(Same day:)
Only when we get back to the house from the airport, no sooner have we got one foot past the bedroom door that Jörn immediately gets a call,
“sorry, duva, I have to take this,” he says
and disappears downstairs
I watch him from the bedroom window as he strides from the patio of the back of the house, across the back lawn, down the hill to the farmhouse and watch him go in
I go downstairs to make tea and sit in the bay window seat that faces the other way into the woods and look out into the dense, dark night. And for awhile just look out into the darkness
....I get lost in thought ....
and think about a dream from the other night
It was the night before Jörn sent me a message telling when he would be returning ....and to meet him at the airport
a strange dream, and after I woke up, I couldn’t sleep after. All through it I heard his music as it was playing all through the dream, but it wasn’t being played by Jörn, nor by anyone —it came from an organ that played by itself, the sound of it was hollow, echoing; it was in an old gothic cathedral and the gargoyles removed from where they had sat perched in the stone and they flew in through the arched windows up to the vaulted ceiling and landed on the rafters where they watched me from.
Something outside was calling me that sounded like monks chanting but they were druids and I followed them to an open field that then lead to a labyrinth made of hay. It was dark and hard to see and I kept losing sight of the moon which was the only source of light; full and shadowed with a mist that kept altering the light.
When I looked down I was holding a map to the glow of the moon and as I walked the map followed my progress as I wove my way to the center.
When I reached it, I found an old wooden safe that looked more like some old pirate’s chest with a combination keypad in runes, still partially covered in dirt.... but then when I looked away I realized that I was standing in the center of a military base, surrounded by statues encircled by canons and the statues moved —but then something else happened as I heard that strange ominous bat call that seemed to warn me and — it was then that I saw the face emerge from the shadows that woke me up.
Like a blurred overexposed image that blended two photos of two pasts; like two faces merged as one as it it stared at me.... a face.... from two pasts and with it the memory of blood and the white hides turning red ....
That is when I woke up and went downstairs to make tea as —it scared me and I couldn’t go back to sleep
and then, even more strange, Gerald texts .... asking me if I was awake. And somehow knew he must have had a dream too and immediately replied. Then he called
Before saying anything, he asks,
“is there a security system in that house?”
“Gerald....” is all I say when I answer but then I say, “yes, of course—who do you think installed it?”
But then he says,
“he’s looking for you.... he knows where you are—he’s after you!”
The next morning Jörn sent me the message he was returning....
I sit there lost in thought wondering how it is I have become so used to .... being afraid.... as if always living on the edge
***
So lost in thought, I don’t hear Jörn come in
.... and I realize it is because I see him emerge from —beneath the floor! —and surprising right by where I sit! .... on the floor of the kitchen walk-in pantry by the bottom shelf....
surprising to both of us.... I think he actually had a start —as he stalls for time to recover and brushes some lint off himself as he casually shuts ....the floor .... and latch it—like he does this all the time....
“What are you doing?” but —he—asks this!
Well.... as he has found me in a guilty position —on the floor of the kitchen pantry by the bottom shelf ....eating ground baking cacao out of a near empty box
—still I do catch his quick hidden reaction of abashment which he manages to cover with a casual yet, still somewhat awkward smile
even as I then realize he is trying to play it off as if he meant for me to catch him out ....as we ignore the stampede of elephants that —followed him through the floor
It takes a few seconds to connect the dots....
My mind goes back —and begins to put things together ....that day with Smulagan and Stina
and think about the other pantry wall and .... the hidden distillery .... considering the possibility and how far the catacombs of the conveyor belts go
“Doing? —me....?! Jörn.... “ and just stare for a stunned moment before I consider my appearance and sloth-like behavior, “what does it look like?” I ask looking up at him, as he steps around as if his own behavior is nothing unusual....
Only, instead, just say,
“I guess I was waiting for you,” and dare him as I wait for him to explain himself looking up at him. But realizing this is not forthcoming as he seems to choose only to mock me having caught me in the act of something hardly ladylike
But I shrug,
“—I got hungry,” and wait for him to say something, but then I laugh, “but, you know, I promise I won’t ask ....”
But then I get fed up as he seems more at ease with holding out longer with his poker face game, and say, “Let’s just skip to this, shall we?— I mean your timing .... are you going to tell me— do I have to say? it’s either that you heard from Gerald or .... is it that someone who keeps popping up —coincidentally in both our lives ? ....that you —might have— ? recently ? or maybe not.... have stumbled across your radar?— but, no, I know! you can’t tell me —right? It’s your usual line—and why would you tell me?— not like it is of my concern and never mind who you were just sneaking out to the farmhouse talking to ....before —climbing back up,” and I look at the spot he just climbed out from, “but.... never mind it’s been weeks.... hardly a call or a text—why should you be concerned if some stalker terrorist is after me, Jörn? no, I’d never expect you to divulge precious secrets from your noir spy universe, not that it concerns me or anything!”
His face is impassive .... I can’t read it—but if ....not slightly amused. Amused?
He asks me,
“what is that?”
“What....?” I ask noticing his expression —and why do I instantly feel defensive? “Just cacao powder!— with honey! —don’t judge! —it’s not like you’ve never thought of it ....”I say
he says,
“No. I’ve never considered a box of baking powder as a midnight snack,” as if this is the more shocking revelation
“Well.... yes.... right now it is right in of the box —originally .....it had plans to join some rice milk but it never made it so....guess what? —you know one of my dirty secrets— just saying....”
He kneels down to me,
“do you always do it on the floor?”
and only then do I realize he could keep this up all night
I get fed up,
“—it’s been weeks, Jörn! —is this really all you can say?”
He moves behind me, his hands in my hair,“when did your hair get long?” he says into my neck and against my ear
“....you’ve been gone a month....” but when I repeat this now it’s lost its steam
but then, more seriously he says now,
“there are things going on in the world right now, duva.... and there are things demanding my time beyond my control. I wouldn’t leave you in danger — You do know, don’t you? that the heart of a mercenary is not single-mindedly faithful— you see, their personal agendas are not always at their convenience either—they can wait a long time and —like their ethics, their moves answer to one protocol, like their alliances, which are, as the weather, just as predictable but consistently always belonging to the highest bidder .... one regime ends, they find the next as they patiently wait .... and, you realize, I could not have this kind of conversation with you over the phone, and as it was I was tied up and I couldn’t get away until now.”
“This kind of conversation? Jörn, really? I doubt if he intercepted it by bugging the line that he would find it as clear as I do to follow the point. I mean— what do you tell me?”
“Was I worried about you?” he turns me around to face him, “I’m here.”
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