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away.
Figuring them from the cruise ship, I decided to just leave them to it, even if
I was a bit annoyed. Miffed no-one had thanked me, I left the harbour by the
gate and joined the people heading into town. The main street was just a short
walk up a hill and I intended to find the bus station to move onto my next
destination. I was on holiday after all.
    In
amongst the people, I never noticed at first that the shops lining the main
street were closing their doors and pulling down shutters. It was early
afternoon by this time and clouds had followed the sea fog in to replace the
sunshine. What was eerie though was that everyone began to slow down and stop
talking. Soon, everyone was in silence, standing around. Some were comforting
companions who were crying. Others played with their phones but all were quiet.
I followed suit, wondering what was happening. A few people seemed to be
clutching some sort of programme but I couldn’t make out the cover.
    I
was close to a large wall. People nodded apologies at me as they crowded around
it and I moved to give them more room. They were making towards the wall which
was covered in, of all things, doorbells. Oblong boxes with round buttons at the
centre, each doorbell also displayed a symbol. Most were crucifixes, but some
were crescents, as well as other religious and humanist signs. I stepped back
onto the road. There was no traffic because there were so many people packed
onto the street.
    The
silence became quite unsettling until the town hall clock struck. Each face
turned up to the tower as the sing-song chimes began. When it concluded, one
solitary bell struck to tell the time. Hands reached out to the wall. Buttons
were pushed and doorbells rang. As if each doorbell denoted a life, the sound
rang out. People hugged. Uncomfortable amongst this display of communal grief,
I recoiled. I had no way of knowing what these people were mourning. And then
church bells pealed. All across the city, bells were rung. As the sound swung
around the air, ships in the nearby harbour blasted out their horns. This gave
the silent crowd the space to make their own noise. Relief washed over many
people and smiles spread. Hands began clapping and cheering went up into the
air as grief turned into celebration. It was like the sadness of someone’s
passing had transformed into a salute to their life. Their responses seemed to
lift the air, heavy as it had become under the clouds.
    I
found myself smiling. A lump in my throat stopped me from actually laughing.
With no idea what this massive crowd of people were marking, I couldn’t help
but feel what they were feeling. It was euphoria released from sadness. Some
people started to move about. The ships went quiet and the church bells faded
away. Only a few people continued to ring doorbells, and even these were doing
so with smiles on their faces. A woman squeezed between two people and smiled
at me as she passed. As she did so, she dropped her programme. I picked it up to
hand back but lost sight of her in the throng of people.
    I
looked at the programme and a small shudder crept across my back. Between my
fingers, the stiffer cover opened up to a couple of pages showing the order of
service. I could feel my legs seize up as a cold shiver settled through me.
Inside, the programme listed the gathering of people, the silent vigil,
followed by the bells at one o’clock. But on the cover was a picture of a
familiar cruise ship. Sympathetic lettering said: On the passing of the Angel
Rhithlun.
    I
managed to look at the faces around me. Previously crying, a woman was now
chatting with her companion, her sadness relieved by this process of public
healing. Someone reached up for a very specific doorbell and ran his fingers
across its shape without pressing. He pulled his hand back, kissed the fingers,
and touched the box again, before retreating into the crowd. I continued to
hold the programme between my hands. It was curled slightly from being clutched
by