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They say that silence is golden, and sitting in the tranquility of the Everdoor, Charon was inclined to agree. As time passed, he’d begun to hate the bustling cities, with grimy raccoons selling overpriced junk, and spirits so deep in denial he despaired of ever seeing them board his ship. The cities were already so overpopulated and, with people dying every day, how could he ever expect to ferry all of them? It was when he’d first begun to shun the cities that he realized he’d grown too old for this world— and too old for this job.
He didn’t used to hate cities. When he was young, when he was alive, he’d sought out the most interesting people, the newest ideas, the strangest nooks of the city. But that had been a long, long time ago, and the world had become a much bigger place. So big, in fact, he feared he’d never be able to find someone to replace him in a world so large and loud.
Ironically, it was near the Everdoor, after he’d sent off another spirit, that Charon was closest to the world of the living. In that in-between spot he could make out living spirits, buzzing like persistent house flies. It was in those moments grasped in between ferrying spirits that he’d searched ceaselessly for his successor. As vivid as the world of the living appeared before him, the other side, however, was as inscrutable as ever. He hoped it was silent there.
****
It was during one of those moments that he first sensed her. Stella. Her name, shining so bright in that ancient language almost as old as himself. And yet, she was quiet. He’d found her without even looking for her. Instead, he’d felt the loud, erratic buzzing of another creature, that Gwen, sent by the heavens for leading him to her. To Stella.
He listened closer. He sensed that Gwen’s buzzing, though normally frantic, begging for attention, was louder than usual. Immediately, he thought she was simply drowning out the spirit next to her, yet as he listened, he heard no buzzing.
“The house was empty, Stella! They said they’d be here, they promised, but I spent my birthday alone! They don’t care about me at all, Stella. Especially Father. Bastard.”
“Oh, Gwen. That’s not a very nice thing to say about your dad. Anyway, I’m here now.”
“It’s just a word. And, besides, it’s true.” Gwen let out a characteristic sigh, weaving bits of grass together in her ever-busy hands. “I wish…I wish I could tell him how I really feel about him. I wish I knew how I really felt about him. It’s like I have all these feelings inside me, but the only way I can get them out is by yelling curse words at him. I couldn’t put it into better words even if I wanted to.”
Stella thought for a moment. Gwen could always tell when she was thinking, her lips pursed, a brow raised, fingers thumping in a rhythmic tattoo. She was like a cartoon character. She practically had a thought bubble above her head.
“Why do you need to?”
“Need to what?”
“Tell your father. Put it into words. If you can’t do it, why do you try?”
“Dunno. Isn’t talking supposed to help? Like, Mom pays a shit ton of money to talk to a random person to feel better.”
“Maybe it’d help.” She paused, thinking over her next words carefully. “It’s not that I think that wouldn’t help, but you’re different from your mom. Your own person. And maybe before you can begin to organize your thoughts into words, you need to listen.”
“Listen? Listen to what?”
“Yourself. The world. Something that’s real and distinct.” She looked around. “Sometimes, when I’m overwhelmed, I sit really quietly and try to find five sounds.”
“Easy for you to say, Stella. I’m not patient with that kind of stuff like you are.”
“I’ll help you. It’s not always easy. Sometimes the only thing I can hear when I’m in my bedroom is the radiator rattling and Lily yelling at her toys.”
“Maybe yelling at toys is the best therapy after all.”
Stella chuckled lightly, and it made Gwen’s chest warm to hear her friend laugh.
“Maybe. Lie back. Close your eyes. Focus on what you hear.” Stella watched as Gwen followed her directions. She kept her eyes open, though, in case Gwen tried to peek. “What do you hear? And don’t just say my voice.”
Gwen opened one eye and grinned at her friend. “How’d you know I was gonna say that?”
“Because you’re you. Now—”
Gwen cut her off. “Ok, ok, trying to listen, going to try. Um…”
“And don’t say your voice either!”
“I wasn’t!” Gwen’s voice was reduced to a defensive whine. “I was gonna say I can hear my heartbeat. Does that count, or are all bodily functions ruled out?”
