The Voice of Tears

The Voice of Tears by Elisabeth Reineke, 2008


On this day, the city of Neo Verona found itself in the midst of a heavy downpour. People scurried from the streets, seeking shelter among the various gift shops lining the sides of the roads like a great wall. Everything seemed dark, washed out to a dull gray because of the heavy rains while once vividly bright colors lost their luster. From his vantage point on the trolley, it seemed as if he were in a boat, skimming through a sea of black umbrellas. He sighed heavily, the frost from his breath fogging his window to block the view of the outside. Turning his gaze to the interior, the remaining passengers shivered and drew away. He was very handsome but most found him to be a very imposing figure. Very tall, he was well built, had wide shoulders, and short black hair with piercing green eyes that had a cold sheen to them. It was as if he saw the world through a veil, seeing things only half way, like dusty images and tattered dreams with no hope. His eyes though, saw far more than any there on the trolley could conceive of.

Every movement, every whisper, every twitch, was etched into his brain and analyzed to weed out any possible threats and was then compartmentalized for later use should there be need. Cliff was a soldier, and still was as far as he was concerned. The war was still going on and yet, here he found himself in the middle of the city far from the battle front. Supposedly he was still doing his duty but he didn’t see it that way. His commander had sent him here, saying that he was to protect a young college girl who was a possible target of the terrorists and that was all the information he had been given. It was clearly obvious that his commander was actually giving him a “break” from the front lines.

“You’re a great soldier Cliff Vulca. You’ve been with us for seven years now without holding anything back and I thank you for that but for now… I think it’s time you found something else. Your blood lust has become far too great so before I even think of letting you return, you have to relearn how to feel.”

As he remembered his commander’s words a smirk formed on his lips, lighting his eyes with a fiery intensity. There was a cruel edge to his mouth but it held a pure masculine beauty. That look could take anyone’s breathe away, be it in fear or admiration. The little girl in the pink dress that had been eyeing him earlier whimpered and quickly hid behind her mother’s brown skirt, peeking around her leg. Cliff found himself drawn to those big brown eyes so full of curiosity and before he could stop him self a slight smile escaped, softening his hard features for a split moment in time, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come. His face was all stone again, making the little girl wonder if she had just imagined the whole thing.

Cliff leaned away and sighed yet again. He swore that college girl was making him soft. His commander was wrong, dead wrong. Cliff had never shown nor felt any sense of emotion (other than anger and blind rage) his entire life. It was said that on the day that he was born he never cried once, nor did he smile. He always seemed harsh and indifferent towards everyone, and hardly ever got upset over anything. Most referred to him as the robot. At a young age his mother had died and he had never known his father and throughout most of his life he had no where to go and knew not what to do until that day when a classmate suggested he go join the military. He did just that and it suited him perfectly. He was, what most considered, the perfect soldier. Any mission he completed 100% and never failed once. He didn’t understand his commander’s reasoning, for how could him babysitting some college girl for sixth months help at all in combat? The commander had said that he wanted him to be able to feel emotions, but emotions meant nothing on the battle field. Emotions were what got great men killed as far as Cliff was concerned.
His thoughts returned to the girl, to the day they first met.

She had her blue-black hair tied high upon her head in a knot, little strands fell framing her face and magnifying her striking sapphire eyes that looked far too old for her years. She was short, with a tiny waist and was all curves. She moved toward him then, her movements fluid and graceful like that of a cat. He found the swaying of her hips hypnotic and had to concentrate to look away. To his utter astonishment, there in front of all the policemen, she reached up with two hands, fingers on either side of his mouth forcing his lips upward into the most hideous fake smile that looked far closer to a grimace than anything else. The gothic building was suddenly filled with the sound of roaring laughter. No one… had the nerve, the audacity to ever do that to him and then laugh right afterwards. It was humiliating, and he felt the familiar anger boiling up in the pit of his stomach. He was about to give the little wench a good piece of his mind until he noticed that even though she was bent over laughing, no sound came out. It was as if someone had set the volume on mute, and he wondered if he had gone deaf, but the laughter of the others came to his ears loud and clear.

