that lifelong question

electra, darling —where oh where are those intensely intellectual, sensitive men? 

a marker

 

how cruelly he does tread across my emotions in his hobnail boots…. the wings begin to feel like anchors, dear electra 

immortal pirate; the man with the vampire eyes(e.d.jmmuse)

 

there are other times I recall about the pirate from my dreams; the man with the vampire eyes

…. and I still see the strange and vast landscapes 

I seem always in search of to find again those long forgotten plains and barren hills

—they reach out from my subconscious and from the depths of sleep in dreams —and remain imprinted in my thoughts all the next day…. traveling journeys often on foot and with the vampire shadow that falls over my view; the gold flax of his hair shimmering on the wind and following behind him

….sometimes when I’m walking; it is something about the motion of the swing in my hips and the weight I carry….

this is when, on the oasis of my thoughts, upon that horizon ….

I can see him from the line of shore…. and the boat waiting

loaded for the journey

noir modest proposal/e.d.vol.1jmmuse

As Jörn and I head towards the back courtyard, it escapes my awareness, somehow, until much later —how at ease he walks through the back and towards the house as if he….? uh, well, like I said, it did escape my notice….

and we walk through the back way, where the hedges are shaped like trophies and then past the Grecian statues with ….my thoughts on what he wants to talk to me about —and ….as I recognize dully looking over, at first just two or three, then I realize there are others there….

“could you do the coffee?” Jörn suddenly turns to me. He seems to be guarding my vision to keep me from seeing who else may be among the group

“Jörn—“ I hesitate, while trying to see behind him, “you want —me— to do the coffee —and then what? Tiptoe and leave it twenty yards away?”

He gives me a blank stare, as if he’s lost the plot —and then laughs, but too cool, of course, I see right through it,

“no, I meant I’ll meet you in the kitchen and then I can take it in.”

I head off and find my way to the kitchen, and only about now do I start to wonder about those other things ….

I find I wish I had spoken to Gerald …. and I wish …. there had been a moment alone with Jörn 

before having to face the firing squad to …. say things

….because there are these moments I find I am overwhelmed with such a sense…. I feel him within myself ….as I’ve always have ….long before I saw him that day for the first time ….

but I wish he would say…. I want to know what he thinks ….he never says …. he never confirms anything at all ….and then I have felt as if I am out of my mind…. it surly then just must have all been in my own head and so then I must be crazy ….to believe ….there is this —that memory; that life and ….bond there between us…. because so many times it has felt I can feel him when he is not there ….reaching for me ….I feel him in my mind speaking to me just like I know what is behind the awkward silences that sometimes happens because I hear him somehow…. I just wish he would say it out loud and to my face —but he confirms nothing, he says nothing 

his silence devastates me 

Do I believe him to be the cool spy even when he is off of work? Do I believe him to be the composer/artist and actor of many talents even off the cameras behind his own scenes? Does he ever face himself in the mirror and ask —“did I know her once before? Did I recognize it? Or even —do I feel in a place even deeper than the heart?” But mostly…. does he feel? and ever admit to himself that ….I matter to him? And do I really think he is capable ….of deep emotion? anyway

I stand staring at the French press confused….

….And have to remind myself —why? am I —making coffee…. 

I fill the giant kettle that weighs a ton and put it to boil, then go in search of coffee…. 

and then with my back to the room I hear someone open the door as I start to scoop coffee into the glass coffee pot

She says, 

“What are you doing?” and I see Stina is walking right to the 19th century antique silver coffee pot and setting it under the space odyssey coffee maker

I want to say the same back to her but then she seems to know what she’s doing, as I see by how she drops in a few pods and presses a button.

So I walk back to the stove and shut it off.

“Walk with me,” she says now 

The shock of her statement of demand sets me off balance 

She gestures with her head toward the kitchen door that faces the beach

“But the coffee….” I say

“He can get it. You’re not his slave,” she half glares at me in the way to obey her as she glances, imploring, like: out the door and now!

