> Hide-and-seek

Hide-and-seek

Par | 2018-05-25T09:13:32+00:00 5 septembre 2012|Catégories : Blog|

 

Softened soil, spark­ling  and gold.
Phosphorescent green leaves and grass.
Scent of the plants  seduces  geo­me­try of  the inner organs,
not allo­wing it to esta­blish its  dic­ta­tor­ship.
  
Mesmerised vil­la­gers  would sigh :  Oh what a love­ly  spring !
She was thin­king too : What a  joy !

And just a month ago the roof  was crun­ching under the weight
Of snow and lone­ly, very dark nights.

Snow glit­te­red by moon­light
hil­ls blin­king with  sil­ver shine.
Warmth of the house silent­ly facing the fact that
Behind these walls, there is nothing
Just wil­der­ness.
And wil­der­ness is some­thing that does not belong to humans.

Like all men do, her hus­band as well, went to a town to work.
Women are wai­ting and loo­king after chil­dren.

Sometimes an ani­mal or a bird would let a voice or make a noise. 
Movements of sha­dows mul­ti­plied by the mis­lea­ding  and convin­cing force
of the moon.

Once just before the dawn, her child whis­pe­red to her : Mummy, mum­my look !
In the cor­ner of the room, two mice were dan­cing hol­ding eacho­ther by the paws, making small steps to the left and to the right and then round and round and the left and back and for­ward.

She shud­de­red thin­king about situa­tions and events which are not cau­sed by deci­sion or even mis­take and loo­ked through the win­dow : the sno­wing star­ted again, quick and tick snow.

The next day some­bo­dy kno­cked at the big, hea­vy woo­den door and from the snow cur­tain emer­ged a face of a man.

The child asked : Who is this man ?

Your father, my child
   
Now he is gone again.

But now the nice wea­ther is making things easier.

Enjoying in the sun, 
she can reco­gnize each indi­vi­dual plant and
insects’ paths are very clear.

Deeper layers of soli­tude.

The new war hasn’t arri­ved yet, the old war hasn’t dis­sa­pie­red yet, to these lad­scapes too far away and pad­ded up in high moun­tains.

Bathed in plea­sant heat and eva­po­ra­tion of the vege­ta­tion, eyes half open,
It could have been felt that some­thing was coming, but at this moment
There is still enough time before the events that
Will divide life of the people in before and after.

(hil­ls under the snow and dark trees, one week not sha­ved beard-that is how the land­scape looks like. he didn’t shave his beard nor cut his hear for for­thy days*)

This day is going to be too long
She felt that from the dawn,
and deci­ded to visit her parents who lived
on the other side of the moun­tain.

The path passes through the big wood.
The young do not care about old women’s blood­curd­ling sto­ries
About the wood demons, tal­king ani­mals and enchan­ted humans who there, lost their sani­ty and the soul
About dark needs and crea­tures that lurk deep in the sha­dows
About those poor souls lost in the dark­ness of the wood, who saw naked self-hap­pe­ning of the world
that chan­ged their God given des­ti­ny.

She was young and strong.
So she went
Through jui­cy grass hol­ding her child.

Sky was so blue, so big, so close and full of insects and birds.

(we think that he killed the cat. he is saying that the cat knew all. that the cat had a pre­mo­ni­tion. he is pre­ten­ding that he doesn’t know any­thing about it. like the cat esca­ped because she was eating so much that she become ungra­te­ful and went to find some­thing bet­ter. and he is allu­ring the cat all the time and he is tal­king about it all the time. He knows that he is annoying, he is wai­ting for the motive. we are silent and we can hard­ly wait for him to go out.)

The wood is beco­ming older.
Light sprout bushes
star­ted to be repla­ced with
old big trees
and grass
with bronze dead leaves :
crum­bling under the feet.

Instead of cheer­ful birds some strange birds
were sin­ging in dif­ferent voices.

The sky is yel­low and low.
Tufts of fog win­ding among the trees.

Drops of mois­ture caught in spi­ders’ webs
Like dia­mond jewels thrown away across the wood.

(he is out­side shou­ting at goats and thro­wing snow at chi­ckens. he is old and slow. some­thing is drop­ping on our heads. Meet hung on hooks is drying and fat is droo­ping down on the floor or on the hair. we think we hate him. feet are constant­ly cold in the rub­ber boots. in the after­noon  I was going for a bru­tal walk because I ate more bread than I should have.)

