The Curlew’s Flight Call
UPDATE: MINNA HAS VERY KINDLY MADE HER KINDLE SHORT STORY COLLECTION NO END CODE FREE TO DOWNLOAD UNTIL THE 9TH APRIL 2023. I HIGHLY, HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU GET YOURSELF A COPY IMMEDIATELY. YOU WON’T REGRET IT.
The beauty of writing- when it is as good as this- is that it truly can transport you to other worlds, or parts of this world that you have never seen or knew existed. Who needs a passport, a boarding pass and a hotel reservation when prose like this can allow you to travel thousands of miles in a second?
At the STSC we are blessed yo have literally dozens or excellent writers but when it comes to conjuring up a sense of place, the rest of the roster are going to have their work cut out if they are to equal or surpass what Minna has offered up for us today.
Enjoy.
Somewhere in the North far away from all metropolitan things slumbers a little village. If you take a few more steps north you’ll be in the true wilderness where forests and lakes and marshes cover the landscape. A wilderness where the concept of silence takes on a whole new meaning. Where the curlew’s flight call digs itself into the human soul and forms an eternal and melancholy bond so strong that the human will long of the flight call every spring, no matter how far away she is from that country in the far North.
The village has a couple of thousand inhabitants and no street lights. Potholed and narrow countryside roads meander along old cow paths and a river that empties out into the ocean about half an hour away. Most villagers are descendants of farmers and in the 1970s some still didn’t have indoor plumbing. This is a story about a woman from such a village. Such a village can, of course, exist about anywhere in the world and this story could of course also be about a man.
This one happened to be a beautiful village when the woman grew up, and it still is for that matter. The light summer nights were fragrant with all things in bloom, and the winter nights were lit up by aurora borealis and stars so bright they almost guided one’s way back home through the dark forest. It was a safe village, far away from dangerous things, where children could walk home alone and roam around as children do.
We’ll jump into this reality and zoom in on a blue Honda Civic as it zips through the lush Northern countryside. It is midsummer and the peak of beauty in this village. Poems wouldn’t do it justice, though local poets and songwriters have tried and come close. Nowadays, if they knew this place existed, influencers would flock to this place and stand, no sprawl, in the ditches among the wildflowers as the midnight sun teases the horizon. But wait, we need to focus on the blue Honda.
That last rolling hill along the beat up countryside road has begun to tempt her. What if she kept going instead of turning home? Into a future of possibilities and new beginnings.
Her car is her freedom as she navigates through the teenage wasteland. It’s a stick shift and fast. Sometimes she pretends she is one of the strong female leads in one of the American movies she loves to watch, like Ellen Ripley or Sarah Connor. Some of them would keep going, she knows that. She is, deep in her soul, a pilot, and she was meant to explore. If she was born in a parallel universe she might have been the captain of a space exploring ship. Like Captain Janeway…
Halfway up the hill she still isn’t sure what will happen. She senses the temptation to keep going, and suspects it one day will win. The urge for something grander is growing stronger each day. In the very last moment she turns right, and onto the narrow road through the pine tree forest and home. A brief sense of regret flushes through her, but is soon erased by other thoughts.
Sometimes she bikes through the warm summer evenings for hours. Fast, on an old bike. Her friends rarely call her anymore. To appear a bit less alone, she dresses as if she’s on her way somewhere, like to a party or something. She isn’t. Somehow she finds herself in a solitary cocoon with no close friends and a dear wish to have at least one good friend. She bikes along the prettiest bike routes in the seaside town, and breathes in through her nose and out her mouth.
Her legs burn as she pedals faster than necessary uphill. She tells herself it will strengthen her lungs and legs for the future. She will need strength in the future, she senses it. Then back on shaky and tired legs to the pad that has no AC to dream and read and write some more.
All this beauty and safety, she grasps. The sweet smell of birch trees after rain. The curlew’s cry in the twilight expresses safety and calm. The quiet snow piles that hide everything dead and ugly. The stars and aurora borealis that many dream of seeing and never will. The village, the town, the city - a microchip that has left her out of the circuits. It is good to live here in the quiet corner of this planet, but she knows this isn’t for her. It is that simple. She is meant for something else. Something difficult.
In the spring, when the fields begin to steam in the sunlight, and the soil wakes up, the scent from the earth tells her something will happen. She doesn’t speak earth, but she understands that she won’t remain here to guard these fields. They are beautiful, but they are not for her. The spider silk strong call of the curlew almost holds her back. It knows its way deep into her soul, but she doesn’t speak curlew and allows the melancholy sound to vanish behind the aspen and willow in the valley.
Time moves slower when young so we can better grasp the true meaning of solitude later on when we encounter it. It is important to be lonely with big dreams. Perhaps even necessary. All this happens right at the dawn of internet, when universities are the only institutions where young people can experience the new thrill of being online. This is where she forges her first deep friendship with another human. So, they do exist, the humans that understand her.
She wonders about her lack of meaningful friendships. Is she a poor friend? Has she done something to make herself unattractive to new friendships? Has she - and this is not yet in her realm of thought - stepped outside the circle of recognition and into something others nearby will not or do not want to follow? She makes attempt after attempt to connect, befriend, rejoin, invite, communicate and be part of the local life. Failed beginnings and humiliating events take place which further push her into the opaque membrane that only she is leaning against. It is the border between now and the future.
She tries to find an opening in this membrane to the future. At 4 a.m., after walking home through the birch forest after one rare pleasant evening out, she stands on the yard and listens to the distant hum of big rigs far away on the highway. The big rigs are sirens’ calls. She has everything and nothing where she stands now. She is aware of her good and safe life, and she feels immensely grateful that she has this particular life to life. It is, however, out there where she belongs, somewhere where there is a hum. Everything here is in a stasis. The dead end meets her again and again. The decision arrives to her. A boulder from the ice age sets into a slow and steady motion. She can feel it. It feels good.
When she tells them she is leaving they express surprise. She isn't surprised but understands. She has left many times before. As many times as she has driven up the last rolling hill and turned right, she has, in her dreams, continued along the road into the future. As many times as she has driven up the last rolling hill and turned right, she has, in reality, taken other roads too. Nearby roads with nearby people, but there was never anyone in this village who was up for an adventure beyond all this. So she got in her car, left a dust cloud behind her on the forest road, and did it solo. She is after all the pilot of her own life.
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Wow just wow! Might be my favourite thing posted on STSC so far!
My favorite stories have intimate truths and beautiful moments. These truths helps me understand a reality shared between the words, while its beauty makes me feel and helps me see that reality. This is one of those stories.