We go the opposite direction of the back courtyard. Instead she leads me to another part of the beach, past the lifeguard post where she spots a bench and motions me there

We sit down

“I don’t want to waste time. So I will be blunt with you,” Stina says in her usual ‘friendly’ way, as I take note with amusement that, today she has pulled her hair back into a severe sweep and is wearing unexpected brightly colored high heels, “what are your plans?” she now asks

“My plans?” I look at her searching for a clue what she means by that

“Yes, for your future. What are they?” and she looks at me frankly

“Why is it your business?” I ask and laugh, “this is not your jurisdiction!”

“No but Jörn is,” she says. 

Her eyes go cold

Something shifts somehow. I feel another conversation. So I wait and watch her face

“And by default you are my business,” she says this like a battle strike

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite following you,” I tell her

“I need him back in our country and it seems we have an obstacle in our way. So I want to know what you want, what your plans are —you understand?”

“No—it is still —actually, even more hazy….unless you are talking about a different Jörn, because—in case you haven’t noticed —he does what he does. I’m not your obstacle, he is.”

“Then you are fooling yourself but that is not my business and now let’s try to change the dialogue, I think, yes? I know you are some self claimed starving artist on some hippie mission—what is it? You want to save the earth? We have Greta Thunberg,” and there is a weird pause 

and then smiles or maybe it’s indigestion

“Ok. La-di-da,” I say

“What if you had a sudden mystery backer who would fund your project?” she says now 

“Is this a joke? You forget Jörn is not short of cash so if it’s a question of me looking for money, don’t you think I could just try asking him if I really wanted to do —what—what do you know about my project anyway? It’s a bit too dry for you as it’s to do with humanity and I don’t get the feeling you have explored the subject—so exactly what are you suggesting?”

“You have too much pride —I don’t think you would ask Jörn. That is why I think you would consider doing this because you would be doing something to earn the cash,” she says

“So you don’t think I have business ethics or personal ethics? Are you asking me to spy on my boyfriend for you to pay me to fund my project?”

“Not spy. Babysit.”

I have to laugh,

“have you met Jörn? Babysit him?”

“Did you know Jörn is now on a mission to go after Retnuh Nivek? Which is putting at risk another operation we now have in place that takes precedents,” she watches my face before she then says, “we could sweeten the deal —as I am aware he has been working on an opera. There is an orchestra I know he wants to play his music because I have heard him mention it. I could arrange their involvement.”

Noir Denouement; tying up loose ends/with intro to Electra’s dictionary Vol.2: ‘the Will (& power of’)

 

Introduction (structural explanation) 

As I have drawn upon Dante Alighieri’s premise of the three levels of the Divine Comedy (my intended use with allegory of Paradiso as having the characters —and their story’s meaning— reach a higher awareness of something beyond the temporal life; the previous Inferno and Purgatory were first reflections on the past, then the focus turned to events and journeys taken to shape the destinies, respectfully) it makes sense it should follow that I now turn to, another favorite, and appropriately, a contemporary of Dante; Giovanni Boccaccio by referring, for my own interpretations, with his Decameron while an obvious choice, had always been my plan upon following the conclusion of E.D. Vol. 1 (was this perhaps portended?) even before our current day plague hit 

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

Electra’s dictionary; JM muse chronicles Vol.1/Tying up loose ends Noir part 1

Leaving the pier we don’t speak and as we walk, both within our silences…. I do not feel tension from him, somehow, because I can feel his mind those times when he is not in his spy world. This part of him I know instinctively because, through all the times, of things that have happened between us, there has always felt to me, a sort of compass between us. I just don’t always pay attention to it ….too distracted by those ways he triggers my nerves sometimes 

Even though I know he is angry at me—I do feel that…. but there is something else that feels is even bigger than now, bigger than us

I think it is the waves as we walk. I think it is the sky and the seagulls; their cry overhead…. he does not say anything …. but I feel his mind 

I feel it the same way I have felt it listening to him at the piano; the notes he chooses when he plays ….I feel his thoughts

I feel the things he does not say. I know where his thoughts go. I always have…. and I think I am a guilty party here because, I think I have ignored what I heard his mind say…. and said so many times. And you can hear it in his music. I know he goes back to that hut, the same as I do. I cannot ignore how he always arranges the furniture …. just like that little hut; how can he know unless he too was there? I know why he chooses not to say…. but I realize what I have been guilty of. So very guilty. I heard it just now in his voice and—until then ….I did not realize ….I have been punishing him. I did not realize this. 