If Gwen’s eyes had been open, she would have seen Stella smile knowingly. “That counts. What else?”
Now they were truly silent. Both of them. Somewhere far away, Charon could feel Gwen’s buzzing steady.
“I can hear Lorenzo working in the garden. I think he’s trimming Mother’s roses. They make her so happy. If she came, I would pick her a bouquet so they could be the first thing she saw when she woke up. When they started dying, I’d reveal I’d secretly dried a second batch so she wouldn’t get sad. She could take them with her when she left again, and I could make her happy, even if I wasn’t there.”
Now it was Stella’s turn to twirl grass between her fingers (far less artfully than Gwen’s careful weaving). “Good. What else?”
“There’s a bug moving in the grass, near my ear. It’s making a quiet rustling sound, and then sometimes it stops and makes a chattering sound. It’s staying so close, it doesn’t even know to fear me. It should. I wouldn’t even notice it if I wasn’t lying down. I could just as easily squish it to death if I moved my head or my hand. I don’t want to kill it, now that I’ve heard it moving, but I wouldn’t be able to help it. I probably wouldn’t even notice it was dead.”
Stella said nothing, just let Gwen keep listening.
“I hear you, Stella. Your breathing. You just took a deep breath, which you do when you’re sad and want to hide it. You hide things a lot, I think. Or at least, you don’t tell me. Sometimes I have to listen to your breath or really look at your face when you think I’m not watching to find out how you really feel. I don’t really mind it, though. It makes me feel good, to know you so well, to make you laugh or smile. Even when you’re sad, at least I know it. It isn’t like that with Father, or Mother, or myself. Sometimes when we smile the most we’re at our saddest, or when we’re trying to seem the calmest we’re actually at our angriest. It’s hard to know how they’re feeling, or even how I’m feeling when I’m with them. But not with you, Stella. Never with you.”
Gwen opened her eyes. “Stella, are you crying?”
Stella wiped an eye with the meat of her hand. “No, I…I mean, yeah, I am.”
Gwen flipped over and made a mildly graceful attempt at crawling towards her friend. “Oh my God, Stella, I really didn’t mean to make you sad. Please don’t cry about my stupid little problems. Please.”
“I’m okay, Gwen. Sometimes you just need to cry. And maybe sometimes other people need to see it too. I like listening to you, Gwen, and…and I like knowing you’re listening to me. I guess sometimes I feel like I’m not worth listening to. I’m not much.”
“Stella, don’t you know how important you are to me? And not just to me, to Lily and your parents and your aunts and uncles and cousins and…people listen to you, Stella. They want to listen to you. And not just because you’re listening to them, but because you’ve got some great things to say.”
“Speak for yourself. You were a regular poet with that listening exercise.”
“Stella, I love you. Seriously.”
“I love you, too.”
At some point their limbs had become clumsily tangled and, to her surprise, Gwen had a damp face to match Stella’s.
“I never got to five.”
“That’s okay. I’ll count our voices after all.”
They both laughed.
***
Stella had said she wasn’t much, but from this little glimpse of her life, Charon knew that was far from the truth. She listened, and that was the greatest skill a Spiritfarer could have. She reminded him why he’d loved cities and crowds once upon a time, why he’d once been chosen to be the Spiritfarer. He used to listen, and with each new sound or voice or idea the world grew larger and more vivid and ever dearer to him.
Why had he allowed that to end?
Even at the Everdoor, the place where death and life collided, there were sounds. Beautiful, beautiful sounds. The breeze blowing through the leaves. Water lapping at his canoe. A bare branch scraping the stone of the Everdoor itself. The living presence of Everdoor, clear to him even with his eyes closed.
His time on this plane was running short. In the depths of his spirit he knew it. And whatever was on the other side, the time that remained here was precious. There were people and places long gone that he ached to see again, voices he hoped to hear again someday. But that didn’t change what was before him now, the people who needed his help. Who needed him to listen and hear the very essence of their spirits. People who would make his remaining time as Spiritfarer beautiful and meaningful and worth it.
And in the meantime, he would continue to listen to Stella. Her time would come, and when it did, she would shine.