It's the memories more than scenery that has drawn me to this precipice today. Even though from this place, you can see miles of green forest in all directions. The tall mountains are silhouette in the distance, darker horizon of the north. It’s quiet; it’s very beautiful.

Every since my uncle drove me to this place when I was a small boy, I’ve always ventured here. However, those visits became frequent when I met Jane. We saw the rising sun from up here, the big mould shaking as it ascended, sending rays of light shooting in all directions. A blue sky variegated. The dark forest became greener and greener. Captivated, Jane and I watched.

Then, there was the sunset. As the rays weakened, the breeze often picked up. The susurrus from the twirling leaves and the swaying bows felt like a nature’s serenade to us. The wind soaked our sweat, and we watched in awe as the sky turned crimson. The forest grew browner, then darker, as the sun, slowly and peaceful, as if tired from shining all day, descended.

Many in those magical moments, Jane liked to play her violin. On the dusty surface of the precipice, she sat facing the sun, placed her violin below her chin and played, closing her eyes. Initially, I just watched and listened. Against the backdrop of the setting sun, the slow and the haunting music almost brought me tears.

She always smiled seeing me like that. Often, she stopped playing and tapped my head with the bow. Later, when I realised those moments would soon be a rarity, I brought a camcorder and recorded every moment of it. In fact, I was recording pretty much what Jane was doing. She hated it, but I wanted to capture those moments forever.

I often play those recordings now, remembering how Jane loved her violin more than anything in the world. Since she was six years old, she’d learned to play it. She had graduated in music, majoring in violin. Her talent was her father’s gift, but unfortunately, he also bestowed an unwanted gift.

Not surprisingly, I met Jane when she was playing her violin. A colleague of mine, a botanist like me, had invited me to an evening party. He was celebrating his twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I was young, still a bachelor.

I walked in, shook hands with Michael and congratulated both him and his wife. The town we lived was small, almost everyone knew everyone. The forest and the surrounding hills dominated our lives. We were conducting experiments; a project funded by a university.

In the patio, at the back of Michael's house, a dais stood. Surprised, I walked around, clutching a glass of whiskey. A small crowd, whom all I knew, cheered and Jane rose. A face I had never seen before.

When she sat on a chair in the dais, and player her violin, my eyes were glued to her. She was a petite woman; strands of blonde hair flowed forward to her forehead as she titled her head sideways and played.

Such a good violin player in a small town got me curious. Was she a visitor? She must be because she had no scope living here.

As the evening progressed, I had a chance to meet her.

“Vladislav,” I said, introducing myself to her.

“Wow, what a strange name,” she said, as she studied me. I let out an awkward smile, saying, “It’s Serbian. My father’s side of the family migrated from there. I still retail the link through the name, At least.”

She called me Vlad, later, when we started dating. It was easier like that, and I preferred it. That night, she told me she’d just settled in the town, and in a bigger nearby town, about twenty miles away, she taught music in a school.

As the evening progressed, we drank and talked more. She asked many questions. Like what I did for living, and what for fun? I loved hiking, up the mountains, especially in the precipice I am standing now.

Her eyes lit up. She said, “Will you take me with you? I’d like to see the surrounding beauty. That’s part of the reason why I migrated here.”

Living in New York, she’d missed all the natural beauty. She said she wanted see as much as possible. I didn’t mind.

That’s how it started, our relationship and our frequent visits, with a ride deep inside the sylvan and up towards the precipice. When she got off the vehicle, she ran around this place, eyes wide, facing darting here and there. Miles of empty sky and green forest mesmerized her.

“God!” she shouted. The word echoed for a long duration. “I hate you, God.”

I smiled. Only later, I came to realize why she had said that. As she ran around, looking at every direction, she continued to abuse the almighty. When she had sighed, stood dangerously close to the edge, with eyes closed, and had enough of watching the sea of green trees, I produced a Tupperware, inside which I had packed sandwiches and fruits.