And in my silence as we walk, this I think about. 

And Gerald’s meaning in his texts

Because …. I did not have to be punishing him. I did not see that. But I think I couldn’t see this because I was so sure he would let me down 

…. I think it is my self-fulfilling prophesy —assume he would; or will him too? A defense mechanism I long ago developed to toughen against an inevitable blow

I realize only now that he has been punishing himself, he has felt that lifetime’s guilt for not reaching in time. The sun that wouldn’t set. The promise not broken…. to be back before the midnight sun. But it did not set. It happened anyway. But it was not his fault. She did not want him to go but he was forced to—that’s life, isn’t it? It isn’t fair, it is often tragic 

Why should two souls meet again? I wonder…. Why—when there are other life times and other loves? 

Sometimes the mind plays tricks, as thoughts are swayed by senses, like how the ocean breeze touches your face in that particular way, and the shoreline looks so like another…. like the time she ran into the waves when they spoke of her mother and he brought her from the water and then built a fire, when something changed forever between them, spoken through a language of their own

And as I see the outline of the red tile roof up ahead…. I think about what he just said to me on the pier; how I am not capable of trusting him and I look up at him now as we walk. Should I care about whatever it is he found in the secret compartment ….?

I stop walking and reach for his arm,

“Jörn….” gripping the sleeve of his shirt to stop him and when he stops he looks back at me and I search his face, search his eyes…. looking ….until I see —yes, it is there…. the same eyes, “I’m sorry,” I say to him ….like a message long from the past….because I want to free him ….and remove what burden he’s carried that was never his fault, it was just life 

At first I think he does not understand. That my meaning is lost on him. 

But then he shakes his head and looks towards the ocean,

“but you are right…. how do I expect you to know….?”

And he starts to say something else when someone calls out to us from the house and we both turn to see Michèle running,

“excuse me—we saw you arrive! You have people waiting now for you at the house, I was sent to get you.”

Jörn sighs and looks at me,

“more unfinished business, duva—I was expecting them tonight,” and with a note of apology in his tone he puts his hand on my arm and says, “let’s talk after they’ve gone.”

“They?”

“We have guests,” Jörn says with sarcasm, “Punch and Judy and—“ now looks at Michèle, “is Willem here as well?”

“He is. They are waiting in the back court,” Michèle says

“Tying up loose ends,” Jörn says to me by way of explanation, “no doubt I’ll be raked over the coals for not consulting them for my choice of action in regards to the safe— let’s go, duva and get this over with.”

avez-vous déjà été là? ou j'imaginais que tu étais là ?

Je ne pouvais pas tolérer que la vie doive l'affronter à nouveau invisible.

Je sais que tu me vois.

J'ai vécu si longtemps sans être vu par personne.

Je craignais de quitter ce monde sans jamais avoir été vu par personne.

et je craignais qu'en quittant le monde, aucune trace de mon existence ne soit connue de qui que ce soit.

Je ne pouvais pas tolérer qu'il soit oublié par too

Ce serait comme si je n'avais jamais été….

 être oublié de toi

Electra’s dictionary; of chests without treasure & pirate legends ….noir (e.d.jmmusechron)

To some Legend is a story, to others a list of symbols on a map, to another legend is key ….to a dictionary 

Michèle stops first at the nearby drugstore off Main Street to let me pick up a few basics before heading to the safe house. He walks in with me, but as we pass the front line of people checking out, I glimpse at the magazine tabloids and see the letters that spell out “hostage” but that isn’t what caught my eye. It is the photo. Because it is a photo I know. Of myself. And though the mandate of mask wearing has been dropped, I find myself reaching into my hand bag for the one I happened to grab from the package I had seen in the penthouse kitchen before I left and decide to put it on now as I notice some gaping stares.

I look up at Michèle as I do this and whisper,

“you would think with all the celebrities that come here people here would be better accustomed to showing a polite respectful observance of space,” I search for the aisles I need, quickly grabbing shampoo, body wash, and some other basics and cannot be out of there fast enough, slamming the car door shut as soon as I slide in. 

Michèle pulls off down the street and I hardly notice what I see beyond the reassuring familiar shops that have been there forever and the shaded sidewalks with heavy limbed trees in front of those classic billion dollar homes we pass as again my mind is recalling other summers here walking with my mother into those very shops.

