prequel to reprise smörgås family drama (more shifting props behind the scenes)

It is when I see one of the guys from the furniture truck carrying a deer skull with antlers that I run over,
“no, wait— please no animal carcasses,” I tell him

The guy looks at me and seems to see right through me,
“I just bring the paid inventory. It’s supposed to be dropped off. If you want to return it you have to arrange a bill of lading—“

“Can you just take it back to the truck?” I ask him and mumble, “I mean, it’s already dead. I can’t imagine why it’s considered inventory—or maybe we can bury it,” I feel my skin crawl looking at it and shudder, “please, can you just bring it back to the truck?”

But then it occurs to me because of how he looks at me that he thinks I’m just some brat

so instead I look for Jörn and wave at him. I see him talking to one of the other guys about how they should go around the back for something they’re bringing in because there’s a wider sliding door

“What’s wrong?” he comes over

“I can’t have any inventory left on the truck,” the guy tells him

“A dead skull?” I look at Jörn

He shakes his head at me and makes a frustrated hand gesture at me,
“I realize this stuff is neither of our tastes but what am I supposed to tell Lisa? She’s contracted to design the interior and Lorenzo is taking the photos....!” he seems frustrated I realize

“Ok but— no animal carcasses,” I say anyway

“Oh you saw the bear rug?” he asks me

“Oh my God!” I say in horror

“I guess not,” he mumbles and then tries to compromise with me. “What is your problem about it? Is it that they are animals?”

“Dead!”

He sighs heavily,
“what about your one thousand vintage Coach handbags you have everywhere?”

“Well, they’re vintage,” I say and back away from the dead animal head pointing at it, “that thing had a brain in it....”

“And what about your handbags?”

“Well, they’re vintage. They’ve already been dead for over twenty five years —I’m honoring their memory so —it’s ....different! plus they do not look at me—like, look at that thing, it has eye sockets, wouldn’t that give you nightmares?” I wave at the skull, and start gagging and then ask him, “what did you do with the bear?”

“I didn’t do anything with the bear! It’s somewhere in there!” he waves at the house

I look at the house and suddenly don’t want to go in there

“You mean it’s in there now?” I look at him. “Why is she putting dead animals everywhere? Does it have a head?”

Jörn chooses not to answer

He says,
“I’ll tell the guy to take the skull and bear somewhere, all right, how’s that? Anyway, I’ve had enough of this, I’m going for a run— “

“You’re going running? Now?!” I ask him watching things move across the lawn, “did she leave her tablet so we can figure out what to do with everything? I mean, are they just supposed to dump the stuff anywhere? Because that looks like what they’re doing!”

I just realize he is serious about running as ....he’s wearing his running clothes ....!

“Why are you so angry?” I ask him

He stares at the trucks and the furniture and the trees being dragged and says,
“Lisa....”


I look at all the stuff everywhere too and then at him

But he has this expression as if he has reached his limit

I don’t understand .... at first

only you can set your watch to his madness ....

as well, I realize it is not on his morning’s chosen plan A agenda, so now by default it seems it is mine

I watch him go over to the guy to discuss about the skull and carcass though before he takes off in a mad sprint across the front lawn

I watch him disappear ....

great....  then I go wedge inside through the door where there is a headboard still stuck in it....

the downside, I guess, to designing with a tablet

I look around now at what was once the huge main room. It was a huge open space ....before the truck arrived.

I see his beloved piano overshadowed in the middle of it all looking like an alien in an alien world. Poor thing. Only I really mean Jörn. It makes me go over to it as the poor thing looks like it needs a hug and ....then I find I touch the keys

then turn around to look at all the furniture everywhere. Rather daunting. Like some warehouse of crammed and oversized merchandise.

And consider.... In one of my careers I was a retail merchandiser so ....I find all this is like déjàvu and start tearing off the cardboard to see what things are

and start shoving things across the floor

 ....and force the headboard out the front door

Soon after this, however, I lose my patients with Bob, the deer-skull ‘inventory’ guy from before —who I thought was not exactly nice and I see him carelessly toss a box but I hear it land with some kind of telling clamor and crash that does not sound altogether whole

he sees that I see this. So I decide to press the advantage and go over to the box that I realize has a lamp in it which he just tossed and so I shake it. It makes the very telling sound of shattered glass


and say,
“what about broken inventory?”

“Shit....” he whispers

“How ‘bout this..... I won’t say a word about this if .... you do me a little favor?”

“Okayyyy—what?”