“Wow, you’ve come prepared,” she said.

“I always do. This forest is my office, remember?”

The sun was beating down on us. It was midday, and after finishing our lunch, I took Jane hiking, to a river that flowed on the western edge of the forest.

The small path led us to the river. Encumbered with leaves, shrubs and broken boughs, our going was difficult. But when we arrived, the sight of a pristine green river, quietly flowing amidst the twittering of the birds, made Jane speechless. Hands spread wide out, mouth gaping, she watched.

Suddenly, she said she wanted to jump, swim in the river. I didn’t blame her; after all, we were two sweaty bodies after an hour of difficult walk. When I said the river was infested with the alligators, she screamed, and ran away from the riverbank. She came towards me and hugged me.

The first contact we had.

I could feel her heartbeat, and I almost wrapped my arms around her. She pulled clear though, looking at me, slowly withdrew her arms, and letting out an awkward smile

“What a pity,” she said, turning away from me and looking at the river. “Such a clear and clean river and only the alligators can swim.”

“There's here fish also. I have fished in the river,” I said.

“I don’t like to kill any living beings,” she said, and walked away from me. She was turning into enigma. A violinist, a God hater, and now, a lover of all living beings, did she have more in her? She did.

In a rock overlooking the river, she perched herself, took out her camera and spent a long time looking around. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“I want to take pictures of alligators,” she said, not looking at me.

“They actually come up there to sunbathe, you do know that?”

Again, she ran from the rock. The camera dangled in her neck. She came up to me, looking upset, and hit me on my shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” she asked.

I just smiled and said, “I never knew you would spend such a long time there.”

We made our way to the precipice, after walking along the riverbank for an hour. Jane did manage to spot an alligator, only the eyes though, popping out of the water. I still have that picture. The alligator staring at us, watching our every move, and hoping we’d come to the water.

The sun was setting when we hiked up. I’d seen the twilight from up here, but it was Jane’s first. Like anybody would, she was awestruck. She watched, hands on hips, and said, “Oh, my god!”

“Time to leave,” I said, when the sun had already given way to the moon.

“I want to come back and play my violin from here,” she said, looking at me. “I want to see the sun set. I want to sit here and look at the stars. Can we come back again?”

We stayed up for two more hours that night. With the vehicle supporting the back of our bodies, and our heads rested on the hood of the vehicle, we watched the stars. Even I hadn’t seen what unfolded.

The sky, red at first, slowly darkened. The stars, hidden under sun’s ray, found its twinkle under the darkness. As we watched, Jane pointed out, “Look, that star. Look at it, it’s coming to life.”

We could see them grow, in brightness, in size, in numbers, as the night became darker. Soon, the black sky was littered with stars. “Let’s count,” Jane said.

“Are you crazy?”

“I am. Let’s count.”

And she counted, from the left hand side, with her index finger pointing out to the stars she added. Surprised, I looked at her, but was soon transfixed seeing her green eyes sparkle in the darkness. She had a small face, with a small nose and thin lips, but her eyes were big, and dominated her face. A strong yearning arose in me, seeing her continue the absurd game. She was still a mystery; I wanted to uncover her.

When she didn’t stop, and I had enough of the game, I open the door of my vehicle, I said, “Let’s go. It’s far too late for a game.”

Lips pouting, Jane agreed.

In the following month, we drove here often. We also went to many surrounding mountains. In weekdays, we drew up plans, executed them in weekends. Sometimes north we hiked, sometimes south. She was full of life, and seemed, she didn’t want to waste any time.

One early morning, we drove up to the precipice to see the rising sun. Jane came to wake me up, ringing the doorbell at four in the morning.

She didn’t let me rest, and one weekend, I complained, “I’m tired, Jane. I want to rest this weekend. Can we postpone it for another week?”

“I’m going alone then,” she said. Shaking my head, I agreed to accompany her.

We also went back to see the starry night again. I promised to stay until mid-night. And despite the cries of the wolves resonating in the background, we lingered.

