I was awakened by the blinding rays that were shining into my eyes.
Despite wanting to wake up, my whole body—from my neck to my spine, from my waist to my flank—every part was aching. I forcibly swallowed the moan that was about to slip out of my mouth.
I opened my eyes. The light of the morning sun was shining into the car from the window to my right. As I endured the pain all over my body, I cringed and looked at the co-driver seat—Weiss was still sleeping soundly as she faced me, and her long snow-white hair had spread messily on the tilted seat. She looked much better compared to yesterday.
I twisted my body around in the cramped driver seat, stretched my shoulders, and turned my stiff neck. I could barely move only after I finished doing some brief stretching.
I gently opened the door and headed outside.
The rain from last night had already stopped, and a thick layer of mist surrounded us. I thought that the sunlight was quite piercing when I first woke up, but in reality the sky was barely turning white—it was still rather dark. I took out my cell phone from my pocket to confirm the time. It's only five in the morning. Still, I do not have any desire to go back to the car to sleep for a while more.
I slept last night without thinking too much into things, as I was too tired back then. But thinking back, Weiss was sleeping right next to me, and the car is an enclosed space as well—how can I possibly go back to sleep!
I then realized I have to check to see if my bass can still be salvaged. I gently opened the backdoor, while trying my best not to make any sound.
As I was reaching for my bass, I remembered that I did not bring along any of my tools with me. I'm a real idiot. I did not notice that for a while because I used to carry it by my side all the time. What to do? I won't be able to get the application form from within the bass—did it get wet?
Just as I was considering to look for a screwdriver in the rubbish heap nearby, I suddenly saw Weiss' guitar lying next to my bass. I had long thought that it is a pretty impressive guitar, and I always wanted to touch it. If possible, I hope I could play it once.
Since Weiss was still sleeping soundly in steady breaths, I succumbed to my desires pretty quickly. I tossed my bass aside and carried the guitar casing out of the car. I then tried to close the door as quietly as possible. The car was buried in such a way that it was slightly tilted towards the co-pilot seat, so it was rather difficult to do so without giving off any sound.
I climbed up the slope, and sat on the washing machine located higher up that was lying horizontally by its sides. The slightly damp morning air felt really comfortable.
I opened the guitar casing. What came into my eyes was a Fender Stratocaster with its beautiful grains, coated with a layer of transparent lacquer. This is an old guitar from the sixties, right? It probably cost somewhere around three million yen on the market? Filled with anticipation, I tried strumming the guitar with my fingers, and the rich tone that came out did not sound like that of an electric guitar.
I sat myself properly on the washing machine, and began to play the melody using the three fingers technique, while I tapped out the tempo of the song with my fingertips at the same time. At a place where I could hear the real cries of the birds, I began to sing out the lyrics softly as I was shrouded by the mist. The air of the early morning absorbed all of my singing voices. When I reached the second verse, I decided to raise my volume so that my song could reach the birds that might be listening to me singing…
"… What song is that?"
The voice of a person suddenly rang, and that caused me to nearly slide off the washing machine in shock. Weiss was standing right beneath me, and she was looking in my direction while rubbing her droopy eyes.
"Ah, well…"
Weiss made her way through the junk and sat right next to me. There's not much space on the washing machine, so I could clearly feel the warmth of Weiss next to me.
"Sorry for playing it without your permission."
"It's fine. What's the name of that song?"
I felt embarrassed all of the sudden, so I stared at my hand that was holding onto the neck of the guitar.
"It's a song named Blackbird."
"It's a good song."
I was shocked, and lifted my head to stare at Weiss's face. Weiss was tilting her head and looking at me as though she was saying, 'What's wrong with you?'. I quickly shifted my eyes back onto the guitar.
"What sort of song is it?"
I had no intention of spouting nonsense this time round.
"… How much do you know about the Beatles?"
"Not too much," Weiss shook her head.
"I see… alright." I thought about it for a while. How should I go about telling her this story? "The members of the Beatles were on extremely bad terms with each other when they were recording this song, and they were almost to the point of breaking up. And thus it seemed like the songs in the album were all pieced together only after the members were done recording their voices individually."
And yet, that album is still a classic. Just as Weiss had said, regardless of how the critics go about with their baseless accusations, the musicians can still come up with their finest works under the worst circumstances.
"It's said that Paul McCartney had recorded almost everything by himself; John Lennon was busy doing the sound collage for Revolution 9, while John Lennon was working on the song of revolution which he was unable to convey to anyone, Paul McCartney had quietly finished the song that was dedicated to the blackbirds.
"… So all this song needs is just a guitar to play."
"Mmm, even though it is simple to the point where you can play it, the accompaniment is still very nice to listen to."
I was pissed for a moment, and a wicked idea came to my mind. I had decided to try provoking her.
"But you can't do it. One can never play this if their right ring finger is immobile, as this song requires the use of the three fingers technique. Serves you right! If you feel bitter about that, then go to America to get your sickness treated before you scram back here!"
Weiss looked at me unhappily. She then snatched the guitar over, and began playing Blackbird—with only the thumb and index finger of her right hand.
She should have skipped some of the notes, right? But still, all I could hear is a playing that could not have been more perfect. Moreover, that should be the first time she heard the song, no?
After she was done with the first verse, Weiss pouted and placed the guitar back on my knees.
"Ugh… can you not do things that will make average people feel inferior?"
"If it is just something of this level, anyone can play it if they practice hard enough."
Anyone can play it my ass!
Weiss got off the washing machine and went to the car. She opened the door to take my bass, before returning back to sitting down next to me. She placed the bass on her knees, and quickly tuned the instrument up, before playing the G notes with a tempo that urged me to follow.
I immediately began playing from the beginning by coordinating to the sound of her bass. Slow down the tempo, and follow up with my singing till the end…
The blackbird began to learn how to fly with its torn and tattered wings, as though it had been waiting for this exact moment for all its life to take flight.
"This sounds just like a normal bass if it is not connected to the amplifiers… how intriguing…" Weiss mumbled to herself when we were done with the whole song.
"But there will still be some differences to the tone if we plug this into the amplifiers, so I'll still have to adjust it. Moreover, the body of the bass was filled with scars and pits from the bumps it received."
Weiss looked at me rather uneasily. "You should… be able to restore it, right?"
I nodded my head, and began to play the prelude of Blackbird yet again. Even if the wings are torn and tattered, we just have to wait for the time for us to take flight.
"Is this… a song that was written to give someone strength?" Weiss suddenly asked that. I hesitated for a moment before answering her.
"It's said that the song was written for the liberation of black women, and I think Paul McCartney himself had said something like that before. However, I don't quite like to think of it as that."
"Why?"
"Because that is just too awkward! Why do we have to think so much about it? Just treating it as a song about a blackbird will do."
"So there's really such a type of bird?"
"Mmm. Its binomial name's turdus merula. It's a small bird that is full of black feathers, and only its beak is yellow. I heard that its cries are exceptionally clear and bright. I've seen it in photos before, but there's probably none of them in Japan."
"… But there is. I've seen it before."
I tilted my head. "Where?"
Weiss narrowed her eyes, then prodded my chest with her index finger. "Right here."
The mist was gradually dispersing, and the cries of the birds were getting clearer and clearer.
The light of the morning was shining through the woods. It cast a really long shadow from Weiss and the dumbfounded me, which stretched all the way to the piano in the middle of the basin.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbird fly, blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night
Blackbird singing…