It is not until we are down an old familiar street I used to often walk, by the beach that, I am pulled from those balmy memories. It is the road with the tall hedges where you cannot see anything of the vast property that lurks behind except for the massively long rooftop with its defining red Spanish tile reaching its highest pinnacle somewhere in the center in that great mystery. But this is exactly where Michèle stops and gets out to enter a code into a security keypad at the black high iron gates and the gates start to magically open as he returns to the car and gets in

“Don’t tell me this is the safe house, Michèle?” I say now to him as we drive through 

He glances at me from the mirror,

“yes, but it is where it will be for you. There are five guarded security people right now there. But don’t worry, you will have privacy. They will be staying at the guest houses and will stay out of your way but they will be close by if the need arises. Are you so surprised?” when he asks this now, he turns to look at me from the front

“Of course I am!” I say as we drive down the long gravel path that leads to the incredibly grand front entrance that has massive steps leading up and now have to ask, “where is the person who lives here?”

But now he shrugs,

“I cannot say for sure, but he is not here.”

“And he doesn’t mind I am going to be staying in his house?” I ask as he slows to stop in front of the entrance

“I am sure,” he says now 

And after I step out onto the gravel path, Michèle takes my suitcases from the back trunk of the car and then leads me towards the entrance,

“we have all been instructed to give you complete privacy,” he now says as we mount the brick steps up to the front door and as he unlocks it, and pauses to hand me the keys he says, “I’ll just put these for you in the bedroom, which is this way, mademoiselle!” he says with a fliratatious smile

“You are too kind,” I say with a laugh and follow him, shutting the door behind us

The cool interiors sweep around in a breeze coming from somewhere outside as we step inside and right away, I am in awe of the architectural beauty, after my eyes adjust to the dimness of the interiors, lit only by natural light from all the tall arching windows. The floors are terracotta and spread throughout the wide open entrance and onto through the following rooms that lead off of the wide entrance; the hallway all flanked by tall red-clay, vase shaped pots holding, I notice, bunches of eucalyptus, cattail, heather and pussy willow, their earthy and warm nuance of scents lending an atmosphere of welcome. We pass a sitting area that I see leads outside to a court beyond tall arching doorways and past their distance comes the unmistakable sound of ocean waves.

At the end of the wide hallway, unlike the usual hacienda, there are stairs leading up to another floor and once at the top I follow Michèle down another hallway

Michèle stops inside a room and waits for me patiently as I catch up. I have barely noticed the room when he puts down the suitcases and says,

“I will let you settle in. I have sent a message to your phone so that you have the number to reach me, whatever you need, if you need to go somewhere, I am at your disposal.”

“Really?” I hold back a snicker, “well, is that necessary? Can’t I just go walk downtown? It’s not that far!”

“We’d prefer not. You may still be in danger,” he sighs 

“Oh….” I say feeling the disappointment of the loss of freedom and look out towards the window 

“We can, however, watch you from the beach from the tower. It is a private beach for residents, which is why this location was the most favorable.”

“Yes. I see….”

“I will leave you here,” and he starts to go. He stops by the door just outside of it, “feel free to help yourself to what is here. The kitchen has been prepared for your stay here so, all that is at your disposal too.”

And then he leaves. And now I look around the spacious bedroom. There are two wide arched windows and between them an arched door that I only now realize leads out to a balcony 

I walk over to one of the arched windows in the room where it is possible to see the beach and look out. And immediately I am hypnotized by the sound of the ocean and watch the waves. A private beach. After a few moments I see Michèle walk across the lower property and head out towards the beach, then disappears from my view. 

I look down from the window and see that the bedroom overlooks the court below. From here I can see there are topiary gardens outlining beds of flowers, climbing rosebushes that wind around statues that as they flank, they mark the entrance to a small labyrinth made of manicured lush green hedges 

I turn from the view and sit down on the much too big, dark, heavy-wood, four poster bed ….that looks like it belonged to some Spanish pirate— and then I think: oh, from a dungeon to another ivory tower

****

“I have some news for you,” Willem stops by, as promised, a few days later

I invite him into the large kitchen built for a full service staff, with too many ovens to count and a lot of unidentifiable kinds of equipment cluttering the intimidating pantries. But the ‘contraption’ intended to make coffee I long gave up on, so instead have opted to using the dependable French press and, as I serve it for Willem, using the heavy hunter-green cup and saucers with the gold trim, I glance up to notice he digs into the messenger bag that he walked in wearing, slung over one shoulder. 

