T = Postlude

The Piano Teacher

by

Kim West

POSTLUDE

There is an old abandoned mill at the edge of the village. Its granite
window-less walls are like a fortress. The nettles grow deep in places
with giant brambles and old man's beard woven into a dark, thick
undergrowth. It is a place of children's nightmares. Inside the old
broken steps add terror to a knowledge that this building is built over
a very deep well. Roof beams dangle precariously against the cold
winter's night sky, threatening to fall at any moment. A feeling
abounds that at any moment these massive beams may crash down and tear
away at the unstable structures. Stream water flows and bubbles around
the old mill and there is a constant loud and deep dripping of water,
which echoes around the emptiness. There are outbursts from the
millpond, as creatures squabble in the night. In its fearfulness, it is
an utterly private place. It has become a taboo place, as mythology has
compounded the dangerous reality of a semi-derelict building,
surrounded by water.
In the mill there is indeed a very deep black well. It seems to go on
down forever and at the bottom, in the accumulated silt of ages, is the
body of a man. The pockets of his coat are full of old bricks. His
journey down there was swift. His face stares upward to the stars and
his expression shows no glimmer of the struggle of a drowning man.