“I just need you to get your buddies to come over here and—uhm...help me move a few things around ....or I can just call Lisa....?”

(More décàvu from my manager years)

After a little over an hour I see that it isn’t so bad without the dead zoo characters

 I realize Lisa has some kind of theme going on. It is all mostly neutral tones of gray, beige and natural woods and fibers and all mostly large pieces and by scale it should all somehow work or

maybe could —I mean

the wide interiors ....

except for a few misjudgments about the placements of light switches and electrical outlets which must not appear on her tablet, so there are some logistic problems, especially about opening some doors in the bedrooms, or closing them—depending on the choice


And I consider that maybe sawing some of the furniture would help to fit them better but there does not seem to be a saw anywhere around

and so just climb over the back of the loveseat to get out the doorway

It is when the guys and the trucks leave that I truly begin to worry

But it gets more worrisome when Jörn calls me from his jog

He says, what sounds like,
“they’re coming....!”

And the call gets dropped. Mobile phones don’t seem to work very well in the mountains.

I try to call him back and by third try I hear through the mountain static,
“they will be here in an hour!”

I have no idea who he means

And the call gets dropped. I call again.

“Who?” I ask

“They’ve decided to surprise us and come a few days early,” I hear his dry, crisp voice cut through the line and the sound of his breathing as he jogs

So it sinks in that he means his family

“Oh no....” I look around at the mess

Jörn says,
“so—can you find something to make for dinner?”

“Dinner? We don’t have anything, remember we were going to go get things tomorrow?” I start to look in the cabinets walking between odd angles of furniture to get to the kitchen area and find I am right as there’s nothing besides angel hair pasta

“They’re bringing wine and fika stuff—what about that crate of tomatoes the neighbors left?”

“When did you say they would be here?” I ask him

“Around four....” more static

“That’s like ..... soon! Where are you?”

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes, I promise!” he says and the call gets dropped

Electra’s dictionary film noir; shifting props between the scenes (jm chronicles)

it is over breakfast coffee I ask,

“how much are you renting the house for? I will split it with you.”

“How can you do that?” he asks me

“I’m editing the newsletter for Johnny and Joanie now— you know, for the Jones Historical Society. That’s what they called me about the other day.”

“How much are they paying you?—what kind of newsletter?”

“I don’t know; I forget.... it’s for like email subscribers and their Facebook page—and IG too.... because —look, Jörn, I know it’s because of me we are here, I can’t have you foot the bill.”

He acknowledges this last remark by just his eyes as he seems distracted by something in his thoughts

So I say,

“also, I have always paid my own way.”

He’s thoughtful as if thinking about something else, and instead of answering me he says
“you didn’t explain that Hannah’s photo shoot is at the penthouse.”

“Oh, didn’t I?”

“No.”

“Oh....”

But now he says,
“You know, I had been thinking about taking time off from the orchestra before this came up, duva—as you are aware, the opera has consumed my mind .... and it ....I cannot work on it full time if I am rushing off to concerts every night.....” he says by way of explanation for me, “and most of my income comes from .... the government job,” then he changes the subject suddenly,

“You know she is living there,”

“Oh, I know.”

“Then you should know about my daughter’s notorious parties.”

I laugh,

“she is keeping Ilya busy so I think your daughter is in safe hands,” I say because I’m not worried. “The photo shoot was her idea and Ilya loves the idea because it’ll bring more patrons to visit so, it really is a good thing. You don’t have to play the heavy even though I know you like to. Hannah is a good girl.”

He laughs when I say this in a way that communicates how erroneous he believes what I said is

But then I remember what I’d been wanting to ask him

“So what did you talk about with the art director the other day —was that who he was?”

“In Montreal? Chants Libres.... yes....” he gets lost in thought but then says, “it’s given me some ideas.... I want to try video taping some performances there and and overdub it which reminds me; my equipment is supposed to be arriving today —oh, and just to warn you: we will be going over some music to prepare for some recording so it’s bound to be pretty loud because of these high ceilings but so is the concert hall in Montreal so ..... Duva.... I’d invite you to come with us to Montreal when we go there to perform it to record but ....you’ve misplaced your passport.”

“Oh.... yeah.... hmm.”

“You really have no idea where you left it?”

I shake my head,
“um—pretty sure it’s nowhere I can find....” but I can see he sees right through me

He lets out a frustrated sigh before finishing his coffee and then walks towards the piano but he mumbles,
“you know exactly where it is.”