That night, while we watched, lying flat on the ground, I said, “I like you, Jane.”

My first revelation. When she remained silent, I touched her hand, and said, “Jane, I really like you.”

With a stern look, lips sealed, she said, “What are you doing?”

When she pulled her hand and got up. I said, “I’m in love with you.”

She walked towards the vehicle, and said, “Let’s go home.”

While we drove back, Jane wasn't speaking. I tried to break the silence. “Jane!” I said, several times. She didn’t move her gaze, looking at the menacing trees pass in the dark, as we drove.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked.

“You don’t know what you are talking about. Just drive.”

When we reached her house, she got out, said, “Thank you,” and disappeared.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking why Jane had reacted like that. Maybe she had a boyfriend, but she hadn’t talked about him. If she had, there wasn’t anything wrong in telling me. I would have learned to change my feelings for her.

Scooting around in the bed, I spent the restless night imagining Jane, and thinking of my next move. But for a week after that, Jane completely ignored me. There were telephone messages I left. I went to her house, saw her car parked, and rang the doorbell, but she didn’t come out. I thought I had heard her play her violin, but the sound stopped, and after standing for more than thirty minutes and shouting, “Jane!” innumerable times, I left.

One evening, when I was returning home from work, I finally got my chance. Jane was inside a grocery shop, and I ran in and shouted, “You’re a selfish person!”

Her head turned sharply upwards to look at me.

“You’re a very selfish person. You come and ask for my help and I take you to all the places, and when I said something I felt for you, you ignore me completely. What was wrong with what I said?”

She dropped whatever she was carrying and ran out of the store. I followed her. “Answer me, damn you. What did I do wrong?”

When she suddenly stopped, my body almost collided with her. But she was flashing her index finger at me. “You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything about me, so stay out of it.”

With that, she turned around and started walking home. I followed her. “I think I deserve to know then. What is it? I’ve liked you since the day I saw you. Why do you think I agreed to take you to all these places? Every weekend, despite my tired body, I hiked to all the places. I enjoyed every moment of it, Jane. I love being with you. You’re so full of energy. I’m…I’m-.”

“Stop it,” she shouted. People on the sidewalk stared at us.

“What do you want to hear, Vlad? What?” Tears suddenly appeared in her eyes. She looked down, wiped her eyes with her sleeves, and said, “I’m dying, Vlad. I’m dying. In a year, I’ll be gone. Maybe not even that longer. I’ve got cancer. All my family is gone, except my mom.”

My face dropped. I remember dropping a bag I was holding. My hands, fingers wide open, touched my cold cheeks.

“Why…why do you think I moved here?” she continued, punctuated by her sobbing. “I could have gone anywhere. I am one of the best violinists in the world, Vlad. I could have worked in New York, Europe, wherever in the world.”

I remained speechless, just staring at Jane. She shook her head, turned around, and ran. “Jane!” I shouted. I scampered after her, shouting, “Stop, Jane. I can’t let you go, even now.”

She disappeared inside her house. I rang the bell and shouted, “Jane, open the door, please. I want to talk to you. Let me just be your friend.”

She didn’t, but I sat on the stairs of her porch, and listened. The sound of her violin slowly suffused the house. The music made me want to run millions of miles away, bury my head underground, so that no sound would penetrate, but with tears streaming out, I remained. Her haunting sound continued for a long time. The full moon shone malignantly, the stars twinkled, and the beetles bleated, perhaps saddened by Jane’s music.

Then, I heard her door creak. “Come inside,” Jane said, opening the door.

We went to being friends again. I tried to fulfill her every ambition. We went hiking, every weekend. In the precipice, Jane played her violin as dusk approached, and I recorded every moment in the camcorder. We went trekking also; for a week, we climbed rough terrains, slept on hard surfaces, and cooked in the wild, open countryside.

One day, after I was promoted, I wanted to take Jane out to a nice restaurant, but she would have none of it. We drove to the precipice.

