Aase’s Death

The first time I heard Aase’s Death by Eduard Grieg, I had just moved back to my father’s house and the war was starting. Ned called and said his friend Tomas wanted to sell his old record player. The price was good if I was interested. Ned knew about music players. He gave me his friend’s phone number. That same evening, I was home with the new player and a box of classical music records. Tomas said they were of no use to him now and I could have them for free. At home, I put Eduard Grieg on the turntable: Overture, Morning, Aase’s Death.

I sat listening when the phone rang. It was Ned. He asked if I bought the player. He said he had just lost power and didn’t know what to do with himself. As we spoke, the light of my desk lamp went out. The music went out with it. There was complete darkness in the house.

“This is not looking good,” said Ned. “Now, they’ve taken the music away.”

Aase’s Death theme still lingered in my ears, the notes abruptly interrupted, then the silence. I sat in darkness and listened to the echo of music.

The phone rang. It was Ned again. “I am scared,” he said.

“Scared of what?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. Of what’s to come.” He hung up.

I lost track of time, sitting in the dark. When the light came back. I wasn’t in the mood for Grieg. I wasn’t in the mood for any music.

I went downstairs and found my father sitting on the sofa. He tried to make the old TV work. He wanted to see the news anchor, any familiar face. He wanted to be reassured that this loss of power was the same as that one ten years ago on New Year’s Eve, when it snowed hard and the power poles fell down. That night we sat in darkness too, thinking about the year 1984, the year to come within hours, hoping it would be filled with blessings and sunshine.