His remark suddenly makes me aware of something I had not really been until now; how close he really does pay attention to everything. And keeps the poker face.


And I find myself thinking about that conversation when he said all that about the safe master.....

this means he has known a great deal more than he pretends and for longer than he says. So I wonder how much he already knew about me before we even met. Yet, he seems unconcerned when he allows these tidbits of himself to let slide. I know he does this with intention —to test my reactions? Should it bother me? Or should it bother me more that I don’t care?


I spend the day cleaning deciding to leave Jörn to his opera as he has been struggling with a musical arrangement all morning

my way to be  preparing for the parents, I guess. But actually, I like cleaning as I find it’s good therapy in a zen kind of way —and even better than meditation because when you are all done everything is clean.

By afternoon I realize things are quiet in the house and notice Jörn has been cleaning too as I see him through the window to outside and see him washing the car. The car that he refers to as ‘a company car’; a white XC40 Volvo he has been driving which we drove up here in
*****

It is later when I’m cutting the big blooms of hydrangea pompoms that grow everywhere.... when two trucks pull up.

One carrying two topiary trees and the other furniture ....and so I think: she’s designing from her tablet?

A conscience from a stage scene from a theatre Part1

weird dream....

I am at Sissinghurst dressed like Oscar Wilde, writing scenes for a play that happen behind me:

there is like a royal stage, behind me as I write but split in three parts or —three separate stages all in a row that you can watch all happen at the same time and in my dream it is seen as if from a camera that pans around an audience then moves to watch from stage to stage as scenes are played out

One is all in black and white like a Hitchcock set in an artist’s studio

another is Elan with the smeden, Raoul and portrayed as in mime with gray and azure colors like a painting, projected from the gallery lights

the third stage I am sat writing with a feather quill pen writing the dictionary/diary ..... being narrated by Orpheus, portraying Virgil from the Underworld, who wields his power through his magical eyes and voice;

like weird alternate levels of the Devine Comedy


But it is when the dream changes that it becomes terrifying and sinks into a murky nightmare that originates from some terrible dark place inside and

where I get lost

....it is a darkness that keeps me under

like trying to shake off some strong anesthesia that feels so heavy; like tons of cotton balls clouding my head; this dark place is so terrifying;I don’t want to be here.... inside


because he finds me nearly exactly how he left me earlier today he is alarmed


“It has been over ten hours since I left!”

I am confused at first by what he means by this

“I’ve been to Quebec and back and you have not even moved! I’m calling a doctor—“ he exclaims with all the drama to do his family proud

“Quebec? I thought you said Montreal....?” I get confused

“Quick geography lesson— min lilla duva, Montreal is in Quebec! It’s a province!”

“You don’t have to be insulting about it,” I whisper it resentfully but I say in my defense, “I’m not an idiot I just got confused but anyway I have moved from here because I spoke to Ilya earlier to go over paperwork and also Johnny called before because now Hanna wants to do a photo shoot with— what’s his name again? Lisa’s boyfriend— Alphonso? Well, anyway.... “ but he’s looking at me as if I have two heads

I watch him pace back and forth a few times.

Now I do feel ashamed....? I guess. Is that what I feel? Because I don’t know how I feel these days.

I realize now I am at that crisis moment of my life.

The breaking point

How good that I am documenting this.... I am thinking .... writing this from my phone


half in and out of his conversation

“My parents are coming,” he says now

“What?!” I almost fall from the step I am sitting on at the base of the stairs

He looks at me and comes over,
“they know something is wrong, Duva and they think it is  because of them somehow. I tried to talk them out of this.”

“Shit....” I say

I can’t let them see me! I can’t be around people!

I cover my face and start to cry

He comes to sit beside me. He reaches for me. And by reflex I turn away. I try to keep the fortress bolted because I was not supposed to breakdown just there. He surprised me with his news. This panic that sweeps over me is like a wave; like Wavegirl’s wave from my painting

and as I fight him to release me, he fights me to accept him

he pins me to the stair and holds me firm. He says into my ear,
“let me in....”

a consciousness seen from a stage Part2

“Why do they think it’s them?” I ask him


“Do you want to know my version?” He asks with his mouth pressed to my ear. His voice that is smooth and dry like Jamaican sand with some sharp shells in it to stab you in the heart.

“What is your version?” I ask


“Mama feels guilty about.... “

“About?”

“You know.”

“The opera coat?”

“Nej, duva, it’s not about the stupid opera coat!”