Two goblets, full with wine, clanged. In unison, we said, “Cheers!”

The wine was the finest around. In our dry throat, I could feel it disappear inside the stomach. After thirty minutes, Jane got up. Swung her arm, and let go of the empty wine bottle. Flying high, the bottle disappeared after the sea of green trees below consumed it.

“I’m playing my violin,” she said. I had another bottle.

We were half way through the second bottle, when the sky turned pink. The fading sun’s ray was weakening. As we watched the sky, she flung her arm around my shoulders. She smiled looking at me. “I love your blue eyes,” she said.

“And I love your green eyes.”

So, there it was. First time, we had looked away from the beauty of the setting sun, and discarded the violin. I couldn’t look elsewhere, for I knew how beautiful those pair of eyes were.

She drew closer, making her lips like fish’s, open and round. I bent down, slowly wrapped my hands around her waist, and kissed her.

Soon, her hands were at the back of my head and pushing my face towards her. My hands went inside her shirt and rubbed her back. It didn’t take long for the clothes to come off. For our naked bodies to entangle. Dirty to smear in the air, as we rolled, she on top of me, and I on top, and for us to pant, drowning every other sound. Not only once, but twice we made love.

Exhausted, we rested, supine, watching million different night stars. It was then, she said, holding my hand, “I love you, Vlad.”

I turned and looked at her. “I know, I’m dying soon, but you’re so kind and nice. I can’t run away from what I feel, despite knowing how difficult it will be when I die,” she added.

I said nothing, except squeezed her small hand, and kissed her forehead. After two long years, a girl once again had uttered sweet words to me.

Yet, as I moved in with her, and our relationship deepened, the move seemed to hasten Jane’s departure. Three months after my move, I received a phone call from Jane’s school. She had been hospitalized. What seemed a perfectly healthy Jane was in intensive care. Vomiting blood, she had fainted.

Her Mom came from New York, and as I watched, hopelessly, she returned with Jane. We talked, every night. One day, she said she was getting better; next day, she said she was dying. Eventually, she said she was returning, without her Mom.

I drove to pick her up, with a bunch of flowers, and wearing my best suit. When I saw Jane, the flowers dropped on the floor, tears wailed up, endlessly. She was in a wheelchair. I almost fainted when I noticed her long, blonde hair reduced pitiable short and spiked; and her skin was as white as snow. She had also lost weight. In fact, she had returned to live her last dying days. The doctor reckoned only a month.

She wanted playing her violin in her last remaining days, not in New York, but here, in the verdant surrounding. She also wanted to take her last breath in my arms. For a week, in the back porch, she played the violin, every morning and every evening.

She tried played cheerful, happy music. Melancholy was in the past. She said she was happy dying, and didn’t want to feel miserable while she lived. Everyday, when I came back from work, I smiled. Despite her best effort, she’d lost her strength to play jolly music.

On the day of her death, try hard as she might, she couldn’t sit straight and hold the violin. Each time she tired, she collapsed, until the veins in her wrist ruptured, and she cried.

That night, I played a recording of her play. She smiled hearing it, and with her head rested on my chest, took her last breath. I could hear her heartbeat, grow slower and slower, and fade. Her body grew colder and heaver after that. But I didn’t move, not for a long time, not even when she became as heavy as a rock.

I didn’t cry also, for she had died smiling. She was holding my hand, and the final words she said were, “I love you, Vlad.”

From this precipice, Jane’s ashes, which she wanted dispersed from here, have long disappeared. I have stood here and mused for a very long time. The wind was strong when I opened the urn. Flecks of them landed on my face, soaked in my tears. My hands were shaking also.

Now, even the once soothing wind has begun to cloy. The nimbus gathered overhead threatens rain. The season is changing. Summer is over, and it may be while before I venture here again. Or may be I never will. But Jane’s vestigial love in me wouldn’t die soon, not even when I don’t come here.