It is much dar­ker now. 

Half ope­ned mush­rooms whi­ting on the ground.

There were no insects.
The dif­ferent birds were announ­cing their pre­sence
shrie­king in half-human voices.

The river was lau­der as she was approa­ching it.

In spite all the sca­ry sto­ries she felt close to this wood and this river.
Every time she would pas­sing through
She would wet her hands and face and drink some of the water.
Then she would close her eyes and think about things
That she was wishing for, and for each wish
She would throw one pebble over her head back into the water.

(then we were sun­ba­thing lea­ned on a rock not cove­red by the snow. eyes are clo­sed-geo­me­tri­cal shapes and colours of the sun and the snow and that could last fore­ver. at that moment we were fond of him and we felt sor­ry for him. mother said : on the other hand I do unders­tand him, since she is gone, there is nobo­dy there to serve him, his world is ter­ri­fyin­gly dif­ferent.)

She clo­sed her eyes, made a wish,
and throw a pebble over her head into the water.
She smi­led ope­ned her eyes and

It appea­red to her that she saw some­bo­dy a lit­tle bit fur­ther down in the wood.

No it is nobo­dy.
Here, now there is nothing
just a patch­work made from light and sha­dows.

She clo­sed her eyes again,
chan­ged her wish hol­ding tight­ly her child
and throw the pebble, ope­ned her eyes….

Yes ! Definitely some­bo­dy is hiding behind that tree.

The only visi­tors around here are bit lost pea­sants or hun­ters
and they are not dresses up like this.
And they don’t hide !
They would say good after­noon and keep on with their busi­ness.

A man in a suit and a hat  in this wil­der­ness,
was more sca­ry than all the old women’s sto­ries she have ever heard.

The bor­der is close.

She knew well the pat­tern of all hor­ri­fic sto­ries, she knew that when some­bo­dy desert the usual path or is per­sistent to expose some­thing that is hid­den
That indi­vi­dual becomes invol­ved in hor­ri­fying course of events.
That some­bo­dy is being pushed direct­ly on the front line where forces
which are for­ming our uni­verse
are weigh­ting up their strength.

There a per­son is just a mouse dan­cing silent dance, on the music that some­bo­dy else hears.

She will pre­tend that she didn’t see him.

Slopes  under the fresh green moss
Musky smell of the wood

Don’t wor­ry he wouldn’t harm us, she was whis­pe­ring to the child chee­ring up her­self as they were get­ting clo­ser and clo­ser.

The forest path was lea­ding to the tree, if she leaves the path, he would know that she saw him.

The stran­ger in the hat was moving slow­ly around the tree as she was approa­ching through the path semi tur­ning around the tree.

One her step ahead

One his step behind

One her step ahead

One his step behind
 
She was pre­ten­ding that she wasn’t wat­ching but she could see by the cor­ner of her eye his move­ments around the tree.

He knew that he was seen.

And she knew that he knows, he wasn’t com­ple­te­ly hid­den.

They were just fol­lo­wing the rules of this weird game :

You are like hid­den, I am like not seeing you.

I am like hid­den, you like not seeing me.

I will not hurt you as long as you are clear­ly sho­wing that you are not inter­es­ted in what am I doing here.

They were there fore­ver, the time was fro­zen.

Yellow chan­ged sky, without insects and birds.

Steady sound of the river.

She could see clear­ly tur­quoise lichen on the rocks and tiny frac­tures in the bark of the trees and fast ants going up and down.

Rustling of the dry leaves was unplea­sant and too loud. 

I   a m   l i k e   n o t   s e e i n g   y o u ,   y o u     a r e   l i k e   h i d d e n
I   a m   l i k e   h i d d e n ,   y o u   a r e   l i k e   n o t   s e e i n g   m e

Don’t wor­ry we are almost out of the wood just a minute or two
She was shis­pe­ring to the child.

Drops of mois­ture were unhur­ried­ly sli­ding down the plants

And drops of her sweat down her face.

The child was asleep in her arms.

(maybe he didn’t kill the cat, after all, look there in the snow, those are cat’s foots­teps.)

 

*a cus­tom not to shave beard or cut hair for 40 days when a mem­ber of a fami­ly dies.
 

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