An officer, noticing his confused gaze ran up to him from the pillar he had been leaning on and after getting the girl’s attention also, began to speak.
“Hello. It’s my understanding that you are the one to undertake the position of her body guard. This is Claudia Leingod, age 21. The reason that I introduce her instead is because she is mute and incapable of speech. She does know sign language, however, and can talk to you by writing if you prefer.”

The officer said this matter-of-factly, as if this was something perfectly normal. Cliff, after deciding against telling her off, nodded his head to her in understanding. Her perfect lips curved into a smile that was contagious. He found that he was paying far too much attention to her mouth so he turned his head away and somehow just new she was silently laughing at him. It was like a buzz in his brain and it irked him to no end.

Later on, he found that her place was nothing but a small apartment consisting of three rooms (including the living room, kitchen, and one bedroom and one bath). He slapped his hand to his forehead. It couldn’t get any worse, he thought while he had looked down at her until she looked back at him and smiled. Never mind, he thought once again, it can get a whole lot worse… After being situated in his room (the living room) he sat down next to her, his large form seemed to take up half of the tiny white couch. He definitely took up the room with his presence. Poking him in the side, Claudia handed him a notebook with tiny writing scrawled on its first page.

“You know, you should try smiling more often. It’s healthy for you, and I’m sure it would make you look a lot more attractive.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, clearly confused.

“And what is this? Your demented version of an apology for humiliating me?” he was shocked at the slight teasing tone in his voice.
Smiling again, she took the notebook back from him, her pencil moving across it at unbelievable speeds before she handed it back to him.

“Apologize for what? There is absolutely nothing for me to apologize for. You’re the one who should be apologizing for never sharing your smile.”

This time he laughed, but it was hallow sounding with no depth to it.

“Well I have news for you, woman, I don’t smile and I never have, and besides you seem to smile enough for the both of us anyways.” He said in a mocking tone.

She scowled at him, snatched her notebook back and started scratching down something again.
On the rare occasions that they would talk it went on a lot like this and on the rare occasions that Claudia got Cliff to show even the slightest amount of emotion is when they would start to talk about more personal things until finally they each decided to ask each other the one question that had been on the both of their minds since the first day they had met.

She had been wearing a white summer dress with a blue floral design. Her hair was down, falling over her shoulders in cascades of blue-black silk. He had just gotten out of the shower, steam still rising from his half naked form while his hair was still wet and clung to his face, half shielding his eyes. Claudia just managed to hide her blush, for he was only wearing a towel and his sculpted muscles were there in the open for the whole world to see. He was like a piece of art, specifically like one of those old sculpted statues of princes or Greek gods. Yet again, she handed the black notebook to him but tentatively this time, as if she were afraid he might burn her. He gave her a questioning look and took it from her wordlessly, opening to where they last left off.

“Alright, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for quite some time now. I’ve heard some of the officers call you ‘the stone cold warrior’ and even the soldier of no tears. What exactly do they mean by that? I know that you tend not to show emotion but, I’m not quite sure I understand exactly. I’m really curious to know what’s behind these nicknames you have. They also said that you never really wanted to leave the battle field either and that this is punishment for what you did.”

He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders as he handed it back to her.

“Well I suppose there’s no problem in me telling you. I’m called the soldier of no tears because I’ve never cried once in my life, not even when I was a baby. I’m also called stone cold warrior because on the battle field I’m like a machine, carrying out my missions, coming back to await my next orders with out any feeling, so people tell me. As to if I wanted to stay on the battle field, yes, I did. They need me out there and I don’t see how sending me here to an area of no combat (accept for the random people that try to mug you) is going to help me in the war as the commander so seems to think.” He stated all this in a flat tone, matter of fact.

