From Below the Cloud

Here, on this cloud. No better place to be, than here, on this cloud. To look down below and see my love, who once loved me, walking along the green hills with another man’s hand in hers. But saying another man would be incorrect. For here, laying on this cloud and speaking, is a being of half-man half-animal. My legs replaced with a beast’s hind legs of burnt umber colored fur and hooves clicking instead of calm flat feet. And when my hands brush the delicate waves of the hair on my head, the curled horns bar my fingers. I am strong, that is true, but inside I am as soft as the faint song heard from a Blue Bird singing far within the spring-morning mountains. And the only way the people hear this song, is not when they look at me or hear me speak like an ordinary man speaks, it is when I play. When I press my lips gently against the wooden flute and pour all that is within me out through the wooden holes, then, out comes my song. A sad song. A song of loneliness and of love never felt and given, and acceptance never received. And when the people are in town and can hear this song playing in the distance, they follow it. Follow it through the village, across the bridge and up towards the green hills. And then they see me. Me, playing this song. And no matter how sweet the song is and how far they have traveled to be close to it, when they see me all the curiosity and delight on their faces disappear and they hurriedly walk away, leaving me alone to play my sad song.

And this was how I met my love.

One morning, I decided to wrap myself in a brown sheet, concealing all the parts of me that was not man. I walked up the highest hill, and I sat where I always played, on a smooth-gray rock surrounded by freshly-born flowers. A full-grown pear tree sprawled its branches above, the green tear drop fruit waiting to be picked and eaten. And as I played, I could see a small figure at the bottom of the hill looking up to where I sat. The figure soon became a young woman as she made her way up the hill following my sad song. Her dress became a pale rose dress, fighting the top of the hills winds. Her hair became long and wholesome-brown, the sun shining hues of gold onto it. Her colorless face became one of light-cream tint, cheeks topped with rouge from the heat, and large eyes matching the color of her hair, looking at me, me, the one playing the sad song. She stood there, right in front of me, listening with a curious and delightful face. I was hidden, only my face and song was visible. And so, as she looked into my eyes, my eyes which looked like any other ordinary man’s eyes, I was to her human. So, she did not leave.

When the song ended, she made a gasp of approval while softly clapping her hands, and said, “That was beautiful, I’ve never heard anything like that.” And I had never heard such words before and felt a voice that spoke to me with such kindness. I thanked her. She moved closer and sat cross-legged at the bottom of the rock, near my hooves which hid under the sheet. She looked up at me with her hands in her lap and said, “I would love to hear it again.” She didn’t notice, but a tear started to move down my face and nearly dropped into her hands but instead, fell onto the sheet where my animal-furred legs trembled.

She was beautiful, for many reasons, but I admired that she was herself. That she was able to be herself in front of me, whereas I could never be who I was without being judged for what I was.

She stayed with me the whole day to hear me play. When the heat was too overwhelming she would lay on her back stretched out over the flowers, a flow of brown hair weaving through stems and reaching far away from her head. And she would stare far into the deep branches of the tree that enveloped us and our time together. Irregular shapes of sunlight peeked down through the gaps between the branches, leaves, and fruit, falling onto her dress, her bare arms and legs, her white socks and yellow shoes, and onto her face. A small diamond shape of sunlight rested on the middle of her lips.

Whenever a slight chill passed, she would cross her legs and bring her knees up close to her body, her dressing falling over her legs and her arms wrapping around them. She would watch me with not only admiration, but, how can I put it, with...innocence. Yes, she would watch me with innocence, innocence to what I really was under this sheet. And even though I knew the wind could not push the sheet off to reveal my inhuman self, that it could only be done by my own hands or hers, I was still nervous, because I didn’t want to see that innocent look change.

Too soon, shadows began to appear as the moon slowly secured the sky. And as my song came to an end, she rose and told me regretfully that she had to make her way home. But before leaving, she asked if I would be here tomorrow, telling me how much she wanted to come again and hear me play.

The following day, hiding under the sheet once again, I played sitting on the rock on top of the hill. And not long after I started, I saw a small figure at the bottom of the hill. I could not sleep the night before as I questioned whether I should come back here at all, to save myself from the pain that she could never love a thing like me. But, there was hope. Something in the way she looked at me made me feel like maybe she could love the half-human half-animal I was. So I did walk out of my cottage hidden in the woods, and as I watched her walk up the hill towards me, I was glad that I did.

As to not attract the town’s people, I played softer, so my song could only be heard by the two of us. Even though it was a mournful tune she was able to put her own life and happiness into it. She stood up and began to dance. She swayed her arms and body. Slowly, she twirled around, her hair following after, and then she started to move around me, dancing around the rock. I watched her dance and dance, and laugh and smile. She flicked blotches of light around whenever she ran into the beams of sunlight, and sometimes, just for a split second, a flick of light would land on me, but she didn’t see as her eyes were closed. And as she continued to twirl, the sweet scent of flowers would kick up into the air around us.

And this is how it was like for many days. My song had even started to change. There became more of her in it. I’m not sure if she noticed the change, but it didn’t matter, as she would always just want to be here and listen. But one day, after many, there was something different in her manner. She didn’t look at my face when I talked or played my song, her eyes would be at the ground. This is it, I thought, someone has told her about me. She knows what I am and cannot even stand to look at me anymore. As twilight began and she started to fidget around I knew she was probably going to go home and most likely never come back. She uncrossed her legs and went onto her knees. Some grass and strayed petals clung onto her. A chandelier of tear drops fell onto her face, shadows from the pear tree above, or perhaps simply a reflection of my own tears. Whilst looking down she said, “Well...” She paused. My body began to prepare itself for the lost of love. I wanted to grab her and plead her not to leave and say that even if she can’t love me, I would still want her to come now and again to see me. But I couldn’t move, I felt in such a panic I knew if I did move I’d scare her and she would never return to the top of the hill.

