The Guitar Player: A Grenadian Folktale Story

Around the same time every year, the rhythm of love floats in on the sea breeze and dances around the island. Calypso beats keep it moving in time and everyone is feeling lively and ready to celebrate. As you move through the streets, passing brightly painted houses with open doors and windows, you'll catch the sweet smell of black fruit cakes with cinnamon spices and dried fruits dripping with year-old wine and rum.

This is the start of the wedding season on the islands. Dance halls are lit up each night with wedding parties and bands entertaining the guests. On one of these nights, Johnny was asked to play his guitar for a wedding near Flamingo Bay, where the houses overlook the narrow harbour and deep blue waters. He'd been booked to join the band and he was eager to taste a delicious free meal and have a chance to sweet talk the ladies.

During the evening, a young woman in a flowing, yellow dress caught his eye. He began to strum his strings as if only for her. She matched his tempo with her body, swaying and fluttering her arms like a mockingbird in flight.

She smiled, knowing that he was watching her but never met his eyes.

This went on long into the night and as the guests began to peel away, Johnny finally spoke to the beautiful woman he'd been playing his guitar for. Her name was Clarissa and she was a cousin of the bride. Johnny complimented her hazel eyes and the yellow bell flowers tied into her hair. She blushed and returned the compli-ment.

'Thank you Johnny. I loved hearing your music tonight. It made me feel as free as a bird,' she said and spun around on her red heels to show she wished the music could go on. He wanted to spend more time with her too and offered to walk her home, seeing as it was now past midnight and her friends had gone home.

They left the party together, walking side by side.

The night air was cool and the moonlit roads were empty. Only the crickets could be heard creaking in the distance. As they walked, Johnny strummed on his guitar to serenade his new love:

Meet me down by the river

Come when the sun rise up high

Meet me down by the river

Hear the songbirds in the sky

Clarissa listened to Johnny's melody, linking her arm through his as they made their way in the darkness. She was glad to have his music take her mind off any thoughts about jumbies on the road. She'd been told the stories about spirits who walk the streets at night and so she kept her eyes firmly fixed ahead.

The road was barely lit up, with only the occasional street lamp. Darkness closed in on either side of them like a silent pack of wolves, waiting to pounce. Red eyes blinked from the night owls, who hovered in branches. Occasionally bats scattered their wings across the night sky. Johnny was still strumming his guitar gently but Clarissa was finding it hard not to let her imagination run away with her into the shad-owS.

The wedding hall was now way behind them and they came upon a long bridge that took them to Mount Moritz Road, which circled around her parish. She stopped walking abruptly and cocked her head to one side. Listening intently.

'Can you hear that music?' she asked fearful-ly. Johnny laughed and carried on playing. 'Of course, I can hear my own music. Don't you like it?' he asked, worried that his charm was now wearing off.

Not your music. Listen. Listen to that sound, she whispered, shaking him by the arm until he stopped playing his guitar. Johnny stopped playing and wondered what had gotten into her. She had seemed so pleasant earlier.

Then he heard it. There was the sound of another guitar playing further away from them in the distance.

Johnny smiled with relief. Perhaps it was someone else from the band up ahead. 'Come let's find out who it is there. Maybe we can both sing to you all the way home,' he held her hand and they carried on walking across the bridge, towards the sound of a mournful melody.

Lit up by the light of the moon, the figure of a man came into view. He was sitting at the end of the bridge, strumming gently, his bleak voice drifting towards them. Johnny didn't recognise him but whoever he was, he seemed harmless enough. Clarissa shivered and held his hand tightly. She didn't feel comfortable and wasn't sure why. Johnny urged her on, 'Come, let's see who he is.'

As they approached, the man didn't stop playing or singing. His face was partially hidden by a straw hat, frayed around the edges. His expression looked weary and etched with sor-roW.

'Good evening,' said Johnny. 'Have you come from the wedding?'

As soon as the question left his lips, he knew the answer. This man was barefoot and dressed in very old, tatty clothing. His trousers had holes and he was wearing a cotton blouse, cut in a style that no one wore anymore. He did not look like someone who had just been at a party.

They decided to walk on and leave him at the side of the bridge. Just then, the most peculiar thing happened. As they began to walk ahead, they were somehow back at the start of the bridge, where they had just come from.

'What is happening?' Clarissa cried. She clutched Johnny's arm and they walked faster, almost running across the bridge. The guitar player continued to play his melancholy tune but as they drew closer to him, his music became a frantic pace. His fingers scurried like tarantulas across the frets and his voice took on a strength that seemed larger than life.

Johnny had never seen such musicality. He wanted to hear more but knew they should just keep going. As they hurried past the man, they found themselves at the start of the bridge again. Somehow they were in a continuous time loop.

Johnny grabbed Clarissa by the arm and turned back towards the wedding venue. He hoped they could find another way home but as they turned, they ended up facing the guitar player again on his side of the bridge.

'What's going on man?' yelled Johnny. He shielded Clarissa with his body and she clung to his back, hoping she was in a dream. The man stopped playing and for the first time, looked up at them both. His eyes were filled with tears that did not fall down his cheeks. Clarissa saw the line of a deep bruise across his throat that looked like the mark made from a rope. He stared blankly at her and said, 'You shouldn't be out this late at night.' His voice was raspy and hoarse.

'We know. We're just trying to get home,' Johnny almost pleaded, hoping the man would help them, but he did not reply. Johnny decided to try a different approach with him. 'You play guitar so well. I've never heard anything like it,' he offered, sounding as casual as he could.

"Thank you,' said the man. 'You should have heard me play when I was alive?

The end