She wrote again, and in the same cycle handed it back to him.

“Why did the commander send you here? What did you do to upset him?”

“You really don’t give up, do you?” he replied. “Well, I believe this has to do with my last mission…”
He paused. She stared at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue.
“We were on the trail of a lead terrorist, and bringing him down meant bringing down half of the current issues going on in the war. When we caught up to him, he had a hostage. It was a boy about sixteen years old and he was using him as a shield. We were in a narrow passageway and he was about to escape so… I did what I had to.”

Again, he was met with her unrelenting stare, telling him to go on.

“This man had to be stopped, no matter what the cost so I shot, killing both him and the boy. A lot of people were upset with me, others not so much but I don’t see why this is such an issue. Yes, the boy was innocent but one life does not out weigh the lives of millions. He had to be sacrificed in order to stop a criminal from killing millions of more people. The commander disagreed, and said that we could’ve ambushed him later that day but he’s given us the slip many times before. I couldn’t waste that opportunity, so I took it.”
He hated the sound of his voice while telling her. It sounded like he was trying to plead for his innocence in front of a judge. Again, the notebook was passed to him.

“I’m not going to say that you were wrong, but I’m not going to say that you were right either. You could’ve caught that man without killing the boy but at the time all you could see were statistics and opportunities because of your inability to feel emotion. Sometimes, emotion is needed to win a battle.”

He felt that anger again. He brought his fist down on the wooden table, making her jump.

“Just what the hell do you know?!” he yelled. “You’ve never been in a battle; you don’t know what it’s like! To show emotion is to die, and besides, I can’t feel!”

This time, she showed him the notebook from across the table with the letters written bold and large.

“But the fact that you are able to feel anger as you do now proves that you are capable of emotion, Cliff.”

He stopped, realizing she was right but not willing to admit it to her or to himself. He resolutely sat down on the white couch to her side. They stayed in silence for a while before he finally spoke up.

“Speaking of questions, Claudia, how is it that you lost your voice?”
He looked at her then to read the expressions on her face.
She had become visibly tense, a kind of numb terror washing over her face as her breath stopped.

“Claudia.” He said her name sharply. “Remember to breathe.”
She inhaled deeply and gave him that same bitter-sweet smile before hurriedly scribbling down in her notebook before he could say anything. He waited patiently, aware of every sound. The hands on the clock ticking, the motor in the dish water, a pencil scuffing across paper, the rustling of her dress, the sound of her breathing… even her heart beat. He watched her, bent over her notebook, noting her tiny wrist and fluid grace with the pencil. She then set it down, looked over her writing quickly before handing it over to him.

“You know, I used to be the daughter of our President before he and my mother were killed. They had planted a bomb that killed both my parents instantly, after the explosion the rest of the house caught on fire. I was supposed have died also but I managed to survive long enough to crawl out of the flaming wreckage. When I got out, the terrorists greeted me, jeering at me. Because of all the smoke I inhaled I couldn’t speak and my throat was burned. The leader was about to kill me but realized the authorities were already close so he took his sword and slit my throat right down to my voice box. He new that I was a singer, that singing was my life, my passion. He told me that if I didn’t die before they got to me, then at least he was able to take away the one joy I would’ve had left in life. He took everything from me, leaving me with an empty life…it was hard for me at first but after a while, I accepted my fate. I even found something new. I’ve wanted to show you for sometime, Cliff…Come to the theater at 9 tonight and you will hear my voice, the one I lost so long ago.”

No sooner had he read that, she jumped up and hugged him. He froze then awkwardly brought his arms around her smaller form, crushing her to him. It felt more natural than he had imagined. It felt… normal, even. Then she leaned up and kissed him full on the lips, catching him off guard. Before he could do or say anything more she was already out the front door heading down the steps two at a time.

