Free Kite Spirit by Sita Brahmachari Page A

because even though it’s all worn out, it’s never let me down. Anyway, this is the one you saw me play at the Brahms
concert.’
    Kite stared down at the delicate reed. Dawn had always been the one to think deeply about things, to weigh her words carefully. All these glowering thoughts that had started gathering in
Kite’s mind since the Falling Day were new to her. The truth was that until now she had never thought that deeply about anything. Never curbed the things she’d said either, and this
directness was what had always made Dawn laugh. She turned the worn bamboo over in her hands; it reminded her of a tiny oar. If this little reed really could speak to her now, what sad, desperate
music would it play? She placed it back inside the leather box and closed the lid. Then she reached into the bag that Jimmy had given her, took out a bar of soap and unwrapped it slowly. What an
odd collection of things she found herself clinging on to. She closed her eyes and breathed in the lemon scent.
    ‘I’m going to try to get some sleep!’ Kite announced as Seth switched on a CD.
    ‘Got the perfect music for you then!’
    It was one of his band’s folk tracks. She’d always quite liked it but listening to him singing along to it now it irritated her. The world is not full of sweet harmonies, Kite
thought as she watched the wipers swish back and forth across the windscreen.
    ‘Mind if I climb into the back?’ asked Kite, but Seth was miles away, lost in his own thoughts and concentrating on the road. So she took off her seat belt and clambered over. Ruby
had covered the fraying upholstery with a blanket and placed a pillow and her duvet on top. This comfy little nest spoke of a cosy time when fresh bedding, a warm cup of sweetened milk and a hot
water bottle could make her feel like all was well with the world.
    The heavy spray from the road splattered the side windows as she plugged in her earphones and began listening to Dawn’s iPod. The first track was something classical and discordant that
she had never heard before; she flicked forward and there playing in her ear was Brahms’s Symphony No. 1 that she had come to know off by heart, especially Dawn’s solos. She imagined
that Dawn was practising in her bedroom and she was listening to her playing through the walls. She tucked a bar of soap under the pillow, closed her eyes, wrapped her hands around the reed box and
let the music wash over her, feeling the weight and warmth of Grandma Grace’s gift against her skin.
    ‘Shh, shh, sleep now, child, listen to that English rain wash it all away my darlin’, wash it away.’
    Kite followed Dawn’s oboe into the music, meandering along the pure smooth notes, and the rain fell and fell.
    I am staring down into a deep puddle and the water gathers and swells and spreads across the land until I am standing on the edge of a huge river. The waves rise high and the wind roars. Out
of the waves steps a man, a giant man who turns to me with gentle grey eyes.
    ‘Are you looking for your friend?’
    I don’t answer him, but place my feet in the water and, as I do, a flotilla of tiny bamboo reed boats floats towards me.
    Now I’m sitting on a boardwalk, placing my bare feet into the cold, cold water.
    ‘You must stay on the shore,’ the giant warns me.
    I lean down and try to scoop up all the reeds, but I can’t hold on to them; they slip through my fingers and I have to start all over again.
    ‘Are you looking for your friend?’ the giant asks again, and he lowers his body down into the water and re-emerges carrying a girl on his shoulders. He turns away from me and
wades her across the river.
    ‘Dawn!’ I cry after her, but she is slumped over his shoulder and she doesn’t lift her head.
    ‘Walk along a river with me,’ he calls beckoning me to follow
. . .
    ‘Walk along a river.’ Seth’s voice was . . . calling her back.
    Kite’s head knocked against the hard plastic panelling of the car door.