The night the Rhymer went whack

62

The rhythm, the rhythm, the rhythm is our power AND

the freedom we feel in our soul.

Deep in the jungle one evening the chieftain awakened Nick once the moon reached high in the sky. They traveled to a part of the plains where only he and the chief were allowed to tread. Upon arrival, he pulled out a sharp blade scaring Nick, but he smiled reassuringly as he summoned his guest to sit. By now, Nick had been there a few years and had learned the language though no words were spoken as the chief carved out a small portion from a very old tree. He then drew a large perfect circle around Nick before placing that piece of wood in Nick’s hand. He gestured toward the heavens, then toward the tree, then toward the piece Nick held in his hand.

Slowly, he vacated the circle leaving Nick alone in a stunned silence. There’s a loudness to silence and as Nick sat, he remembered his sutured ears and how that silence could not compare to the lack of sound he was now experiencing. No wind, no creatures, no heartbeat and no breath. Just energy. And that tree, being the center of the Earth, was a conduit of sound and of emptiness that was now mesmerizing Nick. He had heard everything. Every sound he could imagine. Everything except—nothing, pure nothing, which was what he was now experiencing.

But eventually, sound returned and it was distinct. Each pitch, each note, each frequency and each level was separate onto itself, so he picked up the knife the chief had left and began crafting a small instrument out of the small piece of tree. An instrument that was able to replicate all of these isolated sounds that Nick was registering and he heard them all as he sat in the circle. This instrument, with its infinite ability, could also reset any off-ness Nick would encounter and quickly re-establish his rhythm with the universe—with just one beat.

And that was the instrument Nick pulled from his pocket as he stood facing the dead crowd once he realized his rhythm did seem off. Minutely, but that’s all it took for total chaos. Then he sounded a guttural note deep from within, remitting all noises, muzzling even the chewing and the swallowing of the feast. He cocked his head and played a few notes. Still off. He then heard the howl of Rascal, his trusted companion, his primary canine support since he ventured from home and that howl shook him. Shook him to the core. Something was amiss, something jolted him off balance and off rhythm.