So now, five hours later, there he was on the trolley close to 9 in the evening heading toward the theater she had mentioned. He had to admit that they had gotten close, closer than he ever wanted to be to anyone. He couldn’t understand it, how she so easily turned his whole world upside down. Thinking of how her throat had been cut, he realized now why he never saw a scar. She always wore a ribbon or a really tight necklace around her neck. Vaguely he had wondered why that was but never gave much thought to it until now. For the first time, he started feeling sorry for her, to lose her parents and her calling in life all in one night. He could only imagine how horrible that would feel, if he were to lose his ability to fight and spar. The martial arts were his life, if he lost that, he wasn’t sure how he could go on and it gave him a sense of pride that she was able to go on, despite all her loss.

“Now arriving at the Speare Theater!” the overhead announcement startled him from his thoughts.
He suddenly felt a lump forming in his throat. Just how exactly was she going to show him her voice when her voice box had been cut? Was she going to try to sing for him? What would he do if she did try and instead ended up croaking like a frog? How should he act? Tell her that he liked it even if it sounded terrible? Mentally scolding himself for being so soft he got off the trolley and stared at the huge theater laid out before him. It was a glistening white building with roman archways and pillars upholding the entrance. The signs on the doors said closed but he noticed that the door on the far left was left wide open. He recognized it as a clear invitation because of the blue ribbon tied around the door knob. Claudia had always been fond of blue ribbons, or anything blue in all actuality.

The inside of the theater was as wide and sprawling as it had always been, with its balcony seats, stage, and rows upon rows of floor seating, the only difference was the blue themed stage, which was normally red. Instinctually, he went and sat in the front row in the seat right in front of the stage. No sooner had his bottom touched the seat did the curtain go up and when it did, he felt his breathe hitch. There she was in a midnight blue dress, her hair done up in an elegant bun, her blue eyes fastened to him. The dress hung to her every curve and it had a slit on the right side that went all the way to her hip showing a generous portion of leg. She smiled at him then. He waited, and time seemed to stand still while the world held its breathe.

She brought her hands from behind her back then and in them were a bow and a violin. She raised the violin to her chin and the put the bow against the strings. His heart skipped a beat and then she started to play. It was as if someone had hit him with a ton of bricks, his breath rushing out of him. He could feel his heart accelerate with the pitch of her song. Her heart and soul went from her fingers to her instrument pouring out in a rush of a tidal wave, consuming everything in her wondrous sound and painting a picture before his eyes. She had lost her voice and yet, here she was in front of him, singing… singing for him, singing for her. The notes shimmered in the air between them, conveying her despair, her trapped spirit, the want and need to sing again paramount, and the loss. The complete and utter feeling of being alone in the world, then suddenly it changed, sweeping him away. It spoke of hope and love. Of a new beginning filled with dreams and fantasies still to discover and a bright future, and of being complete. They were soaring now, soaring with the song as it took them ever higher. He really looked at her then, and he could imagine her singing as she used to, with her arms open wide, calling to the heavens catching everyone and everything in her enchanted spell just as she was doing now. She was still able to sing, she still had her voice and it poured through her violin shaking them both. Cliff didn’t want it to end, it was like the perfect dream tickling his senses, bringing him to life and she just looked so at peace.

Before long, the voice of the violin died down and he was to come back to the waking world. She brought the violin down and smiled at him. Claudia set the instrument down carefully and jumped down from the stage to him. He stood up to meet her as she held her hand out to touch his face and it was only then he realized his cheeks were wet. Holding his own hand to his face he brought it back down to stare in wonder at the tears he saw there. She placed her hand in his own, and he looked back at her.
“ … Voice of Tears…” he breathed, knowing she would hear and remember the legend he was quoting.
Like the Great Goddess whose melancholy voice would heal the wounds and disease of all who heard it, Claudia’s voice had healed him and she had filled the emptiness within him and had taught him how to feel again, just as he had helped her to find herself again.

That night was when “the soldier of no tears” first learned to cry, and also to love.