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
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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.”
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