Again, the whirlwind in a place inside him. Ydha had the sensation of descending or ascending. A strange feeling which he never deciphered. He saw sounds and sensations and heard lights, forms, and colors. He saw how the priestesses devoured a beating heart and felt the urge to shout that he had completed the mission; that it was not necessary to complete the rite; that he was now ready to return to the world of the living as a hero, as a virgin, as a trained artist who had visited the World of Sourceless Shadows.
But he could not shout. He had no voice, nor sound nor breath. The priestesses dedicated themselves only to their task of cannibalism. At that moment Ydha discovered his body: young, beautiful and naked with all its virility; in a state of promise as it lay on the stone of sacrifice. Then he understood —he somehow understood— that there was no way to return. And with all the strength of his youth he raised up into the air —or descended, he never determined that— and changed into a void converted into a whirlwind.
And Ydha shouted, howled, struck the earth in the form of a terrible whirlwind of fire which devoured men, women, children and beasts. He devoured all food supplies and dissolved into the ground making the land sterile. He disintegrated, furious as a childhood disease. He shouted like a hurricane. He shuddered like an electrical storm. He wept acid tears of dismay. He was a purplish cloud in the sky. He saw himself as a Sourceless Shadow. He became a sacrilegious painting by some iconoclastic painter’s hand, in the hope —the intimate hope— that another volunteer would be sent to calm his dismay and inevitable deception.
| BELTAINE |
I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot say ...
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI, Sudden Light
The shreds of that dream still wafted in the air. The girl, clothed in shadows, appeared at the foot of my hospital bed. At first, with my feverish eyes, I saw her back, covered with a cape that gave off grey threads. She turned to face me and a curious feeling made me look at her. “Beltaine” I think she had murmured. Four days later, mysteriously, I left the hospital, cured of my illness. Fifty years went by after that vision.
Our trip had been troubled. Sara, my wife, and I had argued nearly the entire trip. I resisted changing my surroundings, my house, my friends. But she was right. She was always right. We were too old to be living on the eighth floor downtown. It was time for us to have our dreamed-of small house on the Patagonian coast. The previous day we had made an appointment by telephone with a real estate agent for her to show us the little house on the beach.
I got out of the vehicle with difficulty, as I suffered from the complaints of old age. Sara took my arm and and we walked to the other vehicle where the agent was perhaps talking on her cell. I say perhaps because the sun was shining so brightly on the roof of the car it made it hard to see well. Nevertheless, on approaching, I saw that the woman, who had her back to us, placed her cell in her purse. My heart began to race when she turned her face toward me. Inevitably, that dream from fifty years before jumped into my mind. Her pale slender neck like that of a swan, her fine mouth, her freckles scattered on her shoulders, her red hair - oh red! – windblown ...My heart began to beat wildly., I recognized the scent and the eyes. The sky changed color. The sand vibrated.
I saw torchlights as though they were mirroring a starry sky, as though they were licking the thick darkness of night-time along the coastline. Distant drumbeats pierced the air, and men and women danced around the bonfires. And she, Lord, who offered me her hand. She, who was as young as I felt myself now, offered me her hand, as pale as her body and mine. “Angus, my love” she said in a strange, yet familiar tongue. And I thought I heard in her voice the warble of spring water when it flows between the rocks. My heart danced to the rhythm of those drums. We were part of a festival. And I felt I was in love with the beautiful Caedr, daughter of Ethal.
I began to walk toward the woods but I was stopped by a far away anguish. I thought I saw, over there on the sand, the body of a moribund elder dressed in odd clothing. “Oh, I just dreamed I was an old man,” I thought. Then I recognised my features in that elder’s body. Something of myself lay with him in a far-off time.
Now Caedr was already entering the shadowy curtain of the woods. And, before entering, she turned her face and invited me to enter as well. She hurt me to the core with that look of love.
| METAMORPHOSIS 2.0 |
Above, the morning. Below, thousands of streets crossing thousands of alarm clocks. One more day. He knew it was one more day. He got up. He wallked to the kitchen but, though he was very thirsty for a real cold drink of water, he never drank it. His wife had already got up and was in the bathroom. She turned on the water faucet which began thumping on the bottom of the bath tub. She pulled back the curtain and entered the cold shower. He also joined the shower as the water beat on his head and insisted on waking him completely. She showered rapidly, indifferently and then, still damp, ran back to the room.
When he left the bath, his wife was not in the room. He was a little anxious. He called to her but she did not respond. He was afraid she might have left without him. But could she have gone without telling him? Or perhaps she had told him and he hadn’t heard it, as absorbed as he was in the details of the shower and water which falls on one’s head.
In a moment she, an inhabitant of herself, reappeared. She entered through the balcony door, perhaps having watered the plants. He wanted to believe that. He felt stranger than ever that morning, for having not even looked for her on the plants' balcony.
