A HAND IN THE FOG

III

 

After took the picture from his hands secretly – after the half and complete smiles – when they drunk one or two glasses of wine – he explained his feelings about dogs.

Rethinking – could be after two or three glasses – for sure. She was not so expansive without help.

In vino veritas – as the silence theory of the philosopher existentialist – is also another really truth.

He confessed his love for dogs. A sweet person – she thought. Human. Excellent values. He loved animals – dogs. She listened – maybe said congratulations – now she was not sure.

This was the reason she preferred remember with closed eyes. It is like a hallucination. All we want we can create.

Returned to the memory. She said – of course with the blessed help of the wine – you should celebrate because we will never marry. I don’t like dogs at all.

For sure she would never knew what he thought. Not because of her low level of animals love, but because the verb to marry. He looked to her in a mix of surprise plus misunderstanding. There were only one or two hours he gave just a half smile and she conjugated this scary verb. With the wine for companion – she tried to explain to him her theory about growth and progress.

So polite as before – so elegant as before – he invited her to go into the restaurant and …

Outlaw version

No Mr. Policeman, I had not touched the woman, I respect women, more I have fear, they are so clear, at the first time and after few minutes you understand nothing, they change suddenly, I wont only her money, I have a family. Yes Mr. policeman, you know the family I had in the village, all was killed … me? No, no! I was not there. Yes my wife was awful, every day asking for money. I have an alibi, I was at my home in the city, with my true family, with my four kids, my marvelous woman. The woman accused me of sexual violence, it’s not true, you see me, I have an age…   two women, I am not Hercules, please come here: I would do it but I can’t.

It was “he” who has made violence to the woman, for accusing me.

“he”  version

Mr. Policeman, you can’t believe to a horrible outlaw, look, I am a philosopher, well dressed, polite, not freeze as he is. You may hear which vulgar pronunciation he has.

I was linked to a tree, I watched and it was impossible to do anything. And please write, Mr. Policeman, the woman was not really scared, it seems that she was quite happy for the new experience, the whore. I passed years working hard for her pleasure, dressing, colored nails, her expensive wine. At the end the woman choosed this way.

the woman…

The woman…

She opened so big her eyes to look for all: the woman and the policeman, the elegant man – and also the other not elegant. Where they were.

There was nobody. She stood up so fast and her hair covered her face. With the hand tremulous she arranged the hair and looked around. The same as before: people were on the grass reading, talking with a very low voice or listening music with headphones. The silence was only broken for a bird or some pat.

Not so fast as she stood up – but finally she understood. She slept. She dreamed. A “daynightmare” – in the park.

She concluded with a – at this time – half smile. The first thinking it was that the dream was like a film she watched so many years ago. Why “the film was” in the park with a fog now – it was the first question inside her. The second question was why she dreamed with a woman that accused the elegant man of sexual violence. And she could hear – even awake – his voice affirming that “it is not true, you see me, I have an age…   two women, I am not Hercules, please come here: (at low voice) I would do it but I can’t.

Why this dream like that so distant film. It was a question for so much analysis.

For years she went to the psychoanalyst trying to discover what was cover. And vice-versa. Ten years later she had more doubts than before. And said good-bye to the analyst. Not only for this. He was so intelligent and knew kilometers of theory – but couldn’t control his own admiration for her. It was a difficult moment but both said good-bye to the Austrian God and became only friends. He moved to another city. She moved to another city. Nevermore they met each other.

Now she missed him. She could tell him the dream and he could help her. She could tell him about the fight for the time of a hug. At this point – she smiled completed. No. She couldn’t tell this for him. He was a passionate psychoanalyst and for sure would ask not so sweet why he left her alone on the grass. And will hate him forever and ever. Two fights for a hug time instead of one.

Once more she lifted the neck looking for him – like a hope. She wanted so much he had come back – but still only the empty fog.

He invited her to go to a restaurant and she agreed. It was the last memory before begin to sleep and dream that strange dream. It was a wonderful night.

She decided get out from the park. When she was almost outside she saw a policeman speaking with an elegant man. A extravagant woman with a very short dress and colored nails hold with much care a bottle of wine – it seems an expensive wine because of the care she hold.

