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 He lay, eyes facing the sky, the midnight
moonlight filling his soul with warmth, the stars reflecting in his
eyes. He could feel the waves driving slowly, gently against his side
soaking his suit with the salty water of the English coast. Wondering,
wishing how it could have been, his whole miserable life flashing before
him in the blink of an eyelid as he sank deep into the disappearing
sinking sand as it fell deeper and deeper into the sea. He knew that
soon he would be found: they would ask questions that he could not
answer. Why didn’t he finish it? Why didn’t he end it all?
Suddenly in the distance he heard footsteps moving slowly out of the
darkness; the sound of crunching, churning footsteps in the sand.
Footsteps became voices, soft voices ringing through his ears, soft
voices of a strange deadly language he knew not how to interpret. He
could feel himself becoming more and more vulnerable as the footsteps
became louder and louder.
“Are you alright, man?” he heard faintly from the distant figure.
No response,
“Err…are you ok man?” the figure stammered through the darkness.
He tried to ooze any word, any sound. A cough? A splutter? No response,
“Sir? Are you ok?” came the voice somewhat more faintly echoing in his
ears.
No response,
“I said sir! Are you alright?” The frustrated character replied to the
silence. The ambiguous man advanced, striding towards the drowning
figure lying on the sand. He looked down at his lips slowly opening “We
better get you an ambulance” he muttered almost to a whisper.
Christof Avaro was a small man, a small man in all aspects of his life.
His ambitions were small, his success, and even his height. In fact,
from a young age he had not been able to reach his dear piano that he
loved so much. Ever since he could remember, all he knew were the notes
blending together in his head, the music an escape; a way out of the
world he hated so much. In fact his sheer detestation of the world alone
was enough for his failure. Usually Christof Avaro was not used to
success, but for once he had experienced it. He had caught his wife with
her lover many times before, but this time he had succeeded.
This time, because of success Christof Avaro was lying on a beach in a
dead man’s suit; because of success Christof Avaro had tried to end his
life. Success was never an issue in his life but today success was a
failure in life. Success had pulled the trigger; success had killed his
wife, and success had killed her lover. Success? Christof Avaro had put
a bullet through success and a dagger through its heart.
“I think he’s coming round” The doctor’s voice, his waking thought, his
eyelids opening like it was his first sight. His eyes fixated on the
doctor who had woken him. “Do you speak English?” asked the blurry
shapes of the doctor’s face. Christof tried to utter a word or a sound
to show of his complete lack of understanding but he could say nothing.
His hand reached out grasping the only means of communication available
to him- the black biro beside his bed and he began scribbling on the
open newspaper beside him. He tried to think, how could he explain? What
was the one thing that would give Christof Avaro an identity? At first
he drew his glorious flag that would see him home, his nationality. The
doctor looked at the cross beside him somewhat more understood. With
this new understanding they shared Christof felt more relaxed, like he
had been understood for the first time.
There was still something persisting in his head. He picked up his pen
and again began to fill the page with pictures. He filled it with his
one true love, the black and white blending together: scales, arpeggios,
sharps, flats gathering on his page. “We’ll see what we can do.” said
the doctor in a somewhat more light-hearted fashion.
Rakel Avaro had never quite lived up to the standard of Christof’s true
love. As hard as she tried, Rakel could not compete with the music he
loved so much. It was this neglect that made her do something quite
immoral, something that she would never dream of doing. At first it
began with a kiss, a drunken kiss on New Years Eve 2001. It was with
this kiss that her fate had been sealed. Christof had always known that
his best man was much more handsome and that Rakel would always find him
much more appealing.
Rakel and her lover became deeper and deeper in love and because of this
Rakel and Christof fell deeper and deeper apart from each other. The
only place she felt she could now turn was to her beloved sweetheart.
Christof on the other hand could turn to music, the real love of his
life. The understanding between Rakel and her lover founded an obsession
so deep that sometimes Rakel would go missing for weeks on end, caught
up in the tight handcuffs of love. Sometimes they would stay in bed for
weeks on end with Christof so ignorant that he appeared not to know a
thing. Well at least that’s what Rakel thought; he didn’t know the truth
did he? This was her belief until on New Years Eve 2004, Christof Avaro
appeared at the house of her lover and with the click of a trigger their
affair was over.
Knowing not what to do Christof ran, far away from the country he loved
so much. He hoped that his dead best friend would not mind him borrowing
a few of his most valuable possessions. He knew he had to run, run far
away, but he knew not which way to run. He acquired himself a new
profession, he was to become a fisherman. Apart from his complete lack
of sailing or fishing skills Christof managed somehow to be shipwrecked
all the way on the coast of a small island just west of the channel.
Somehow his journey had taken him here, the chapel of a British
hospital. He sat staring longingly at the wonderful notes sat before
him. His fingers touching the keys almost lustfully, he could feel
words, conversations, and understanding. Yet he had not opened his
mouth. The glorious sounds playing to each other, his hands like Romeo
to the piano’s Juliet, his one true love, his true home. Home in music,
home on the keys of the chapel piano. He did not see the walls, the
ceiling, or the room. The music filled his head in another world.
Another life, life in music and music his life, he felt happiness for
the first time in years, safety, happiness and joy. The pain began to
spread like a tumour removing his happiness, his splattered blood on the
purest white of keys. Happiness had pulled the trigger, happiness put
the bullet through his head, happiness had killed the piano man. Music
had been his life, music had been his death.
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