Of Winds and Empty Fields

The wind brought with it the stale air of stagnancy, hot and musty. It swept up around my scuffed sneakers, rustling the leaf litter, and blowing into my nostrils the parched dust of the pavement. It was stiff and dispassionate, as unfeeling as a board, and only served as a bleak reminder of what I had given in to, what I had had to give into; what I could not fight.1

I was tired now, so weary of it all I almost felt an affinity with the wind. What left was there to feel? The cruel one-for-himself human law gnawed at my mind, squirming in its victory and taunting the vanquished, me. I was disappointed in life. I had once believed in more, in love and dreams, but I had been a fool.2

She came along just then, walking slowly by the fence, barely noticing the sign that said ‘Keep Out’. Once, we would have laughed together, pointing at the empty grass beyond the sign and wondering what there was to fear, to keep out. Or keep in? I wondered briefly. Even in the face of the unfeeling wind, I could remember the deliriously happy moments we had savoured in time such as those, moments lost, dried up with the wind.3

She came to my side, not saying a word. Maybe she doesn’t feel anymore, I thought to myself, like me and the wind. Gone with the wind. Or maybe she just doesn’t want to feel. I sighed.4

“There isn’t any change,” she said suddenly, her voice like silk rippling, or the feathers of a swan rearranging themselves.5

I didn’t look at her. What was the use? “I didn’t think so.” Forbidden to feel, I might as well follow the rules. But something tweaked in me as I heard her voice.6

“You understand, don’t you?” She looked at me pleadingly, sadly. Her dark eyes shone, even without a moon to reflect. “It’s the money. They want me to marry a rich man of their choosing. Not…” She hesitated.7

Not me. “It’s always been about the money,” I said, trying to sound unruffled. She seemed to be waiting for more, but I could say nothing else. I was thinking about that line, and how the third word could have been dropped and it would still have made perfect sense.8

Finally she touched my shoulder, and I saw tears in those beautiful dark eyes, a sharp dagger in my heart.9

“Is this how it ends?” She demanded, still softly but laced with hurt. “Just like this? I have only a few minutes more. Won’t you at least say goodbye to me properly?”10

Pain ran like a released river down my spine, hot in the chest and cold in the stomach. I won’t cry! I promised myself furiously, fighting the emotions. The wind blew stronger, drier and more impassive than ever. Does it end like this? It can’t! Not after all I’ve done. But I knew the rules of the game of life. I knew what it took to play, what it meant to lose.11

“I’m sorry Dora,” I said bitterly, gazing at her pale, imploring face.12

“For what?” She grabbed my arm. “We can still do what we planned. Run away. Elope.”  She stared at me desperately, and I felt truly sorry for her. Dora was normally a careful person, and to mention elopement was like the ‘Keep Out’ sign falling off the gate. The game was hard to play. I felt the wind on my cheeks, caressing my face in its impartiality.13

“I can’t,” I said, “It’s set. You have to leave.” Then as a wave of guilt and other things I suppressed defiantly surged through my mind, I pulled her close, close enough to smell her light perfume. Citrus, lingering, like always.14

“I’m sorry, Dora, you know the rules. We won’t get anywhere by ourselves. We’re too young – you’re only fifteen and I barely a year older.” 15

I took a deep breath, met love in a skirmish and defeated it. “There’s no way for us to continue. It’s life, Dora, and that’s the way it is.”16

I let her go, regarded her tearful face. “Goodbye, Dora.” God, I can’t stop saying her name. Bitterness slashed my words like a sword.17

Dora stood for a moment, staring at me so motionless I wondered the wind did not lift her hair. Maybe it doesn’t touch her, I thought, but the wind touches me. She trembled then, and said, “I thought you believed in hope, Peter. I thought you did.” Then, with a wrenching jerk that seemed to yank my heart with her, she turned and ran back down the path.18

I experienced the urge to follow; my feet itched. But the wind planted me in place, whispering the rules over and over again in my ears, a steady, malicious whistle. I gazed after her until she was gone, and then I realised I could move. It’s dark, and I should go.19

Something was missing, but I couldn’t quite place it. I had lost something, lost it when Dora had run away. Lost it forever, bits of a leaf on the cold wind. 20

As I walked back up the path, to my mother’s old farm cottage, I glanced over my shoulder at the empty field, and the little sign, so absurd in its denial of entry. Knee-high weeds and a deep, biting irony. No matter how absurd the rules are, I thought, smiling humourlessly into the dry wind, we still follow them.  I looked once, the other way, where Dora had gone. The wind had grown cold. We still follow them.21