyes and breathed
in slowly, trying to remember exactly the bedroom
he had been used to for a long time.
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Breathing,
he found what had startled him: the air itself was different.
There was a faint undertone of smell, moist and rich,
spicy, an old, ancient experience, almost forgotten,
stuffed away with his least remembered memories, like
a child's toys neglected by the adult. It was the smell
of water. Not ordinary water, not water running out
of taps, but living water, full of life, of fish, of
algae, green-blue and deep, salty, an ocean, a warm
Southern sea.
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Still
lying there, his eyes closed, he could also make out the
sound of small waves, coming in through the windows he
had shut to shield himself from the cold, damp autumn
weather of the evening before. Another change: there was
no rain to be heard, and opening his eyes now he could
see stars and the moon's sickle through his window, in
cloudless skies. What was all this? He wanted to know,
and finally got up. When he opened his window, the smell
of sea became much stronger, and with it, warm air streamed
past him. It sharpened all his senses, blew the last remains
of sleep out of his mind. |
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