Rubber Wood Woes

Treading lightly through the copse of rubber trees, Marcus threaded his way towards the source of the sound.

He wasn’t quite sure what to expect. This was a sound unfamiliar and alien to him. A piercing whine and wheeze carried by a light breeze was all he could hear.

He was sure it wasn’t a bird. Not a single pleasant note could be found buried within the strangled layers of this raucous disturbance. It sounded like a dying animal caught in rusted old machinery. There were no machines out here in the wood. No logging or anything in this region. All the trees were devoted to the collection of sap, felling one would be bad cause for business. The most technological thing Marcus had about his person was his sap tap, and that was made of wood.

He tried to piece together some sort of melody but it was to no avail. There was absolutely no pattern to this sound at all.

Whatever this sound was, as Marcus drew closer to the source, he found himself becoming more irate with each step. Pounding and beating his skull into submission, the noise was relentless. Finding the source of and shutting up that cruel confounded cacophony would not come soon enough.

Marcus soon parted the dense thicket to reveal a well-lite grove of immature rubber trees and sat at its centre was the source of the terrible din.

Sat atop a stout stump was a man, his back to Marcus, and in his hands the oldest and most ravaged looking instrument Marcus had ever seen. How that accordion was still making noise was beyond him. Patches of old leather crisscrossed the bellows with varying perforations and tears at the seams, distorting the sound so horrendously that Marcus dropped his bucket of sap and covered his ears with his hands. Bony fingers hammered the keys with such force the ivory threatened to splinter.

I’ve never seen an accordion abused this badly before.

The thought swirled in Marcus’ head, vying for dominion over the torturous wailings but, like any other thought within earshot of this deranged musician, was immediately forced out and drowned by the horrendous sound.

The musician was also singing in a language Marcus could not understand. His head bobbed in rhythm to a beat undecipherable in the notes from the accordion and the tune of his words was so out of synch with the music that at least three different compositions were being played at once. No wonder the sound was so appalling.

Getting the man to stop by shouting proved a fruitless labour for the racket was so loud. Marcus would have to get closer. He tried to step into the clearing, but the sound was so strong he physically recoiled back behind the treeline.

What to do?

He looked around for a rock to maybe throw at the musician, get his attention that way, but while scanning the forest floor, Marcus’ gaze fell upon his bucket. In a bold move, Marcus balled up some lint he found in his pockets, doused it in the sticky raw caoutchouc, and placed them into his ears.

An unpleasant sensation to be sure but it provided some relief. With that, Marcus stepped through the treeline and approached the musician but barely made it 10 feet into the clearing before the sound stopped.

Stunned, Marcus also came to an abrupt halt. Then the musician turned to face Marcus, cold beady eyes peered over the rim of ancient spectacles. His old crusty lips mouthed something that looked like the wind cried again today or something equally absurd.

“What?” Marcus replied as he mistakenly removed the makeshift earplugs. He was immediately hit with an impetuous cascade of jibes and insults fired from the musician’s mouth. Each hit home, striking Marcus with the force of a bullet, almost knocking him backwards.

Blood boiling, dazzled, and in pain, Marcus knew not what to do and could think of nothing more than shutting this old fool up.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Marcus cried as he charged the old musician.

The two bodies collided with such tremendous force that they both spiralled over the stump.

All sound had ceased.

Panting, Marcus rose to see the musician beneath him. He was met with the same cold stare but this time it was different. The black beady eyes had glazed over. Marcus sat back against the stump in shock and disbelief.

Before him lay the battered broken bones of the musician, their breathing as wheezy as that of the accordion whose splintered remnants perforated the dying man’s lungs. It was an accident. Marcus didn’t mean for this to happen. All he wanted was peace and quiet, something he will never get again, not after taking a life.