The elegant man was supposing to explain something important to the policeman – that for his expression wasn’t believe in any one word that the elegant man said.

She went away. It was so much for a fog morning. But different of him – she looked behind on her shoulders.

She was sad. Maybe he would never return. And she would have in her mind only the idea of his hand with soft touch.

But nothing was as expected or regular at that fog morning.

 

II

The images came so fast after she became to remember. As a brainstorm.

She decided to close her eyes. Every time she wanted to repeat a good sensation – she closed her eyes. It was not different now.

A doubt: she was not sure who became to talk and tell from where they came. It was obvious they were foreigners.

Maybe her became to talk. Travelling alone for many years – she knew exactly with whom or when she could talk or be safe in silence.

The solitude is also a perfect teacher.

He was sophisticated with elegance.

Some seconds after she new he was from the country with not only dramatic blood – as few time after she made jokes with him. He came from a country with perfect music, a wonderful food, very beautiful architecture, excellent wine of superior quality. Perfect – she thought with closed mouth and opened emotion. She liked this.

Touching again on the grass and with the arms close to the body she smiled – how could she do that. She photographed his hands.

For a second she interrupted the memories – open the eyes and lifted the neck again – but he didn’t return in fact. There was no hand and no shadows among the trees. Just fog.

Yes. She photographed his hands. She didn’t know why but she felt that he had a soft touch. Maybe because of the manner that he hold the folder with the program of the concert – a cello with a piano.

He could play the cello – never the piano.

How much we know when we know nothing. At this moment she decided to sit on the grass instead to be lay.

He was a man with strong decisions – she thought when he invited her to dinner with him.

Yes. She lay again. It was necessary to go on the images and the feeling.

When a person is lay – is available.

Now she closed the eyes and she presume to go outside with him, waiting a taxi in a bistro, drinking a glass of wine, speaking of something that she can’t remember. The taxi comes. She hopes that he takes her hand, he would but was not so brave, he was too polite, it was not even the time. At the table, asks and answers, trying to understand who is he, who is she, the social ballet, the simple minuetto to continue with a common music after a wonderful one.  Now she open her eyes and he is still there, smiling. Oh, what a pity, she has a program for the whole day, he comes to her hotel, bye-bye, is all finished? One nice meeting and nothing more?

In the morning she goes to a castle, nice trip but she thinks at this uncommon man. Evening, hotel, a card with a telephone number, he invites her to another dinner, wow. Another meeting. She is in front of the hotel many minutes before the fixed hour. He comes few minutes later, before the time.

And she thought maybe he was afraid or just a wise man  – he knew how to awake the desire. First miss – after desire. But it was only conjecture. He said nothing about desires – only about missing.

The grass seemed make some movement.

Suddenly she felt a warm breathing very close to her face. Almost jumping up on a tree she opened her eyes and saw a dog. A dog. Sit on her scarf.  Close to her face.

Sometime before she’d scream – but in this morning all her emotions had changed. The screams were reserved for the memories.

She didn’t touch the dog – only smiled for him.

Dogs understand nothing about smiles but so much about changed emotions. And so fast he ran away to another scarf.

Finally calm she closed the eyes and lay down again on the scarf.

The memory returned to the concert. She blushed – but not because of this dog.

A HAND IN THE FOG

                                                                               I

(For you)

They were walking back and forth when decided to go into the Park. It was a cloudy day but the temperature it was not so cold. Into the park the trees made movements with the flowers and leafs. And some fog brought to that morning a special mystery.

They were on the grass talking about nothing in special. Touches, smiles and kisses  gave to them a delicious sensation of freedom. The wonderful sensation that a couple is absolutely possible.

She said some and suddenly he stand up and said only a good bye.

She was surprised but decided for no answer or question. Only stayed on the same place and put her arms around the body.  He walked away. Through the fog she could see his hand moving slowly – but he didn’t look behind his shoulder. He went straight on the path among the trees and after all she could see only his shadow disappearing.

