When the road on which Alyami was walking left the trees Alyami knew that his wandering was over, for a little while. The trees framed a sweet valley through which a small, lazy river wound. The trees had the first signs of the oncoming autumn, rosy tips on the leaves that reached furthest towards the sun. Well tended fields of wheat were interspersed with fallow meadows or grazing cattle. The road led down through these trees to a stone bridge, clearly once the site of a ford, the center of a small but prosperous village. There were nearly as many houses of field stone and brick as those of wood, their clay tiles bright in the sunlight.
Alyami plucked a thick-bladed grass stem and blew through his hands a buzz to accompany the cicadas up in the trees. It was a warm day, a day for slow movements and smiles. He was dusty and tired. Tired not only from the walk, but tired of moving on from place to place, from face to face. He wanted to stay long enough to become familiar with a place, to know more of people than a name, for the first time since he had left his home.
Just by the bridge stood an inn. It wasn't grand, but it was well made, clean and cosy. It was late afternoon when Alyami entered the inn, looked around and approved. A person could sit in a corner through an afternoon without wondering whether they were overstaying their welcome. A slightly portly woman, cheeks red around a smiling face, ceased her bustling and welcomed him. She noted the sweat-streaked dust on his face and gave him directions to the water barrel just outside the door and said he could wash while she got him some food and the drink of his choice. He asked what she recommended for a fine day such as this. She looked him over, evaluating him as a merchant must, and said that she would make him a mixed plate of the fruits of the village. A chicken leg, fresh bread, root vegetables, an apple, washed down with cider made from the pears of her sister's farm.
Alyami stepped out and found the dipper in the water barrel. He took a long drink of the warm, but pure, water. A breathe and then another long drink. He poured water over his hands and head, shaking the droplets into the air. Overhead a squirrel rhythmically chattered its indignation at his very existence. The water cooled, cleaned and invigorated him, a transition from traveling to resting. Plans and worries dropped away from him and he felt a calm happiness move through him.
As he ate his simple but delicious meal one of the old men who seem to sprout like mushrooms at the bar struck up a conversation, noticing his instrument and kindly interrogating him on his past, his present, and what were his future plans within their village. He was a wandering entertainer? Would he play tonight? Was he passing on through or was he staying awhile? Alyami smiled and talked between mouthfuls, for a man who moves from place to place becomes intimately familiar with such talk, for while a stranger is always new, being a stranger can become ordinary and commonplace. While his answers were the same as always, he played for his keep, would play if people wished, and he didn't know how long he would stay, it all seemed a little different this time.
As the afternoon turned into evening the inn began to fill. Alyami was charmed to see that the inn was not a private place, not reserved for men trying to escape their lives, but rather a place where mothers and fathers laughed while their children got charmingly underfoot amongst the patrons. Alyami sat quietly, with a slight smile on his face as he absorbed the atmosphere, finding what in him matched what was in them. The joyfully harried innkeeper stopped briefly in her rushing, looked Alyami in the eye and arched a questioning brow. He nodded, took out his rabab and quietly started playing the tuning song, his head bent over the instrument like a father over his newborn daughter. then he began to play.
He played the village and the inn. Tunes of work in the sunshine. Songs of innocent love. The calls of the birds in the trees, and the lowing of cattle. Bawdy songs of the virility of spring and joyful songs of abundant harvest. He then slowed, and quieted his playing, taking them down with him into the long months of dark and quiet that was winter. Then his song changed as he added little pieces of his travels, weaving his memory of other places into the contemplation of winter. He gave them the chattering of monkeys, the wild prayers of the desert, the lap of the waves upon a beach. He took them on a journey, interlacing the music of other nations through the fabric of their lives. Finally he gave them the song of the monsoon in the shelter of his banyan tree, and stopped with tears in his eyes.
While he had played the girl/women of the village had been drawn to him, as is the case with musicians and young ladies everywhere. While the boy/men looked on in displeasure at the girl/women trying to pluck up the courage to walk over to the minstrel, a woman of an age to be well married came over to Alyami.
"I am Ailsa, who are you?"
"I am Alyami, and this is who I am."
"You miss your home."
"I do."
"I miss mine too."
"Where are you from?"
"I am from this village, born and raised."
"Then how do you miss your home?"
"My home left when my love went from me. Do you have a place to stay tonight?"
"I do not, nor for tomorrow, or next week."
"Then come with me and I will give you a home and you can be my home, at least for a while."
"I would like that very much Ailsa."
They left hand-in-hand and through the autumn and winter he lived with her, played his music, exchanged whispered secrets with the children, and chopped wood when absolutely necessary. He had a place, and she had a family, and it was good. Good and easy. When the spring came, and his fingers started to fidget she was the one who told him that he must head on into the wide world for she did not want him to be someone he was not for her. They loved each other in their way, for the time they could, and parted well. He left replenished with the fruit of love, friendship and a home to which he might return. She stayed with a warm memory, and a new home, born from the new love growing within her.
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