Felicity, love

High-pitched laughter. Many conversations. Talking over one another. Safety resides in the mob; I should know. They were coming. Heading towards the beach. I knew they would. If I ran, the street would lead me there. I, too, would end up on the beach. Exposed. With nowhere to hide. Only the sun, wind, and waves. What then?

On the exposed beach they would see me. I would not be welcome. She would know.

I have to hide. Seek shelter. No, not shelter. I needed to disappear. Be absorbed. I pass the Indian restaurant with its afternoon cooking smells, the chemist with its outdoor hat stand, the bakery. No, they would see me in the bakery; besides, I had already been in there today. I have spent my money. Then I saw it. Towards the end of the street. Under the awning. Shaded. Out of the hot, burning sun.

I feel the sun burning my shoulders as I hurry across the street and into the welcoming shade, and into the old part of town. Near the marina and fishmongers. The door is small in this paint-peeling wooden building. I must hurry. I opened the door. It has one of those little brass bells which activates as the door opens. The ornate kind. The miniature clanger awakes, notifies. It seems all too loud. I pause at the threshold. Hesitate, stare at the black step, my eyes then glance over the timber floorboards uneven with age and use. 

I am committed. I cannot delay. They will see me. I step inside. Over the threshold. The bell jingles again as I close the door against the heat and the business of the outside. I sink into the shadows and breathe. I push my glasses back up my nose. Again am sweating. And wait as the shop returns to quiet. I close my eyes, screw them up and wait for them to adjust to the room’s light and breathe again, then turn.

Against the wall stands a cage-like structure. I step forward, my pulse racing. No movement, but wait. Something is watching me. Big, forward-facing eyes. Dark discs, absorbing.

Slow blinks. The creature remained hushed, watching. I freeze and wait. This otherworldly creature makes no move. It lay there feigning calmness, but I knew better. Were those eyes glowing in the dim light? Did the shapeless creature generate its own internal light and see into invisible realms? I thought I detected a flicker of a tail in calculated rhythm. Just the end bit. Slow and deliberate. The silent, fluid movement of a guardian and the stealer of the souls of the deceased before the gods could claim them.

More slow blinks. Fear should grip me, but it does not. Not yet anyway. Instead, an irresistible urge overcomes me, tapping into me in some primordial way. In this place of riches, I want to see more, and I move with care past the silent guardian, towards the pull of glowing lights, sounds, and other forms of life. They are there: the sounds, chirps, water trickling, and the reverberations of passing cars only fading. Fading. I venture further inward. Towards the glow.

I passed another cage. This time it does not have a square shape. Tentatively, I peer in. It appears empty. I see feathers lying there. They remain, not abandoned but as if communications left behind, secret conduits to other realms. I examine them, the beauty, and wonder at the loveliness of the creature of the sky. How heavy are those feathers, curled as they are? I can only wonder at the speed with which they can cross realms. If only there could be a magical feathered cloak, to wrap oneself in and fly through any world. And see what they see.

In the dim light, at the bottom of the cage, even on tiptoes, I cannot detect the colour of the feathers. Perhaps brilliant, burning, a sunbird of vitality and transformation, or maybe more of the soft colours of moulted down, of a songbird, gentle in its passage between realms. Both with courage, secret knowledge, and wisdom. I don’t want to choose between them.

Another cage, but I can detect no movement. It’s darker here in this part of the shop. I close my eyes and sigh a gentle sigh. Yes, it emerges: the scratching, the wood shavings’ rustle. I keep my eyes closed and picture the moon, full, the birds on wing, and the rabbit looks down on us from its moon, calling to all its brothers and sisters. So, they danced as the witches danced, and I, who have read of these things, shudder at the thought.

Ahead of me is gentle movement, shifting lights. With soft fascination, I am drawn to the meditative visual rhythm and continue towards the rear of the shop, away from the door and its brass bell. The floorboards give a little under my weight. I hear them creak as if in protest or in alarm. Going back now is futile.

There, behind the glass, a submerged underwater world of terrestrial senses shifting and drifting. I can hear the rhythmic sound of my breathing, but I want to hear their sound. So coloured, so varied, they are perfectly adapted to their indifferent realm. In and out through the green-tinged rocks, the flowing weeds, I feel as if I am being pulled in, mesmerised by the course of colours and bubbles and their knowing.

I stand watching until the glass seems to vanish. The continuous movement of bubbles and fins pulls at my thinking. The boundary between my body and the water dissolves. Thought stops; the heavy weight of my legs simply evaporates. My body becomes light and hollow. I am no longer standing on dusty timber—I am suspended, drifting, swaying to the rhythm of a silent current. I let the tide and shadows carry me away.

“Hello Felicity, love,” the pet shop owner said, smiling.

I blink, disconcerted, and then realise.

She put down the box she was carrying and asked, “Was that your big sister and her friends I heard on their way to the beach?”

I nod and adjust my thick-rimmed glasses. I have broken my glasses strap again.

“Come to see the puppies? They’re just out back. Want to help me feed them?”

I nod.