Lonely – she touched the grass. It was a little wet because it rain in the night before. The dew made tickling in her hand and for one instant – she changed her face expression. Instead of be sad – she smiled. They had a fight because of the time of a hug – only because the time of a hug.

Still touching and feeling the dew on the grass she looked backward trying to remember when exactly they met each other. It was a long time ago – or seemed like a long time ago. She was not sure. In a real effort to remember – maybe to send away the bad sensation of solitude – she began to sing a song or a song began to sing by itself. Everything is possible – she always repeated to her friends. A song.

She screamed in really high voice – Yes I remember now.

Sometimes the Solitude is a Dictator.

People were also on the grass reading, talking with a very low voice or listening music with headphones. The silence was broken only for a bird or some passes. When she screamed – her voice made all around stopped what they were doing and looked at her. She blinked to Universe and said congratulations to the philosopher existentialist. So it was true and he was right: the silence exists only after the sound.

She excused – one or another smiled to her but most of them returned to the “before the sound”.

This is as common as the life – anyway.

More calm and polite – she took off the scarf she was wearing – open on the grass and lay down on it. The smoothness of the grass or the land under the scarf did a warming sensation on her body. She was quiet. Just the eyes moved as looking for the past.

For some minutes she lifted the neck – but he didn’t return. He was in fact – gone. No hand and no shadows among the trees.

So – looking more inside herself than to people around or the fog – she remembered.

It was a Gala night. She was there alone – so shy in that magnificent salon. Elegant people came with elegant style. Drinks were served for professionals and formal waiters with very well-looking.

She went to her seat and after few minutes he came.

He sits and smiles to her. A small smile, surprised to find a woman, not involved in the Gala, only waiting for music. Alone. She had something different, not easy to find. She was sufficient for herself. Calm, looking around in a wide old hall, a unique experience will come. He thought that the Law of Chaos, the only order in the Universe, might bring an unexpected piece of life. He would like to be a telepathic to know what she thought about him. Civilization put filters between humans. Men and women can’t be direct, must make a dance, as the peacock around girls, showing colored feathers but with nonchalance, as an actor going away in the fog and suddenly coming back with a jump out from the fog.

He obliged himself to hold hands in a correct way, trying to seduce in a soft way.

Maybe because life wounded him, he had fear. And his soul was like a desert – only few flowers, no water, just sand and stones. His behavior was to run and to do something, no stops. 

She thought – she remembered – the first thought when he came and sit. She was surprised he was alone. He looked at her with a half-smile and said permission or some word like this before sit.  She smiled – but not a half-smile. She always smiled with all smile – the complete smile.

He sat.

There was a seat with nobody between them. At the first second when she realized the empty seat she guessed  – who was there that she couldn’t see. But she learned that some questions should never be asked – because never could be answered.

But the seat was there – empty during the Performance. Just between them – and they respected that empty seat.

A BREAKFAST TO REMEMBER – OR TO FORGET FOREVER

It was a very special day – but for such a different way.

She woke up later and began to run to shower, clothes, breakfast. 

She always took her breakfast after all ready. It was like a fantasy – she was at a hotel or into a magic world and someone made all for her. 

It was a private joke with the truth – she had just herself to do everything at home – but no problem. It was nice too take care of herself. When she decided for this way of life – she changed her ideas about solitude versus isolation. 

In the beginning of the new way of life maybe she felt a little bit alone. Some time after she celebrated the wonderful power that is be the only owner of a home. She knew that – for most of her friends – this was a foolish power. But for her it was great. She was calm and full of joy. Many sad things happened in her life since she was a child – and she learned to considerer this power like a survivor prize. And that was all for her.

In that morning she woke later. She run and run to do everything. But at the end she looked at the mirror and said for herself smiling to herself – wonderful. 

Her breakfast always had a coffee with milk, bread, papaya or orange juice, some jelly, maybe some chocolate cream. The table always covered of a white towel, the dishes, cup, cutlery and glass perfectly organized. When she sit down – everything were in the right place. Except for this morning – every morning she woke early to make everything at a special style. 

That was she and the power of being the only owner of home.

But…always has a “ but ”.

She woke up later. Made everything running in the little apartment.

