The Silence
Inspired by an evening dream after watching Ingmar Bergman's The Silence
St. Margarita was striking twice, just after St. Nicholas. The latter was a big giant clock with E flat sound, the former, a delicate one with shrilling G sharp. We were asleep, yes, my brothers, my sisters, and me. It was our childhood home. The big bed was in the second floor. The heat of the afternoon was beyond tolerance. I could hear the summer's sounds outside. The room was lightly furnished with a table, two chairs, a closet for boots and clothes and underwear. There was no picture on the wall. I used to play the piano, though. My sister used to write. My brother, well, it seemed that he just wanted to watch over us. Father had died years ago, leaving a big empty house for our summers and so forth. It was a three-story apartment; the third floor was locked and empty. We were on the second floor, and our husbands on the first floor in mother's room. Mine was a big hairy man, with the broadest shoulders one can ever imagine; hers, was a tiny one, with pretty mouth and chubby lips. She used to tell him that from all parts of his body she loved his mouth better. They were both dark-skinned -- mine a bit more tanned. We had travelled there to spend a couple of weeks and return. No children, thank God! We had just arrived that morning, then we took a bath and went almost naked to our beds. It was 2 pm then and I woke up to wash my body again. Intolerable heat of the afternoon. My two siblings were asleep, and I could manage to walk on tiptoe toward the bath. The floor felt cool beneath my naked feet. I filled the tub with lukewarm water, and soaked my body in it. I don't know why, but I could hardly breathe, well, maybe because of the hot weather, but it wasn't really hot. It was lukewarm. I felt I was in a dream. I bet there was something odd in the situation. All of a sudden, I felt I wanted to go out. I came out of the tub and without slippers rushed into the room. The orange evening was spreading out in the room. The fading sunrays were penetrating the worn-out curtains. I remembered when I had been but a child, I used to play with those curtains' flowers, treating them as real flowers.
Brother was out. He had set the music though. We danced and danced in the yard. The morning breeze was the same as my childhood's. She was busy with hers, I was busy with mine. I told him from all parts of his body I loved his chest most. When he had pressed my breasts against his for the first time, I could feel his heartbeat under my skin, I could feel the hairs and the limbs and the warmth all in one single stroke. He knew how to do that. I asked him to do that again. We were half naked. He pressed me against his body and we rolled and rolled and rolled, as if in an eternal strawberry-flavored merry-go-round. I couldn't see his face, I didn't care for that. I just wanted to be pressed by him, to smell his sweat, to hear his fast breathing.
Brother: don’t be afraid…I'll go check it out
The trace of blood on the floor…scarlet drops on the stairs…
There was some otter hiding in the attic. I don't know how on earth there can be an otter in this house!
They were both on my father's bed, their face on the pillow. I couldn't believe it. Were they dead? My sister just shrieked and shrieked. My brother was motionless outside the door. I couldn't utter a word. But, something happened. Mine moved and yawned. "What time is it?"
We just wanted to dance again. It was another morning. Another childhood breeze. It seemed that there was no time in that house. The clocks were still. Brother went to check them out. I felt everything was on the verge of getting repeated, exactly as it was, as it is. We danced. She with hers. I with mine. Two dancing couples in the yard. The trees seemed motionless. The garden flowers, too. She shrieked. I couldn't stop to see why she was shrieking. Her voice got mingled with the wavering words of the song, fading in the air. It made the music rich – marrowy is a better word. We stopped, though. Mine was out of breath. I looked at his shoulders. They tended to bend. "Where is your tongue?" my sister yelled. I looked at them. Her mouth has been open. His lips were on her mouth, but he was silent. She brushed him away and got up. He got up too. All of a sudden, his mouth opened wide and blood rushed out. He fell down on the floor. We ran to him. I opened his mouth to have a look. There was no tongue there! It seemed it had been hacked away. I fainted back to my husband. But… I felt warm and tacky under my back skin. I turned around and looked down at his chest: It was open. He grinned weakly at me, and fell down. I stared at his chest. The chest I used to love so much was a flat skin then. I removed it: there was no heart beneath.
Brother came to us. It was so hot. We took a bath. The bed was large enough for three of us. That night I woke up by a sound from the yard. I went to the window. My naked body began to shiver in the cool breeze of the night, just as when I was but a little girl. A pair of eyes glittered out of sheer darkness. The sound got louder and louder, the sound of chewing with strong jaws. I listened to the crushing bones, and slimy limbs for a while, then I returned to bed. We didn't even need a burial ceremony, I thought as I lied down with my naked body in there. That was ok. I thought I could buy a nice fur coat with the funeral money, instead.
