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Sand in the wind (III)

             It took a long time to finish the job because the dim light of the sunset had been replaced the fog. The sun, hidden behind the crowns of the trees, had reached its zenith and was now setting quickly. Dave again tied the shovel around his back and then, instead of climbing back up the cliff, he started his journey into town. He walked slowly, making detours here and there, without paying any attention to the sights and sounds around him. It took him more than an hour to reach the point where the forest became a meadow. From there, at the far side of the green clearing, he could see the city. He could sense that the city was alive: streetlamps cast shadows over pedestrians, cars were crowded together at the traffic ligths. Blowing their horns impatiently.

             As he stared down at the city scenes from the outskirts of the forest, in that dark night, Dave considered how the city seemed to be nothing more but a stupid lights show. He was hungry, so he rummaged through his pocket and found a chocolate bar. He imagined all those executives with their smart suits and ties ending their working day. He thought about the children in school uniforms, rushing out of the schoolyard and crashing into their parents like small tornadoes. Somewhere in a store, somewhere in the city, a woman was trying on a wedding dress. He chewed slowly, his eyes glimpsing over the illuminated streets of the shopping district. When he had finished eating, he tucked the wrapper back into his pocket and turned around again, and embarked on his journey back home, walking around the forest and all along the path that ended at the base of the cliff.

             He reached the end of the road when night had fallen. He would have to cover the last fifty metres in absolute darkness with no moonlight, guided only by the sound of the waves, the direction of the wind and the steady rising slope of the ground. He treaded carefully, trying to not lose his step, aware that he risked falling down the cliff.

             That night he slept in their bed for the first time in many months, having changed the bed linen and getting rid of some of the medicines that reminded him of his wife's sickness. He slept a deep, sound sleep, but didn't dream... although sometimes his body tried to find Sara's body on the other side of the bed. The next morning, he woke up late. He tried to force his eyelids shut for longer, but a deep sadness constricted his throat. He got up, had a light breakfast, and went outside. His steps led him to the back of the house. Near the forest, the ground was muddy and damp. Dave walked to the heap of firewood that was piled up against the house, almost reaching the first floor. He unwedged the axe from an old tree trunk, and placed one of the wooden logs beside it. He lifted the axe so high above his head that the tip almost touched his back, and then instantly smashed the axe into the log with all his might. The axe had chopped the log into two exact halves. Without moving the chopped wood, he took another log from the pile and repeated the exercise. He continued repeating the sequence with a third log, then a fourth, fifth...

             Dave soon felt the drops of perspiration rolling down his clammy skin. He furiously chopped away at the wood with speed and precision. He was completely oblivious to his physical surroundings, the sounds of the ocean and the howls of the wind. His mind focused only on the chopping of the axe, the firewood, and the cramps in his back and his shoulders. Throughout the entire day, he took only one break, when he went inside to grab a slice of white bread that he devoured while sitting on a crickety old chair near the cliff, overlooking the gloomy horizon.