“I know,” and laugh, “ because it never was. It is because I am half wild. Feral. Because I have no family; so some kind of crazy, runaway, stray-cat derelict.”

“Min Gud! Why would you think they would think that about you?”

“Seriously?”

Electra’s dictionary; through overlaps in time

between wake and sleep .... when memories overlap of now and then, long ago, like so many other times, so natural to turn to him in sleep, and fall under and through, between awake and dream,

 like through the veils of time

I dream of the hut .... smeden.... his back as he works and the moon outside .... the glow of light

 .... and in sleep I move over his body, and press my lips against his hair, and wrap around his hips ....and forget where I am, when I am, when we are; that way time overlaps; like the first time I saw him; like finding something so long in search of .... like something washed up from a shipwreck

Notes from the Celf

Notes from the Celf as I listen to Jörn* composing.....

[Trying to shake off the frozen state I have fallen into. 

I go from exhaustion to sudden emotional bankruptcy .....]

~ find a corner to write in & write into my phone~

It rained all day.....I start . And stop.... and stare at nothing infinitely 

************************************

I can see how the isolation may soon become too loud

the ghosts get louder

     as they leap from the attic


I don’t realize till now

how long it has been

since I noticed .... a reflective

.....reply

oh where have I been but in such a frenetic hurry and only now notice total exhaustion —what is happening to me, I wonder? I slip deep into thought and don’t notice

Jörn has been composing

The deep sounds of the piano that arrived Friday echo under the high ceiling of the empty, modern, renovated, barn house. I’m sure the sounds carry off for miles away, but we are far from any neighbors. The nearest is several miles down a hill


his music echoes through my thoughts .... his new works from the past few weeks have become more somber in tone. They seem to follow the course of dreams that lately have surfaced since the occurrence with .... what happened

those nightmares of deception .... deceit.... treachery

sometimes I have disturbed Jörn’s sleep when I call out from dreams suddenly in terror and he looks so shocked and worried among my fits of screams that wake me up


******************

Later:

Thoughts of DNA memory

....of course I have considered the DNA factor in respect to my  mother’s side. So I think about this a lot .... As they were all blond and mostly with blue eyes from the Russian side .... so it has often lead me to wonder if they had, indeed, descended from the Rus

I always find fascination with the secrets of the earth; like fossils and .... excavations —I should have been an archeologist but anyway..... 

I don’t know if my personal obsessions ....you know.... are behind the reason for these particular obsessions for me —as in my search to define in my dictionary, word for Celf; for identity .... to identify—with? To indentify with anyone; someone ..... (UFO’s?) And then as in origins because—I search everywhere..... as I have never belonged anywhere. Not to any name either ....the name on my birth certificate is a lie; denied by the namesake himself; disowned

this stigma of illegitimacy that before I even knew the words or their exact meanings.... I felt ....shame 

and for me unnameable as I could not fathom what he meant when he called me that....  “nigger-baby bastard!” 

I just knew it wasn’t good. And it made my skin feel filthy. All the way inside. 

And defeats me.

To not be able to wash off this shame ....

This obsession I have to be clean ....

**************************************************************

But there are times when I know and remember meeting him as a child. Him. My Agamemnon 

Like a memory I forced away and buried deep. But I do remember him.

I associated him with kindness and acceptance but something even more than that too. He spoke to me like s person not a child and he listened to what I said and I remember his smile ....and our Thursday telephone talks .... that my mother never spoke of after he died and told me things were not real that I knew had happened

this was how the two realities overlapped. Why I had to keep track of both

when to deny

when to pretend

when to lie and be it for good

when a lie was bad in someone else’s favor

I had to learn to keep track

to maneuver in this world I lived in

His music blends with his voice....

I watch him write on sheets of music paper but now as he plays he brings words to the notes —he sings in hesitant phrases at first as he composes ....then he writes it down

What did I call out to him in sleep? I suddenly fear because I remember his wife’s face in my dream .... and my sister’s and realize something about why his wife, Lisa had looked so familiar to me

Gerald once said about souls that they tend to reincarnate in clusters ...those we knew incarnate in time together ....to meet again in order to accomplish something necessary to their reason for existence; he said sometimes the years can be off by a few or by even decades because age is only relevant to the present meaning, but not in the infinite sense

And so, If the smeden left behind their twins how possible would it be for one of that line might have landed somewhere near Minsk? 

.....If you consider how small the human population was, it is no great stretch to know that who has survived came from that gene pool thanks to survival of the fittest







*happy birthday