Children of the Night
“Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Listen to them — children of the night. What music they make.” That’s from chapter two of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and it came into my mind as stood on the balcony early on Sunday morning. So early, it was still dark, and the moon had only just risen in the north-east, a sliver of a crescent with Venus not far away. The children, in this case, were the usual night sounds of Symi, the cockerels who began at three, a couple of owls having a barney with a small rodent or each other, and a couple of boats heading out in the darkness to collect lobster pots and nets. All sounds we’ve heard through the first half of the year.
But then they were added to by sounds which haven’t been familiar since last year. A distant, quiet thump of a bassline and the occasional higher register breaking through. The bars opposite us were closed, although Los had its lights on for a while but wasn’t broadcasting club music as it sometimes does, so, I figured the party was taking place further into town. It was good to hear, and I should point out that, for us, it’s never loud enough to disturb. The owls and cockerels are far noisier. Then, around five, the children of the night must have left the party because the motorbikes started. Some chugging around towards Harani, others, louder, straining up the main road to the village, one (and I think I know who owns it) heading down, baffle-less and louder than any cockerel. Interesting word that, as I expect the youth who owns it had adjusted it to sound as loud and throaty as possible as if to compensate for something. A little while later, another came up the hill, and there must have been three lads on it because I heard three voices singing, and saw only one set of lights. That made me smile because they were having fun, and also made me worry that the sound might suddenly stop and be replaced by the screech of breaks and the shattering of a no claims bonus—if the machine was even insured.
The sounds of the night died with the dawn. I imagine everyone was grabbing a couple of hours sleep before getting up for work and doing it all again the next night. Or perhaps saving themselves for the next Saturday night out. I left them to it and sat down at my desk to get on with a day’s work, or as much of one as I could be bothered with, and Neil headed out early to walk to Nimborio. I had done my four-day walking week, so allowed myself the luxury of an extra hour at the computer, and here I am, putting this up ready for Monday. Have a good week.