Inspired by an evening dream after watching Ingmar Bergman's The Silence
St. Margarita was striking twice, just after St. Nicholas. The latter was a big giant clock with E flat sound, the former, a delicate one with shrilling G sharp. We were asleep, yes, my brothers, my sisters, and me. It was our childhood home. The big bed was in the second floor. The heat of the afternoon was beyond tolerance. I could hear the summer's sounds outside. The room was lightly furnished with a table, two chairs, a closet for boots and clothes and underwear. There was no picture on the wall. I used to play the piano, though. My sister used to write. My brother, well, it seemed that he just wanted to watch over us. Father had died years ago, leaving a big empty house for our summers and so forth. It was a three-story apartment; the third floor was locked and empty. We were on the second floor, and our husbands on the first floor in mother's room. Mine was a big hairy man, with the broadest shoulders one can ever imagine; hers, was a tiny one, with pretty mouth and chubby lips. She used to tell him that from all parts of his body she loved his mouth better. They were both dark-skinned -- mine a bit more tanned. We had travelled there to spend a couple of weeks and return. No children, thank God! We had just arrived that morning, then we took a bath and went almost naked to our beds. It was 2 pm then and I woke up to wash my body again. Intolerable heat of the afternoon. My two siblings were asleep, and I could manage to walk on tiptoe toward the bath. The floor felt cool beneath my naked feet. I filled the tub with lukewarm water, and soaked my body in it. I don't know why, but I could hardly breathe, well, maybe because of the hot weather, but it wasn't really hot. It was lukewarm. I felt I was in a dream. I bet there was something odd in the situation. All of a sudden, I felt I wanted to go out. I came out of the tub and without slippers rushed into the room. The orange evening was spreading out in the room. The fading sunrays were penetrating the worn-out curtains. I remembered when I had been but a child, I used to play with those curtains' flowers, treating them as real flowers.
Brother was out. He had set the music though. We danced and danced in the yard. The morning breeze was the same as my childhood's. She was busy with hers, I was busy with mine. I told him from all parts of his body I loved his chest most. When he had pressed my breasts against his for the first time, I could feel his heartbeat under my skin, I could feel the hairs and the limbs and the warmth all in one single stroke. He knew how to do that. I asked him to do that again. We were half naked. He pressed me against his body and we rolled and rolled and rolled, as if in an eternal strawberry-flavored merry-go-round. I couldn't see his face, I didn't care for that. I just wanted to be pressed by him, to smell his sweat, to hear his fast breathing.
Brother: don’t be afraid…I'll go check it out
The trace of blood on the floor…scarlet drops on the stairs…
There was some otter hiding in the attic. I don't know how on earth there can be an otter in this house!
They were both on my father's bed, their face on the pillow. I couldn't believe it. Were they dead? My sister just shrieked and shrieked. My brother was motionless outside the door. I couldn't utter a word. But, something happened. Mine moved and yawned. "What time is it?"
We just wanted to dance again. It was another morning. Another childhood breeze. It seemed that there was no time in that house. The clocks were still. Brother went to check them out. I felt everything was on the verge of getting repeated, exactly as it was, as it is. We danced. She with hers. I with mine. Two dancing couples in the yard. The trees seemed motionless. The garden flowers, too. She shrieked. I couldn't stop to see why she was shrieking. Her voice got mingled with the wavering words of the song, fading in the air. It made the music rich – marrowy is a better word. We stopped, though. Mine was out of breath. I looked at his shoulders. They tended to bend. "Where is your tongue?" my sister yelled. I looked at them. Her mouth has been open. His lips were on her mouth, but he was silent. She brushed him away and got up. He got up too. All of a sudden, his mouth opened wide and blood rushed out. He fell down on the floor. We ran to him. I opened his mouth to have a look. There was no tongue there! It seemed it had been hacked away. I fainted back to my husband. But… I felt warm and tacky under my back skin. I turned around and looked down at his chest: It was open. He grinned weakly at me, and fell down. I stared at his chest. The chest I used to love so much was a flat skin then. I removed it: there was no heart beneath.
Brother came to us. It was so hot. We took a bath. The bed was large enough for three of us. That night I woke up by a sound from the yard. I went to the window. My naked body began to shiver in the cool breeze of the night, just as when I was but a little girl. A pair of eyes glittered out of sheer darkness. The sound got louder and louder, the sound of chewing with strong jaws. I listened to the crushing bones, and slimy limbs for a while, then I returned to bed. We didn't even need a burial ceremony, I thought as I lied down with my naked body in there. That was ok. I thought I could buy a nice fur coat with the funeral money, instead.
Summer 2004
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