Time to breakfast. The powder of the milk that she will put in the cup of coffee was into a crystal pot. Beautiful.

She got a spoon. Got the powder of milk.

And it was like the World had changed the Poles. 

She didn’t know how or why but the pot fall down, first on the table, after on the floor. Like it was a scene of slow motion from a film. It broken – all the powder were upon her and the floor.

There was white powder on her clothes, shoes, on the chair, on the table, on the white towel, on the floor. Like it was snowing suddenly inside her home.

The power of being the only owner of home was disappearing slowly. 

She looked at the “snow” trying to be lucid and alive. Not necessarily in this order.

First she thought about her granddaughter, Venice, the paintings of Veronese, Prague, the new car, her elegant italian friend that always made her smile. Only good memories were demanded. 

At the second moment she thought about the change of the Poles.

And finally she decided to do something. It was absolutely not a scene of slow motion from a film. It was the reality looking at her. Of course the tears wanted to make an avalanche on the snow mountain. She couldn’t control so many tears.

She began with her clothes. Took off. Then the glass, cup, dishes – she put all into the sink. Then the white towel went to the laundry. The pot of crystal was in little pieces scattered for all floor, including below the table. A drop of blood from her finger completed the scenery.

The vacuum cleaner was requested – trying for a happy end.

And with the tears for partner during that unexpected “snowstorm”­ – she finally put all in order and the little space was clean. No white powder. No pieces of crystal.

After changed her clothes, she looked at the mirror and said – between the teeth – wonderful. And went to her job – at this time without breakfast. 

When she was entering in her private room to begin the work – someone asked her if she wanted a coffee with milk. 

She stopped. Looked at this brave someone and … at this time she didn’t think about her granddaughter, Venice, the paintings of Veronese, Prague, the new car or her elegant italian friend that always made her smile.

At the second moment she didn’t think too about the change of the Poles.

At this time she only prayed for a knife. A gun. A rifle. 

Just said – Thank you. I am fine. I woke early and took more time with my special breakfast.

She looked at the Universe and murmured some specials words.

GOOD NIGHT WORLD

She was sleeping. It was the middle of the night.

The evening had been so great – almost like the lyrics of that music: wine, women and music. Three friends and her. She enjoyed so much and when came back home it was very cold. She said farewell to the friends and decided to go back home walking alone on the street. A soft rain made her feel so nice – since she was a child she loved feel the rain on the face.

At home she became to organize the next day as always. Finally warmed and under the blankets she opted to watch a thriller film – a story about a man who killed women that lived alone.

Maybe not a smart choice because she lived alone and it was night  but she said to herself – you are an adult and it is just a film.

At the end of the thriller film she felt a little bit scared – but said again that it was just a film, drunk a cup of hot tea and said good night for the World.

She woke up suddenly. The sound was terrible.

When she quite opened the eyes because the terrible sound – she first looked for a garden – but she realized that she was dreaming. In the dream she was at a garden in another country. Around the garden there was so much clear water. She was with a partner and they were talking and some pigeons were flying near them. This was the dream – and like almost the dreams – much nicer than the reality.

Maybe just a fragment of the time – but it was the first thing she looked for: the garden and the partner. There were nothing and nobody. No clear water. No pigeon flying – again as another music. She was in fact on the bed and some terrible sound awaked her.

She stayed – paralyzed – of course remembering immediately the film. The clock on the table by the bed showed the hour: 3:30AM. She was sleeping since midnight.

She was colder than the climate – even under the blankets. The eyes were quite open. The heart was like after a marathon: systole and diastole run over. The apartment was all in dark. She was of course alone. She breathed slowly trying to recuperate the rhythm of the heart. She began also to move slowly the legs – and decided to stand up.

Finally understanding about dreams and reality – she jumped off the bed.

Around her – everything right.

She went to the living room. But it was not so easy inside her – it was very difficult create or find the courage to go to the living room. For an observer – if for God sake had one observer into home at that moment – she seemed so fast and so brave. But she and herself knew the cruel truth. This is the route for secrets. Of course all these thinking helped her to be stand and don’t faint.

