THE LAKE OF TEARS
And so I travelled on, short in the telling, long in the doing. I came to a lake, bordered by still reeds and water grasses spearing through its surface into the air. The breeze was cool, the clouds were intermittent, low, and grey at their hearts. The winter was a tickle of frost suggested in the moist dark soil. The trees were bare bar a few crisp, lingering leaves hanging loosely from their branches. The low sun drowned the place, littered with leaves, in deep tones of ochre, rust and sauterne. The frogs struck up their dull croaking. The crickets creaked lazily and the odd bird whistled. They sang a slow song, rising and falling in volume.
Across the lake stood a big old stone house. It looked deserted but once it must have belonged to some landed gentry. Its grey walls were partly covered by leafless vines creeping into its broken windows. A large hole was in its brown roof, by the tilting chimney. I watched a raven flutter out of it, circle the sky and head towards the sun.
The house looked like suitable accommodation for the night, but first I would refresh myself in the waters of the lake. I knelt at its edge and bent my head to a gap in the reeds. My lips touched its still surface and drank cool water. I cupped my hands but before splashing my face I caught my perfect reflection.
I saw, quite suddenly, I had grown old. Lines and cracks traced across my face. I followed them as I had followed all the tracks of my life. I saw again all that I had seen, everywhere I had been. I saw all the faces I had met and passed by. And as I looked I saw the deep sadness in all of them. Never was there a person who did not have some secret tragedy locked behind their smiles or brows set firmly in strength. And every place had seen the passage of countless generations of life, armies, wanderers, exiles and escapees, laying a timeless shroud of sorrow across the landscape.
I followed the lines of age to the edge of my watery eye. In the depth of my pupil I saw my own tragedy. It was all that I had seen. I could not help feel a great regret for all those I had left, all those I had failed to stop and help. All I had befriended and deserted. My home was far away, so far in time I could scarcely call it home. No friends or lovers travelled with me. The great weight of solitude pressed upon my shoulders. My cupped hands moved to my face and I cried. My tears dripped into the water, dispersing my reflection.
Beneath the soft ripples the pale face of a young woman appeared, her eyes longing to comfort me. Her arms were open, welcoming me into her affectionate clasp. Her lips approached the surface. All lines led here, this was the place my path ended. I leaned forward to accept her embrace. But firm hands gripped my shoulders and tore me away from the shore. The spectre swam away.
Frightened, I looked up at my assailant, a handsome young man standing over me. 'Don't be afraid.' he said softly, 'Sit by me. Be calm, man, be calm.' As he brushed a shock of dark hair from his pale forehead his deep set brown eyes revealed the kind of earnest honesty
that can only be found in young people. I crawled up the bank a few paces and sat by him, facing the lake. He patted me carefully on the back. 'You see that house?' he said, pointing across the water.
'Yes.' I swallowed.
'In that house lived a good family. They lived well off the land here and, for the most part, they were content and happy. Into this family was born a little girl. Her name was Sunlight. Her mother and father and brothers and sisters all welcomed her into the world and as a child she delighted everyone. When she was young she laughed a lot, playing with flowers and butterflies. She brought good cheer into the world. Her flights of fancy. Her delight in discovery.
'When she was about thirteen her father returned from a trip to the city. The city was a long way away in those days. He brought back a radio, a television set and a generator to power them. Sunlight became absorbed by these extraordinary contraptions. She spent all her time listening and watching. Behind all the soap operas and dramas she occasionally heard of all the other places in the world. She heard tales of war and famine. The figures were greater than she could fathom, at first. She had never seen more than twenty people at one time but now heard of thousands and millions of people suffering. As she watched and listened her skin paled, her limbs weakened and her lungs became sickly. She began to cry. She was so surprised and so amazed by these stories, these great volumes of population, that she concentrated and tried to imagine each and every one of them and how they were feeling. She cried for days and weeks on end.
'Her father told her that they were just stories like the soap operas and dramas. Though she could not understand why anybody would tell such terrible lies, and shed a few tears for them, she was calmed a little.
'One day a young man arrived, looking for work and a place to sleep. He was an orphan, born on the sea with no place to call his home. Curious, she asked him about the world. She asked about the stories on the radio and television. The young man valued honesty. "I have been there. I have seen them" he said, "and it is far worse than they can say. An image on a screen, a word on the radio cannot come close. To hear the wails of women who cannot feed their babies. To see in a beggar some brief happiness. To walk streets crowded with the sick and dying, having nothing to satisfy their constant need. The things that people will do."
'Sunlight began to cry, knowing the truth, not knowing why her father had lied. The young man was banished from the house and the radio and television destroyed but it was too late. Sunlight knew what was going on. She continued trying to imagine the lives of each and every one of these starving and warring peoples. But there were millions and billions of them. Even if she tried to imagine them each for a second she could not know them all. And how could a lifetime of suffering be grasped in only a second, a minute? How could she even imagine at all when her life was so easy? It was too much for her to bear. She wept and wept and as she wept her tears streamed down the hill into the valley where they settled.
'Her family asked her to stop crying. They tried everything they could with no success. "If anyone really cared," Sunlight said, "they could do nothing but cry for the rest of their lives. Nothing!"
'After two years of tears a reflective lake had formed, deep and still.
The young man who told the truth returned. He crept into her room at night and woke her. "Sunlight," he declared, "I have travelled the world and many women have I seen but none of them are you. I can't get you from my mind. Every day greets me with the thought of you, and bids farewell in the same way. It is the bane of my existence that you are forever unhappy and that it was me who made you cry. I have questioned my faith in honesty. I am your shoulder. I love you, Sunlight."
'But Sunlight could not see through her tears. "It's no use." she said, "You must seek your happiness elsewhere." She saw depression and rejection fill the young man.
'"I want to make you happy. My life is pointless if I cannot make you smile." he said.
'She cried even more at the impossibility of the task he had set himself. "My tears are all useless! They have not changed a thing. The world goes on as it always has. My selfish tears have only caused more sorrow. I must put an end to them!" She ran from the house. The young man pursued but her father, woken by their voices, stopped the young man's pursuit.
'Sunlight ran and ran and plunged into her lake of tears. She swam deep down to the bottom and tied complex knots of water weeds around her ankles. None could save her. Her corpse was lost. Her father hung the young man from a willow bough, where his body was left to rot, watching over the lake eternally.'
His story completed, the young man looked at me and grinned.
'And the girl's family?' I asked.
'They all moved away after the accident. They went to the city and took care of themselves.'
I looked through the fallen night to the reflection of the house in the lake.
'Be careful.' he said. 'This lake has been a place of solace for woeful souls ever since. It is enchanted my friend. Death is the only comfort you will find in her arms. You had better get far from here.'
I took his advice and sped away dow
n an old path towards a dim orange glow on the horizon.
In The Light Of Memory Page 4