He takes out his tablet and sets it up on the marble prep island which dominates the room. I bring the coffee over, dragging two tall chairs after and then walk towards the industrial sized stainless steel refrigerator,

“you take milk?” I ask but when he does not answer, more involved in what he’s looking for, I find a porcelain pitcher and pour some milk in and bring it over

“Here it is,” he says now and taps on the touch screen as I go about putting honey in my cup, “this is an email from Jörn— everybody got one of these....”

“Everybody? Who’s everybody?” I ask him

“Stina, FBI—Smulligan.... CIA.... Interpol, KGB, you name it, they got it....”

I stop what I’m doing as I watch Willem move to tap open an attachment of the email but —then, he just waits holding his finger over it as he says,

“it’s a video of him.... with the safe....” Willem studies my eyes as he says, “he’s opened it....” he stares at me for a long moment

I hold my breath looking back at him as he says now,

“he’s gone to a nearby island off Long Island.... he went there to—“

But I gasp cutting him off, 

“to destroy the weapons!” and cover my mouth in shock. 

I sit down in the nearest chair but grab Willem’s arm,

“oh my god!” then put my face into my hands and then whisper through my fingers, “when was this?” 

“This morning.”

I pull my head from my hands and look up at him. Finally, I say,

“and....?”

He moves to tap as he says,

“Just watch, Dusk—“

“No— wait! Just please tell me first.... please, Willem....”

His eyes soften and he half smiles,

“no he did not blow himself up or get himself contaminated with chemical weapons, if that is what you’re worried about.”

And only now I see something there exposed in his eyes as he searches my face. And then, after a moment he kind of nods to himself and makes a clicking sound in his mouth, as if somehow just having had a question answered, and now goes to tap the screen.

For the next forty-five minutes we watch together. First the process of opening the safe, using the series of codes. Jörn, wearing a safety jumpsuit and goggles now shifts the focus through a microscope-like lens that shows a peep hole of the “lock-letter” grooves that line up and the puzzle like edges fit into each other. And then the angle of the video shifts to show the other part of the safe’s ‘key’ —using the base of the safe’s sibling; the matching wood stained drum table designed by the Dutch windmill maker, with the base, its pronged four legs that insert into the cut out grooves of the base of the chest safe. A click snaps as something has released in an eerie haunting echo that now vibrates chillingly through the kitchen

And feeling sick, I now watch as Jörn opens it like a treasure chest, split in half —and inside, reveals a tripped ticking bomb that by this opening of the chest has set off. It is some twenty minutes as he solves the wiring and safely removes it. There are jars beneath it and sets to task over each one and through every step he is explaining his course and what each thing is and what he is doing

....when each object is neutralized and destroyed, Jörn drags both safe and table into a room and steps outside the chamber and shuts it off behind a thick stainless steel door with a locking lever, and through a lens that records the chamber’s interior, both objects are reduced to ashes

And by the end of it I am left too shaken to say anything. 

I don’t even notice how much time goes by before Willem finally says,

“why don’t we go for a drive to East Hampton and get some coffee there. I think this lot has gone cold.”

*****

I spend the next few days in a strange and uncertain daze.  Sometimes walking downtown reluctantly allowing one of the plain clothes heavies to follow several discreet yards behind me to see again the old, familiar town where, no doubt, I have left one of my celves to haunt the streets…. But when this gets too tedious having that sense of being walked on a leash by a body guard, I find I prefer the illusion of freedom of walking up and down the beach, stretching my legs and reacquainting myself with the feeling of being out in the open sunshine and air, feeling the warm sand under my feet and looking out into the ocean. Stopping to write. Sometimes to sketch…. 

I have always found watching waves and water so healing to my soul, the sound of the waves so reassuring and the gulls overhead. I spend hours looking out into the sea, looking out into those depths, searching the distance and the beauty of the sky, the salty smell of the sea. 