The living room had a colored carpet hand made. Beautiful. Tables with flowers and little plants and a futon made the ambience indoors very elegant. One of the walls was recovered by a white bookshelf. On the shelves photos and books and some bibelots.

Her elder son gave to her a little Globe with battery inside – a sweet gift to celebrate the Women’s Day. He admired her independence and faith on the free life. Day and night the small Globe turned around itself upon the shelf. It was much more a philosophy than a common gift. She loved it. And it was the first object she saw when she entered or got out from the apartment every day. Nice.

It was not different at this time. It was the first object she saw – but at this time in a different position.

The Globe was on the floor – on the colored carpet handmade. Opened and so paralyzed as her. The battery was free – at the opposite side.

This was the cause of the terrible sound – the fall of the World. Much more philosophy than just a fall of an object – mumbled her to herself while got the poor Globe and battery.

And of course – she felt much more safe than the women from the thriller film.

She put the Globe again on the shield and going back to the bed – she remembered a phrase. She said good night World before sleep. She dreamed she was in a garden in a distant country with a partner and water around them.

It’s better go back to my bed and my warm blankets – she thought. At this time she would rather say good night to Freud. Or to the partner that was with her in the dream – it was a better sensation.

She went on sleeping with shaking legs and knees of course – but with a happy face.

Good night World – and please don’t fall down.

GOOD MORNING

It was a surprise.

It was Monday – the first day of the week and she knew – a hard week was expecting for her. So much work was really waiting for her. Every Monday she felt a fright – the week began always hard. Most of the Monday mornings she had big fights with the alarm clock but at the end she knew that it was necessary and it was nothing to do – and went on to her job calm and right.

This Monday despite the cold climate she woke earlier than usual – before rings the alarm clock. She didn’t know why – but she woke very happy.

She felt the skin so sensitive.

It seemed like she was waking up on Sunday. All her friends smiled so much when she said that all Sunday she woke up earlier only to be more time doing nothing. It was a wonderful pleasure to have more time free – and without appointments.

At this special Monday she jumped off the bed so fast and began to put things in order at home. In the middle of the home organization – she began to sing a song while put water on the little plants. She choose her clothes – went to the shower and song much more. And of course smiled to herself. A little thinking passed in her mind – maybe she was becoming crazy. But said – no. I am just happy and I don’t know exactly why. It ‘s normal.

Still singing – she began to prepare her breakfast with so much enthusiasm.

She knew that something different could be happened because she only felt hunger when she was happy. And she was really hungry. She ate bread and eggs and coffee – more coffee and bread and biscuits and cheese and a piece of cake.

She smiled alone in front of all these dishes – empties.

The day before she went to a movie and after she met some friends to dinner. She loved go there – near home and easy to go and to come back. It was a beautiful restaurant and a delicious food. They drunk wine and smiled for everything and for nothing. It was a really funny evening – for sure – but not so different that could make her awake with so much perfect mood.

She tried to remember if – maybe – some wonderful dream caused all this joy. Nothing. Nothing happened between last night and this early morning. She just slept.

She remembered also that she came back home and read a book before sleep.

With all done at home and all done on her visage – she smiled for the mirror and said: my loyal friend be sure that the important is feel happy – the leitmotiv will appear some day or some moment. For now – let’s go.

When she began to work she heard a little noise. It was a message. It was written – Good Morning. He sent the message. She smiled.

This was both: the surprise and the answer for the loyal friend from the morning – the mirror.

She understood the happiness, the song, the hunger.

She remembered the first sensation at this Monday morning – she felt the skin so sensitive.

She couldn’t believe and also couldn’t understand how the skin knew before her.

She smiled to the message and touched her arms so soft. And made a joke – today I will buy a new cream for my skin and some special music for tomorrow morning – maybe Granada.

 

SHADOW

Kiss

Love

Smile

Groan

 

Groan

Smile

Love

Kiss

 

Just the feeling

Changes the set

Just the set

Changes the feeling

 

Sometimes

Desire

Is

Shadow.

THE MOUNTAIN

Inside dense

Outside slippery

Inside true

Outside creature

Inside mystery

Outside invite

Inside land

Outside fly

Inside scream

Outside mute

Inside blind

Outside deaf

 

The wind

blows on

back and forth

changing sounds

moving pieces

making colors.

