Three Music Spells

Most people kept photos which reminded them of how they were before the civil war began. I kept my music player. It was the only thing of real value to me -- perhaps more valuable than the blue-gold and red-gold stones that had been passed on to me by my mother. “Mel,” she told me, “Those are rock moons. You don’t sell them. They should always be with our family. Pass them on to your children.”

“What if I don’t have children?” I asked my mom. “Then swallow those rocks,” She said so earnestly that I thought she was testing me.

I was at my apartment. The sun was shining through my windows and it was supposed to be a wonderful day; but there were explosions heard from a distance. I knew that it was a matter of minutes until soldiers came marching on our streets. I went to the bathroom and opened my drawer. A few days ago, I had prepared what I needed to bring --- the 20,000 roll of cash I found in an alley, my music player, and the two rocks my mom instructed me to protect. I stared at the 20,000.

A week ago, on the streets, people were everywhere. We all heard the news of an impending invasion and this drove people crazy. I smelled the tang of smoke; flecks of ashes were on my face; the breaking of glass were heard on all sides. Neighbours were looting neighbours. I turned to an alley and removed myself from the chaos just so that I could make sense of what to do. With my back on the wall, I bent down and took deep breathes. Something caught my eye; it was a roll of cash – a lot of it.

I took the music player and cash from the drawer in my bathroom. I placed them in my pockets; then I stared at the rocks. “With this war,” I thought, “There’s no way I’m going to have children.” Another bomb exploded. It was louder than usual and I knew that danger was slowly coming. I shot a look at the window but returned my gaze to the rocks. “They’re pebbles,” I thought, encouraging myself, “They should be easy to swallow.” I saw my eyes glint with red and blue; I brushed it off as reflections. I quickly shoved the rocks to my mouth and swallowed them. I then dashed outside my apartment and ran with my neighbours.

* * *

It was already dark. Our captors wanted us to stay in one place and the biggest area they could find was a warehouse; it was huge, covering five blocks. I figured I could go unnoticed so I searched for a place where I can hide the cash and hopefully listen to music even for a few minutes. I found such a place one night while exploring the stairs to the basement. The stair path was in a tunnel that went round and round as I walked downwards. As I walked, I felt my stomach rumble and I imagined the rocks swimming in gastric acid. “I wonder if they still work,” I thought. Without expecting anything, I reached out to my pocket and got my music player. I felt the dials in the dark and turned it to any song in my three magic favourites. It began playing the Open song. Nothing happened.

“Of course,” I thought, “What should I expect?” I sighed and as I did, I saw the familiar blue and red light coming out of my mouth which I knew would have come from the swallowed rocks. I then heard rolling sounds and the clanking of a mechanical device. There was light coming from the wall a few steps downwards. I walked further and pushed the wall by the light. The wall moved, revealing my hidden place.

“Why does mom leave us?” I asked my father many times. ‘Is it because of money?” People thought I was like my mom because they considered her a magician and they knew I was a musician. Artists, they thought. But my mom was rarely home. She went out often to her expeditions for months at a time. In truth, it was my dad who raised me. “Your mom is a scientist like me,” my dad said, “She’s moving the world, son.” As a kid, I thought that he meant that she was literally moving mountains and rocks. When I grew up a little, it made sense to believe that she was trying to make a difference.

When my father died a year before I became an adult, my mom came home for good. Her health started deteriorating. “Every day he’d find a way to encourage me, my son,” she said to me one time.

“How?” I asked dubiously, “You had no way of communicating with each other when you’re in one of your journeys.”

“Not anymore,” she said sadly and while getting something from her pockets. That was the time she gave me the rocks. I was stunned. I wanted to know more but she looked more exhausted than usual. “She needs rest,” I thought. She went to her room and slept. She never woke up.

There was no reason for me to explore the moon rocks; but then I found my mom’s black notebook, the one that she kept when she was in her expeditions. “Every time I write a formula about the rocks, the paper I write on disappears,” my mom wrote in her last entry. She included some notes about the rocks – things I did not understand because I was not a scientist like her. The next day, I lost that journal. “What a coincidence,” I thought. I wanted to forget about the moon rocks, really, and whenever I want to forget about something, I listen to my music player. So, alone at the park, sitting under a tree, I listened to my music device on speakers.

My device was playing one of those very long songs that repeated the refrain at least seven times. I liked the music very much that I stood up and sang with it. As I sang, I was imagining fire coming out of my hands. As I motioned towards a tree, some fruits fell. A coincidence, I playfully thought. Come every refrain, I’d imagine fire coming out of my hands and as I motion to trees, some leaves or fruits fell. By the fifth time, I was thinking it wasn’t a coincidence anymore. And I was right. I repeated the song two more times and then I decided to call that music the Fall song.

A few days ago there was this girl who had caught the interest of a soldier because she was wearing a small ornament on her hair. I saw how the girl found it and how the soldier found the girl. He quickly took the ornament from her hair and was about to hit her when I played the Forget song and exhaled deeply. I then said “one hour” and they both forgot what had happened to them in the last hour. I took the ornament with me and brought it back to my hidden place so that no one else can find it.

The hidden place was a warm room. It had a desk, a dining table, a bed and a place for cooking. There was food in the pantry; canned goods, pasta, food bars. There were pots and pans; copper cauldrons, bottles with herbs and roots in solutions of different colours. Then on the side, there were glass beakers and test tubes, funnels and burners. “Like my father’s,” I thought.

Open. Fall. Forget. The only three commands I discovered. I felt that there were a lot more but it would take a lifetime to know them.

It had been several weeks since we were captured. I went to my hidden place and this time, I didn’t switch my music player on. I was very tired. I saw two youngsters die that day. I saw a man beaten to death. I saw mothers cry. It was a usual day but it had gone on for many times that I found myself especially numb and I knew that the music wouldn’t be enough. I looked around me. The place had the facade of peace and isolation. It was self- sufficient and upon discovering more food in a compartment, I knew that I could stay there for months, even years; and wait it all out.

Wait it out. That seemed to me the only logical thing to do in this bewildering situation. But how do I ‘wait it out’ without having to feel the guilt? How do I ‘wait it out’ without the urge to emerge? I knew myself. I could perhaps stay hidden for some weeks but not for months. If I re-emerge and there was still war, people would know. They would see me. They would compare themselves with me and they would see that my body was not as emaciated as theirs. They would wonder and as they do, somebody would say something that would kill me. That was war.

I looked around again. My gaze landed on the hair ornament from the girl and the roll of 20,000 cash from the alley. They were valueless. Then there was this whisper in my head, “If only I did not know some of the things I know.” I looked up at the shelves which were filled with books and cabinets filled with stuffs. They hadn’t fancied me but that day they did. “Those will keep me busy,” I thought. I realised I had to bring them all down to where I was. I switched on my music player and played the Open song so that all cabinets opened. Then I played the Fall song to let everything fall on the ground. “These things will keep me sane,” I whispered. When I was satisfied, I sat on the chair, switched the dial to my music favourites, and started playing the Forget song. I closed my eyes and wondered. The longest I ever casted was a few days, not even a week; but I needed something longer. Perhaps a point before the war? “One year,” I whispered to myself repeatedly, like a lullaby, until I made myself sleep. When I woke, I saw the mess, I saw the cash; I saw the ornament, but I didn’t know where I was nor did I know that I had swallowed the rocks.