And my moody thoughts evoke some deeper place I’ve been avoiding…. emotions

There are so many emotions wrapped in these sensations ….thoughts of my early youth with my mother in Florida…. how we’d go out on her giant raft to ride the waves together ….and I’d lay looking up at the sky for hours till I fell asleep…. memories of beaches and sunshine…. memories to ….even before those days…. like those memories of Jamaica, on those beaches with her …. and the soft feel of the pink sand where I spent the first year of my life at the Halfmoon hotel where that year we lived; it belonged to her best friend’s family…. years later I’d listen to her stories of her jet set world, her wild friend at their resort hotel in Montego Bay; how my mother did love the sun and the beach, being here now, I remember Southampton with her, she had a house on Leo’s Lane which was right by Adams Lane…. And as I think of her and my being here, I think of how it seems to have come full circle — like of a layer of a Divine Comedy…. this labyrinthine journey…. in search to find…. towards some center —of a Celf 

But only after a few days of this I start to realize …. I had the dream again …. and for days now, I have been hearing music within my thoughts …. as though, like some invisible current pulling me

and, no, it is then not the memories of my mother that I find my soul reaching for here on this beach

And should it really startle me to realize that my thoughts have been long lingering down other phantom avenues of some place 

that long ago was —once home. 

And so, I wonder now, as it seems to have long dawned upon me, this realizing….

….

how long has my mind been going in my half-awake/dreamy thoughts back there to visit?

But lately, it is with a more peaceful sense that I find I now end up there as I go. And with such certain memory that until now, when before I could not really fully let myself accept or truly acknowledge….

That I do feel the warmth of the sun —that I —do—that I can—feel now again —as it was ….then ….and know…. it is not as dream but as —memory

And even as now I look out to this present ocean, as I do now in this moment in time, I am not breathing the smell of salt sea air

no…. somehow— whether it be strange —it comes to me —so poignantly sharp— a very different scent of sea ….that I smell

And so, even more strange—but then, really, is it so very strange after all? That it should come to me with music, and it is —his— music …. which is like that of a heavy stage curtain that alters the setting and sense of everything —and dominates the backdrop of my mind ….as sharply and intensely —it comes to me now

like a ghost’s tap on the shoulder, with its eerie whisper from the shadows and with it more buried emotions to unearth and chase me and catch me up 

….but it has been there all along

hasn’t it? 

And always….in the background

      always playing …. 

the heavy yet warm sound of his haunting music that —in those early days saturated my sleep and dreams and blended with the shadows on the wall of his bedroom. It presses indelibly inside the recesses of my mind, that image of him, sat at his piano…. those haunting notes …. and watching the mad flight of his hair flung wild as he slammed on the keys, the shadows reflected on the wall ….the pounding of keys

his unfinished opera…. 

I think of this now and feel inside me this incredible ache

And even under the warm sky, I get a chill and shut my eyes. I think of his hands and remember their touch; so unlike any; fingers that, though strong, have the adeptness of an artist that is accustomed to hold fine things…. not to warp or break

But the wind now, brings me to myself, as if reminding me to be aware; with its reckless trait that comes of a sudden from the ocean without warning, its unpredictable roar— but don’t care to bother to heed it and with eyes closed, I can still see the memory, not dreams, of that pirate with the vampire eyes; his long silken hair blown across and distorting his war scarred face ….and that little hut with the forge that was home….but the chill is warm and so are the kryptonite of his eyes

And finally, only now…. do I reach to pick up my phone 

to open my text messages to Gerald …. and reread his messages….

After awhile of looking out into the sea, I get up and walk along the shore letting thoughts go where they will

There is a small pier a little further up the way where I like to go and sit on the edge and sometimes I write into my phone sitting there…. thoughts…. more thoughts of the legend 

and that is where I head now, and set out to do and dwell within that room inside where it is always safe and nobody can enter without my permission and get lost in my words for awhile

There are a few boats that come and go from the nearby houses along the beach; their long graceful shapes, like beautiful ornaments that decorate the water, yachts with their wings of sails ….

watching over the sea, ever watchful on the horizon 

For this view of the water, with those boats and sails, I would only choose watercolor for my medium, not oil

for their light buoyancy would demand nothing at all heavy 

as oil and water do not mix —and like the unforgivable ocean, there is no room for error in a watercolor; there is only one chance of its lifetime

And so as I look up now, I think this, wishing I had with me a paintbrush, rough paper and a set of watercolor pans as I see one beauty nearby as it moves across the line of the horizon —but then it appears to stop, as if just for me, it poses for me to paint its portrait 

This one I have not seen before. This one is slightly bigger than the others that I’ve seen. 

