Electra’s dictionary; the Bridge to Paradiso continues....(noir at the opera)scene

The interior of the airport is dimly lit. I am the only one waiting in the waiting area; it is deserted. And so I stand by the window and watch from behind the glass as the small plane descends and lands and speeds down the runway and with it, that odd sound as the wheels hit the ground

There is only a handful of passengers that empty out, all still wearing the mandatory face masks while disembarking; a small cluster, I can hear them speaking Canadian French as they walk coming through the arrivals/departures passageway as if emerging through a wormhole and Jörn, the light catching the gold of his tied-back hair, wearing a dark gray shirt and black well-cut trousers with his signature leather boots is the last to file out, carrying a small case with a gray trench coat over his arm, he sees me and removes the face covering as he walks towards me

“No disguise?” I ask him and notice he looks tired as I hold back but then, putting down his case he reaches for me and draws me to him

“No, Stina lets me do as I please these days,” he tells me

“You’re tired,” I say looking up at him, but then ....the rush....the one that always comes looking into that stare; like being caught in a blaze of a meteor burst

“Let’s see, three connecting flights, and then a three hour layover in Ontario—I guess, maybe just a little stiff from the seats....” he shrugs inclining his head; but then he suddenly surprises me, he reaches to take hold, gripping the back of my head, he presses his mouth to me, as he is not usually public, if ever, but as there is no one around and —it has been almost a month....and it shows just how long as his mouth becomes more intimate, “did you miss me?” he asks stepping back to look at me with a wry, wicked smile, not bothering to wait for my answer as he picks up his case to start out

I smile,

“did you miss me?” but I don’t bother to wait for an answer either and say, “you say—she lets you do as you please these days— why is that?” I ask as I rush to keep up with his quick pace out the door

But now looks at me pointedly and glances around with a cloak and dagger expression, that silently says ‘not here,’ but  verbally asks,

“where are you parked?”

“The usual place,” I say as we step out

which is round the back a little ways. By now it is dark outside and the stars are all out and clear. But I notice his preoccupied mood. His pace is fast and I almost have to run and so doubling my pace I nearly sprint in order to head him off, reaching the left of the car first. He goes straight to the trunk area to put his things in the back as I slide into the driver’s seat.

he comes over as I start the car,”Move over,” he, anyway, says 

I climb over, but not right away,”humph....” 

He shuts the door,

“duva, about this trip—there are things going on I can’t tell you about.”

“Are you working for Stina now?” 

“Not for— I don’t work for anybody— but.... you know.... it’s —government stuff. I am telling you this and that is actually more than I should. So, don’t ask me. Ok? Obviously, that’s what kept me so long....” it is once we reach the highway that he says in a lowered serious tone, “you have made jokes about me being a spy and — the Cold War. You may joke but.... things are going on,” he glances seriously at me “I may be coming and going a lot more right now and I should just warn you I won’t be able to tell you what it’s about.”

I get a chill,

“Ok. I won’t ask. Understood....”

For a long moment he just drives and is silent as he keeps his eyes straight forward on the road. Then he looks at me, “I am just telling you so you don’t think it’s something else.”

“Ok....” and turn to watch the road too. “The deer are out,” I say, hoping to change the subject, “and other ....things” I mumble as I think.... about his spy life and wonder. I did recently come across things in the news, some things I read which I suspect is what it has to do with— only knowing this, I find, it is far from reassuring. “But, Jörn— I mean .... so .... like.... are you in danger?” I have to ask

He looks at me and smiles,

“so you did miss me,” and reaches for my hand

“You change the subject....”

“Oh, my father asked me to ask you something,” he says

“And you do it again.”

He puts his hand back on the wheel, but continues anyway,

“he’s bored— you know, the opera house has had to be closed a long time from .... “ and instead shrugs to silently say; skipping the obvious, he doesn’t bother to say, as we both know why, “and even now with the restrictions it limits the schedules— so he wants to chat with you about something ....”

This surprises me,

“Chat?”

“FaceTime—“he says

“FaceTime! Ewww! I hate FaceTime, you know that! Ugh—chat with me.... why not just use a phone?—can’t we?”