She was about to leave for work. They did not greet each other, as was usual lately (she used to greet him by habit). He murmured to her to wait so they could leave together, although it is possible she did not hear him. He was really behind. He had not been able to sleep all night thinking about how he would tell her; how she would take it. How it would resonate within her and such things.
A few minutes later they had got to the street and were on their way to the bus stop. A few more minutes later, the bus arrived. They got on. She paid the fare as she had been doing recently and they sat on the double seats close to the back of the vehicle. They did not talk. She put on the earbuds for her Ipod to surround herself in the musical world of routine travel. He could hear the music which came from the device because she listened to it too loudly. He did not know what was playing but the high notes and some of the low notes reached him. She was seated next to the window moving her lips as though singing this song which could not be discerned.
He observed the other passengers. In front, seated in one of the “backward facing” seats, was a young man with a backpack on his chest who was watching him; perhaps taking advantage of the impunity of being a passenger for several blocks which meant to asume the right to snoop for the whole trip given his position of privilege.
At the window, two seats beyond him, he saw the profile of a chubby woman with excessive lipstick. He turned and saw in the back seats some distracted passengers with faces of those who just woke up. He imagined his own face likewise. He was calm, the usual routine. He simply closed his eyes to take advantage of the few minutes which separated him from the routine of his job. He realized he had no desire to go to work, to sell his precious hours for a pittance. To exchange his freedom for pieces of paper not even guaranteed by the national treasury. He tried not to think about it. He only realized he was thirsty; a thirst for cold water that could refresh his insides. Her music beside him, the swaying of the bus all around him. He thought he might fall asleep at any minute. At some point, he did fall asleep.
He was awakened by the thump of a sudden, violent pothole but the vehicle continued its trip through the city streets. He looked to his right. She was not there. He could not figure out how she had managed to leave the bus without him noticing. She would have had to jump over his sleeping body. The turbulence in his head managed to recognise that she had got off much prior to the stop. He tried to figure out the streets. Truly they were several blocks from their stop. He real
ized he had only fallen asleep a few seconds. So why wasn’t she there? Some far-off music kept invading his brain; a familiar music more coherent than he.
He opened his eyes. They nearly popped out of their sockets. He looked for reference in that morning bus. The youngster seated in the “back-facing” seat looked at him quite curiously. The chubby woman was still there, nearly in the same position he had seen her in at first. It seemed to him that one of the passengers from the back seats was not there but it was only a feeling as he had not counted them on sitting down.
The bus continued on without stopping. He had a few seconds to think about what he was experiencing but he came to the same conclusion: His attention was focused on the fact she had not waked him or said good bye to him when she got off. That thing about him not feeling her move, because she would have had to lift her legs to climb over his barely dozing body. Had she waited for him to go to sleep?
At first that unexpected game bothered him a lot. And he resolved to tell her without beating around the bush what he hadn’t dared and what he had mused about so long. But he calmed down and reconsidered. He fell back to sleep with the old sensation of being thirsty for ice water.
He could not remember what had happened after the episode on the bus; how he had got off and gone back home because he did not go to work that morning. Her music woke him since she played the transverse flute in the dining room. He had especially loved her when she played the transverse flute. He was convinced that that was the sound of her soul; though lately he perceived her to be increasingly distant from her sound. Somehow, the melody, and the way she played it gave him the image of herself just the way he recognized her inside him. He felt a sudden nostalgia although, as with all nostalgia, he did not know why.
Soon the doorbell rang, interrupting the rehearsal. She answered the intercom. What they were saying on the other side could not be heard, just low voices and shortly after, she cut it off. A few minutes later there was pounding on the front door. Without putting down the flute she opened. A youthful stranger came in, although I thought I recognised him from somewhere. He seemed very familiar. She seemed to have changed her voice, it became kind, very kind, oh so very kind, kind in an almost immoderate way. The youth came in somewhat timidly, extremely respectful and very tall. Both of them disappeared into the various rooms and then, as the tour ended, they returned to the dining room. The young man shook hands with an unusual courtesy for modern youth and promised to return the next day. When he left she returned to her transverse flute as though nothing had happened. I fell asleep again or lost track of the time....
The next morning, I saw her having breakfast in the dining room. By now it seemed normal for her to ignore my presence. She practically showed no interest in anything but herself. I again felt a sudden thirst for ice water.
Soon I saw the youth from the previous day coming out of one of the empty rooms. In fact at some time that morning the new resident had arrived just as he had promised. The youth’s timidity was touching. She no longer smiled in the exaggerated way of the day before although she treated him with courtesy. It was apparent the youth was asking her about lunch, at which she showed him where the cooking utensils were.
At some time, the doorbell rang again. Another similar ritual. She spoke on the intercom and hung up. In fact, she expected someone else. Shortly thereafter they knocked on the apartment door. When she opened the door two more youths entered. A girl with beautiful blonde hair and sparkling looks, though with a certain air of shyness. She was followed by another youth somewhat younger than she, probably; his timidity camoflaged in his natural charm. They gave the impression of being siblings and that they, too, would stay as residents; each one in the remaining vacant rooms.