And I watch from the distance of my pier, I watch as it seems to drop anchor as I stare into the horizon —and now see a man on the boat ….now climb down into a dinghy, and with the sun brilliant, high overhead, blazing so bright that it blinds me, it catches reflection off the water and—I catch my breath —with sight of the gold of his hair….

It is a slow approach, and as I watch the boat as it eventually nears, moments later, the sun seems to dim and to fade, as it dips in its descent from the horizon 

I stand up now as the little dinghy boat nears…. 

When the dinghy reaches the pier, he ties it to the pole, and pulls himself up to stand just a few feet away from me and then just stares at me with those eyes 

After a long moment, finally, he says,

“….did you really think it was all just for the code?”

But it is hard to hold his gaze, how he looks at me when he says this. And it causes a strange rush so that I lose my balance, and start to feel dangerously seasick, and stumble backward,

“I-I have not known what to believe, Jörn….” and look down from the fury there of his eyes to stare, instead, at the floor of the pier

“And my opera—you think as part of some cover that I just conveniently made up that whole opera thing?” and as he asks me this, pulls my head up by my chin, to look at him, “duva….?” but I still keep my gaze at the pier, so he half shouts at me, “look at me!”

And now when I raise my eyes to look up at him, defensively I say,

“you don’t make it easy, Jörn!—it’s not as if you ever…. say….!”

He lets go my chin and shakes his head with a kind of shrug and then glances in the direction towards the house, 

“and you don’t either, duva…. and for the record—I did came back….”

After a tense moment of silence he sighs now and says,

“Uh….there’s something else you need to know about and no one else even knows about this….something that I found when I opened that compartment in your mother’s secretary. But then, it may require something from you that I seriously doubt you are capable of….”

“Something you found in the compartment? What?”

He shakes his head,

“I’m not sure if you’re ready for this…. Or ever will be….”

“Jörn! About my mother or— me? Or who?”

“Like I said, I don’t think you’re ready for this as… it may actually require you trusting me and ….” he shakes his head doubtfully

“What are you talking about?” I ask staring at him

He shakes his head,

“it’s been a rough week and right now, I could use a stiff drink so …. you’re welcome to join me back to the house—that is, if you should feel so inclined to decide it’s safe to —you know, be in the same room with.”

 thema gudd arall

Mae geiriadur yn lle da i guddio iaith;  mae'r diogel yn air arall am loches

Electra’s dictionary/nearing “the Safe Noir” denouement of Vol. 1 (e.d.jmmusechron)

 

And after he leaves …. that stunned feeling seems to stay with me. It is awhile that I realize I am still standing in the spot he left me at, staring at the exit he left from …. with the feel of his mouth still on my lips. And everywhere else it laid its claim to possess 

And I actually say out loud to the empty room, “what just happened?”

as I am not at all sure what his visit achieved ….except to spin me around ….so confused now 

“I’m such an idiot,” speaking again to the empty room, this time in a whisper 

I look at the dining room table with the kale salad hardly touched and three days of hunger forgotten …. “that’s why I’m dizzy,” at least I tell myself that. And automatically go take the bowl from the table and decide to take it with me to eat somewhere else as Jörn’s ghost still lingers here smirking at me

my phone…. I think now…. because I feel like I need some distraction back to reality, reason —or—rather, some form of present or presence of mind. And of course, when I find it, it is where I left it —next to the phone charger Willem gave me as— I realize it’s still dead….

like a malfunctioning robot, I grab phone and charger with my bowl and fork and wander around the huge empty halls aimlessly, searching for a direction to go, and end up back in the bedroom where I left the suitcases. After a moment of looking at them as if they’re aliens, I head, naturally, to the bathroom and put down all objects on the mirrored table next to the marble bath tub. Then after plugging my phone in to charge, start the water and now see a happy surprise placed on a tray on the tub’s marble ledge; bergamot and eucalyptus

“she remembered….” whispered again to no one and pour in some of both 

and watching the water fill up, sit on the ledge eating the salad still wondering what just happened…. 

do I believe him?

should I? 