“Well...” She lifted her head and her eyes fell onto mine, they cradled the moonlight. And rising past her hips, her breasts, her shoulders, and reaching out to touch the side of my face was her delicate hand. I hesitated, worried she’d pull the sheet off of my head. But she just very gently brushed my cheek. Then she leaned her face in, the moon larger. The suns heat from the day radiated off of her lips and flirted with mine just before we kissed. My heart fell swollen. Now that I knew she didn’t know about my inhuman form and wasn’t going to leave me, I could let my arms safely hold her, and I did. And we were like that at every other twilight, after I had played my flute all day, and up until she walked down the hill to go home and I, into the woods.

Whenever we were together, I would forget that I was hiding the part of me that has kept me alone, because I never hid who I was inside from her. But as I looked into my bathroom mirror, I thought it was probably time to tell her. But of course, what was inside didn’t harmonize with what looked back at me.

It was the middle of the day. She was lying on her stomach with her head resting against her arms, her eyes softly closed. She had taken her shoes and socks off, blades of grass peeking out between her toes. As I finished my song, I knew it was time. I placed my flute on the ground and sat next to her, careful not to pull the sheet off. Her eyes opened and she was surprised to see me there. I had never moved off the rock before, and had barely moved my body besides from when I held the flute and held her. She told me to lay next to her. I was going to say that I shouldn’t and tell her right then and there, but I didn’t have the strength to deny this opportunity. She actually wanted me close to her, the thing that people walked away from. So I kissed her eyes shut as I adjusted my body. While we were stretched out on the grass facing each other I felt my hooves exposed. And even though I knew she wouldn’t have been able to see them, for that moment, as the life around us touched my inhuman feet, I felt like she was closer to the truth and was accepting it. But no matter what I felt, it wasn’t true. And as she began to kiss and embrace me, and tried to get closer to my body, I now had to tell her. I looked into her eyes, which at that moment held so much innocence to what I was, and I told her that I had something important to say. With this, her eyes didn’t change. And as I told her what I was, and that I loved her too much to tell her from the beginning because I didn’t want her to leave, I thought that maybe her eyes wouldn’t change. That she would tell me she knew all along, someone in town had told her. That she didn’t want to tell me so as to not embarrass me, but that anyway, she doesn’t care because she always loved me for who I was. But her eyes changed. They changed so fast that I could barely recognize what I saw in them. And I found myself getting desperate, hoping I could see that familiar look. I apologized and pleaded. And the last thing I said to her, before she told me that she could never love me and then ran barefoot down the hill crying, was that, even if she didn’t love me, if she could still come here to see me, that she was the only thing I had ever loved.

I looked down at my hands, her tears had fallen into them. I can’t remember exactly what I was thinking, I just knew that I was slowly starting to lose her and then she was gone. She left her shoes and socks on the grass right next to my ugly hooves. I remember, I had stood up and tore the damn sheet right off, I didn’t need it anymore, I had showed her what I was.

I went back on the rock and just sat there crying, and waiting, and thinking. I placed her shoes and socks next to me, if she wouldn’t come back for me, maybe she would come back for her shoes and socks. I started to think, if she really did love me, couldn’t she accept my form, this half-human half-animal costume? This costume of mine deceives who I am, a thinking and feeling human. But unlike the other people, she was able to know who I was inside, and yet, now because she has seen what kind of shape holds this inside, she cannot love me? But how could she accept it if I couldn’t and had to hide myself under a sheet? Maybe if I showed her sooner she wouldn’t have walked away because it would have shown her that I believed it didn’t matter what shape my body took, I had a soul inside. Maybe she would have admired that and slowly fallen in love with me. Maybe she had been hurt by somebody who had lied to her and I was just another person who hid something away from her.

So I waited for her on the rock. Night came and I stayed under the tree unable to sleep. The morning came and I waited. In the afternoon, I picked up my flute and played. I played loud, hoping she would hear what was happening inside of me and understand, and come back to me. The day had come to an end but I still couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to be in the middle of the woods where she would not be able to find me. But with each sunset and sunrise and sunset, the time that I last saw her grew further away.

I started to remember her dancing, the way she moved to my sad song. Her movements, they were always too free and jovial, they never really did match the song. It wasn’t because she danced fast, she did move to the slow pace. It was the energy she put into it, the expression her body wore and the way her face and eyes smiled. And it suddenly came to me one day. Maybe, she never understood my sad song like I thought she did. Maybe, she had never known what sadness was that she couldn’t even hear it in my song. How could I expect her to come back if she wouldn’t be able to understand what it’s like to be something like me? And so after weeks and months of waiting for her, I had realized that I was no longer part of her days. I was just a creature that played a song I hoped someone would understand, but no one would. So she would never come back, not even for her shoes and socks.

At home, I stood in front of the mirror, and before leaving this world I prayed to the Gods for two things, to be able to keep my flute, and to be placed on a cloud overlooking the top of the hill. When I awoke, my flute was in my hand and from below the cloud I could see the hill. For a long time her shoes and socks remained next to the rock, until one day, a storm blew them away down the hill.

And then today, I saw her figure standing at the bottom of the hill. But this time she was not alone. And they ran up the hill together. They walked under the tree and standing next to the rock they caressed each other. I picked up my wooden flute and played my song, but only I could hear it. If there were any flowers surrounding the rock she probably would have picked some, but they had all died and disappeared during winter. Then, I couldn’t exactly make out if what she did next was a conscious decision or just involuntary, but just before they walked away, she brushed her hand against the rock that was surrounded by nothing.