“Because he wants to FaceTime—“ he’s trying not to laugh at me, “he wants to show you something,” he shrugs

“I didn’t know he was so savvy with modern technology—“

“My father?” he laughs, “he’s worse than me with gadgets. No—it’s you who’s clueless.”

“Clueless?—I’m not! How am I clueless?” but he just laughs at me and does not answer which then leaves me wonder, “anyway....” and mumble to myself under my breath, “so what is it like to travel in this? It must seem a lot different there now too?”

He just shrugs and makes a scowl and says, “like everywhere,” and just says, “more stressful.... I was thinking about quarantine —for you. It feels uneasy sometimes, coming back here— how bad it was for you— but I did a test before .... so he has an idea—my father—“ and he looks at me with an odd look, “it’s an interesting idea, actually. About my opera.... “

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he glances at me, “....and Electra’s dictionary....”

“What—?what do you mean?” I look sharply at him 

“Well, like I said; he’s bored and losing his mind needing to keep himself busy, but—don’t look like that, its a good idea, I think—I mean, it could possibly work, and with memberships and some imagination it could even profit.”

“What is it you are saying— I’m missing something, Electra’s dictionary? —your opera? your father?” 

“Well, the opera house has been empty for months, he has all those stages — and all those empty theaters at the opera house,” he shrugs, “mostly all empty, not even being used....”

I get a sense of dreading apprehension and say,

“well, that is one way to change the subject.”

by any other name

 

Electra’s dictionary & Film Noir/notes to celf; the bridge to Paradiso/(shortshot of Electra writing into her phone waiting at the airport for Jörn)

 

As I wait for him at the airport, I think of that night

It was a full moon that night

“How did you beat the odds?” I remember, he asks me. And felt him take it from me “....what did you do different?”

“I invented secret hallways in my mind to escape into….”

 

were it enough

                               ….to be seen

 

and 

would that this be a portal to the intangible 

yet only

the pirate and the dove vampire database; red herrings

 

Walking behind him over the miles, over the landscapes, Elan would look out into a vast and strange horizon; the wide scope, stretched-out and stamped into her retinas like a ghostly picture....

like a picture it would forever lay indelibly in her mind; preserved within the recesses; past, present .... to glimpse from out of the soot— 

~such as this hopeless anomie that is now, that is this~ 

He would take her with him during those weeks he did the trading and they would alter going on foot if they traded the horses

she longed more and more to know his thoughts 

to know his mind to what lay behind those sparks of brilliance to that den inside 

carrying the heavy bags on their backs, the motion of the swing of her hips in step with her foot as it would land on the earth when she walked with the weight of the sack she carried on her back .... 

Electra’s dictionary/the following scene; (past the noir) confessions, deflections

 

~“Give your evidence,” said the King; “and don’t be nervous, or I’ll have you executed on the spot.”

This did not seem to encourage the witness at all: he kept shifting from one foot to the other, looking uneasily at the Queen, and in his confusion he bit a large piece out of his teacup instead of the bread-and-butter.”—from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll~

it is later, after the video zoom chat with Paulina—which I suppose I would rather not go into for more than one or two reasons, like so many things that I find it hard to speak of, write of

like so many things on my mind and too hard to let myself even to feel —even as I know they are there; the haunting seems more endurable than having to survive the agony of the aftermath once aired and the consequences of climbing back out of the clinging bog that has often threatened to topple any resolve to —go on

it is easier to —instead, I guess —to speak of other things —as I do.... instead; easier to deflect. And to shift and veil behind; to obscure because.... I guess, I find it terribly hard to say some things even to myself, nor even let myself ....look at full-on.... and best to mind —not— to let it show

sometimes I flee

as if the devil is chasing me....

