Twice upon a boring mid-afternoon, while I thought, tired and wan, about a ton of weird forgotten stories- while I was tired, and almost fell asleep, suddenly there was a tapping sound, like someone quietly knocking, knocking at my bedroom door. "It is a solicitor," I mumbled, "Knocking on my bedroom door- just that, nothing else."
O, I remember it clearly, in some boring winter month; and all of the burning coals in my fireplace cast shadows on my floor. Anxiously I began to wish that tomorrow would come;- I selfishly had tried to gain some happiness from all of my books- happiness to get over Singapore. It was such a rare and radiant city that the gods had called Singapore- Nameless here for evermore.
The purple curtains were rustling in the wind, scaring me- making me so terrified, more than I ever had before; So now, with my heart beating out of my chest, I just sat there repeating, "It's just a solicitor wanting to get into my house- some mid-afternoon solicitor trying to get into my house;- just that, nothing else.
I gathered courage, not waiting anymore, "Sir," I said, "Or Ma'am, you have to forgive my asking; but it's just...I was sleeping, and then you came softly knocking on my bedroom door, so I didn't really hear you." I then opened the door wide;- a sunny day was there, nothing else.
I stood there, staring into my quaint suburban yard, well lit from the sun. I was so afraid, fearing, dreaming of things that no ordinary person had ever dreamed of; but it was so quiet, and so still, and the only sound that could be heard was when I whispered, "Singapore?" I whispered this, and I heard an echo murmur, "Singapore!" - Just this, nothing else.
I tore across my porch, running fiercely into my home, with my heart racing, my fears burning, and soon I heard knocking a bit louder than earlier. "I bet," I said, "I bet, that's just a branch hitting my window; let me take a look, then, and figure out what this is- calm my heart for a second, and figure out what this is;- It's just the wind, nothing else."
I found my breath and flew the windows open, when, with noisy flapping of its wings, a dignified crow, who seemed an aristocrat, flew in. He didn't even acknowledge me, nor stop to say hello, but as an aristocrat, he perched above my door, on my statuette of Athena- just sat there, and nothing else.
The black bird then made me smile, because of the grave and stern expression it had, "Even though you look fancy," I said. "You aren't a craven, you ghastly old Crow flying around from the shores of the Night- tell me what your name is on the shores of the Styx!"
The Crow said, "No way."
I was surprised at this klutzy bird, saying such a sermon plainly, even though it had no meaning- and had little relevance to our conversation; Because we can all agree that no human has ever been so blessed as to have a bird perch above their bedroom door- bird or beast on the statuette above a bedroom door, with a name like "No way."
But, the Crow was sitting lonely on the collected statuette, and said only those two words, as if he poured his whole being into those two words. He didn't say anything else, and he didn't fly anymore- until I hardly more than mumbled "All my other friends have left- tomorrow he will leave me too, just like all my hopes and dreams."
Then the bird said, "No way."
I was startled by the noise, which broke the silence so abruptly, so I replied. "No doubt," I said, "what it is saying is the only thing it knows how to say, learned from some unhappy owner, his songs becoming faster until his songs became sad, saddening his hope, that sad burden he bore...of "No way."
But the Crow still made me smile, so I brought an easy chair in front of the bird and statuette and door; then I plopped my behind into its cushy surface connecting fancy to fancy, thinking about this creepy, dignified bird- what this ghastly bird meant when it said, "No way."
I sat there for so long pondering this, but there were no words to express to the bird whose intense eyes were now boring into my soul; I thought about this and a few other things as I sat at ease, reclining, on the comfy leather lining, with the lamps shining, saying, She shall say, o, no way!
Then, I thought, the air was closing in on me, suffocating with the smell of some perfume that came from some unseen source, made by angels whose footsteps tinkled on my floor. "Scoundrel," I yelled to myself, "Your God has loaned you- sent you by these angels. Stop- stop, it's heroin from your memory of Singapore; Drink! Oh, guzzle this kind heroin and forget about Singapore!"
Then the Crow said, "No way."
"Prophet!" I screamed, "You are evil, yet still a prophet, whether you are a bird or Satan's fiery soul! By Heaven above- By God, man- tell my sorry soul if, when I die and go to heaven, if I will ever see Singapore again."
Then the Crow said, "No way."
"May that be our last word, evil bird!!" I screeched. "Go back to Hell! Leave no feathers as proof of the lie your soul has said! Leave my loneliness alone! And get off my statuette!! Get your claws out of my heart and get off of my door!"
Then the Crow said, "No way."
And the crow, unmoving, is still sitting, still sitting on my statuette above my bedroom door; and his eyes are the eyes of a demon who is dreaming, and the lights shining on him, casting his shadow on the floor; and my soul which is in that shadow, floating on my floor, shall not be lifted ever- No way!
-L Horton