 

Sometimes

life

is as a mountain.

 

Sometimes

mountain is mirror

life is face

 

Sometimes

mountain is face

life is mirror.

TOO MUCH

Two words

One order

Many ideas

Two  means

One act

Many feelings

Two languages

One way

Many insights

Two styles

One world

Many wines

Two nights

One song

Many smiles

Two stories

One reality

Many dreams 

Life is

never

too much.

MOVING THE IMMOBILITY II

And the warning is followed agree.

A new space was created – but not measured in square meters. A space created internally. There was much anticipation and emotional swings overlapped so much that I always ended up edging border in these cases: the exaggeration. There was no day or time that I did not tell myself that I did silly. There is no lineage in the wood. Then everything was erased and appeared certain that I had done the right thing. Objects and thoughts were so attached that looked like a building than a rebuild.

But in the world of materials and finishes negotiations – nothing is rethought. Act done – completed act. What is a side obstacles may appear – otherwise facilitates the dissolution of insecurity. Clap hands to materiality – repeated in moments where I doubt I settled strong.

And there one day with 24 hours notice came my grandmother’s house –  home inside.

There can be no lineage on wood – but there is plenty of wood in the lineage.

The table my grandfather brought me back from who knows where in the memory. I managed to revise and child sitting next to him in that same table as he organized the numbers of certain customer accounts. Spent his life between numbers and sums. Certainly he understood the Universe reading as a sign that united or separated. But I would not know – never asked him.

The roundtable of my grandmother’s room became true when I found myself repeating a gesture that looked without seeing her throughout all my childhood. Every little pieces of bread falling on the table – she united with one hand and trimmed with another hand that was waiting on the border of the table. I did it. I did it. Neither knew what I was doing until the hands showed me the way that I supposed forgotten.

The chairs wicker seat took me to an old man who would from time to time at grandma’s house with a brush and a box of wax. And there he repeated the coming and going as if nothing mattered to him – nor will much less the next. It lasted hours. His way of look was much emptier than the holes of braided straw. And at the end of the day he received the payment and leave. The same silence that the back-and-forth composing the task.

Was both think and remember that at the end of the first day of furniture grandmother – they were already aged in the new house. As if they had never dwelt among other walls not these white and full color pictures.

I remembered the furniture that I retained for many years. Remembered the pragmatic farewell.

Toasted structure.

No free associations and without detailed questioning – without dreams or interpretations – I found myself once again surrounded feet and tops. Logical that some bruises appeared on the legs – but this time could be avoided if a little more attention to be increased when walking through space. Much more than an apprenticeship – this was almost new philosophical conceptualization. Not walking in own home is free of limits. And never even know who accidentally stumbles or who intentionally bumps.

I wanted to think a bit about what brands I was able to provoke in me – but running my hands through the dark wood and has so lived centuries – thought makes  the hematomas on my legs did not even no importance.

Packed lace and flowers. Vases and ornaments. Joked the house.

One day when I was changing once more flowers and lace doilies – back from routine work – made ​​a new freebie!

Cheers for Structure and Repetition. I do not know why or for what I spent so much time trying to get rid of both. How Life would be dull if followed correctly. And this day over the table put a beautiful picture frame a new photo. There I was sitting in front of the furniture gone. I do not remember when it was taken – but similar to the marks on legs – also had no importance dating remembrance.

One of my daughters-in-law told me something once about chasing its tail. As wrong to do throughout life.
What she does not know is that the distance to the tail itself is huge – and can last an entire life to be achieved. And – as opposed to being a mistake – be achieved or not is purely a trivial matter. Each one fits the search and the race to be held at the end. Life is worth doing is within each and every structure.

I organized the house. I looked at the furniture. I looked at the photo. Smiling – close the door and goes out to my routine. When I realized into the car I was humming an old song. “… Always cherished the ideal that the reborn into other hearts …”
  
Stop at red lights laughed at myself and my memories and memory.

The green light made ​​me pursue hasty. I was late.