After days in that room staring at the spot where the safe was and ….hating him. For leaving me there. 

But Willem…. ?

and I see again the memory ….the dream…. of the empty sea, the sun in the sky …. but then …. the most painful part recalls me again …. it was the same look in his eyes ….when I heard it this time in his voice

My phone makes a vibration sound and startles me back, and as I realize my bowl is now empty —I guess I was hungry after all, but I don’t remember eating. 

I put the bowl down and look at my phone and see there are some dozen messages that all come up over the last app it was left open to— my music app left open to my Beethoven playlist. I must have accidentally opened this during the run-in with Retnuh Nivek outside the underground —so it must have been playing that whole time because I notice the volume had been turned all the way down…. so…. that’s why, my phone had no charge, I start to realize now

Again, like a robot, I look at who all the text messages were left by…. 

among them, I see several from Gerald:

<I hope u r ok. I had a vision last night and now just saw on the news report. Your pic is everywhere saying you have been taken hostage. But I am getting a strong feeling they are wrong and that you are in a “safe” place because I keep seeing the word “safe”. I will be sending you safe vibes. Please reach me if you can. I know you are in a dark place but have faith>

The next one from him says:

<whatever dark place you are in, have faith you will be found. this is part of why you met again. to right a wrong>

And the next message after this:

<I saw you were found, it just came on the report. Text me, I know you have doubts>

I turn away

By now the water has filled and I don’t want to think anymore. And after I get in, I decide to spend the next couple of hours in its warm depths not thinking of anything

 ….and reach to listen to Beethoven, it begins with “Emperor, concerto number 5 in E flat major, opus 73” 

to blast everything away…. I gladly fall into another’s past 

****

When Willem comes to see me off in the morning, meeting us in the parking garage by the nondescript black car, he says,

“I wanted to let you know Retnuh Nivek was spotted,” and pauses here to look at me and watch his words register. He continues, “by some reliable inside people…. in a —hospital— in Cairo. So, you can at least breathe easy he can’t do any harm now. You’ll be vindicated to know, he has suffered some debilitating injuries ….and will be out of commission, it is safe to say—indefinitely. And with my men watching you and with Michèle here—you’re in safe hands. It will be good for you to spend some time on the beach.”

And for a moment his news startles me enough to —forget what I first had meant to ask him….about Jörn

But after this I only stare at him

He puts his hand on my shoulder and then smiles, reaching to embrace me and after he does, I look up at him

“Willem….”

He sighs,

“yes, Dusk—I know you are angry I didn’t tell you about Jörn…. try to enjoy the Hamptons. I promise to stop by and say hello.”

Then I am ushered into the car and he shuts the door

It is a long drive from the city to the Hamptons and once we leave the congestion of the city, the dullness of the monotonous expressway lulls my thoughts. Because I have not seen these expressway road signs for so long, it takes me back to another time. What was it I said about layers? It seems now they strip off with each one we pass. Like lifetimes. Maybe Willem is right, I think, it would be a nice change to see the beach again…. and I stare out the window 

And then it is hours later when again, stripped of more layers, with a sunny sky overhead, we reach Southamptons’ Main Street …. and here it is impossible to not think of my mother. My favorite memories of her are here with her

 Ydw i erioed wedi cwympo mewn cariad go iawn?  

Ni allaf ond ateb hyn yn wir trwy ddweud; dim ond fy nghariad go iawn a allai fod yr un yn unig sy'n gallu adnabod y gwir fi;  yr un sy'n trafferthu ceisio gweld heibio'r fersiwn ei hun ohonof i, yr hyn maen nhw'n meddwl maen nhw'n ei weld;  y ddol powdr wirion honno, y ddol wedi'i thorri allan y maent ond yn ei gweld ond yn anffodus nid yw ond yn camliwio;  gwybod i beidio â cheisio cicio i lawr y waliau ond eu parchu a gwybod sut i ddarllen y codau a pham eu bod yno ac yna aros am fynediad y tu mewn….  hyd yn oed fel y dymunais amdano - na, nid wyf erioed wedi dod o hyd i unrhyw un yn deilwng