A Lesser Shade of Melancholy

3.

“I was a river once, flowing from Hades. All who drank from me, washed away their memories to begin life anew,” she said. “No one could enter the Elysium fields of after-life without drinking my waters.” She waited, gauging my reaction. I did not know what sort of a reaction she expected from me, so I looked away from her and into the fire. The sound of a lone horse carriage on the cobbled street outside filled our room. I could hear her breathe, and felt her eyes on me. She continued -

“No one stayed on my banks for too long, for they were all in search of something on the other side of me. No one came back to me after they drink from me. How could they? No one remembered me, for I am the river of forgetfulness. I’ve been searching for a companion. I flowed, melancholic, searching for happiness in the arms of many lovers. But every time I met someone, he forgot me the next day.”

She stopped. Maybe she finally caught the look of disbelief on my face that I was trying to hide. “You don’t believe me. I should not have wasted my time telling you my story,” she said sounding quite disappointed. “I’ve heard some wild stories from many places Lethe. I’ve spun many wild tales too. But really, how do you expect me to believe this. You jest of course.”

She laughed and said, “I almost fooled you there for a while, did I not?” But there was something awkward in the way she said this. She sounded like she was trying to save face after a folly. And I felt sort of bad that I did not, nay, I could not believe her. “Come, come, the night is still young. What does it matter where I am from or why I am here? Let us make love till the morning light,” she said. She swayed her hips as she walked slowly towards me. We kissed and made love again.

Something had changed in her after she tried to tell me her story. I could feel that her heart was not in it anymore. Maybe I should have acted like I believed her. But what was done was done. We stopped making love and lay away from each other. I drifted off to sleep eventually.

4.

I woke up the next day alone in bed, she was gone. I could not remember her or what had transpired the previous night. I attributed my lack of memory of the previous night to the absinthe I had probably drunk at The Oneiros. The inn-keeper came up to the room and told me that I had to leave or pay for additional stay. She was a stocky matronly woman. Probably French, I thought, as I took out my bag of coins, which as usual felt lighter than the last time I took it out. “You do not have to pay for last night. The lady has paid for the night. You may leave, or pay me if you choose to stay,” she said in her deep, almost male baritone voice.

“Which lady? Where am I?”

She looked at me as if I had lost my marbles. And then she said coldly, “I do not have time for this. The lady you were with last night, she paid for the room. And this place, if you haven’t noticed, is an inn, and I am the inn-keeper.”

“This lady, what did she look like?” I asked her, confused. She glared at me. I did not ask her anything more. I went to The Oneiros. There were no customers in yet. They usually came later in the evening.

“A bit early for a drink tonight, don’t you think?” Grischa asked, placing a pint of ale in front of me. I smiled and took a sip. “Never too early for a pint of your ale Grischa.”

“How was she, your lady friend from last night?” he asked me. I asked him what she looked like, telling him that I was too drunk to remember. He told me that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. And that he could not for the life of him understand why she chose a drunkard like me for the night.

I left The Oneiros troubled. It was only when I reached home that I noticed a piece of cloth in my coat pocket. It was emerald colored silk, and smelled of long forgotten flowers and freshly cut grass. Slowly, my memory of her came back. I could remember everything.

The memory of that one night changed me. I do not believe her story, for how could I remember her if she was who she said she was. But I longed to see her again. At night, I could feel her next to me sometimes. I remembered the words she’d said - ‘I flowed, melancholic, searching for happiness in the arms of many lovers.’ I realized that all my life, I had been searching for happiness in all the wrong places. And that so far, I had gained nothing.

I could not find any real reason to explain why she chose to spend the night with me. Maybe she felt she’d met a kindred spirit. Because she had been afraid of something, and it was evident that she was running from something too. And so far, I’d been running away from everything, drowning my past in vices, trying to forget so much of what happened to me. And even if she was really was who she said was, I knew I couldn’t forget her. How can you not remember the very things that lets you forget all else? When I was young, I was a fool. And then I realized that there is no such thing as happiness, just lesser shades of melancholy.