Too many times had the silence caught him. Too many times had the emptiness surrounded him. Perhaps the nature of the world was meant to be this way, but he did not think so. A world without music was no world at all. To be without melody was impossible to comprehend. Time to play a tune.
Fingering his favourite sax, the musician closed his eyes. A keen observer would have noticed the way he rubbed his thumb gently along the back of the saxophone as if caressing a lover. Subtly the man shifted his position on the old armchair, ragged and worn out from years of faithful service. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the window behind him, reflecting off the saxophone and casting the room in a warm yellow hue as the musician slowly opened his eyes again. Noticing a shadow quickly dart across his vision he was momentarily disturbed. Order returned to his mind a second later as he shut out the distraction and concentrated on the thought of the music to come. Finding the saxophones keys with unwavering accuracy, the musician slowly flexed his fingers and let the hollow sound from the instrument tease the silent room. The time had now come. He raised the saxophone to his lips and began to play. Finally, a sound like no other filled the house.
He played an old tune that he had known since childhood. Moving slowly backward and forward in his chair, he tapped his left foot in time with the song. Before, in his teen years, this was just another tune, but ever since his early twenties, at the age of 21 or 22, the music had taken on a whole new meaning. Loosely termed, it had become a religion for him. The echo of the notes reverberated back to him, enhancing his enjoyment of the moment. He felt as if the music were permeating everything around him, while simultaneously reaching out to the world beyond the Estate and outward to infinity. This music was simply timeless. Heaven must be like this, he thought.
When he finished playing, the musician remained still for a while, savouring the last dying notes. Instead of the serenity he expected, a loud crash came from the kitchen. Carefully placing his saxophone on the floor beside the chair, he stood up. He darted surprisingly quickly to the doorway and stood there tensely with his eyes searching the kitchen like a cobra waiting to strike. Turning his attention to the far wall, he spied a broken plate lying on the counter. Three lengthy strides took him over to the shattered plate. Deftly, he swept the smaller pieces into the palm of his left hand. He found himself musing again at the nature of fate. With his free hand he closed the window through which the wind had come that had blown the plate from the sill. Carefully emptying the shards into the bin he decided the world still had not given up its fight against him. Sometimes it seemed as if the world would win. Those times were hard to get through but if he thought of his music, he found a way to survive. A solitary plate destroyed by the wind was hardly cause for concern. Thoughts of a higher force acting behind the scenes, however, sometimes bothered him. Once or twice he had come close to the edge. This time he was on a high from the music and he somehow knew that it was music that would lead him to salvation. When it came his turn to die, he would certainly show them a thing or two.