and so.... it is when I go straight after the meeting to draw a bath — I suspect Jörn sensed it because he saw me leave as soon as it was done — 

and in my wild haste I forget to shut the door behind me.... realizing I must need a bath and —kicking off my shoes with an urgency and removing my jeans, to drop, discarded onto the bathroom floor.... but stop and in some strange daze now, I just stare at nothing —still leaving on his shirt and tie that just an hour or so before he put on me in front of his closet and so I stare without seeing what I look at as I just blankly watch the water fill, leaning into the frame of the bathroom doorway and .... it must be because I am sleep deprived that my thoughts go faraway and don’t notice when Jörn appears and walks over to me. He touches me and makes me jump with a start. And when I turn, I forget to expect him to be still dressed that way; as Greta; he wears a cerulean mini dress that reaches mid thigh with fishnet stockings and go-go boots from the shipment and it is hard not to stare at him with his face made up expertly like a drag queen; his hair softly loose and ....caught in an unguarded second I reach to touch it.... touch his hair ....caught up in something there and.... without realizing I stare into his eyes —drawn to him....

awkwardly I move away. I go to the bath tub and look for the patchouli oil and pour some in and lean down to watch the water fill

He says,

“come here....” in that way and when I don’t move and just look into the water, this time more softly I hear him say,”kim hit....”

I guess maybe it is something; just something different this time in his voice that makes me stand up and without looking at him, I just go to him

But he says,

“look at me,” and pulls my face up to him. He asks me ....something .... noticing my reticence but I don’t answer and so, instead, he asks me something else that I don’t expect .... 

and then—he blurts it all out at once as if he’s been holding it back—he just says it all at once, 

“was it because you wanted to protect your mother from him ....because you thought if he beat you .... he wouldn’t beat her ....and—was it also because she disappointed you by what.... she —did— duva, it wasn’t just your sister who did that— was it? ....she did it ....too — but she is who confused you and you knew it was wrong and you couldn’t tell anyone.... because you were trying to protect her —duva, is that why.... ? you needed somewhere to tell.... but she found your diary —that is why you first created the dictionary.... isn’t it—Electra.... Oedipus?”

I feel sick 

his questions stun me and I get dizzy 

Sometimes it seems that —that closet overflows

the doors nearly bursting apart —as now with the weight of all the skeletons, it falls and bursts wide open and every inch of my skin seems to be scorched and on fire, in shame .... so long inside it feels too much to stand up, so long —holding it in to keep it from showing

and I know .... he knows that because he says this to me now as ‘Greta’ ....that this way ....he ....can 

and maybe that is why 

I search myself and ask myself: did I suspect he knew? did I not know....? no.... I really did not— I mean, I hoped he did not —and hoped he would not ever 

wished he would not ever

have to .... know

I can’t look at him, and the walls seem to warp and cave, their soot running off and all over my skin

....I did not expect such questions. Nor that he had, by now.... guessed ....as much as he has. and so ....it makes me wonder how long he has known. how much he knows. and why.... he still .... is there.... 

Why .... he is still there ....why is he.... ? why has he not .... gone

now knowing what he knows; what no one else has ever known....And maybe it is the relief of letting go of the burden.... I begin to shake 

and it is somehow no longer a shock to look at him ....now.... this way, 

even as he does not make a pretty woman but this does not lessen the impact he has to disturb me and instead I find I am, in that moment, quite suddenly more aware that there is something ....I feel.... 

”kim hit....”he says again, pulling me towards the bath, he shuts off the water, “you’re shaking, duva—let’s get into the water,” he says,”låt mig tvätta dig.” 

He turns off the lights and lights two candles and in the dimness, he undresses me, undoing the knot of his tie that I wear, when he undoes the buttons of his shirt on me, starting from the bottom, he pulls my face up to look at him, “look at me,” he says.... and when I do, he watches my eyes and face and then he touches me under the shirt —he says something ....but I don’t know the words or what they mean, but it is something I hear in the meaning in his voice that forces out the breath I have been holding and blurs my eyes and then it is the surprise of his touch that over rules everything ....even the dueling, chastising censorship of those demons within my walls, those cruel demons with their thorny fingers that never give me a moment’s peace, but for now, they seem to have lost their power, I don’t hear them ....just Jörn as he says those unknown words again and take a breath and breathe .... breathe in his familiar smell mixed with the scent he wears, I lean into him and looking up at him ....feel the need to place my hand intimately on him.... touch him —and the feeling rushes over, I climb onto him and press myself to him.... by the sink, on the edge of the counter