The Room

They lay in bed together. Outside a thick, uncompromising darkness could be felt. She was restless, rolling from side to side, unable to drift into sleep, while he was snoring lightly, very still. Giving up hope of sleep she turned on the small bedside light, faintly illuminating the contents of the room.

There were few furnishings and the walls were painted a neutral colour. On one of the walls was a set of shelves, and on the shelves were books, records, and a couple of photo albums. On the wall opposite these shelves, were a set of A4 canases, arranged three by three. The canvases together made oen scene, the canopy of a forest, and through the tops of the trees brilliant rays of sunlight could be seen to break through where possible. The effect of splitting the image into nine separate squares produced a strangely fragmented impression, the neutral tone of the wall appearing intrusively between the gaps. She had painted the piece in the summer of that year, and he had suggested hanging it on the wall.

Looking across she could see the silhouette of each canvas. Sighing she turned over her pillow and slumped back trying not to think of anything. Through the darkness, the noise of the night could be made out. She heard what sounded like someone being attacked, foxes screeching. It made her feel small. She had never been scared of the dark, even as a young girl. She remembered sneaking out of the house with her sister to explore the world — or at least the garden — at night. Her sister had insisted on taking a torch with them. She wasn’t concerned but on consideration thought it might help them to have a look for those other creatures of the night that didn’t mind the dark. That was long ago now. She could hardly creep around like a child anymore.

She turned around and buried her face in the pillow. Closing her eyes and holding the pillow tightly she found she could see a different kind of darkness. This one seemed to have movement, form, life. She stayed like this for a few minutes, till she felt hot and came up for air. She looked over at her husband. He had turned over also, his back now facing her, but she could hear he was fast asleep, snoring lightly. She remembered worrying about the snoring, perhaps the first worry upon the realization that they were becoming closer to one another than the accepted boundaries of friendship were able to encompass. Her previous lover had snored unbearably. It had ended the relationship. She couldn’t live with a man that revealed himself at night to be an aeroplane engine a bird had flown into.

She was tired, tired because of the late hour, tired of her current job and tired of herself. She couldn’t entirely explain where this wave of dissatisfaction had come from, why now should she suddenly brood with more melancholy than usual. Not a lot had changed recently, maybe that was it. Maybe she was in a rut. She looked over at her husband. Maybe they were in a rut? It was hard to tell, she still loved him, she was at least fairly confident of this. He was still her best friend was he not? She had told him only a few hours ago that she loved him, before they had turned the lights off, before they had made love, as they still did most nights, and before he had started snoring lightly…

She did not mind his snoring, it reminded her more of a cat’s purr than a human. It was rhythmic, regular, she found it comforting in fact, a sort of metronome by which she could keep the speed of her thoughts in time to his. Gradually her own breathing would become synchronized with his, perfect hamony, and then sleep would come. She couldn’t stop loving a man she had such a link with could she? No, of course not.

The sounds of the morning’s first commuters could now be heard. The murmur of easy flowing traffic on empty roads. How strange the hums and thuds that came to her from far off were, echoes of lives unknown, traces of the world outside, outside of this room. She could never fade into solipsism, these sounds would always tease her out. She was naturally inquisitive, and of course, there was her husband. Her life was not just hers now, she’d pledged to share it, to share it forever. She squirmed looking for a comfortable position, but there was no use now, sleep was out of the question.

Knowing this, she relaxed. She knew where she was, she could just lay here and wait for the rest of the world to wake up around her. Her thoughts began to drift, a memory of her childhood, a holiday in Italy when she was maybe twelve years old. Her sister was fifteen then, and though only three years older the distance between them had felt infinite. Her mother had come, but her father had not been able to. His own mother had taken ill. It was doubtful whether any of them would go for a while, but he’d insisted, it was what their grandmother would have wanted.

They stayed in a large villa in Tuscany. She’d spent most of the time lying by the pool reading. She remembered brilliant sunlight every day, from when they all rose, to late in the evening. Everything had glowed in such pure light, the surface of the water shimmered. Her sister had spent most of the holiday upset, fighting with her boyfriend before they left. She remembered not understanding how she could be in such a state about a boy, especially the boy in question. When he had come to their house for the first time he’d been so nervous his voice squeaked every other word, and a large spot on his nose burst while they were eating dinner. After five days of pool, books, and sunshine, their grandmother died and they flew back early.

She became aware of her husband’s snoring again suddenly. He was still in the same position, if not for the sound of his breathing, he could have been taken for dead.

She thought of her grandmother’s funeral. She thought of her father greeting them in the airport, and how all three girls, sisters and mother, ran to him crying. She had cried the longest, and her father held her the whole time. She remembered the solemnity of the occasion, the black dress, and shoes, chosen for her by her mother. Her Aunt’s and Uncle’s had come from various parts of the country, and it was the first time that she had met some of them. She clung to her sister’s arm all day.

She remembered the service in the church, the hymns. Friends of her grandmother made up most of the congregation, some of them also crying. She’d never seen an old person cry before. She remembered the coffin lowered into the ground, only close family then.

The cemetery was large and open. The plot her grandmother was to rest in was towards the perimeter of the grounds, a dense forest acting as a natural boundary.

Watching the casket descend, it’s old and weak looking pulley system, she had felt terrified. She’d wanted to run away. Looking into the forest, the light of day could not be seen. It was dark, but not like she’d seen before. This darkness frightened her, more than anything she had ever known in her life.

She had trembled as her sister looking down a saw a pale feeble looking thing, brown eyes dilated, almost all pupil, struggling to pull in as much light as possible. Those eyes rolled and she crumbled to the floor.

He woke up to see his wife crying. He took her hand, attempted to comfort her. Her hand was cold and he didn’t know what to say.