One day Ayelet just realized she was not going to do anything that she personally didn’t need or cared for anymore. She was not going to waste her time on things her uncles from mother’s side were trying to make her do.
Mom died long ago, when she was eight, and she didn’t have a father at all. That’s what mom told her – “You never had a father”, and left it at that.
She was left with grandma and grandpa and a bunch of their sons with their noisy wives, who as grandma put it, “took active part” in a life of glum little girl, always looking down.
The doctors diagnosed her with Asperger’s syndrome. But she wasn’t autistic.
She just didn’t like people. And she knew she can’t tell this to anyone. People could hurt you, just by throwing three words absent-mindedly. And for some, two were enough. And at school sometimes even a glance would suffice. Glances can cut you really deep, you know…
She has often dreamt of waking up, getting outside – and seeing nobody, not a single human. Only cats and birds.
The cats were wonderful. And the birds were so incredibly musical.
She used to imagine herself in a forest. No people, of course. Just the birds chirping up high in the tree tops, and the leaves rustling.
Torturous school was finally over, and Ayelet started working. She didn’t have any skills, so there weren’t many options – it was either cleaning or taking care of old people. Her choice was obvious.
Her uncles wouldn’t have any of it and were all pulling her to their shops and offices. She would listen silently, staring down as usual – and walking away without saying a word.
Her grandma was just shaking her head.
She got lucky – her work took place at evenings, after all those fussy people left. She was pushing her cart with the bucket between the long tables.
She would squint slightly, swing the mop above the floor – and begin.
La bemol, sol, si, laaaa… And now raise an octave – aaaand one, two, three and three quarters… her fingers were clutching the mop, pushing it negligently between the chairs and leaving indistinct wet marks on the floor. Lips pursed tightly, eyes half-closed.
If anyone saw her, they could never grasp what a mighty choir thunders in her world right now, how many voices does she control mentally – and only mentally, without using her hands or her voice. She knew how to hide it from people, she learned that long ago.
Aaaand – a new part, adagio and the choir…
Music was her world. Her world was music.
Trees sounded like violas and violins, flowers jingled like cymbals, bindweed – like a flute and a bit like cello. The bird choir had her in tears – tears nobody have ever seen as well, because she knew how to hide them.
And the sea… Oh, the sea was a giant orchestra, welcoming her with new instruments every time.
Whenever she hasted onto the promenade, stumbling in a hurry, she would first exhale and freeze for a moment, and then, with a long inhalation – aaaaand, one-two-three – and her soul soared like a seagull over the majestic polyphony of the surf.
Music filled up her every breath, every glance – if she didn’t have to look at people, that is.
People sounded like blackboards if you scrape them with a knife. Harsh and exhausting, even if they weren’t saying anything, which happened rarely.
And Ayelet had a dream – a little house in the mountains, just her – and the mountains. And no people around. She has never heard mountains just yet, but she really, really wanted to. It ought to be wind instruments – a million trumpets and trombones. She was closing her eyes, imagining how unbelievably beautiful it must be.
Yes, she thought, going up into the empty office – red roof and green mountains. And blue skies. And nobody around.
And music in every breath.
And then I would be just fine, she thought.
Translated by Diana Shnaiderman-Pereira