I soon got used to the four residents in the house passing by me with near complete indifference. The same habit of wanting ice water and not wanting to go back to work. I felt trapped but I did not know why. I just limited myself to admiring the residents, guessing their wishes, observing them at a distance. I felt that I knew them with that recognition that arrives in intermittent gusts like sound waves heard through a long tube.
In this way, I discovered that the girl was very intelligent and friendlier than she had seemed to me the first time. This young lady would play the keyboard in her room; sweet melodies and very lively. Some were familiar. Others, she seemed to have created. At times, I believed the girl did want to talk with me. I tried communicating by whispering but then the young lady was distracted by other things and I was left wanting after this comunication.
The brother of the young lady had a closer relationship with the lady of the house; perhaps because he played guitar. At times, the young man and she played a tune together, each with their own instrument. Between the two of them they made the house seem to belong more to other times. That young man was also very attentive to her. Perhaps due to his youth, he was very attentive, nearly anxious before her, even affectionate.
The first resident was more taciturn, reflexive. Although his presence was also quite notable, above all when he would play the chello and made the atmosphere to fill with long, low notes, perhaps lazy ones but with a precious personality. He seemed to observe everything, maybe out of mistrust or extreme caution, as though he feared the woman of the house might injure him at any time. It was evident that he would make efforts to communicate with her; domestic things, nothing out of this world.
But it was also evident that she was a little irritated by the way he was (perhaps he reminded her of someone with whom she didn’t want to communicate any more.) The youth would find items which identified the spouse of the owner and, full of curiosity, he sought to form an image of that person (I was unceasingly amazed as a sensation of tenderness and contrarieness came over me simultaneously: why would this youth also stoop to ignoring my very presence and content himself with objects which he now disbelieved had belonged to me?)
The house was practically empty all day long due to the external activities of the inhabitants. But it is true that I no longer perceived time as I once did. One hour could be a whole evening or any second. I didn’t even know what day of the week it was, much less worry about my own birthday. No, time definitely was not the same to me. I only perceived reality through being near to one of the inhabitants, their vibrations brought me back to my own self awareness. Nor did I care now to drink ice water or wet down my head. Every little while, feelings of uneasiness or danger assaulted me but I didn’t know how to react to them. Then I would slink into a corner of the house, camoflaged by a shadow in the residence.
One morning, in which everyone was in the house, I perceived a certain tension in the air. The first resident showed an unusual hostility to the woman who was practicing, as usual, her transverse flute. Again, the doorbell rings. Again, she answers the door. And again, she opened the door to let someone in.
The three residents reacted, visibly perturbed when the man came through the door. He was corpulent, seemingly with an air of affability. The woman introduced him as the director of a music production company. They shared a certain intimacy. Every so often she would quite ostentaciously rub him with one hand. The first resident began speaking to the owner impatiently. It was apparent this incomprehensible attitude bothered him. The younger resident also showed a bit of hostility toward the director, especially when he treated the residents with apparent indifference as though they disgusted him.
It was not unusual that the director, as the days went on, would spend long evenings with the woman, shut up in the large, old room; taking advantage of the absence of the residents for their activities. Not long afterward, the director’s stay was extended to a good part of the night. And then, very shortly thereafter, practically, he began to stay all day.
Not much more time passed until the man was moved into the house. That was when, one evening, he came in the door with a boy by the hand. He introduced him to the residents and the woman, especially, took him in as her own. In this way now two more pe
rsons were added to the residents of the house.
Increasingly, the woman and the director entrusted the boy to the nearly exclusive care of the girl resident while they would shut themselves up in the old room. When the woman was not in the house, the director would verbally abuse the residents - visibly disgusted. One time he threatened the older resident and he struck the younger resident on three different occasions. Whenever the young lady would complain to the owner of the house, the director would insert himself and deny everything. The woman would put on her iPod earbuds and submerge herself in the transverse flute notes which the man had recorded for her to practice.
I observed all this from my position as tenuous individual with the impotence of one who is reduced to a brief throb even if I should shout with all my strength and try to move furniture with my voice.
Once, I saw the young girl resident approaching me to sit down nearby. And again it seemed that the young lady had detected my presence, but suddenly the feeling dissolved. The girl took advantage of the suddenly empty house –there was no one nearby—and began sobbing. And she sobbed unceasingly with silent tears; an anguish with which she broke down seemed to threaten her happiness. This especially moved me and I began speaking sweetly to her. Suddenly now recovered the young lady ceased crying. Then she dried her tears with her hands, took a deep breath, got up and went to her room. That was the time when I believed that someone in this house could detect my existence but it was only a moment and only served for me to realize I was still alive.
The Unravelled Frames Page 2